Assassin of Worlds {Percy Jackson Fanfiction} 🗸

Epilogue

Previously

"What are you gonna do? Kill me?"

That seemed to do the trick. Order seethed as she lunged forward, her dagger ready to pierce his neck. Percy leaned backward in a desperate attempt to dodge the blade. He raised his sword, but it was batted away and it flew across the room. He clenched his eyes shut.

A gasp of disbelief echoed throughout the mountain. The weapon had made its mark. Percy slowly opened his eyes. Order's dagger was an inch away from his neck. And through Order's chest, was a flaming piece of wood.

Percy looked up to meet the angry, flaming eyes of Hestia. The Last Olympian.

Now

You know that feeling when you reach the end of a book series or television show that you had been reading or watching for months, if not years? That empty feeling that makes you wonder what the hell you're supposed to do now? It's like that in war, too. Especially if it's all you've ever known. Everyone dreams of ending wars, ridding the world of evil. They use intricate plans, courage, collaboration, manipulation, whatever it takes to strike that final blow that will end the war once and for all. Months, and years of planning and training. But, now that you're here, now that you've struck that fatal blow, what will you do?

Maybe take a long vacation? Settle down, find a lover? Have kids? Explore the world? At least the war is over, right? Wrong. War is never over. War is eternal. The screams, the deaths, the explosions, they'll always follow you around, maybe taking the form as a firework going off, or the climax of a rollercoaster. Physically, the War may be over, but mentally? Mentally, you're still on that battlefield, fighting for your life against the demons that try to steal it.

And so, as Order lay bleeding out on the floor of the throne room, as ichor and blood stained the white marble floors, as Theron passed out in his chair, exhausted, as the Gods stirred from their unconscious states, as friends and siblings mourned over the deaths of their loved ones, and as they held each other a little tighter, you can tell that these horrendous moments will be told as heroic deeds. That one child who took out a group of hellhounds to save their friends would be remembered through stories. Those who died will be honored and remembered. Just as they always had.

***

"Perseus?" Hestia shook the boy who was collapsed in the chair. He stirred but refused to wake up. The goddess sighed shaking the boy once more. "Perseus, I understand your exhaustion, but my family will be awakening soon."

Percy groaned, lifting an eyelid. "Sooo. . ?" He slurred, closing his eye again. Hestia sighed and snapped her fingers. A cup of water appeared in her hand and she splashed it on the boy. Percy stiffened, awakening instantly. He saw Hestia and glowered. "That was uncalled for."

"I apologize, but I had figured you would like a say in what happens next," Hestia explained. "My family is waking, and last time I checked, you were still veiled to them."

Percy paled slightly. His hand tapped nervously on the armrest of the wooden chair. A frown fitted his face before he slumped in defeat. "Well, it's not like I can go anywhere. I was crushed by a fucking building. I'll never be able to go surfing again."

Hestia frowned, walking behind the chair and reaching her hands out to touch Percy's backside. Her fingers glowed a dim orange. "Please excuse my motherly instincts, Perseus, but please watch your language." Her fingers trailed down his spine, calming his tense position until they focussed on a single spot on Percy's lower back. "I am no goddess of healing, Perseus, but I will try my best."

The dim, orange glow on Hestia's fingers grew brighter. Hestia closed her eyes in concentration, pushing herself and her powers. The orange light flashed before extinguishing. Hestia withdrew her hand and took in a shaky breath, pressing one hand to her forehead while using the other to steady herself.