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this chapter contains heavy descriptions of blood, death, torture, and violence. please read at your own discretion.
———
✺ THE FATHER'S RISE ✺
Percy's vision was completely red.
The moment she fell, his entire body had gone stiff. His hearing faded out to nothing but the sound of his heartbeat, reminding him that she no longer had one. His muscles began trembling, his blood rushing, his power darkening.
Another pulse's rhythm had joined his own. Instantly, he knew it to be Grover's.
Then Annabeth's.
Then Clarisse's.
And now, as he watches Kronos' control over Luke, as Clarisse and Annabeth run away from him to buy them all time, even more heartbeats join the chorus inside his head. He rolls his neck, barely hearing the sound it makes as it cracks.
A figure dashes towards him in his periphery. A heartbeat becomes slightly louder. As they approach, he feels the erratic pattern of their footfalls.
Not familiar.
Percy holds his arm out to the side, his muscles tensing further as he grabs ahold of the closest source of water.
The attacker halts in their tracks, unable to move.
Blood rushes in Percy's ears. Not his own, this time.
Slowly, he looks at the demigod in his control, tilting his head at them. His eyes, now empty of light, are so dark of a blue that they appear black. What typically are gentle and soft features have gone cold and hard, shaped of chipped stone rather than smooth clay—the same subject, only a product of a different sculptor.
The demigod would have trembled at the sight of Poseidon's son, had they any command over their muscles.
Percy's mind reaches deeper, his eyes staring evilly, angrily, into the demigod's soul, and their fear increases as his power snakes through every vein in their body.
The dark corners of his mind whisper desires to command, to kill, to destroy. His blood rushes with anticipation, nerves tingling excitedly. His eyes darken further, but they seem to glimmer with joy at the prospect of bringing this person to their death.
It's only fair, after hers.
The demigod whimpers in pain, and Percy's fingers curl as his control spreads over their heart. He holds it in his hands, now—their life, their every will and action. He can feel it, right under his fingertips.
His own pulse leaps with euphoria, his body nearly shivering with delight.
The demigod's form begins to lift slightly, drawing closer as Percy commands it to. His lips turn up in glee, his mind again asking, praying, begging to finish it. To let all their blood rip through their skin so their corpse is completely dry; to snap every bone in their body before their neck; to just stop their heart in any gruesome, terrible, beautiful way that he can.
Percy has the control, the desire, the ability. He could end it for this demigod, right now.
And by the gods, he would love to.
They let out another sound of pain, tears spilling out of their eyes, and Percy's fingers twitch, longing to squeeze their heart until it bursts. He would do it to everyone here. For her.
But (Y/N) doesn't kill, not unless she has to.
The want that courses through Percy's veins, that overpowers his muscles and mind—it is dark, and evil, and greedy. Their heartbeat increases in his grasp.
Percy's throat rumbles with a slight growl of frustration, his hand tensing.
They go limp, and Percy carelessly tosses their body aside. Lying slumped near a cave wall, their chest rises and falls in unconsciousness as their pulse evens out.
Percy's power remains unsated, asking to take hold of another's life force, to make them feel the same terror and pain and helplessness. His body fills with anticipation, his restless muscles aching.
A heartbeat grows louder in his brain, his hearing catching the faint shuffle of footsteps. Percy spins on his heel, facing Cyrus Powell, who stands a short distance away while working a spell in his hands. The son of Hecate keeps his focus on Percy, who merely sighs in disappointment.
Cyrus stiffens, his eyes flooding with fear as Percy takes control of his body, mapping a path through his arteries before gripping his heart. A flick of his wrist, and the boy goes unconscious as well, falling limply to the sand.
Another heartbeat joins the muddle in Percy's ears, and he pauses. He sifts through them again.
Annabeth, Grover, Clarisse. He hears them, he knows them.
He knows this one, too. It flickers slightly, pulsing with a rhythm similar to his own.
His bloodlust drains, overcome by hope. The heartbeats fade into just one, accompanied by the thuds he feels in his chest.
His eyes return to sea-green, and he turns to the cave entrance.
Someone stands there, shoulders broad and hair messy with frizz. Barely struggling, they throw an attacker to the side and turn to look in the cave.
When they see Percy, they grin broadly and wave with excitement.
Percy exhales with relief, his anger fading.
"Tyson."
— x —
Clarisse sprints across the cave, her heart pounding. "Shit, shit, fucking shit," she grumbles, launching herself over the altar steps and swinging over Kronos' sarcophagus.
Luke doesn't stumble as she attacks, his defense casual yet strong. His eyes remain seemingly unfocused, but he fights off Clarisse so easily that she tumbles to the ground, gasping for air.
For a moment, his face flickers with apology and terror. His body seizes, and the expression returns to stone.
Annabeth follows the path Clarisse took, vaulting to clear the sarcophagus' obstacle and grabbing Luke's attention.
Groaning slightly, Clarisse pushes her upper body off of the ground, taking a moment to gather her focus as Annabeth attacks the son of Hermes relentlessly. The control that Kronos has over the boy's body is incredible, and Annabeth starts to stumble.
Determined, Clarisse pushes herself back up from the sand, running to Luke's turned back with a battle cry.
The girls' combined efforts push Luke farther away from the altar steps, distancing the Fleece from Kronos as the Titan's last remains finally return to their confinement. Although Luke doesn't falter, nor does he struggle, under their attacks, his attention remains on them.
He doesn't try to pull any tricks or make a run for the sarcophagus. All he does is spar with them, relaxed and effortless, as though entertained.
The shift in his focus is welcomed by Clarisse, her and Annabeth silently coordinating their attacks to keep the son of Hermes occupied.
It was good enough for them.
At least, it was good enough for now.
— x —
As his brother approaches him, Percy slips (Y/N)'s dagger into the space between his belt and waistband before rushing forward. Catching the Cyclops by surprise, Percy pulls him into a hug, squeezing tightly.
Tyson smiles, wrapping his arms around Percy in comfort. "Hello again," he says, his oblivious joy a welcome break from the chaos that surrounds them.
Percy chuckles softly, patting Tyson on the shoulder as he pulls away. "Hey, big guy."
Tyson, his eye wide with amazement, looks around the cave. His nose scrunches slightly while he sees the fighting that ensues between Annabeth, Clarisse, and Luke at the altar. "Where are Grover and (Y/N)?" he asks, concerned.
Percy pauses at her name, spoken with so much worry from his brother's mouth. "You're not upset with her?" His eyes sting, the boy unable to block his sorrow with anger, and he blinks furiously while shaking his head. "After what happened?"
Tyson shrugs, smiling gently. "She helped me," he says, the words simple and understanding, "didn't she?"
Percy folds his lips inward to keep them from trembling, and he takes a deep breath. "Yeah." Swallowing thickly, he nods. "Yeah, she did."
Tyson frowns at the expression on his brother's face, his stomach twisting in anticipation. "What happened?" he asks, watching as Percy's face twists into a set image of pain and rage.
Instantly, he knows.
"They got her?" he breathes, his chest feeling completely empty.
Fighting the burn in his throat, Percy grits his teeth. His heart stutters as his memory replays the scene, lungs growing heavy and sluggish. He forces himself to breathe, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. Afraid of the sound of his own voice—as though it will betray his weakness to everyone around, as though it will carve this fate of hers into solid and permanent stone—he doesn't reply, giving Tyson a responsive nod, instead. He jerks his head to the side, swallowing again before speaking: "She's on that side with Grover. He might need your help to keep her safe."
Determined, Tyson nods, saying nothing further as he begins to turn on his heel.
A hand grasping his makes him pause.
He looks back to his brother, finding his eyes sad yet grateful. Tyson tilts his head, confused, but the half-blood squeezes his hand.
"Thank you, brother," Percy says, smiling gently.
Brother.
Tyson softens, his heart swelling with joy. He clasps Percy's hand in both of his, holding it tight. He smiles. "Anytime."
— x —
If there was anything Clarisse hated most, it would be the feeling of weakness.
And now, as she battles Luke alongside Annabeth, as she tries over and over and over to keep him from Kronos' sarcophagus, weakness is the only thing she feels.
Her muscles ache with their repeated use, her attacks forced and sluggish. She grunts while aiming a punch at Luke's ribcage, exhausted by the effort of such a simple action. Beside her, Annabeth is no better, struggling to land any effective blows with her weapons. Straight minutes of combat—yet the son of Hermes doesn't have a bead of sweat on his skin.
Clarisse barely listens as Annabeth tries to reason with him, the only thoughts in her mind being strings of profanities.
"Look at what you've done, Luke!" Annabeth eventually exclaims, ducking under one of Luke's punches and elbowing him in the gut. He barely reacts. "Look at what happened to her!"
At the mention of (Y/N), Clarisse starts to pay attention, gauging Luke's reaction for a measure of his sanity.
There it was, something quick. In the eyes, before it vanished.
As if the emotion was never there, Luke says nothing, does nothing other than continue to fend off their attacks. Without even looking at the daughter of Athena, Clarisse understands that she noticed his break, too.
Annabeth fights to speak around her heavy breaths. "Kronos," she pants, grunting slightly with exertion, "let him go."
Luke's lips turn upwards into a cynical grin, evil and unnatural and determined. He doesn't have to speak for the single word to be conveyed: No.
At this moment, Clarisse's eyes widen. Without hesitation, she pulls a dagger from Annabeth's belt and thrusts it towards Luke's hip, her heart leaping when she makes contact.
It sinks the second she sees the wound closer.
There isn't one.
Luke's shirt is ripped in the path that the blade took, but Clarisse's shock heightens when she looks at the flesh that she felt the dagger push into—unmarred, unscarred, and unscathed is his skin, smooth as sculpted marble. Her breaths, already heavy, begin to stutter.
"What?" she pants, barely noticing the triumph on Luke's face. "It didn't . . . how . . . what?"
Annabeth also stares, her stomach sinking along with her hope.
Luke chuckles darkly, his voice low and distant as he replies, "Take a guess." Without another word, he kicks Clarisse in her stomach, forcing her body away.
Drained, she crumples to the ground, her legs too weak to hold her upright any longer. Annabeth gasps when Clarisse falls on the altar steps, her head slamming against a corner.
Pain shoots through her temple, accompanied by the sticky warmth of blood. Her vision goes blotchy with white.
"Clarisse!" Annabeth exclaims, looking between Luke and the daughter of Ares as conflict rages inside of her mind.
Never before has she felt more pathetic, her weaponry useless and combat skills weak against the mystically-enhanced son of Hermes. She was nothing against the Curse of Achilles, especially now, with her body and spirit exhausted beyond measure.
Luke awaits her choice, an eyebrow lifted with anticipation.
The girl on the steps whimpers in pain.
Annabeth pays Luke no further mind before she rushes to Clarisse, examining the wound at her temple. "Clarisse, can you hear me?" she asks, shaking her shoulders gently. "Are you okay?"
The daughter of Ares appears to slip in and out of consciousness, her eyes squinting in an effort to see. She does respond, however, with a slight nod, groaning as the motion sends daggers through her skull.
"Okay," Annabeth breathes, slinging Clarisse's arm around her shoulders, "do you think you can stand?"
Again, a nod, although Clarisse squeezes her eyes shut while doing so.
"All right. Here we go." Annabeth grunts slightly, supporting the daughter of Ares as she pulls her up to stand. Barely sturdy enough to hold herself upright, the added weight proves troublesome, but Annabeth persists. Carefully, she walks Clarisse over to the darkened side of the cave where Grover stays, setting her down on the ground for her to rest back against a pole.
The satyr looks up from (Y/N)'s body in concern. "What happened?" he asks, his voice wavering as he approaches his friend.
"She got a bad hit to the head. She can't fight anymore, so she's gonna stay here," Annabeth explains, turning to Clarisse and making sure she looks her in the eye. "You need to rest. A blow like that can be fatal. You're staying put. Do you copy?"
Clarisse grunts in protest, and Annabeth lightly slaps her shoulder.
"No. You're in no condition to go back out there. You stay here freely, or I'm tying you back up. Do. You. Copy?"
She groans with frustration at Annabeth's persistence, but the stabbing behind her eyes worsens, so she nods. "Loud and clear," she says, her words slightly slurred.
"Good." Annabeth stands straighter, looking back to Grover. "Please make sure she doesn't try to keep fighting."
He nods. "Will do." Annabeth furrows her eyebrows when he looks ahead and gasps, and she turns to look behind her.
Tyson, unharmed, jogs over to them, his typical smile more toned down than usual. "Hey, guys," he greets, as though coming back from the brink of death was perfectly normal.
Grover grins, pulling the Cyclops in for a quick hug and clapping him on the shoulder. "Hey. It's good to see ya."
Clarisse tilts her head up, still squinting fiercely. "X-Man," is all she says, but she lifts her arm in what appears to be an attempt at a wave before letting it drop again. Tyson waves down at her.
Annabeth hesitates before smiling gently when he looks at her, and she holds her hand out. Unsurely, he takes it, but her new bout of kindness eases his nerves. "Welcome back," she says, squeezing his hand before releasing it.
Tyson's eye flickers over to (Y/N), her body laid carefully on the ground. His expression saddens at the blood on her shirt.
Grover hurries to explain. "Now, she said all that stuff before, but—"
"Yeah," he says, nodding slightly. "She saved me."
Annabeth's brow furrows, and she shakes her head with confusion. "How did you know?"
Tyson hesitates, chewing his lip slightly as he tries to piece together everything that happened in those moments. "I mean, I was out cold, right?" he starts, fiddling with his thumbs. "Everything kind of hurt, but at the same time, it was all really numb. And then I just felt something different. It was weird. It was, like, if . . . if someone's voice could be turned into a feeling. I could tell that it was her power, and it was her voice, and I knew that it was all telling me that I'd be okay."
He looks at Grover again, the satyr's eyes glossy and sad. Tyson offers a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry, by the way," he says, and Grover sniffles, shaking his head.
Annabeth blinks quickly, fighting her tears. "If we get the Fleece," she starts, looking back to the main area of the cave, "we can fix it. Tyson, help Grover over here, would you? Keep them safe."
He nods, although she can't see. "Sure thing," he says, squaring his shoulders as if he truly knows what he's doing. Grover chuckles at the awkward position that Tyson holds, the Cyclops clearly uncomfortable.
"It's okay," Grover whispers to him, nodding with reassurance. "None of us are worrying about looking cool right now." Tyson sighs in relief, his stance loosening.
Annabeth ignores their conversation as she searches the cave, watching helplessly as Luke mutters to himself, now in front of the sarcophagus. She looks to Percy, who meets her gaze with confusion and fear.
She shakes her head, her lip quivering.
Percy furrows his eyebrows.
Her entire body conveying despair and defeat, she points to her heel.
Percy freezes, eyes wide.
Annabeth knows exactly what he's thinking when he looks to the altar, his posture weakening as Luke lifts the Fleece over the coffin lid. She knows, because she thinks the same thing:
What the hell do we do now?
— x —
Percy can only watch as Luke sets the Golden Fleece atop Kronos' sarcophagus once more, his heart thudding without restraint. The crystal dagger at his waistband seems to thrum with preparation, almost as though it has a mind of its own. He pulls it free, gripping it in readiness.
He would have much rather used Riptide, had he known where Luke kicked it away earlier.
A sudden weight in his pocket shocks him, and he nearly forgets the imminent danger he is in when he reaches into it and pulls out the silver pen.
Chuckling in awe, he lets the sword form in his hand, holding the dagger in his left.
Barely a moment passes before the onyx shards of Kronos' Titan form again exit their coffin, fitting together far more quickly than they had before, now with memory and familiarity. Percy grits his teeth, backing away slightly and watching as the monstrous body pieces itself into completion once more.
He feels unbearably pathetic in comparison.
The seams that outline the puzzle of his body glow with colored light as the sarcophagus empties, and Kronos lets out a roar of victory that shakes the cave.
Percy swallows, absolutely terrified of the creature that stands before him. He shakes out his shoulders, taking a breath to steady himself.
He thinks of her—how she would have grinned at such a challenge, rushed forward without hesitation, accepted whatever outcome laid in wait for her.
As the demigods from Luke's mission begin to scramble for the cave exit, Percy steels himself, reaching for the anger and vengeance that swirl inside the deepest crevices of his being. His eyes darken, mimicking the shadowed depths of the ocean. As the heartbeats of those around him echo through his mind, he calms, his adrenaline on fire at the thought of holding all these lives in his hands, their bodies under his control.
His fists clench around his weapons' hilts, and the people that swarm around him instantly halt, pulled against their will to slam into the cave wall. As one, they fall to the sand, unconscious and immobile.
Annabeth stares from the side, shocked and amazed and frightened.
The reality of the situation allows her to shake off the emotions, and she rushes forward to help—but at that moment, Luke's Manticore leaps at her from seemingly nowhere. She gasps, ducking under its stinger as it growls. Worried that it will try to attack the others, Annabeth slowly backs away, holding eye contact so it follows her as she distances it from her friends. Unsheathing her daggers, she widens her stance as the monster flexes its tail, the stinger dripping with black venom.
"Fuck," she grumbles, paying slight attention to her periphery, where Percy now has to face the Titan Lord alone and unaided.
Kronos looks down at the son of Poseidon, his massive head tilting with intrigue. "Percy Jackson," he says, his voice echoing and deep as though backed by his words from all moments of time.
Percy doesn't let him say anything further as he approaches the Titan in a sprint, his path now fully clear. Although powerful, Kronos remains slow in his current form, and Percy leaps towards his towering leg. Nearly as thick as a tree trunk, the black shards seem to be plates of armor against Riptide, the sword bouncing off them harmlessly. Landing near Kronos' heel, Percy spins, slicing again with the dagger, which instantly grows hot in his hand.
Just as the crystal makes contact, the seams of light glow brighter, and the Titan lets out a roar of pain. Shards of his limb break away from the wound, pushing past Percy as though carried by a gust of wind. They return to the sarcophagus, entering once more before leaving with the power of the Golden Fleece and reattaching themselves to Kronos' leg.
Kronos seems to gasp. "A cursed blade!" he exclaims, and Percy looks down at (Y/N)'s dagger with surprise.
"'Cursed blade shall reap'," he mumbles, looking back up at the Titan, who turns around to face him. How this weapon is cursed, he doesn't know, but he spins Riptide in readiness before launching the sword like a javelin to Kronos' chest. Easily, Kronos knocks it aside, but Percy is already running. He cuts again, over and over, with the dagger, dodging around and weaving through the shards that leave and return.
His repeated swings and motion leave him tired, and he allows himself some space between himself and the Titan. This was pointless if the Fleece stayed on the coffin.
"'The Father's rise shall be complete'," he recites, breaths heavy as he looks up at Kronos, "'so that any chance of victory turns dull and obsolete.' Great."
When Kronos steps closer, leaning down and extending an arm to knock Percy aside, the half-blood leaps forward. He runs up Kronos' arm, jumping to his shoulder and twisting in midair. As gravity pulls him down, he sticks his blade out, lodging it into the shoulder and holding on as he falls. The dagger rips through the Titan's back and leg, earning another earthquake-causing roar.
Percy backs away, ducking blindly when he hears the accompanying whistle of a piece as it flies back to Kronos' body.
And the power must combine, Percy remembers, of those who were victim to His daze of anger, fear, and envy; Olympus to preserve or raze.
With a frustrated groan, he looks quickly to Annabeth, who dodges attacks from the Manticore with nothing but a pair of simple iron daggers. It is this simple, millisecond-occupying distraction that lets Kronos steal the upper hand.
Percy yelps in surprise as his body gets knocked aside, his back and head slamming on the ground as the dagger exits his clutch. Gasping as the air exits his lungs, his eyes widen at the sight of Kronos' massive foot hovering directly above him. He rolls out of the way of the Titan's step, squeezing his eyes shut against the spray of sand that shoots out upon impact, fine grains cutting his skin. "No—!" he pants when Kronos kicks the dagger across the cave, his leg returning like a pendulum to slam against Percy's chest.
The boy curls into himself, protecting his head as he again hits the ground. Slightly dazed and scrambling to stand up, he keeps his eyes on the Titan while reaching out behind him to the cave entrance. The moment he grasps onto the ravine outside, he pulls it forward, watching Kronos approach with his gargantuan strides. Once he's near enough, Percy grunts, pulling his power close in an uppercut.
Water rushes past his body, spraying onto his skin as it slams under Kronos' chin, barely pushing him back. The water recedes, forming a wall behind Percy as sharp icicles shoot towards the Titan, shattering upon impact.
Kronos's eyes narrow, and the ice halts in motion, falling harmlessly to the ground.
Percy doesn't let himself be surprised as he continues attacking, punching at Kronos with the water following his fists' movement. Kronos falls back a single step, and Percy persists with sluggish arms and weakened muscles.
"That's enough," Kronos' voice rumbles, and Percy's eyes flood with fear when he suddenly freezes, his body stopped against his will. The water under his control goes still for a moment before splashing onto the sand around him. Percy tries to move, fighting against the air, which feels like thick syrup around him.
He glances at his watch, the second hand no longer ticking.
Annabeth looks over in concern, eyes widening as Kronos stops time in Percy's immediate surroundings. "No!" she exclaims as the Titan nears her friend, but she remains helpless as the Manticore launches its stinger towards her, and she narrowly dodges.
Percy can do nothing as Kronos picks him up, feeling like a plastic figurine in the Titan's giant palm.
Nothing, that is, except pray that the gods will help him.
— x —
Next to Persephone, (Y/N) gasps at Hecate's vision, her empty form feeling even emptier as she watches Percy go still. Fear courses through her as the Titan's power keeps him from fighting, and she turns to the gods, who stand in the darkened area of the room.
"Can we pick up the pace, here?" she asks, fighting the urge to wring her hands together.
Hecate—surrounded by the eldest gods in the shadowed corner—looks over from her spellbook, nodding. "We are almost ready."
Mother and daughter stand for a few moments in silence, and (Y/N) taps her foot repeatedly with nerves. Persephone looks between her daughter's soul and the image of Kronos, concern passing over her face. Hades mumbles an explanation to Hecate before he walks over and places a hand on his wife's shoulder, hoping to easing her worry.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Persephone asks.
(Y/N) begins to answer before hearing the gentle brush of robes, and she turns to look at Hecate. "You said," she starts, and the sorceress tilts her head, "that if I didn't go back, they'd all die?"
Hecate sighs, nodding with apology. "I wish it were not the case, but yes. They all die."
"How does it happen?"
Persephone, Hades, and Hecate all look at (Y/N) with shock. Her jaw is set, eyes guarded at the prospect of her friends' suffering, but she awaits an answer, all the same.
Hecate closes her eyes briefly, shoulders loosening. "Tyson is initially ignored as he tries to get the Fleece," she starts, glancing worriedly at Hades, "but when he remains alive, he gets taken to the ruins of the Underworld and is burned in the River Phlegethon."
(Y/N) clamps a hand over her mouth. The river was of the only fire that could harm a Cyclops, torturous and terrible.
"Annabeth is poisoned, her subconscious lost in hallucinations of her greatest fears while her physical body is tormented by pain greater than can be imagined. She awakens to feel it all just before it kills her."
Hades places a hand on his stepdaughter's shoulder, hoping to ease her as she furiously shakes her head.
Hecate inhales a shaky breath. "Clarisse passes more easily, her throat slit while she is unconscious. Grover tries to defend her beforehand, but he dies of a broken neck. And . . . his horns . . . are ripped right out of his head."
Letting out a soft wail, (Y/N) squeezes her eyes shut, wanting to cry at the descriptions. But still, she waits for the last one.
Hecate pauses, unsure if she should actually reveal the truth. "And Percy," she says, only continuing when (Y/N) nods, "endures torture by the hands of Kronos, himself. His bones are broken, and he is each time given a chance to heal before they are broken again. Eventually, Kronos brings the cave down, and he dies by suffocation."
(Y/N)'s eyes are wide, filled with terror and regret. "Oh, my gods," she whimpers, so weak that Hades has to physically support her.
Hecate shakes her head. "I am sorry," she says. Hoping to ease the girl's worries, she continues: "However, if you return, then they will not see these endings. They will live."
(Y/N) still appears unsure. "And I'll . . . I'll be able to fight him, right?" she asks, and Hecate nods.
"You will be strong," she says, simply enough.
(Y/N) nods, squeezing her eyes shut and grounding herself with the gentle pressure of Hades' hand on her shoulder. "Okay," she breathes, the word serving only to help herself calm down. "Okay." Her muscles relax in acceptance and preparation, and she opens her eyes. "Let's just get this over with."
Hecate nods, gesturing to the darkened corner.
Hades pats (Y/N)'s shoulder, stepping back and allowing her to stand on her own.
Persephone squeezes Hades' hand, and the king leans down to gently kiss her forehead. "It will be all right," he says, and (Y/N) gives her a quick nod of reassurance.
Persephone backs away as the three walk to the shadowed area of the chamber, where the other five gods wait with anticipation. Hades gently ruffles his stepdaughter's hair, stepping between Hestia and Zeus.
Hecate guides (Y/N) to stand in a certain place, and the gods circle themselves around her and Hecate. The sorceress waves her hand, and a shroud of darkness encases them in a dome, casting them all into shadow.
Hecate conjures a jeweled goblet in one hand and a knife in the other, taking a breath and closing her eyes. When she opens them, her irises gleam as the sole light source in the darkness, shifting from emerald green to blood-red.
"It is time."
———
it IS time
(for me to buy more books despite the ban I've placed on myself, that is)
happy belated birthday to the ultimate momma's boy we all love: Blue!! I had some blueberries from a blue bowl in his honor :)
anyway, dark!Percy has entered the chat after taking a few bloodbending lessons from Katara & if I may be honest, he was very fun to write
as always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! stay safe and well my loves <3