Chapter Text
Collections/Challenges: Whumptober, Day 21 (+ 22 and 23)
Prompt(s): “Sold my soul, broke my bones.” | Kneeling, “All the battles I want to win, nothing matters but giving in.” | Collar, “How’d I get to this place?” | Choking
Character(s): Jason, OC
Rating: Teen
Summary: Jason went to sleep in his own bed and woke up in a concrete cell. How he got there? He doesn’t know. As for why he’s there?
Well, to fight other demigods to the death, of course.
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Jason woke up to a raging headache. His brain was pulsing with every beat of his heart and sending sharp, stabbing, needle-like pain behind his eyes. He groaned, bringing a hand to his head, cradling his skull like that might help at all.
(It didn’t, but he could pretend it did.)
He cracked open his eyes, blinking blearily. His vision swam into focus and he realized with a start that he was staring at a musty concrete ceiling, not the dorm ceiling he’d been looking at before bed. This ceiling appeared to be stained—red, yellow and white—with what? Who knows. In fact, Jason was sure that he didn’t want to know.
He shifted, turning his head to the side. Concrete walls met up with concrete floors, all of it worn down and stained.
He was lying in a concrete box.
(At least that explained why the floor under his back was so hard.)
He pushed himself upright, his brain finally kicking into gear. Where was he? How did he get here? He went to sleep in his own bed last night—how in Tartarus did he end up in this place?
Briefly, he wondered if this was some sort of sick prank Leo and Percy decided to pull. If so, it wasn’t funny, and he was going to kill those two once he got out.
(Unfortunately for him, he doubted that his friends had anything to do with this.)
The floor under his hands was cold, practically chilling him to the bone. With some trouble and one near-fall, he finally managed to pull himself to his feet. The room was small, roughly 10 by 10. No windows, no bed, nothing but a giant metal door with three separate locks.
(Because two clearly wasn’t enough, right?)
After his brain finished waking up, he realized there was something around his neck. Solid and secure, but not enough to choke him or be uncomfortable. He tried tugging at it, but he was barely able to fit a finger under the metal.
He ran his hands along the edges. It wasn’t anything fancy, simple steel most likely, but he could tell there was something else. A vibration, a frequency—something.
He dropped his hands, his eyes narrowing in both confusion and annoyance.
“Hello?” He called out. Nothing replied but his own voice, echoing around the cell.
He frowned, glancing around the room for a potential weak point. Maybe he could send a lightning bold into one of the thinner parts of the concrete? Maybe he could blow it all up and high tail it out of there? It seemed far fetched, but it’s not like he could do anything else.
He planted his feet and took a deep breath—except, when he tried to summon his lighting, it didn’t work.
He didn’t have his powers.
After a brief moment of panic, he concluded that it must be because of the collar around his neck.
He was trapped. Properly trapped. Powerless and alone.
Well, fuck.
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He wasn’t sure how much time passed before someone finally entered the cell. The guy wasn’t anything special; an average looking man with a plain black t-shirt and jeans. Black hair. Brown eyes. Pale skin.
He opened the door, beckoning Jason out of the cell with a blank face. Jason carefully got up from where he’d been sitting, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Who are you?” He asked. “Where am I? How’d I get to this place?”
The other man only smiled, holding out his arm like he was welcoming Jason into his home. Jason didn’t appreciate the gesture.
Nonetheless, he cautiously stepped forward, walking past the other man. He stopped outside the cell and waited while his new.. acquaintance, locked the door. He debated attacking him while his back was turned but ultimately decided not too. There were too many unknown variables, and while Jason may be a good fighter, his skills at hand to hand combat were definitely rusty.
The man finished up, turning to lead him down a hallway without a word. Jason hesitated for a second before he reluctantly followed behind. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, doors lining the walls every fifteen feet or so. It reminded him of a high security prison—specifically being placed in solitary—but he knew whatever was going on here had to be much more sinister.
He was led through dimly lit corridors, past too many metal doors to count, until they finally reached another door. Bigger, probably reinforced, but pretty and intricate nevertheless. If Jason didn’t know better, he’d say it looked like the entrance to a castle. Though, he doubted a grand hall awaited him on the other side.
The man he was with pushed open the doors with a surprising amount of ease, and the first thing Jason registered was the screaming of some sort of crowd. Loud, shrieking and cheering like they were watching their favourite sports game.
Jason paled at the implications.
The door finally opened, revealing a gigantic sand arena. It had to be two hundred feet long at least. There were ten foot walls on the edges, and stadium seats that went up another fifty or so. The stands were filled with people. Men, women—even children.
He felt himself get pushed into the arena before the doors slammed shut behind him. Eyes were on him in an instant, the crowd quieting down almost as fast. That’s when he realized that someone else had been shoved in the arena too. Another man, from what he could see. He was too far away to make out any defining features, but he looked similarly built to Jason.
His stomach was sinking with every passing second. Before he could even think properly about what was going on, there was a booming voice echoing around the stadium.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” It was a male, higher pitched, clearly seasoned at this job. “Welcome back to the Demigod Trials, and say hello to the first of four fights on today’s agenda!”
Jason paused. There was no way he heard that right, right? There was no way—
Apparently there was way, because the voice kept talking. “Your contenders this round will be..”
Jason watched a spotlight (where the fuck was that even coming from?) shine down on his opponent, bathing him in a bright light. “No-o-oah Martin, son of Ares!”
The spotlight stayed put on Noah for a good second while people screamed nonsensically. After the cheering died down, it vanished, and Jason’s own personal spotlight shone down on him. “Aaand secondly, your soon-to-be favourite, the very man who toppled Krios’s throne, one of the great seven himself: Jason Grace, so-o-on of Jupiter!”
A sudden barrage of nonsensical shrieking and screaming assaulted his ears without a care in the world. He swore he almost went deaf with how quickly the crowd erupted. Not only that, but the spotlight was practically blinding him, forcing him to squint as he looked out at the crowd with a grimace.
“We all know you know the rules.” The voice continued, almost playfully. “But these newbies sure don’t! So let’s start from the top, shall we? First up, this is a fight to the death! You don’t get to leave this arena until your opponent stops breathing.”
Jason felt like the air got punched out of his chest (hey, maybe that would count towards someone who had to stop breathing.). He should’ve known—and maybe part of him had, but hearing it out loud was a whole other ballpark of horror.
“The second rule is that there are no other rules!” Of course, because how in Tartarus could you regulate something like a fight to the death? “We don’t care what you do, we don’t care if you cheat, kick each other while you’re down, or give up. Even if that would suck… we don’t care! Do what you have to do to survive.”
Jason briefly wondered how many people had given up. Then he wondered how many people had outright killed themselves so they wouldn’t have to die at someone else’s hands.
Not that Jason himself would ever do that, but he could understand why.
“The battle will commence in one minute! Contenders, you will both be provided with a sword, no shields. Do your best, and above all, try to survive!”
The speaker crackled and then the voice was gone, replaced with a robotic countdown. Two swords were dropped from above (again, where were these things coming from—) and Jason jogged over to grab his from where it had fallen in the sand.
Fifty six seconds left. Fifty six seconds to come up with a game plan to kill another human being.
Gods, how did this happen? He didn’t want to fight; he didn’t even want to be here, but he clearly didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t afford to play the peace card. He needed to survive to get out, and if he wanted to survive…
He tightened his mouth into a thin line. He had no choice but to kill Noah.
He studied the sword. It wasn’t bronze or gold, but regular steel. It wasn’t too heavy, evenly balanced, roughly three feet in length. He could work with this, he was easily the best swordsmen he knew asides from Percy, but his opponent was a son of Ares. He probably knew how to use a sword like the back of his hand if he was trained properly—if Jason wanted to win, he’d need more than just skill and a prayer.
Forty seconds left. His mind was racing. Maybe he could try to avoid him? Have Noah tire himself out so that Jason had a better chance? No, he was probably fast, he could easily take off his head or stab him in the back if given the right opportunity. He couldn’t let him get too close.
Thirty three seconds left. He studied the arena. There was nothing but sand and concrete. Jason could always throw sand at his opponent, but that seemed unfair even if they said cheating was allowed.
Thirty seconds left. He glanced at his opponent. Maybe he was just overthinking everything? Maybe this was an unskilled demigod who didn’t even know he was a son of Ares until this very moment, maybe he’d never touched a sword in his life, maybe he’d do Jason a favour and kill himself before Jason had to.
Twenty six seconds left. Jason couldn’t afford to underestimate his opponent. Even if he he’d never touched a sword before, Jason didn’t know that. Noah just as likely was a sword wiz, a fearsome opponent who would play up his inexperience in order to one up Jason.
Twenty one seconds left. The only thing Jason could rely on was that Noah knew that Jason was someone of importance. Even if Noah had never heard of him before, he’d be able to infer that he was strong. Powerful. A good fighter. Maybe he could use that somehow? He wasn’t sure how, but he could probably think of something...
Sixteen seconds left. Maybe he could attack him head on? Jason was a skilled swordsman, strong, agile, fearsome. He was a bit rusty from being at school for the past few months, but sword-fighting was just like riding a bike. All muscle memory. It would come back to him in no-time… probably.
Twelve seconds left. He let out a sharp exhale. This was really happening. He was likely to be a murderer within the next ten minutes, or he’d be dead. Again.
It would probably be fine, right?
Ten seconds left. He planted his feet.
Nine seconds now. He tightened the grip on his sword.
Eight seconds. The audience was murmuring.
Seven seconds. He crouched ever so slightly.
Six seconds. He shifted his weight onto his back leg.
Five. He brought the sword up in front of him.
Four. His heart was beating out of his chest.
Three. The audience was dead quiet.
Two. Jason took a deep breath.
One.
The fight was on.
At first, he didn’t move. Instead, he waited, watching to see what Noah would do. He studied Noah’s form, could see even from a distance that he held the sword properly, his stance was perfect and he looked completely relaxed.
So he was right, he’s definitely been trained before. The real question now was how well could he fight?
Jason narrowed his eyes at his opponent. Noah seemed to be doing the same as Jason, studying him, likely looking for weak points. That sucked for him because Jason refused to give him any.
He took a step forward, then another. He watched Noah do the same. Unfortunately (or fortunately) with the sheer size of the arena, it took them a good twenty seconds to be within fighting distance.
Now that he could properly see his opponent, he stopped; so did Noah. He was definitely older than Jason, maybe early to mid twenties? His hair was brown, his eyes smouldering black. He had a prominent scar on his left cheek, was at least two inches taller than Jason, and much bigger.
(Jason didn’t even want to think about how strong this dude might be if the size of his forearms were anything to go by.)
Regardless, Jason didn’t waver. A bigger target should mean that it would be easier to land a blow, right? He kept his sword up and his feet planted, waiting for Noah to move. He watched Noah squint his eyes, give his body a once over (to which he had the audacity to laugh), and charge.
Jason held his ground. He’d gone through more difficult battles. This couldn’t be worse than fighting Gaea or Porphyrion by any means, and if he could survive that, he could survive this.
Once Noah was close enough he swung his sword in a wide arc, aiming for his neck. Jason ducked, stepping to the side before responding with his own slash. Noah jumped back, looking at Jason with an almost manic smile.
Oh, no, was this dude enjoying this?
Noah didn’t waste any time before he started assaulting Jason with a barrage of blows. Slashes, stabs, feints and parries. Every swing held enough force to cut through bone in one blow, at least, that’s what it felt like. Noah was quickly forcing Jason into a defensive position and he did not appreciate it.
Jason deflected one of the blows aimed for his chest, using his momentary opening to slash at his stomach. Noah was too close to fully dodge it despite stepping back, and Jason watched his shirt tear open, cutting a thin line into his skin.
Noah looked down for a second before huffing out a laugh, looking back up at Jason with a grin. “Good one.”
So he did enjoy this. Good to know that this battle was about to get so much worse.
The next few minutes were a blur of adrenaline and muscle memory. If he thought Noah was fast before, now he was moving like a beast. His arms were moving so quickly that Jason could barely keep track of where the sword was. He spent more time deflecting than he did actually attacking Noah, which was honestly infuriating.
Neither of them had managed to land another hit so far and he could tell the crowd was getting antsy. Hell, Jason was getting antsy.
“Come on Jason! Is that all you got? And here I thought you were one of the great seven.” Noah was smirking, clearly trying to get a rise out of him. Instead Jason grit his teeth, dodging yet another blow aimed for his head.
At first, he hadn’t wanted to kill Noah. Now? He wasn’t even sure if he could.
“Where the hell were you during the war.” He muttered quietly. Jason would bet actual money that this man could fight Chrysoar and win.
He must’ve been distracted because the next thing Jason knew there was a sharp pain across his temple. He stumbled back but he could already feel the warm blood running down his face. He could hear the crowds collective gasp, but a second later and most of them were cheering. Jason did his best to ignore the noise and brought a hand up, trying to wipe away the blood. Unfortunately, more immediately took its place, pouring down his face and into his right eye.
(Head wounds are just amazing, aren’t they?)
“Yeah. You don’t look so great to me.” Noah snorted, wiping Jason’s blood off the sword with his thumb.
He heard the crowd “oooh” at that, and he clenched his free hand, his anger rising much faster than usual.
You know what? Fine. If he wanted a fight, Jason would give him a fight.
Despite the blood in his eye, he immediately took the offensive, lunging at Noah with a shout. He wanted to wipe that stupid smirk off his face as soon as possible.
He feigned a stab at his stomach, relying on his opponent’s basic urge to block so he could change his trajectory, turning his wrist ever so slightly to slash up instead, slicing a line into Noah’s wrist.
The son of Ares blinked, but Jason didn’t let him process what happened, instead dealing a dozen blows in quick succession. His eye may be stinging and useless, but that didn’t stop him from pressing forward, closing the distance between them.
For the first time since they started their fight, Noah was faltering. Surprised and too slow.
Jason went for a neck shot, confident that he could connect, but found himself on his ass before he could even blink. He just barely managed to avoid getting stabbed in the face, rolling over to the side. He got on all fours, grabbing a fist full of sand before he turned himself around to throw it at his opponent’s eyes. Noah realized what he’d done too late, unable to close his eyes in time. He immediately rubbed at the dirt, letting out a frustrated—but very pained—yell.
There, now they were both blind.
(Jason ignored the laughter rippling around the crowd.)
Noah blinked a few times before growling, scrubbing his eyes once more before he forced them open. Jason was in the process of trying to get up but was met with a harsh kick to his chest, sending him sprawling. Noah started swinging his sword wildly, slashes and stabs that were getting a little too close for comfort, forcing Jason to crawl backwards.
Another swing came down for his face and he instinctively blocked with his forearm. He felt the flesh split open, blood running down his skin and falling to the floor. Another slash and Jason was practically on his back.
He needed to do something—
Noah’s sword arced down again and Jason reacted on instinct. He turned at the last second, rolling to the side before he whipped around, stabbing Noah in the stomach.
The room went dead silent.
Jason was breathing raggedly, staring at the weapon embedded in Noah’s flesh. Noah was too, his face turned towards his stomach like he couldn’t believe what Jason had done.
Jason wasn’t sure he could believe it either.
He pulled the blade out with a wet sound and Noah gasped, grabbing at his stomach. Just as Jason got to his feet with a shaky exhale, Noah was collapsing to his knees with a hiss. Blood was already coating his hands. Thick, red. Jason faltered.
He could just leave him to bleed out, but part of him felt like that was the cowards way out—and it would mean a lot more pain for his opponent. he watched Noah, kneeling, covered in his own blood, sand in his eyes…
Was it worth it to mercy kill him?
It looked like Noah was thinking the same thing—or maybe he just wanted Jason to finish things now rather than having everyone wait for the natural progression of bleeding out—staring at Jason with a defeated look.
“Do it.” He choked out, blood dribbling down his chin. Jason’s finger twitched and he held the sword tighter, pointedly ignoring the blood dripping off the blade. Noah smiled, a big grin that showed off his blood stained teeth.
“Do it Jason.”
Jason stood still for a second before he brought the sword up in front of him. Noah closed his eyes. He heard the crowds intake of breath, hovering at the edge of their seats.
“I’m sorry.” Jason muttered. The only thing he’d said so far. The last thing Noah would here.
He slashed through his throat.
Jason watched, detached, as Noah’s eyes snapped open. He brought a shaking hand up to his throat while he made gurgling sounds no human should ever make. He was trying to suck in air that wouldn’t come, gasping, gagging, choking on his blood—then nothing. His eyes glazed over, his bloodied hands went limp, and he slumped forward.
The crowd erupted with celebration, screaming, hollaring, whistling. The works.
Jason could only stare at the body. This person who was alive only a second ago, dead. This demigod Jason had only just met, who had been so full of life…
Dead.
The blood was pooling in the sand, a rich, bright red that would forever taint every Christmas to come.
His sword fell from his hands.
Jason felt numb.