[Unknown time, inside Hades' Throne Room in the Underworld...]
The Underworld pulsed with quiet authority, a realm where shadows lingered longer than memories and whispers of the dead threaded like silver veins through the black air. Hades, the 『King of the Underworld』and 『god of the dead and riches』 sat upon his obsidian throne, the weight of centuries pressing into his bones. His eyes, dark as the endless abyss, scanned the hall, noting every flicker of movement among the skeletal guards and the wailing echoes of lost souls.
Then he felt it. The air shifted.
A shimmer of light, cold and unearthly, bent the shadows as if reality itself were reconsidering its laws. Hades' gaze fixed, muscles tensing. Before him, standing with casual poise, was a boy. He was no older than seventeen, but that divine aura he exuded could silence armies. He bore an air of power that made the skeletal attendants hesitate, of intellect that cut sharper than any blade, and—most unnervingly—s■■ ■r that glimmered faintly against the darkness, like moonlight threading through smoke. It bended the dim light as if the shadows themselves were refracting it. His eyes were sharp, precise, too knowing, as if he could see every corner of Hades' mind. Hades' pulse quickened, not from fear, but from recognition: this was no ordinary visitor.
"Identify yourself!" Hades demanded, standing from his throne. His voice resonated through the hall, a low, dangerous echo. "You appear unbidden in my realm, yet you move as though it belongs to you."
The boy tilted his head, almost imperceptibly, a smirk playing on his lips. "Identify myself?" His voice was calm, musical, yet carried the weight of power. "I am... let us say, a piece of what you might have been. Or perhaps, a reflection of what you refused to become. A parallel, a counterpart, or a mirror. Or perhaps a paradox. You decide on which among them best describes me."
Hades' grip tightened on the armrest of his throne. Another self? Impossible, yet undeniable. The boy radiated familiarity, gnawing at the edges of his memory. Although he knows that alternate dimensions or multiverses do exist as the Underworld is also, weirdly enough, connected to every kinds of Underworld of every pantheon and dimensions, he found it nearly absurd to meet a parallel version of himself in his own territory, nonetheless.
"Do not presume to know me," Hades said, stepping closer, his own dark divine aura swirling around them. "You may resemble me in terms of both essence and divinity, but you are nothing but a shadow of me."
The boy's smirk widened. "A shadow? Perhaps. Or perhaps you are the shadow, and I am the reflection brave enough to step into the light where you all but feared to go."
Before Hades could respond, a glowing blue hologram appeared in the air, the words formed and glowed like constellations against the void:
「Some Constellations have made their presence known.」
Hades froze. These words were not spoken—they existed beyond the immediate reality.
「The Constellation "Father Of The Rich Night" observes the situation with quiet calculation.」
Cold, detached, cataloging. Hades realized with a pang of unease that he was not merely facing a reflection—he was being observed, studied by a presence beyond his understanding.
Hades turned to face the boy. "You speak in riddles," Hades said, voice tighter now. "Who are you? And why are you here?"
"Hmmm... Who knows? Perhaps I am here to watch. Or maybe to measure. Or perhaps I am here for a different reason. However, now that I am here, I want to see how imperfection stretches before it breaks," the s■■-■d boy said. "And perhaps," he added softly, voice threading through the shadows, "to see how a king reacts when confronted by fragments of himself."
Hades felt a chill. Imperfection. A word he absolutely despised, and yet it carried an undeniable truth. The system-like voice interjected again:
「The Constellation "Father Of The Rich Night" notes that parallel selves are inevitable, yet only the flawed endure.」
「 The Constellation "Father Of The Rich Night" says that he will continue to observe everything for now and that you all must entertain him.」
Chains rattled faintly, as if in acknowledgment. Hades realized this was no ordinary challenge; the boy radiated authority without entitlement, and the unseen observer cataloged every subtle movement. He was being tested not for strength, but for essence.
Stepping forward, Hades let his presence fill the room. "I tolerate no games, no pretenders. State your intent, or leave."
"Intent?" the boy echoed, voice calm, unsettlingly so. "As I said, to observe imperfection. To measure the choices that define essence. To see the futility of perfection."
Hades' eyes narrowed. "Uselessness does not define me. It defines those who cannot withstand their reflection."
The boy's gaze was unwavering. "Perhaps. Yet even kings may tremble when confronted by their other selves. Most especially if it is the darker or the unseen version of themselves."
The Underworld seemed to hold its breath. Three presences—the king, the s■■-■d reflection, and the omniscient observer—remained in tense equilibrium. Both imperfection and reflection danced silently, the first act of a storm yet to break.
Hades' mind raced. Each fragment, each reflection, reminds me that even a god can be tested. Control is an illusion... and here, I am nothing but a subject. Just what has become of this universe? Which higher being finds entertainment in seeing such conflict with a reflection of oneself?
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[Meanwhile, in Camp Half-Blood...]
Sunlight glimmered across Camp Half-Blood's lake, ordinary, serene—but inside the Poseidon Cabin, tension crackled like lightning. Percy sat elegantly on his own chair made out of finest pearls and gold crafted by his own powers. His expression furrowed in silent anger. Being claimed by this world's Poseidon had not brought him pride. His so-called father was nothing but a defective mirror, pretending to hold the weight of divinity, yet imperfect in so many ways. Percy's own fury was palpable.
Adamas leaned casually against the bunk, her red eyes glinting. "You seem, displeased," she said lightly, though her smile carried an edge of amusement.
Percy stopped, his own sea green eyes darkened, locking onto hers. "Displeased is not enough. That useless trash is nothing but a failure. A mere shadow. And I am expected to honor him? When he not once carried the grace and divinity of a god?"
Adamas chuckled softly. "Worship him? Hardly. Ignoring the imitation is more prudent."
Percy's gaze swept the cabin. "And no one—no one—will dictate how we live here. You stay with me. Here in this Poseidon Cabin. You follow my demands. And we shall redesign this very place as we seem fit."
Adamas merely chuckled in amusement of his own possessiveness. "You need not worry, dear brother. I planned on staying with you, anyway, whether you like it or not."
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Whispers rippled across the camp. Even Chiron, accustomed to gods and mortal defiance, raised a brow. Demigods lingered on the edges of corridors, unsure whether to approach or flee.
By mid-morning, Annabeth approached, brow furrowed. "Percy... when you said that about your father, what did you mean?"
Percy's eyes darkened. He conjured a copy of his own trident made out of water pulled out from thin air and pointed its tips to her neck. Her own neck was nicked and blood nearly flowed out from it.
Percy's now azure eyes gaze met hers. "You have no right to call me Percy. Only my mother is allowed to call me by that nickname. You and the rest are to call me Perseus."
His own divine aura nearly choked Annabeth and the rest of the campers who were near them. Percy then pressed the trident a bit more. "And it is exactly what I said. My... father is not Poseidon. He is but a failed reflection. And I am left to bear the consequences of what he could not perfect. A mere imperfect being such as him is nothing but filthy garbage in my eyes."
Athena and Apollo children muttered nervously. Luke stepped forward, persistent. "Perseus... you don't have to face this alone. We're your friends."
Percy's lips twitched—a shadow of a smile, but devoid of warmth. No. That wasn't a smile but a cruel smirk. "Friendship with mere halflings such as you is but a disease to me."
Adamas moved closer, resting a hand lightly on his arm. "Do not let them trouble you. They are only mere shadows of what they could have been. We, however, are real. Flawed unfortunately—but real."
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[The next day...]
Grover, who went to the Poseidon Cabin to call for both Percy and Adamas, looked at the interior of their cabin curiously, before swallowing heavily. He looked like he came bearing the news of their own execution or some other bad news.
''Is something the matter, Grover?'' Adamas said while holding the door.
''Mr. D wants to see you.'' Grover mumbled nervously, shifting from one uncovered hoof to the other constantly.
"The sun isn't even up." Adamas deadpanned. Percy did not look up, merely invested in reading another chapter of Sally's draft manuscript. "What does he want ?"
''It's probably better if he were to tell you. I haven't the foggiest idea what Mr. D wants....At least he didn't look angry.'' Grover murmured the last part, but they still heard him.
Adamas put on some clothes on before dragging Percy to follow Grover.
The sky looked rather ominous, dark clouds were covering the usually blue sky, and the falling rain seemed to smother the earth nearly violently.
Percy and Adamas entered the big house and looked at Chiron and Dionysus.
''Sit down already, you two.'' Dionysus waved them to two of the chairs.
Chiron gave them both a quick encouraging smile, before completely immersing himself in his already quite familiar stack of cards.
"Well, well," Mr. D said without looking up. "Our little celebrities."
Adamas gave him a blank look while Percy did not even bother to take his eyes off of the manuscript.
''I thought about just getting rid of the whole problem by making you disappear, but there's the fact that this time barnacle-breathe actually gives a shit about you, so that's out," Dionysus shrugged in a vaguely helpless motion while Chiron looked at him in disbelief.
"Or I can show you mercy by turning you into a dolphin and sending you to your father's domain." Dionysus said.
Percy's hand clenched tightly, some of his own killing intent leaked out before Adamas quashed it with her own divine aura.
"Mr. D-" Chiron warned, already sensing the killing intent from Percy.
"Oh, all right," Dionysus relented. "There's one more option. But it's deadly foolishness." Dionysus rose, and the invisible players' cards dropped to the table. "I'm off to Olympus for the emergency meeting. If the boy is still here when I get back, I'll have to kill him on Zeus order. And Perseus Jackson, if you're at all smart, you'll see that's a much more sensible choice than what Chiron feels you must do."
Dionysus picked up a playing card, twisted it, and it became a plastic rectangle. A security pass.
He snapped his fingers. The air seemed to fold and bend around him. He became a hologram, then a wind, then he was gone, leaving only the smell of fresh pressed grapes lingering behind.
Chiron smiled at both Percy and Adamas, but he looked tired and strained. "Sit, Perseus and Adamas, please. And Grover."
Adamas held Percy's hand as she sat down beside him, with Grover on her other side.
''So Perseus, what did you think about the hellhound?'' Chiron suddenly asked, turning to look at him.
Percy did not look at him and only responded with a one-word response, "Annoyance."
''I am somewhat relieved it is you...'' Chiron sighed deeply, ''You have the biggest chance of survival, your father will watch over you and you yourself are very strong, that why... I have to ask you if you wish to accept a quest.''
Adamas could feel Percy nearly lashing out at the demand of Chiron. She only continued to send waves of her own divine aura to calm him down, less he make a third Pseudo Apocalypse again.
She asked in Percy's place, "I guess he has no other choice now, is he?"
"No...'' Chiron agreed halfheartedly, ''he doesn't. You should know that another God cannot usurp a symbol of power. Since the last solstice Zeus' lightning bolt has been missing, and he's accusing your father Poseidon of said act."
"So it got stolen by—" Adamas got cut off.
"By Perseus." Chiron said. "At least ... that's what Zeus thinks. During the winter solstice, at the last council of the gods, Zeus and Poseidon had an argument. The usual nonsense: 'Mother Rhea always liked you best,' Air disasters are more spectacular than sea disasters,' etc."
He then added, "Your mother, Sally Jackson, may currently be in the Underworld."
Percy's knuckles whitened. Rage and disgust intermingled. That damn imperfect version of Hades. So mother's whereabouts is now confirmed. "These Olympians... are nothing but useless filths. They create mistakes and expect us to pay."
Adamas' voice cut through the storm. "Perhaps. But even flawed, we endure. We adapt. We survive. That is what makes us... real. Unlike those garbage who calls themselves as gods."
Chiron wanted to berate them both for insulting the gods but found himself not being able to. For some reason, their own divine aura surpasses even the Big Three themselves. He was only relieved that they did not even sensed their auras leaking out.
Percy's gaze softened fractionally, gratitude hidden beneath anger and distrust once he heard Adamas' words. Together, they left the Big House, side by side. The camp watched in awe and fear. Some demigods avoided the Poseidon Cabin entirely, whispers filling gaps between tense silences. Luke lingered quietly, still keen on having them join him and his master.
The wind shifted across the camp, carrying the scent of sea and storm. Percy's fists unclenched. Every step was a declaration: their strength came not from perfection, but from the flawed, unbreakable selves they were forced to become.
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[Back to the Underworld...]
Far away, in the depths of the Underworld, three forms of Hades observed, waited. Parallel selves, useless in some ways, yet pregnant with consequences and secrets no one had yet begun to understand. Imperfection was not weakness—it was a storm, only just beginning.
Hades' dark eyes lingered on the s■■-■d boy, noting the calm arrogance, the subtle threats wrapped in serenity. The boy did not challenge by force, but by reflection. The chains rattled faintly, the shadows shifted, and the system-like voice cataloged, always cataloged:
「The Constellation 'Father Of The Rich Night' chuckles in amusement of the imperfection around him, the consequences pending.」
Hades understood. This was not a battle of power. It was a test of identity, endurance, and essence.
And for the first time in centuries, Hades felt uncertain—not for the first time ever, but enough to know that even kings might falter when confronted by the truth of parallel selves.