Koyaanisqatsi
And so it finally begins. The real story. One last dose of cold reality for our beloved heroes, and then the war begins.
The title of this chapter is not a made-up word. It actually has a rather fun story to it. I was watching Scrubs clips on YouTube recently, and one of them was a scene where the janitor was giving Dorian the evil eye. Ominous, dramatic music was playing over the scene, a single word being sung, which was the title. After some searching, the word is actually the name of a movie, and the word is the title of the movie’s main theme. The word comes from the Hopi language, meaning in various ways the same thing: crazy life, life in turmoil, life disintegrating, life out of balance, and a state of life that calls for another way of living.
You can find the soundtrack for yourself.
Given all these translations, and the tone of the music, I found it to be perfect for this chapter.
Let us begin.
Disclaimer: I don’t own PJO or any other crossovers featured herein
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20-year-old Leo Valdez had let his beard grow out to the point where he wasn’t carded when ordering or buying alcohol. However, even if he didn’t have a beard and mustache, the tired, defeated look in his eyes, and the weariness of his face, and the way his shoulders slumped would’ve convinced anyone that he was easily old enough to drink, because he had all the aura of a beaten down man in his late 30s.
Two years since the shop burned down, and four years in total since the summer of the Imperial War, and Leo was nowhere near the amount of money he needed to repair the old shop, much less buy the property to build his own, much much less to buy the property, build upon it, fully equip it, and then staff it. The glaring, harsh reality staring Leo in the face was that he was never going to own his shop after all. That his dream was forever going to remain just that, a dream.
Sometimes he wondered if he was being punished for something. Like, he was meant to go follow in Piper’s footsteps and use his powers for the greater good, and because he wasn’t doing that, because he was trying to be a mechanic, currently spending his days as a traveling mechanic, fixing everything from weed eaters to recreational airplanes, that some divine agent was punishing him. Maybe the Fates, maybe God Almighty, or maybe this was some curse from some enemy Leo had made back in his questing days. However, even if Leo’s misery was the result of his negligence in being a superhero, it still wasn’t enough to convince him to try and find Piper, ask her if it wasn’t too late for him to help her.
Oh, Piper…
Leo hadn’t heard from her in a year. Not since she was a year into her crusade and personally came to him to plead her case to get him to help her, because, in her own desperate words, things were bad. At the time, Leo had denied her. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Piper had been hurt, betrayed, and even furious in a broken sort of way, but she had left him to his devices.
Leo hadn’t seen or heard from her since, but he could certainly track her progress. The news these days was almost rife with stories of slaughtered criminals—cartels, gangs, illegals, human traffickers, drug dealers, and more—and stories of politicians, corporate executives, and celebrities having evidence brought against them of heinous misdeeds, and then being found murdered in gruesome fashion. Piper was certainly on the move, and she was certainly getting results.
Crime was at the lowest it had ever been since the government started keeping records of criminal activity. Workers across the nation were reporting that they were being treated in the best, fairest ways they had ever been treated. The economy was setting record highs given that the government had basically been cleansed in a bloodbath, and the politicians that were in power were actually acting on behalf of the people they represented. Mostly out of fear of being torn apart by some malevolent force in the darkness, but hey.
Positive results were positive results.
Though, obviously, the world still wasn’t perfect, as Leo could personally attest.
The young man that once fought tooth and nail to save the shithole world he lived in downed another glass of vodka. He reached for the bottle on the table, and was quite unhappy to find that he had emptied it. Along with the other bottle he already bought. Leo pinched the bridge of his nose.
His demigod body gave him a great immune system, and also a great liver. He could get drunk, but it was really hard for that to happen given how fast his body could flush the alcohol through his system. A great example being right now.
Leo left the table, barely buzzed after two bottles of vodka, and made his way to the restroom. A remarkably clean place given the setting, to be fair. The son of Hephaestus got his pants and underwear out of the way enough to be able to aim without making a mess, and relaxed his sphincter.
The golden fluid caused a lightbulb to go off in Leo’s head.
Gold.
He had an old friend that was great with gold.
The next instant Leo had access to a rainbow, he tossed in a drachma and asked Iris for Hazel.
Luckily, she and Frank were on a stroll together, which, while somewhat not cool to interrupt their moment together, was a lot better than having caught Hazel in the shower, or on the toilet, or in the middle of making love. Four years after the Imperial, and the wholesome couple was looking fantastic. 20-year-old Frank was a mountain of cut, lean mass, his body having finally evened out, and 18-year-old Hazel was a beauty, puberty and her physical demanding lifestyle having worked well together to craft the ideal female physique.
This would be the first time the three of them had talked in almost a year.
Life had really done to the Seven what life does to everyone: slowly pull them apart.
“Uh, h-hey,” Leo stuttered, nerves frayed and emotions running high.
Frank and Hazel both jumped, drawing weapons, but they almost dropped them at seeing Leo.
“Leo!” Hazel shouted, excited then horrified to see how worn out Leo was.
“Dude,” Frank breathed.
“Y-Yep,” Leo tried for a smile. “Life’s, uh…life’s kicking me pretty hard right now. Still can’t get enough money raised for the shop, Calypso and I aren’t talking right now…we’re taking a break…and, uh…”
Leo struggled to make himself say it. His bright idea suddenly seemed horrible. His sense of pride had finally come back to him. How could he do this? How could he have sunk so low? Begging for money? Really? Asking Hazel if she could send him some gold and jewels now that her curse was lifted so he could use them for the shop? It wasn’t like Hazel was going to say no, she would definitely say yes, and Leo supposed that was the problem.
Taking advantage of his best friend’s generosity.
“Never mind,” Leo said. He waved his hand through the Iris Message, ignoring their cries of wait.
He sighed heavily, and then nearly pissed his pants when Hazel and Frank burst from the shadows of his bedroom in the Waystation.
“¡¿Qué diablos?!” Leo shrieked.
Hazel stared at him. “I’ve been practicing with magic. I was able to trace the magic signal through the IM, and I’ve gotten a lot better with shadow-travel.”
Leo swallowed. “I can see that.”
“What’s going on, Leo?” Frank asked. His voice had gotten a lot deeper.
Considering that they were just right here, the three of them actually together again—just the three of them, the two that Leo had trusted with his life so many years ago—Leo’s previous reservations, mere seconds old, evaporated. His emotional wall came tumbling down like Jericho, and he told his old friends everything that had happened since graduation.
After everything was said and done, Hazel already had gold nuggets and uncut gemstones in her hands.
Caught up in the hope and euphoria of the moment, the three of them completely lost their rational minds. Frank and Hazel shadow-traveled back to New Rome, and Leo took his newfound treasure to a jewelry store. Things spiraled out of control from there because the police showed up.
“Sir, can you please explain where you got your hands on all this stuff?”
“Er…”
Leo drew a complete blank, and so he snapped his fingers, warping the Mist with the skills he’d learned under Jo. One problem: the Mist didn’t warp.
The officers stared at Leo, their eyes narrowing. “What was that supposed to be?” the lead of the two asked.
Leo’s pulse skyrocketed. If the Mist was on the fritz, and he couldn’t magic his way out of this scot-free, then that meant—oh, gods, what did that mean? Why was the Mist broken? How was he supposed to explain this pile of riches and not go to jail for theft or something?
Leo didn’t know, but he did know that he had only ever had sour experiences with police, and though the better part of him said that not all police were scum, and that the media was prone to lying about the behavior of the police, it was the bad part of Leo that was speaking loudest. Bad Leo was saying run!
And so Leo bolted. In a grand display of what a fully realized demigod could do, Leo went from standing still to moving at over 30mph. He bowled through the officers, knocking them flat on their backs so hard they lost their wind, gasping like fish on the dock, and rammed the front doors in such a way that while they didn’t shatter on impact and flay him alive with all the broken glass, they did get torn off the hinges and explode on contact with the walls.
Leo was sprinting down the street, outpacing the evening traffic (yes, this whole episode had only taken place from afternoon to evening). With the click of a button to the watch on his wrist, Festus was soaring to his location. With a big boy jump, Leo was ascending well over a three-story building, and the bronze dragon scooped him up midair.
It would be three hours before Leo returned to the Waystation after flying outside the city, the sun gone from the sky, replaced with the moon, but it didn’t matter. His was face all over the Indianapolis evening news.
The real concern, however, was why the Mist wasn’t working.
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In New Rome, things were arguably even more depressing. Living in the city—city being used loosely to describe a community that once boasted a population of 318, but was now barely scraping 120—was not free. Taxes and bills were still a thing, and though Percy and Annabeth were able to live in their apartment for free given that they were college students—sadly, NRU never reopened during their collegiate career, and so they were stuck at UCB the whole time—graduating college with their bachelor’s degrees meant their special status was null and void.
They had to pay bills now, had to pay taxes, and had to endure the job hunt. A great mouthful of that normal life away from gods and monsters that they so desperately craved and had fought to earn. They could’ve just asked Hazel to spot them some money, but like all decent people, they weren’t about that life. Though, considering Annabeth got her degree in architecture and Percy got his degree in marine biology, enjoying a similar power to Leo with machines but with aquatic creatures, it should have been easy to find a job.
But this was California.
And the modern economy of Fall 2024 as of this chapter.
22-year-old Percy Jackson walked into the apartment, his shift over for the day, his high-viz long-sleeve shirt covered in dirt, his jeans equally dirty, his hair matted from his hardhat, and his face also covered in dirt. With his degree in marine biology, Percy ended up being a construction worker making $22 an hour. Not the worst job, and he had already established himself as indispensable, what with the fact that he was always at the job site early, was willing to stay late to get the job done, and with his greater strength and stamina due to being a seasoned demigod, he could work more and work harder than his coworkers and not get exhausted.
Water bottles also were a big help.
“Hey, Annabeth,” Percy greeted, not tired in the physical sense, but emotionally and mentally.
He hadn’t gone to college after fighting hundreds of monsters, achieved a degree in marine biology, just to end up working his ass off in construction. Call it the sin of pride, or maybe call it a sense of self-worth, but Percy felt cheated and slighted. He was worth more than mere construction, at the mercy of the clock. He was deserving of more. He had earned more.
Though, as disgruntled as Percy was with having to work a fulltime blue-collar job, he was nowhere near as almost clinically depressed as Annabeth was.
Annabeth looked up from her laptop, her eyes sunken and red. She’d been crying again.
“More rejections?” Percy asked solemnly.
Annabeth nodded. “I just…I don’t understand it. I graduated summa cum laude. I have relevant internship experience with an architecture firm. I have letters of recommendation from my old boss and all of my professors. I am officially certified in AutoCAD, ArchiCAD, Inventor, Revit, and SolidWorks. In my portfolio are the blueprints and 3D models I made of the gods’ temples on Olympus, all of which were highly praised by my professors for their detail, documentation, and complexity, and my resumé was reviewed by said professors and my old boss, so it was fine-tuned by several experienced professionals—why the fuck can’t I get a job in architecture!?”
Annabeth was breathing heavily, her rant turning into a shout, and then she kept going, letting it all flow out of her.
“It’s supposed to be easy now! All the quests, the wars, the death, school—everything we went through—it’s supposed to mean that everything falls into place! No more monsters hunting us, no more gods coming to bother us with menial tasks, no more quests—just-” she choked and tried again “-just the two of us, finally getting to live our lives…normal lives…like normal people…”
Annabeth released a mirthless chuckle. “I guess this is normal life. Normal human life, anyway. Getting cheated, screwed over, dealing with injustice, unfairness, and general bullshit day in and day out. Got college degrees, and they’re not doing a damn thing to get us hired and start careers in the things we went to college for…just…fuck.”
Annabeth looked at Percy, her eyes reflecting her broken soul. “Are we being punished? Like, is this a punishment? That we’re stuck in this depressing nightmare instead of living the good life we were expecting and hoping for, because we’re not out there helping Piper drastically reduce the world population? Is the Fates rendering judgement upon us for not adhering to that whole power and responsibility thing? Is this Zeus and/or Hera still messing with us? You know, I haven’t actually stepped in manure since we started college, but this is way worse. I-I mean…should we call Piper? Ask if she’s got, like, openings or something?”
Annabeth looked down. “I guess we were naïve fools. Hardly anything in our lives ever went right, so why would things start going right for us now? It only makes sense that things would forever continue going wrong for us. We’re just doomed to life of constant misery, aren’t we?”
Percy winced. His heart absolutely ached in his chest for his beloved, and he hated himself for not being able to do anything for her.
What made it so much worse were the words of Piper from a year ago.
“I’m begging you two! I’ve seen part of what’s going to happen, and if you don’t come with me now, the only thing that’s going to happen to you two is more pain and suffering. We’re not meant to ‘fade away into obscurity’ or whatever. We need to be doing more, and I need your help.”
“I’m sorry, Piper,” Annabeth said resolutely, “but no. Percy and I have been thinking and talking about it ourselves, and we…just don’t want to do that stuff. We just want to go to college, get jobs, eventually start our own family, and just live.”
Percy, standing next to Annabeth, nodded in agreement with everything she said.
Piper stepped away from the door, her eyes heavy, embittered, and angry. “I don’t mean this as your enemy, but I can promise you will regret this.”
Annabeth’s mouth set into a thin line. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “Good luck.”
Piper left, and that was the last time they’d heard or seen her.
Percy and Annabeth couldn’t say for certain that they’d be happier if they were running with Piper, but they knew for certain that they weren’t happy now.
The alarm on Annabeth’s phone went off, telling her she had an hour before she needed to be at work for her evening-into-closing shift. The simple chime brought fresh tears to her eyes, and Percy was bringing her into his arms as quick as he could.
“It’ll get better,” he tried to promise.
Annabeth nodded against his chest, and then disengaged to put on her uniform. She emerged a few minutes later, wearing black pants, a bright red polo with golden trim, and her curly blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail through her black ball cap, the center of which was emblazoned with one of the most iconic restaurant symbols of all time.
Annabeth looked absolutely miserable.
“Architect of the Gods,” she mumbled. “Veteran of the Titan and Giant Wars. Hero of Olympus.”
Percy hugged Annabeth, and it was clear from the way she hugged him back that she wanted nothing more than to never leave his side again. They had bills to pay, though, and at least this job provided a paycheck.
About an hour later, Annabeth was standing in front of her computer screen, talking into her headset, summoning every iota of willpower she had in order to sound peppy.
“Welcome to McDonald’s! I can take your order whenever you’re ready.”
The sun steadily dipped ever closer to the horizon, night rapidly approaching.
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Not everyone was stuck in a situation as if they were being punished for the sin of standing on the sidelines while people were suffering.
As stated, Frank and Hazel were doing pretty well for themselves. They were still a couple, still praetors, having done a great job in the past four years of rebuilding the legion and getting the demigods trained, and were looking forward to one day retiring from the legion and starting their own family. They hadn’t done their ten years of service, still had six to go, and while it had happened many times in the history of New Rome’s existence that the praetors had married and had kids, history had proven that trying to be parents while also managing the legion was a massive hassle.
On the responsibility side of things, Hazel was pulling more weight than Frank was, but mostly because Frank’s specific skill set didn’t enable him to do much besides kill and spy on people. Hazel had become an expert at turning the gems and precious metals she could summon into spendable money, since there were actually some hoops to go through in turning uncut diamonds and raw gold nuggets into cash without getting in trouble with the law, as Leo found out the hard way because all three of them got stupid and didn’t think for a second.
As such, Hazel had been spending her wealth by way of anonymous donations to causes that she thoroughly researched and decided to support. She was basically the richest person on this planet, since she had developed her powers well enough to the point that she could summon diamonds straight out of volcanos on the other side of the planet. No, that was not a stretch of plausibility, because when Hazel was much younger, back when she was fresh from the Underworld, back when she and Nico were having one of their moments when he was still a mystery to her, her raw power had managed to yank a gold bar straight from Fort Knox in Kentucky.
That was a stretch of plausibility. Thirteen-year-old Hazel with no formal training managed to summon gold from a military fort over 2000 miles away.
Still, it was fact that she could it because she did it, and so, following this, was it really too hard to believe that a “fully realized” Hazel could summon to her hands the riches of the earth from anywhere in the earth?
As far as this story went, not at all.
Anyway, Frank and Hazel were doing good for themselves, and on the other side of the continent, so were Nico and Will.
Four years after the Imperial War, the young men were both nineteen years old. They had become co-directors of Camp Half-Blood with Chiron and Mr. D, deciding to dedicate their natural lives to the teaching and mentoring of demigods, though in this current day, Will was sparingly at camp on account of his pursuit of med school following his graduation from high school. Not like the distance really mattered, since Nico could shadow-travel to Will’s location regardless of where he was.
Nico had also grown extremely adept with his powers in four years.
Piper hadn’t come for them like she had come for the others on the grounds that Piper had the weakest connection to Nico. Sure, there were those couple of weeks Nico was on the Argo II following his rescue from the jar, but he was mostly with Hazel, typically in the infirmary, and had sparing contact with Piper. The late August after the Imperial War, when Nico had IM’d her just before she went out hiking with Shel the last week before high school started, sure they had that two-fold connection with Jason and both of them being gay, and Piper had told Nico to feel free to call her whenever he needed, but that hadn’t gone anywhere.
It was nothing personal. It was just the life thing where you told someone, “Yeah, just reach out to me,” and the person never did simply because they never did.
As such, Nico and Will were spared from Piper’s call to the crusade, but at least they were somewhat active and responsible. Nico was a permanent counselor and trainer of heroes, and Will was studying to be a doctor, technically cheating in his profession the same way Leo could with machines and Percy with sea life. But that didn’t mean that everything wasn’t about to come falling apart on them.
Tonight was a special night, the last night before Will returned to med school tomorrow, and as such, he and Nico were making it a memorable night. Without going into detail, their night involved putting the cacodemons in a special room in the Hades cabin for the sake of privacy, cleaning out their respective colons, and lube.
After their evening of fun left them sweaty and tired, they took a groggy shower together, dried each other off, cuddled and watched some TV, then turned it off and went to sleep, the moon high in the night sky.
Not that they would have known about it even if they were awake, but the cacodemons, after four years of waiting, were finally given the order to deploy.
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In a place that was almost extradimensional to Earth, the place where Niflheim bordered Jotunheim on the plane of Midgard, the nail ship Naglfar was stilled moored. Hrym was still captain, and he still had his big axe slung over his shoulder.
Things were slow and boring these days, what with Loki being reimprisoned and Ragnarök once again being postponed. Still, Hrym made sure that his ship was kept in great shape.
Good thing for that, too.
“Greetings, Hrym!”
The Jotun spat out his mead after choking on it, turning to see none other than Loki walking across the gangway. The wights and other monsters all gathered along the railing to see the approaching god of mischief, and all were unnerved. Loki always had a gleam in his eyes, always had a smirk, but today, right now, he seemed especially…dangerous.
Hrym stood up from his chair and made his way down the companionway from the helm, eyeing the mischief god warily. “I did not expect you to be free so soon.”
“Neither did I, old friend, but I made some new friends, ones that share our goal of almost-total destruction. Do the names Tartarus, Nyx, and Akhlys ring any bells?”
The monsters muttered and Hrym stiffened. “The Greek Primordials?”
Loki stood in front of the Jotun, one step away from boarding Naglfar. “Yes, them. They’re giving world domination their own shot, we could say. Or rather, Tartarus is. He’s got a wonderful plan of attack of simply throwing everything at those pesky heroes that once bested us, including the kitchen sink. He’s asked me to bring Ragnarok to the table again, and he’s got Setne bringing back Apophis, the Egyptian chaos-”
“I know who Apophis is,” Hrym interrupted. He shifted his axe. “So…we are to join with them, then? Naglfar is to sail once more?”
“Indeed, but not quite.” Loki’s smile was decidedly venomous. “You see, Tartarus’s plan is simple: just attack. A single, overwhelming offensive on multiple fronts, taking the heroes totally by surprise, and hitting them so hard they can’t escape. No important dates like the 4th of July, no grand ceremony with rituals and sacrifices and what not…no…flytings…and certainly not with the power of friendship, am I right, fellas?”
Loki started laughing, and the monsters started laughing uneasily. Hrym tried for a chuckle, but it came out as an uneasy grimace.
Loki laughed so hard he doubled over and had to rest his hand on Hrym’s shoulder in order to keep his balance, and though the Jotun tightened his grip on his axe, it didn’t do him any good.
Quicker than the snake that once poured its venom upon his face, Loki ripped the battleaxe from Hrym’s grasp and chopped the captain’s head off in one fluid motion. The monsters all shut up, Loki kicked the head and body into the frigid waters, and finally boarded the Ship of the Dead.
He addressed his new crew, smile gone, gleam gone, and boiling with impotent rage.
“Get this ship moving!”
And so the crew got Naglfar moving as Loki departed to free his son Fenrir, and wake his other son Jormungand.
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Standing upon the shores of the Sea of Chaos, deep within the Duat, Setne stood with the Book of Thoth in his hand, and the Crown of Ptolemy upon his pompadour. The House of Life was presently on high alert considering the Crown had been locked inside of Amos’s vault, and it obviously took some considerable power to break in. Power like an ancient, primeval misery goddess would possess, for instance.
Brooklyn House had been informed, and Carter and Sadie were in a panic. They had been the ones to lose Setne four years ago, after all, and now it seemed he was making his move. Which he was, though this time he had benefactors whose only stipulation for their assistance was to go all out and hold nothing back. After the dust settled, he could fight over whatever he wanted with whomever wanted to stop him from having it, but he was not stupid enough to try for the domain of Tartarus. Setne possessed at least a tiny enough shred of honor to not bite the extremely generous hand that freed him and delivered his desires right into his hands, and he also wasn’t sure of his chances to begin with against the embodiment of the Greek hell.
“Oh, my dearest Carter and Sadie,” the malevolent ghost said to himself with a wild grin, “Thoth devised a spell to banish one’s sheut; did you not ever pause to think that he did not devise a spell to bring it back? Granted, it’s a rather hefty and demanding spell, but now that I’m a full-blown god thanks to the Crown, it’ll be no trouble.”
Setne began chanting from the Book of Thoth, and the Sea of Chaos began to writhe and bubble. Rising from the tumultuous waters was a gigantic obelisk, at first casting no shadow, but as Setne continued his chant, a tendril of black began to form at the base. The tendril grew longer, wider, more powerful, slithering towards Setne, taking on the form of a huge cobra.
“I return you from the void,” Setne intoned as he finished the incantation. “You are mine.”
An angry, scarlet energy erupted from the shadow, and the shadow upon the Sea of Chaos vanished into the energy as it flew around the Duat, taking the obelisk with it. The energy formed a huge cobra, and with a command, it came roaring down upon Setne. The new god screamed as his every atom screeched in pain, the bonds becoming so juiced they threatened to split, and they very well might have, Setne overestimating the sheer power of Apophis, but a nifty little thing happened….
The power reached steady-state, and Setne stopped glowing like a star. He was no longer lanky and borderline emaciated, but muscular and built, with the physique of a seasoned MMA fighter. His skin was a rich caramel color, his head now devoid of hair but not the Crown, and yes, there were a number of serpentine features that now adorned Setne given he had just absorbed the Chaos Serpent. On each of his fingernails protruded the fang of a cobra, and when he smiled, he revealed the mouth of a snake: pink flesh, a pair of fangs, the tubular glottis with the forked tongue right in front of it, and a number of smaller teeth on either side of the tongue. Setne opened his eyes, revealing them to be solid red with black slits.
“And the best part is,” Setne continued speaking to himself, “no pesky ba to contend with.”
Yes, the part of the soul that reflected the personality of the individual. Their thoughts, their feelings, their will, if you will. Setne had tweaked the reverse banishment spell in such a way that he brought back all the power of Apophis, but none of the serpent’s mind. That way he didn’t have to contend with Apophis trying to take over his body or break out of him entirely.
“Now for the army,” Setne chirped.
Not like there wasn’t a generous supply of minions already available, as he was presently in the Land of Demons.
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“Mother, please-!” Hecate tried to beg, only for Nyx to lazily move her finger in a small circle.
In that very instant, using the absurd power of a Primordial, Night created a thread that punctured through Hecate’s lips in a zigzag, sewing the goddess’s mouth shut. The thing about this thread, though, was that it wasn’t coming out anytime soon. Not unless Nyx gave it her express permission.
Nyx gave her frantic, terrified daughter the side-eye. “Did you really think you could raise your hand against me, little child? Did you really think you and your siblings could harm me?”
Speaking of Hypnos and Epiales, the nonbinary demon of nightmares from Sun and the Star, they were currently spending their immortality trapped in black marble. A most generous sentence compared to what Hecate was going through.
Mortal underlings of Gregorio Uberti, the current leader of the Triumvirate, were affixing all the necessary tubes and cables into the goddess’s body to power the machine they were hooking her into, the machine that was going to amplify her Mist powers on a global scale similar to how the Triumvirate’s previous machine had amplified Harpocrates’s silence power.
“No, child,” Nyx continued. “You played your part once in successfully planting Iapetus and the cacodemons, and now you will play your part once more.”
Hecate screamed and begged, but with her mouth sewn closed, all she could manage were disturbing moans and groans as tears spilled down her cheeks.
One of the underlings brought a helmet down upon the goddess’s face, completely enclosing her head. The helmet had no eyeholes, no earholes, no opening for the mouth or the nose—almost complete sensory deprivation. Only a black cable upon the top going into the back of the machine, just like all the other cables were doing.
“That’s the last one,” Uberti said. “All we need is to turn her on.”
Nyx nodded and communed with Tartarus across time and space. After speaking, she looked at the immortal. “Do it.”
Uberti flipped the switch himself, and Hecate’s body spasmed but remained in its bounds as the machine activated, humming and glowing. The antenna array at the top of the machine hummed the loudest, visible waves of heat radiating from the dishes as the energy mounted, mounted, mounted, and then Uberti flipped another switch, and the energy discharged.
The goddess, the immortal, and the few servants didn’t actually feel anything. No tingle, no heat, their hair didn’t even stand on end.
Uberti held up a tablet. The electronic kind. “She’s active. We can now manipulate the Mist—and the Duat to some extension-”
“Setne has the Duat under control,” Nyx dismissed.
“Of course. Anyway, I am ready when you are to alter reality.”
Nyx’s lips quirked up. “Permission granted.”
Uberti typed a simple command into the tablet, then pressed the “enter” button.
“Done.”
“Send in the humans,” Nyx instructed. “And seal this place up.”
“Of course.”
Uberti nodded to the underlings, and they rolled a heavy door to close the machine, sealing Hecate inside. And then the underlings were suddenly teleported back to the Triumvirate Holdings building, and Uberti and Nyx were teleported into the pit, along with Loki and Setne, surprisingly enough. Tartarus and Akhlys were also there, everyone standing upon a narrow butte somewhere in the pit.
“What is this?” Loki demanded.
Nothing I have done, Tartarus answered.
“It’s something I have done!” a cheery voice declared.
The beings all turned to see something that only looked human. A young man, clean-shaven, with short brown hair, fair skin on the paler side, wearing a black polo, black cargo shorts, black tube socks rolled down around his ankles, and black running shoes. His eyes, though…like looking at an image of space, with swirling lights that were galaxies.
“Who are you?” Nys glowered.
“Aw, baby girl. It hurts my heart to know you don’t recognize your own father…and the father of your daughter over there.”
Akhlys went rigid, as did everyone else. “F-Father? Father Chaos?”
“Bingo, kiddo!” Chaos crowed. “The one and only!”
Why are you here, Father? Tartarus asked wearily.
“To lay down the rules,” Chaos answered with a disturbingly quick switch to calmness from wild teasing.
“What rules?” Loki demanded.
“The rules of this game,” Chaos said. “I’ve been waiting for this day since before time began, and it does bring a smile to my face that it’s finally here. The day that everything finally gets interesting again.” Chaos clasped his hands behind his back and addressed the audience before they could start shouting questions.
“Congratulations, all of you have finally garnered my personal attention. As such, I’m adding some spice to things—getting involved, if you will. Making things more entertaining for myself. Don’t worry, you will have your fun, as will I, because this will be it. This is World War III, and it will truly be the War to End All Wars. Either you will win, or you will not. As such, there will be rules. First and foremost, there will be permadeath. If you die, if any of those monsters or Giants die, if any of those demigods and so forth die, there will no coming back. If you die in the game, you die in real life.”
Chaos smirked at them all.
“Secondly, I get to play referee. I will even the playing field for my own personal amusement. Since this is going to be the last war, it will be full of spectacles and lights. Thirdly, and finally, I want all of you to understand this: the only things that will happen during this war are what I allow to happen. At any time I so choose, I can, and will, step in and do a thing. Perks of being an actual omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent being, unlike all of you.”
Chaos clapped his hands and rubbed them together, beaming.
“But don’t let any of that discourage you, kids! Now go out there and remember: the most important thing is to have fun! I know I will!”
And then Chaos was gone.
“What do we do?” Setne immediately asked. “Do we still proceed?”
Yes. Tartarus looked at Uberti. Send the humans after the demigods.
Uberti nodded, already working on the tablet to send the command to his contacts. Amazingly, he got great reception down in the pit of evil.
Tartarus looked at Loki. Ragnarök?
“Underway. Fenrir is freed and making his way to Midgard to reinforce the New Rome campaign, Jormungand is awake and heading for Camp Half-Blood, and once Naglfar is sailing, we will smash it straight into Hotel Valhalla.”
Tartarus looked at Setne.
“Ready,” said the new god.
“And it is night over America,” Nyx said.
And just like Tartarus said: there was no grand ceremony, no sacred date, nor was there an epic speech about revenge or glory or domination.
The dark god of the pit simply nodded.
Begin.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Somewhere in America, Piper McLean bolted upright, panting, covered in so much sweat that she had soaked the bed.
She stared at the dark wall of the room for two seconds before screaming at the top of her lungs. “Jisdu!”
The rabbit spirit couldn’t appear fast enough. “What’s happened!?”
“It’s begun!” Piper breathed with wide eyes.
Jisdu’s eyes went just as wide, terror gripping him, and then his eyes narrowed as shock turned to determination. “I’m on it!”
Jisdu departed, taking a page from Tarzan’s book as he tore across the country in a supernatural manner, alerting every single spirit on the continent of the catastrophe underway.
Piper herself flew to her bag, rifling through to it find a special transmitter. She hit the button as hard as she could, and all the way across dimensions, Jason Grace was alerted to the unfolding nightmare.
And what a catastrophic nightmare it was:
Just as the emperors were made gods through the power of belief, the gods were made powerless through belief. The Mist-warped minds of everyone on the planet collectively agreed that the Olympians and other important gods were simply weak and pathetic beings, and with eight billion people believing that, it became fact.
In Berkeley, police and SWAT swarmed the McDonald’s, storming the building to violently arrest Annabeth, handcuffing her and dragging her into a van. Other teams assaulted the Chase household, arresting Frederick, his wife, and their sons Matthew and Bobby in the middle of the night in their pajamas.
In Phoenix, Clarisse Rodriguez and her husband Chris had their door smashed in by more mortal forces, and a bloodbath ensued.
In Manhattan, police were swarming the apartment complex of the Blofis family, working their way through the building to their apartment.
In Boston, the Chase Space, the converted mansion that was bequeathed to Magnus through Randolf and used as a homeless shelter and rest stop for homeless kids just passing through, was firebombed with kids still inside, Magnus and Alex currently in Valhalla.
In Tahlequah, Tristan was sleeping soundly when his home was raided, and he was taken away in cuffs.
All across the country, demigods and their families were being arrested by law enforcement in the dark of the night.
As for the magical places, things were arguably worse.
The cacodemons attacked, two in New Rome, two in Camp Half-Blood, two in Indianapolis, two in Brooklyn, and the remaining seven were held in reserve as part of a new plan to combat whatever Chaos was going to throw in the way. The once cute and cuddly creatures grew into behemoth-like monsters—kaiju, essentially, and wreaked havoc.
The House of Life in Egypt was rocked when Setne ripped through the Duat with his demon army to lay waste to the magicians.
The Hunters of Artemis, fretting over their goddess who suddenly collapsed and became as if ill, were ambushed by a special forces team consisting of Orion, Lycaon, and Khione.
Across the planet, Tartarus opened portals into the world’s most populated cities, and monsters by the million poured from the pit to kill and destroy, led by the Giants. The humans had served their purpose, after all, their minds being used to depower the gods, and that was all they were needed for. Past that, they were expendable.
But hope remained.
Chaos was evening the playing field just like he promised.
They were beginning to arrive.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Oh, yeah.
It’s going down.
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