Coming of Age Ch. 35 (Percy Jackson) (Patreon)

A/N: One fight ends. Another begins.

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“ENOUGH! DIE ADONIS!”

Percy wishes he could say he had the strength to dodge, but all he could do was raise Riptide in defiance, catching Ares’ sword on the Celestial Bronze and holding him fast for a mere fraction of a second. Then, before Percy can even blink, he finds himself being slowly but surely pushed down. The God of War’s overwhelming strength is rapidly forcing Percy lower into the water and sand that they’re fighting in, forcing him to a knee as he braces himself as best he can.

Closing his eyes tight, gritting his teeth so hard their grinding is audible even amidst the sound of blood pumping in his ears, Percy tries. He tries so fucking hard. In the end though, it’s just too much. Even with the water, even with the injury he’d dealt to Ares, Percy is simply outmatched in terms of strength. It’s frustrating, for all that he’d already realized as much earlier. The world was an unfair place, to give blowhards like Ares this much power.

He wished… he wished he could have stopped the God of War. And Kronos besides. He can only hope that someone will save his mother once he’s gone.

No sooner has that thought passed through Percy’s mind then the strangest thing happens. Ares’ strength… falters. At first, Percy thinks he’s just imagining things. Either that or it’s a trick. Ares has no reason to pull back his strength. So long as he keeps pressing down, he will eventually destroy Percy. Riptide might be able to hold off Ares’ sword, but the Celestial Bronze blade is only as strong as it’s wielder in the end.

And yet… and yet, rather than finishing Percy off, the overwhelming strength behind Ares’ sword arm begins to weaken. The godly amount of divine strength that he’s forcing down onto Percy starts to slacken. Until Percy finds himself pushing back against Ares’ blade by sheer dint of no longer being up against an unstoppable force.

“What… what is this?! Get off of me!”

Pushing up from his knee, Percy slowly opens his eyes… to the strangest sight imaginable. Ares wasn’t pulling back of his own accord. It wasn’t the singular blow that Percy had managed to deliver to his body weakening him either. Instead… instead the God of War was being dogpiled by some very familiar skeletons.

As Percy rises to his feet, he watches as skeletons wearing uniforms from every single military in the world’s history rise from the surf, from the sand itself. Clawing their way out of the earth… no, clawing their way out of the Underworld. They launch themselves at Ares the moment they’re able to, and while just one or two or even a dozen would not be enough to give the War God pause… fifty is a different story. As is a hundred. And more besides.

Percy blanches as he finds his last exchange with Ares stopped by a veritable tidal wave of skeletons cascading over the God of War, grabbing onto his limbs, pulling back his sword arm, destroying his sure footing. The Army of the Dead is rising from the depths. Percy isn’t sure whether to cheer or scream in terror. Especially given how he’d last left things off with said army’s leader.

The aura around Ares that had been evaporating water so rapidly suddenly redoubles in strength, and the skeletons holding him in place begin to… pop for a better word. As in, their skulls and the rest of their bones literally begin to explode, sending shrapnel everywhere. Percy winces and covers his face with an arm, feeling some of the bone fragments lodge themselves in his flesh. Thankfully he’s in water, so they’re pushed out and the injuries are healed rather rapidly.

Still, can the dead really hold Ares off foreve-

“So then. The boy was right. You do have my Helm.”

Ah. They never had to. In the end, they only had to hold Ares off long enough for the boss man to arrive. Percy can’t help but stare as Ares’ aura is snuffed out in an instant… or perhaps simply overwhelmed to the point of disappearing from the demigod’s senses. Rising out of a pool of shadows that makes the ocean water look as if it’s just had a massive oil spill, Hades stares at Ares contemptuously.

A flick of his wrist and the Helm of Darkness leaves its spot on Ares’ belt, flying through the air and into Hades’ waiting hands. Without a word, the Lord of the Underworld places his helm back on his head… and the sky itself darkens, the entire area seeming to tremble with his strength.

“And I see he was right about the return of my Titan Father as well. Your actions, while spurred on by your own ego and small-minded nature, are not your own.”

“ADONIS!”

Hades snorts dryly as Ares screams out his hatred and vitriol in Percy’s direction.

“Well. Not entirely your own.”

Then, the God of the Dead snaps his fingers and Ares is sucked down into a pool of darkness along with the innumerable amount of skeletons swamping his location and pinning him down. Percy, panting for breath, doesn’t know how to feel about that. On the one hand, Ares has been defeated and the Helm of Darkness has been retrieved. On the other hand, Hades had been the one to accomplish both, not Percy. And the Master Bolt still hadn’t been returned to Zeus.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire. That was the saying, wasn’t it? Just how fucking screwed were-?

“Oh, don’t look at me like that.”

Percy blinks as Hades rolls his eyes.

“Come. Keep the Bolt with you if you must. We are to go to Mount Olympus, to meet with my brothers. This is… too important to maintain the distance I have been from them.”

… What? Percy just blinks in stupefaction for a second. Where was this Hades an hour ago, when Percy had literally had to flee the Underworld and leave his mom behind just to save Clarisse and the Master Bolt? Then, it strikes him. He feels the water stirring around his legs. He looks above and sees storm clouds gathering even in the darkened sky.

Down there, in Hades’ Palace, the God of the Dead could act however he liked. He was the Lord of the Underworld after all, and in the seat of his power, he could do whatever he wanted. If a group of demigods on a quest showed up in his throne room with his brother’s Master Bolt, well, there was nothing wrong him with taking custody of it for safekeeping for a time… right?

But now… now he’d come up. And while he had a very good excuse for coming up here, in order to retrieve his Helm of Darkness from Ares and put the God of War in his place to boot, he no longer had any good reason to try and make a play for Zeus’ Master Bolt. Especially not when it seemed that the eyes of both Zeus and Poseidon were on him right now.

Percy’s mouth is dry as he finds himself whisked away. He wishes he could have brought Annabeth, Clarisse, and Grover with him but apparently it’s not meant to be. Instead it’s just him and Hades, traveling across the entirety of the United States in mere moments. Reaching the Empire State Building, Percy thinks that even if he’d come along to return the Master Bolt, he wouldn’t be able to take the path Hades does. But because Hades is with him, its an express trip straight to the top.

Mount Olympus was supposed to be a mountain in Greece. The highest mountain top, to be exact. In mythology, it was also where the Olympians held court. Well, at some point, likely in the last two hundred years given the relatively young age of the United States, the top of Mount Olympus had moved from Greece to here, to New York.

Percy didn’t pretend to know how that worked. How an entire Mountain Top could be attached to the Empire State Building, floating above New York like a massive rock just waiting to drop and nobody could see a thing. But he did know one thing… being here as he was… it was supposed to be a privilege. It didn’t feel like one though. It felt fucking suffocating.

They reach the throne room. It’s not like the one in Hades’ Palace, of course. Instead of just one throne, there are twelve… all of them built for beings the size of gods. Hades grows as he and Percy enter the room, becoming like a giant as he leaves Percy’s side and moves to take his seat. The twelve thrones are arranged in the same shape of the cabins at Camp Half-Blood, an inverted U. But only two are occupied before Hades sits down.

However, there are three gods in the Hall when Percy enters. Those seated can only be Zeus and Poseidon, each upon their own thrones with the air feeling very, very charged. But just as it feels like Percy might very well spontaneously combust from the sheer divine tension… a warmth washes over him and he finds himself making eye contact with the third god… or rather, Goddess.

Sitting on the floor with her legs swept under her in the middle of the hall is Hestia herself. Next to her, dominating the center of the throne room, is a massive central hearth pit, with a truly magnificent fire crackling away within it. Hestia doesn’t look like she even has to tend to it truth be told, but she’s doing so anyways even as she gives Percy an encouraging nod and a smile.

However… the fact that she doesn’t say a word bothers Percy more than he can really explain. Maybe because he gets the impression that she WOULD greet him… if she could.

Hades also doesn’t say a word once he’s taken his seat. Even though he brought Percy here, even though they’d walked in together… it’s like the God of the Underworld switches sides in a heartbeat, leaving Percy facing down him and his brothers all on his lonesome. Except for Hestia’s presence, Percy has no real allies here. Even his own father is silent as he stares at Percy solemnly.

Feeling… perhaps a little disgruntled by the way his first ‘quest’ has panned out, Percy moves forward with purpose. He comes to a stop in front of Zeus’ throne and pulls the Master Bolt out of the duffle bag, placing the cylinder its contained in on the ground in from of the massive Skyfather. Then, he looks Zeus in the eye.

“Kronos is coming back.”

One could hear a pin drop in the throne room at Percy’s proclamation. Zeus’ face, which could have been carved out of granite before, becomes thunderous with rage as he glares down at Percy. For a moment, Percy thinks he’s going to die. And then…

“Remove your protection from the whelp, sister. I would not harm you along with him.”

From his throne, Poseidon bristles and the air becomes tinged with the sea breeze but Zeus pays his brother no mind. Meanwhile, Percy startles when a comforting hand comes down on his shoulder and Hestia steps up beside him with a smile on her lips.

“You will have to, brother. Because I will not stand aside.”

Percy realizes then… Zeus HAD tried to kill him. Or at least, would have tried to kill him if it wasn’t for Hestia standing in the God-King’s way. The only thing staying his uncle’s hand was his aunt’s protection. And from the look on Zeus’ face, it might not stay it much longer.

“The boy is right. Kronos is trying to return.”

Hades finally interjects, sounding more amused than anything as he makes a show of lazing about on his own throne. Zeus whips his head in his brother’s direction, sneering angrily.

“You come here with the boy, bringing him and the Master Bolt and fanciful tales about our father, and you expect me to believe you? You expect me to believe that this is not a scheme by both you and Poseidon, to tear me down from my throne?!”

Hades scoffs, unperturbed by Zeus’ accusations.

“You were watching the boy’s fight with Ares, were you not? You know as well as I that I had nothing to do with any of that.”

“Feh! A nice little play, to lull me into complacency! And where is Ares now, hm? You would claim he’s under our father’s influence, while hiding him away so that he cannot expose you as the true mastermind behind this scheme!”

Finally, Poseidon speaks. In his voice, Percy hears just as much fury and rage as Zeus carries, but a little bit more restrained. As if Poseidon is trying to hold back in order to keep the peace.

“What would be the point, brother? If we were truly plotting against you, would Hades not have stopped Percy from returning your Master Bolt?!”

At that, Zeus’ eyes fall upon the cylinder at the foot of his throne. With a flick of his wrist, it rises and comes apart. The Master Bolt crackles within, growing in size until it slots itself into one of his gargantuan palms. For a moment, he looks almost… placated. His eyes drift shut as he communes with the divine artifact. He doesn’t smile, but his face does calm somewhat.

Then, his eyes open and they blaze with power. His voice is a little bit more subdued, but no less aggressive and confrontational.

“And what does it change if Kronos is trying to once more free himself? He has been stopped before and he will be stopped again. There is still the matter of the whelp.”

Percy can’t help but be a little annoyed at constantly being referred to as ‘whelp’ and ‘boy’. In the eyes of most modern civilizations, he’s been a full-fledged adult for months. But he supposes in the eyes of a bunch of millennia-old gods, he would be nothing more than a whelp.

Poseidon growls from his throne.

“That ‘whelp’ is my son.”

Zeus snarls.

“You would claim him even now, in defiance of our sacred oath?”

But Poseidon refuses to back down.

“I would.”

Hissing, the Skyfather glares at Percy.

“Think carefully on this brother. He is not merely of your blood. He is more than that. And now he has bathed in divine ichor. He is…”

Zeus stops there but Percy can almost hear the words left unsaid. He is a threat, maybe? He is a risk? How though? Percy understood he was a reincarnation. He now knew he was the reincarnation of Adonis as well. And yeah, he’d felt a little weird when Ares’ blood had splattered all over him. It hadn’t stayed on his skin either, but rather disappeared from his body. Or rather… been absorbed?

Still… was Zeus afraid of him? Afraid of what he was? Or what he could potentially become?