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The rivers swelled, overflowing their banks, responding to the wrath of the master.
They had deceived him.
He had been beaten by a teenager and the less worthy of his children.
How dare they?
The Pit does not forgive and does not forget. The punishments had been deserved, and it would have been delivered.
And no one would have stopped him.
****
Percy knew the war would leave its marks.
He had read in school about veterans dealing with the consequences of war. Some of them, in the interviews they gave, talked about how their war wasn't over yet.
And these were men who had fought against other men, who had used weapons and had seen the enemy with the same weapons.
He had fought against Titans, Giants and Primordials.
He had won the war, thanks to other men, but their opponent had nothing in common with them.
Ancient immortal beings, who would return in the future to fight against other mortals, to try once again to plunge the world into chaos.
And Percy was left with his demons. With his fear. With his nightmares.
No one, but Annabeth, knew what exactly happened in Tartarus.
His friends didn't know. The gods did not know. His mother didn't know.
Only Annabeth had seen where that scar had come from, on his cheek, an ugly, vivid red cut that would never heal, no matter how much nectar was ingested, how many prayers to Apollo.
It was a reminder, Percy knew.
The reminder that even the best can fall. The reminder that Percy, unlike what everyone liked to think, was not a hero. He was like Luke. He was the possible future traitor.
Percy had seen Hermes wince when he first noticed that scar, a reminder of what Ladon had left on Luke.
Percy had seen the look of pity and attention that Zeus, Hades and his father had given him, when the Seven had been brought to Olympus to discuss their mission, requested by Athena, eager to hear the merits of her daughter.
Neither of them had answered the questions asked about Tartarus.
The doors of death had been closed. Damasen and Iapetus had sacrificed themselves for them.
To the questions about the scar that now obscured the demigod's face, neither of them had answered. A war wound, Annabeth had said. A memory, Percy had replied.
And no one had asked for anything else.
But Percy could feel the scar pulling and burning and torturing him.
He could feel the wrath of his maker reflected on it.
He knew that he would soon have his revenge. And, Percy, he feared that he would reveal more to the gods.
******
It was a normal mission. But every mission was dangerous.
Especially when the location was in the depths of the Underworld, in the place closest to Tartarus itself.
Especially if the quest was considered that dangerous that the gods had forbidden demigods to approach that place. The gods would face the threat.
But Percy had felt his scar pull, push and ache until he had to try to reach the others. He should have reached that place.
As soon as he arrived, his entire body trembled, his scar burning.
His father was the first to see him, a grimace of horror on his face. "Son." It was the anguished whisper he spoke, causing his two brothers to look at their nephew in fear.
Finally, Tartarus smiled victorious. "The traitor returns."
"I am not a traitor." Percy replied, glaring at the entity.
"No, you're just a monster, like everyone you've killed."
Percy didn't say anything, just staring at the Primordial, making him nervous.
"Or what do you call the manipulation you used on Iapetus? You exploited his lack of memory to make him fight against his own brothers." Tartarus stared at him. "You tortured a goddess, making her suffer, just because you could."
“It's the downside of having a physical body, you know.” Percy replied, glaring at the Primordial. "You hurt, but you can also be hurt. Or you don't know it."
The Primordial growled.
Percy had received the wound because he had attacked the Primordial, throwing a dagger, wounding him. And he was cursed back.
"You are nothing but a useless and pathetic mortal." Tartarus hissed.
"Yet none of your children managed to kill me. Not even you." Percy replied, not letting his father's hand on his arm stop him.
Because he had felt a second presence, a past blessing that he had received.
He knew that another powerful and ancient being was about to join them.
But, unlike the Primordial before him, he did not fear her.
Tartarus raised his hand, ready to kill the demigod, despite Zeus's attempt to command him to retreat, when the Styx exploded and the goddess appeared.
"Leave him alone. He doesn't belong to you."
Tartarus looked at her. “Would you claim him?”
"I allowed him to control my waters when he needed them. I gave him my blessing." Styx spoke.
"He no longer has your blessing!" Tartar screamed. "He disowned you!"
"He was tricked into doing it!" Styx replied, glaring at the god before her. "Do not deceive yourself, Tartarus. I am older than you, more powerful. You, like everyone else, are bound to fulfill your promises to me."
"I didn't swear anything." Tartarus growled.
“And I swear you will lose your domain if you even try to touch him.” Styx hissed. "The boy has my blessing. You will not touch him."
"He doesn't belong to you!" Tartarus exploded, and a female voice spoke from behind him. "And neither to you."
Percy could see how the Big Three had become more and more upset.
Tartarus wanted him dead, Styx defended him and now Nyx had appeared.
He was truly the black cat of Greek mythology.
"Sister." Tartarus spoke, his tone turning fearful.
"Perseus Jackson tortured my daughter and almost ascended into my home." Nyx spoke, bringing her gaze to Percy. "If he belongs to anyone, he belongs to me."
Percy snorted. “If I belong to anyone, actually, I belong to my father.”
Poseidon smiled at him and Nyx hissed in amusement. "Perseus Jackson, hear my promise. You will no longer suffer from the wrath of my brother. You will no longer fear pain, anxiety, terror and death. Your name will be known and cherished, and your story never forgotten."
Percy blinked, swaying under the promise and raw power that left the goddess and crashed into him.
Styx placed a gentle hand on the boy's cheek. "I can't take away your wound, my son. I'm sorry. But I can ease the pain you feel because of it."
" Do not fear death ?" Percy repeated.
Nyx smiled. "The daughter of Athena has blocked what was rightfully yours."
Percy took a step back, his hand going to Riptide and unlocking the pen, then hurting his hand.
Molten gold oozed from the wound.
Looking up, Percy saw himself reflected in his father's eyes.
His scar had turned golden.