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Annabeth Chase was amazing.
She was known by demigods and monsters alike, the blonde-haired woman who could rival the goddess Athena herself when it came to intelligence. It was said that her eyes could pierce straight through you, analyze every piece of you in seconds, know your inner working and deepest, safest secrets.
Percy Jackson was invincible.
None could even call him a god for he had conquered those. Time would not wipe away the son of Poseidon, he would not slowly rot away to nothingness, fall and crumble like the gods that came before. He had grown strong, earned the strength that he wielded like a birthright and would never falter.
Together they could destroy the gods.
Ruin them, force them to their knees and watch the life fade from their eyes as the all-powerful whimpered, breathed pleads out between dying lips. They could rebuild the holy land that made Olympus, reshape it to their view. If they so wished they could melt the gold foundations, lead nations as they held hands and smiled. Because they had surely been through much worse.
But they did not rule.
Instead, they willingly put down the weapons that had protected them for so long. Went to school, worried about grades and newly dug graves. They joined clubs and survived with their hand's firmly grasped together, callouses pressed together. Woke from nightmares filled with red and screams, learned to comfort each other and make the best coffee because dreamless nights were few and far between. Life went on and they learned to be happy again, live, perhaps even smile from time to time.
But heartbreak can be such a powerful thing.
And Percy Jackson continued to rub circles into the back of his lover’s hand even long after it was seeped of all warmth. Kissed her bloody lips one last time and remembered the way she had rasped his name over and over again.
“Percy”
“Percy”
“Percy?”
Remembered how the last thing on her lips had been his name and the sticky red that bubbled and spilled onto her chin.
He had begged-screamed-pleaded to the gods to save her. He had saved them all so many times, why did he deserve this?
What had he done?
Why did they refuse to save her?
They could kill so easily, why not heal as well?
Why did it hurt so bad?
It hurt...
Oh gods, it hurt...
So bad...
He had long since stopped crying, falling asleep in the frigid embrace of his once-lover.
When he awoke his shirt was soaked with blood and his hands were stained red, Annabeth’s gore would not come un-stuck from underneath his nails for a very long time.
The gods would come to regret this decision.
They thought that perhaps if they struck down the girl, Percy would follow. Heartbreak and loss would force him to give up, crack and crumble under the weight of his grief, for she was the one that gave him power and courage. Without her, there would no longer be the constant threat that was Percy Jackson.
But the gods were wrong.
Annabeth did not give Percy power and courage, she gave him a constant in his ever-changing life, was something that he could always count on. She gave him love and the ability to care for the gods and their stupidly destructive creations.
When morning came New Rome was silent.
Not a scream or sprinting footsteps, not even a breath could be heard.
New Rome had fallen.
It had been so easy. Percy hadn’t even had to try, all he had to do was... let go. Let the rain swell up in clouds and pelt the ground with such a force that it left bruises, flooded streets, filed the lungs of adults and children alike.
A little girl no older than five stood on the pavement of uneven stone, alone, wailing for her mommy, but the yelling was soon snuffed out by desperate gasps for air as Riptide made itself known to her lungs and rib cage.
Turned out her name was Mia; it was the last things her mother muttered before collapsing in her own vomit.
Corpses laid strewn across the pavement, bent at horrifying angles. Bones peeked through skin as blood and shit and numerous other bodily substances splattered the pavement. Bodies and faces were unrecognizable, Annabeth’s must have been somewhere among the wreckage, but it would have been impossible to find among the thousands that made up New Rome.
Percy had destroyed a whole civilization in minutes.
He had done it all with a bent, crazed smile on his lips and tears in unseeing eyes, streaming down cheeks and joining the water that pooled around his feet.
Percy Jackson was no god, but he was going to end them.