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Percy twirled riptide in pen form between his fingers. He stared out at the destruction he had caused. Mt. Olympus lay in rubble, the gods were bound at the foot of their thrones, golden ichor spilling from their wounds
He would toss them in Tartarus and see how they liked it. They had not cared that demigods had had to traverse the depths of the evil pit. They had not cared as they sent demigods to die, to fight their wars. It had been this way since the gods took control of the earth from the Titans. It was time the gods felt what it was like to be conquered, to be considered nothing more than something that had once been.
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Ever since he had found Annabeth… He closed his eyes. He had been visiting his mother when there had been another prophecy. A quest specifically for the children of Athena. It had supposedly been urgent and Annabeth had been commanded to leave along with two of her siblings. When he had made it back to camp they told him she had gone.
He followed. He would join her on her quest. He wouldn’t let her be alone, even if she was with two of her siblings. After Tartarus they had vowed to do things together. He tracked them and by evening he came across a battleground. There was gold dust and blood everywhere.
He came across the two sons of Athena first. Percy could tell, even before he got close that they were dead.
But where was– no. He ran to her side, collapsing on his knees beside her. No no no. She couldn’t be– she wasn’t–
But Percy knew. Her blood was no longer flowing, he could no longer feel its rhythm beneath her skin. How could the gods have done this to her? Hadn’t she already done enough? Hadn’t they done enough?
But this is who the gods were, Percy knew. Ancient beings who would never see the value in a single human life. Maybe all the gods didn’t see them as pawns, but in the great scheme of their existence, what was one feeble human life compared to their plans that spanned centuries?
Percy wept.
He had forgiven them for Luke, made them promise to acknowledge their children. They hadn’t kept it. He had fought in another war for them. And they still didn’t care. They were soldiers meant for battle, to die in the name of the gods. And they were meant to be grateful.
Percy was done being compliant, done being forgiving, done trying to be understanding. The gods had taken too much from him, and they would only continue to take more.
He felt the roar of water underneath him, felt energy in the earth beneath him, felt the ebb and flow of life in the blood of the animals around him.
He was not the weak boy who had first stumbled into camp, and he was not the young man who held back his powers for the sake of the one he loved. He was Percy Jackson. And he was ready to bring justice.
Annabeth was dead, but he would do his best to make sure the rest of the demigods survived.