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Percy was used to a red fog. One that invaded his mind, winding tightly around his memories, his thoughts, his feelings, around him.
It kept him locked behind a glass cell to weakly peer through, feebly bang his fists against the barrier. Every ticking moment sapped his energy further and further, until he was nothing but a motionless husk on the floor of his own consciousness. Beaten. Overrun. Consumed by the anger.
For the first time in years, it was gone. All gone. His mind was clear. Alert. Strong.
If the circumstances were different, the relief might have caused tears to well in his eyes. But now—he was furious.
Already on his feet, pitchfork in hand, Tartarus exhaled harshly. “A temporary setback,” he said. “Nothing to worry about.”
Percy pushed himself to his feet, scooping up his sword, arm shaking. An angry storm brewed in his veins, causing the tremble in his limbs, the pounding in his heart, the clenching of his jaw. Swirling with a ferocity only found in the bloodline of the Stormbringer, it threatened to rip him open from the inside if he didn't let it out.
The anger was familiar, tight around his neck like a noose, but that was where the similarities stopped. It was sharp, unyielding, focused.
It was almost painful, to finally escape the cage he had been trapped in. But he could wiggle his fingers with precision, tense the small muscles in his back, operate with the finest control that had been lacking for too long. And that made it worth it.
At the start, years ago, the red eyes didn’t last for long; too consumed by his thoughts of his friends and family to be tied down. Even the pain wasn’t enough to get him to submit. He would gladly face the worst torture known to man than willingly allow himself to be some god’s pet.
But each time Tartarus placed his hand on his forehead, forcing his blessing on him (complete with mind control, or whatever the hell it was), it took longer and longer for Percy to throw it off. Until one day, bloody and broken, wheezing on the floor that the primordial kept him chained to, all his strength sapped away, he no longer had the energy to fight it off.
That had only been the very beginning of his time spent in Tartarus.
He had been forced to fight after that. To duel in fighting rings, duel against Tartarus himself. To demand the respect of all the monsters by imposing order with his blade. To explore the extent of his powers, stretching them so far that it probably would have killed him had the blessing of Tartarus not been running through his body.
It was hard to describe exactly how he felt under Tartarus’ control. Blinding rage consumed him at all times, hatred spreading like a plague inside his body. He did whatever Tartarus told him to without question, like the only thing that kept him moving was spilling more blood, or monster dust, or growing his power. He wasn’t only angry—he sought vengeance. It fed on his festering distaste for the gods, amplifying it until it consumed him. Until the only thing he could think of was how he hated everyone who had wronged him. From the demigods, to the gods, to mortals.
He hated everything.
The good memories faded to the background. They lingered, present, yet hidden underneath the emotions, twinging every now and again, especially when he was first sent to the surface, and that small inkling inside of him that knew this was wrong never fully went away. But his strength never returned. The chains of submission tightened around his neck.
Seeing Annabeth had changed everything.
Energy thrummed through that once-beaten husk trapped inside the glass. Strong fists pounded harder against the barrier. He bucked and reared against the iron tight grip, not stopping until it cracked.
Then—the glass box had turned into a jail cell, and he slipped through the bars. Just for a moment. A moment enough to tell them both that he could do this. Then, the magic of Tartarus’ influence had grabbed him, and thrown him into a different cell—but he could spot the faults, the weaknesses. He just needed more.
Annabeth had given him more. As he stood, facing Tartarus for the first time, not a trace of red to be found, anger finally feeling like his own instead of another, he had to thank Annabeth and her wild, crazy, borderline suicidal plan. But it worked.
He was free.
Tartarus stalked forward, shadows clung to his form, warping into odd shapes on the floor as he walked. Rearing his arm backward, Tartarus poised to jab his pitchfork down, before suddenly swinging the handle around to grab it with both hands, and shoving the pole parallel against Percy’s middle.
Hesitation cost him precious seconds. Riptide arced over Percy’s head, just in time to meet the attack. Metal greeted metal with a loud clash, the sound bouncing off the walls of the giant throne room, sending vibrations through the floor.
It felt like holding up the sky again, arms trembling under the insurmountable force of the primordial’s strength, teeth cracking under the strain. Percy’s back foot slid an inch across the floor. Cold ice flooded his limbs, striking painfully against his heart, and he grunted, spinning their locked weapons to the side, throwing the weight off him. He took a step back.
“You can run,” Tartarus growled. “But not from me.”
Percy met the next attack with his sword, but instead of pulling away to swipe again, Tartarus braced and shoved forward. Percy’s back knee buckled, harshly meeting the ground.
Gasping, Percy twisted to the side, allowing the pitchfork to slide past him. The momentum shot the weapon towards the ground, and it sank deeply, cutting through the stone like butter. While Tartarus tugged on the handle, Percy shifted his weight forward to swing his back leg around, kicking the side of the primordial’s knee as hard as he could.
The knee didn’t budge. The kick reverberated, sending shockwaves up his leg. Pushing through the pain, Percy threw himself to the side, rolling to his feet.
The god spun around, nostrils flaring. His face flushed with rage, the flames in his eyes shifting from a bright red into a deathly blue. With a growl, Tartarus threw his weapon aside, and it clattered against the stone floor. He lunged, reaching both hands towards Percy’s head.
Suddenly, Percy went flying backwards, crashing to the floor. The back of his head cracked painfully against the stone, vision swimming. He jerked, throwing up his sword arm to block the attack with his forearm. Tartarus’ claws dug into his skin, blood rushing to the deep wound.
They struggled against each other, evenly matched, yet Percy was tiring, muscles shaking under the force.
He was about to give in.
With a strangled snarl, Tartarus closed a giant hand around Riptide’s blade, slicing his leathery skin, golden ichor dripping on Percy’s shirt. His sword went flying from his hands with a wrench, clattering against the stone nearby.
Percy expected a lot of different things. He expected Tartarus to dig his talons into the side of his neck. Maybe decide to kill him the old-fashioned way by choking. Even grab his hair and slam his head into the ground repeatedly.
What he didn’t expect was for Tartarus to place his hands on the side of his head, and for his mind to burst with agony, and fury.
The chill that rocketed through his body came second to the familiar frosty sting encircling his eyes. That wretched fog started to seep into his mind, slowly forming those iron bars that he detested. Don’t you remember, it whispered, how the gods let you drown?
Everything was hazy. Someone was screaming. Tartarus cackled over him, a loud, deep sound that vibrated through his bones.
The weight disappeared as Tartarus stood. Percy sat up, dazed, his red eyes hot, and heavy, throat raw.
“No!” Annabeth cried, her voice breaking at the end. She tugged at the chains that held her arms behind her back.
“You see?” Tartarus snarled. “Nothing can defy me for long.”
The look on Annabeth’s face was heartbreaking. Tears streamed down her cheeks, dripping softly at her feet. Defeat lined her muscles, sagging with exhaustion, pulling her to the floor. Those golden curls.
God, he'd missed her.
Something cracked inside him. It cut through the fog.
He shut his eyes, taking a deep breath. The anger, the hatred, the darkness festering in his soul tried to overwhelm him, working quickly to dampen his memories, replacing them with moments of pain and fury.
But he was back in the cell, not quite the glass box, where there was a gap in between the bars. A space he could slip through before the claws of the Pit consumed his mind once more.
Throwing himself against the opening, the pain was almost unbearable as he squeezed himself through the gap. He kicked and screamed, wiggling until he inched forward, wild desperation etched into every little movement. Hands, formed from the shadows, yanked at him from the other side, desperate.
A shimmering mirage of Annabeth appeared, mere inches away from his outstretched fingers. Come on Seaweed Brain, she smiled. We’re all waiting for you.
The chill evaporated. Percy opened his eyes.
His legs shook as he pushed himself to his feet. Tartarus’ back faced him.
“—never learn,” he was saying to Percy’s friends. “The greatest demigod, incapacitated by just a mere ounce of my power.”
Percy met Annabeth’s wide eyes, a soft gasp escaping her.
A rush of adrenaline shot to his heart, sending a buzzing energy right to the tips of his fingers. Scooping up his sword, Percy aimed it at the middle of the primordial’s torso, and lunged. The blade sliced through cleanly, buried all the way to the hilt.
The god spun around with a roar, sweeping his arm, catching Percy in the stomach. He went flying.
Tartarus reached behind his back, grasping the sword’s handle, and pulled it out in one fluid motion, flinging it to the side.
Percy crashed against the floor, skin burning against the smooth stone as he rolled. He came to a stop, face pressed against the chilly floor, sending a brief respite to the fire that danced up and down his body, muscles sore and aching. Laying his palms flat on the ground, he pushed himself up slowly, warm blood dripping from his nose, down his chin. Ringing filled his ears.
“There is no time for this,” Tartarus growled. “You no longer want to be in my service? Fine. Your usefulness has run out. It’s time for you to meet your end, demigod.”
He had barely gotten to his feet when Tartarus charged him, pitchfork melting into a three-foot sword that sucked in all the light in the Throne Room, trading it for shadows that snapped their teeth angrily.
Throwing himself to the side, the blade crashed down where he had been mere second prior, splintering the stone floor that sent cracks reaching out like tiny spiderwebs.
Percy scrambled backward, gaining a few precious feet of space.
Think, think, think. C’mon Jackson, how do you end this?
The situation looked bleak. Riptide lay uselessly across the length of the room. The gods were still bound, unable to use their strength or powers. Annabeth and the rest were also out of question. Percy wasn’t given a chance to blink, much less enough time to see if he could free them.
But he knew he couldn’t fight Tartarus forever. Something had to give.
There were no oceans on Olympus. A storm would be pointless against the room’s ceiling.
There was only one thing left to try.
Percy backed up, straightening. Taking in a deep breath, he drew his power close to his body, a familiar tug in his gut. The ground rumbled underneath his feet, and Tartarus stumbled. Seizing his moment, he darted towards Riptide, snatching it from the ground and spinning back to face Tartarus.
The tremor faded—just enough for Tartarus to think Percy had lost his grip on the power. Then he lifted his foot and slammed it down with everything he had. The floor splintered. The walls shook with fury, spewing dust everywhere.
Tartarus fell to his knees, and Percy lunged, aiming right for his neck. The god bared his yellow fangs, blocking Percy’s attack with his forearm. Riptide slashed through skin, spraying golden ichor across the floor.
With a shove, Tartarus pushed Percy backwards, planting one foot on the ground to come to a kneel.
The pain in his gut grew unbearable, and it spread to his muscles, causing them to stiffen. Percy released his hold, and the tremors faded away, the ground still once again. Tartarus lunged.
Percy met Tartarus’ swing, but it was weak, and they both knew it. With his shoulder, Tartarus rammed forward, shoving Percy down. He hit the floor with an ‘oomph’, barely managing to catch the next attack.
With an iron grip, Tartarus grabbed his wrist, squeezing tightly until bones cracked. Percy’s fingers loosened, and Riptide slipped out of his grasp. A giant hand pressed firmly against his chest, pinning him to the ground.
Tartarus raised his sword, poising it to sink right into Percy’s heart.
Instead of fear, there was only calmness, and serenity. The tension faded away, leaving only the steady rhythm in his veins, the clarity in his mind. The evenness of his gaze.
Annabeth’s muted screams filtered through his hearing.
Percy reached out, plunging his senses deep into Tartarus’ mortal form, searching with a controlled urgency, digging deeper and deeper until he found the golden ichor that pumped through the primordial’s body. It was slick, slippery like oil, threatening to slide out of his grasp despite the way he clawed his fingers into it, not daring to let go.
Heat rolled over him, spreading across his skin as his gut screamed in agony, reminding him of the fires of Tartarus, but he ignored the pain. Steeling himself, he yanked with all of his might.
Tartarus froze, sword still raised high. His hand started to tremble. A snarl etched on his face, as if cut from marble.
A strong tug almost caused the ichor to fly out his grasp, but he gripped tighter, even as the pain and pressure in his body continued to swell. Blood pooled on his tongue, teeth sinking into his bottom lip.
Do you regret teaching me to control blood now?
Tartarus was weak, his power spread too thin. It was obvious in the way he was losing the battle. Down in the pit, Percy never dared to try it—he felt the power in poisonous waves that gagged him when they rolled by. But now, most of Tartarus’ power pulsed softly across the room, where it tied down the gods and demigods.
Slowly, Percy’s control grew. Tartarus’ arm twitched. Then it started to lower, inch by inch, tremors growing more and more violent.
Sets of metal chains clattered loudly against the ground. The ichor slipped from his grasp like water.
And then a sword sank straight into his chest.
A wet gurgle escaped him as his eyes shot open. The Olympians all leapt off their thrones, chains melting away, each attacking Tartarus with their godly weapon. The sheer amount of power threatened to turn him into dust, but everything faded into a quiet buzz.
Warm hands grabbed the side of his face, and he struggled to focus. Annabeth’s blonde hair and tanned skin came into view, face blotchy as tears streamed past her cheeks. Her lips were moving, but Percy couldn’t hear what she was saying. Tartarus’ sword remained in his chest, pinning him to the floor.
Annabeth pressed her lips against his sweaty forehead. “You’re gonna be okay,” she whispered, voice cracking. “You’re gonna be okay.”
Percy tried to smile, but he felt his soul being tugged gently from his body, his already weak limbs growing limp by the second. The sounds of the scuffle washed over him, and he could see Tartarus being bound and chained, forced to his knees.
The rest of his friends fanned out around them, kneeling, arms and legs rubbed raw from the chains they had struggled against. The blood pooling in his mouth made it difficult to speak, spilling down his chin when he parted his lips.
Annabeth let out a sob.
Nico’s eyebrows furrowed, lips pressed together in a thin line. When their eyes met, he silently shook his head.
Jason placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Perce,” he murmured.
With a rattling breath, he used the last of his energy. “‘m glad…you’re all here.” A weak smile tugged at his lips as he looked at Annabeth. “See you later…Wise Girl.”
The darkness crept into his vision, breathing and heartbeat matching the same, slowing rhythm. His eyes fluttered shut, exhaling his last breath.
Then, there was darkness.
Nico left Percy waiting on the shore of the River Styx for longer than he would’ve liked, but it had taken a while to pull the right strings. Percy would understand. Hopefully.
Combat boots crunched against the gravel of the shoreline, the sound overpowering the general ambiance of the Underworld. In a plastic chair a few feet ahead, Percy waited quietly. Despite the delay, Percy grinned as Nico neared.
“Nico!” Percy rose to his feet, pulling him into a hug. It was only the Underworldly powers that thrummed in Nico’s veins that allowed Percy to touch him.
“You guys didn’t leave me a drachma for Charon.” A pout formed on Percy’s lips.
“Sorry,” Nico said. “I had to wait on something before I could escort you through the Underworld.”
“Ooh,” Percy teased. “Special treatment just for me? I’m flattered.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Nico grumbled, scuffing his boot in the dirt, ducking his head to hide his smile. “Alright, time to go.”
Bypassing Charon, who only mumbled something under his breath, they stepped into the ferry alone. Nico reached for the pole, almost stumbling when the boat started to glide across the river. Percy met his glare with a bright smile.
“So—” Nico paused. “What do you remember?”
Percy’s eyes sharpened, some of the good-natured attitude fading away. His shoulder slumped slightly. “From when I died?”
Nico nodded.
“Tartarus killed me.” The statement came out in even, measured tones. It lacked even a hint of emotion.
“And before that?” Nico gently pressed.
Percy furrowed his eyebrows, gaze dropping to the bottom of the boat. A line creased in his forehead. “I… I don’t know.” he said. “Everything’s crystal clear until Tartarus kidnapped me. Then it’s blurry.”
Nico looked away, unable to meet Percy’s questioning gaze, eyes glued to the wood at his feet.
“You suffered a lot.” Throat tightening, Nico swallowed the lump cutting off his words. “The gods thought it was a small favor to allow you to let that go.”
“Oh.”
The silence stretched on. Percy shuffled his feet from his seat on the wooden bench.
They were about halfway across the river, the slow going of the ferry cutting through the River Styx like it was glass. The general noise of the Underworld didn’t quite reach them, the only sound was the gentle lapping of the water.
After a moment, Percy spoke. “Was it really that bad?”
“Yes.”
Nodding, Percy sat silently, watching a piece of trash bob by. Then, his posture straightened slightly, an easy smile stretching on his lips.
“What a cool way to go though, huh?” he said. “Out of all the ways to die, saving the world from a powerful primordial has got to be up there, right?”
Nico huffed a laugh.
Softly, the ferry came to a stop as it reached the other side of the river. They shuffled out together, Nico more carefully than Percy, before the boat started moving, back the way they came.
They walked together, the silence broken mostly by Percy’s light chatter, and Nico’s occasional reply. The line to the Judgement Pavilion stretched on, wrapping around the bank of the river for what felt like miles. But Nico ignored it, continuing to lead Percy forward.
It was only when it was abundantly clear that they would pass the pavilion did Percy speak.
“Hey,” Percy frowned. “Don’t I have to get judged?”
“No.”
Percy stopped walking. “Why not?”
Forced to a halt, Nico lifted his gaze to meet Percy’s stare. “I know you don’t want special treatment, Percy,” he sighed. “But, please, consider this a repayment of everything you’ve done for me. For all of us. Let me do this for you.”
Furrowing his eyebrows, Percy hesitated. His eyes flickered between Nico’s. A beat passed. “Okay,” he said easily, sticking his hands in his pockets. “For you.”
The walls of Elysium were visible in the distance, growing larger as they approached. The tips of the palm trees in the Isle of Blest peeked out from the center. The sound of laughter crescendoed, overtaking the distant grumbling of the Fields of Asphodel.
Truthfully, it wouldn’t have taken much for Nico to argue his way into taking Percy straight to the Isle of the Blest. He probably still could if Percy ever wanted to, but he knew that right now, Percy would refuse. Not with Annabeth still on the surface, and all of his fallen friends still residing in Elysium.
He had done enough for the gods for a millennium. He fought harder for them when others wouldn’t, giving up every reward just to better the lives of others. The atrocities he unwillingly committed under Tartarus’ control aren’t even a black speck on the good he’s done his entire life, and no god would hold him accountable for that.
Well, maybe some would. But they wouldn’t after Poseidon got ahold of them.
The aroma of cooking food wafted over them as they reached the gates that separated it from the rest of the Underworld. Pushing on the metal, the gate swung open easily under his touch. Instantly, the darkness evaporated, being replaced by a bright filter of sunlight. The goosebumps on his arms faded, leaving only soft heat, a replica of the outside sun.
Nico led Percy further inside, slowing as Percy’s neck turned in all directions, drinking in the sight. There was a large clearing just ahead where a small crowd of people milled around, various drinks clutched in their hands.
“Percy?” A tall dark-skinned young man with giant muscles towered over the rest of the crowd.
A young woman in front of him spun around, her dark curly hair bouncing around her shoulders, blue eyes brightening. “Percy!”
Silena Beauregard practically skipped her way over, tackling Percy in a large bear hug, Charles Beckendorf just a few steps behind. A short laugh escaped Percy, who wrapped an arm around each of them.
“I hoped I wouldn’t see you for another hundred years,” she said, her voice muffled from where her face smushed into his shoulder.
“Yeah, well, that’s demigod life,” Percy said, smiling as she pulled away, taking a step backward to clasp her hand in Charles’.
“Hey, Percy, nice to see you,” a demigod with violet eyes said as he passed by, clapping Percy on the shoulder, a smile on his lips.
“Castor,” Percy greeted, eyes bright.
Here, time relaxed in that easy way that only Elysium could be. It was evident in the way the demigods who came up to greet Percy moved. Their limbs, slow and fluid, not a hint of unbridled anxiety woven into their muscles.
Nico was almost envious of it all, with the way he had to walk around life with a stiff back, and even stiffer fingers that permanently curled around the hilt of his sword, ready to defend himself. But even that tension inside his limbs faded away as he watched Percy finally relax. He stood taller, the weight from his shoulders finally gone, nothing but the gentleness of the ocean at its most vulnerable in his posture.
After the greetings had slowed, Percy turned around to face Nico, still standing and watching. He crossed the road back to his side, pulling Nico into another hug.
Nico forced himself to relax, wrapping one arm against Percy’s shoulder.
“Thank you, Nico,” Percy pulled back, both hands on either side of Nico’s shoulder. “Really. Thank you.”
“It’s no problem,” Nico replied, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. Percy shook his head, laughing.
“See you later then, yeah?”
“Of course.” A ghost of a smile graced Nico’s lips. “See you later.”
Silena popped back up at Percy’s side, grabbing onto Percy’s wrist. She flashed a smile at Nico before tugging on his arm, trying to drag him deeper into the crowd. Percy looked back over his shoulder to wave goodbye.
And then, he was happy for eternity.