His Return

21. Farewell

Sure they had Chiron, Paul and their granddad Fredrick who acted as father figures to them, but even without having physically met him, no person could ever fill the place of their dad.

Percy Jackson was his name.

Of course they'd seen pictures of him, but those were taken when he was very young— before they were even born. There was this one time they thought they saw him; it was in the night time, during a dream. At the time they'd been so much younger— around two or three years old, but they could never forget how lifelike it all seemed... like they were really there.

•••

In the dream they were in a dark place, the red skies above mixing with inky clouds and black lightning that gave off faint light just enough that they were able to see right in front of them instead of nothing at all. From what they could feel, the ground was made of sharp shards of glass, like broken ceramic and pointed obsidian stones that was designed specifically to hurt their little bodies. Where there wasn't glass, there were warts and growths, the warm floor's skin-like texture soft but bumpy. If there was ever really a place such as hell, this is how they believed it to be.

The air was hard to breathe through; like expired eggs and rotting chicken added with the scent of decomposing carcasses from larger farm animals.

In the distance there was bright yellow light that seemed to spread for miles, it's glow standing out the most throughout the dark pit. Seeing as they were children, it wasn't surprising that their first instinct was to go towards it, for the reason that light was better than darkness.

As they got closer, the sound of clanging and scraping metal became more prominent, screams and wails ripping through the atmosphere like group of distressed banshees running away from a predator. When they stepped into the light, they were met by riots of nightmare-ish looking things fighting each other, the floor layered in shining dust that smelt awful.

Past the thick sea of creatures there were two men, seeming to be the center of attention, though the brawling never once ceased as they clashed. The men were giant; one much taller than the other but, both were easily the size of a three story house.

Neither of the two men looked anything alike— one had jet black hair that blew freely in the fetid wind like wild, untamed shadows. He had a very well structured face with scary red eyes, holding huge black knives in his hands. His massive size should've made it hard to move, but he did so with little too any effort, swinging the blades with skill at the next man.

The other was much bigger than the first, though from the way it looked, he was collapsing under the blows of the smaller man. It was difficult to even see if this one had a face as a whirlwind-like phenomenon swirled around the entirety of his head. His chest was covered by black iron armor with white-ish grey ghostly figures moving inside of it, a skirt fused with twisted blackened bones held on his waist by a belt of enormous interlocking arms. Where flesh was visible he had blood rushing out of thick purple and blue veins from cuts and gashes, inflicted onto him by the first man.

The sight of gore made the children sick, yet they couldn't find it to tear their eyes away from the scene. For some reason they felt drawn to raven haired man, his presence making their hearts pulse even faster than before. It was like a gravitational pull that towed them into his direction, the force making them unable to control where, when or how they moved. Their bodies passed seamlessly through those of the monsters like their being was made purely of wind or smog, and when they glanced down they realized that this was exactly the case. Their skin was coated over by clouds of white mist that made them look pale and corpse-like, their frames fuzzy and indistinct.