The air thickened long before they reached the gates of the Underworld.
It was a suffocating atmosphere, thick with ash, grief, and centuries of decay. Percy felt it weigh on his chest like a wet shroud. Every breath demanded effort; every step pressed on him like the judgment of silent, unseen witnesses. He frowned at how wrong it all felt. How... inferior.
●
●
●
[Before going to the Underworld, At Lotus Hotel and Casino...]
Before descending to death's domain, they made a detour to Las Vegas. The Lotus Hotel and Casino glittered like a city of mirages, neon buzzing with a hypnotic rhythm that threatened to entrap the unwary.
Adamas' blood-red hair caught the glow as she scanned the lobby with a predator's calm. "We'll stay here in only one day, Poseidonas," she said, her matching eyes narrowing, "We'll leave after that. No more, no less. This place is a trap for the inattentive like our certain halfling and satyr."
Percy nodded. He could feel the subtle pull of the enchantments wrapping around the visitors—time stretched lazily, pleasures whispered promises. Grover's pupils dilated in dazed awe; Annabeth blinked slowly, trapped in a faintly shimmering haze. But Percy and Adamas were anchored, aware of the deception.
Adamas motioned to the illusioned vault shimmering at the edge of perception. "The money is here. Precision, speed. Nothing more."
Percy's water threads slithered into the mechanisms, lifting the stacks without tripping the enchantments. Adamas' aura subtly bent reality around them, shielding their minds from the hypnotic sway. Every illusion was cut down with ruthless efficiency.
By nightfall, they departed, carrying the spoils and leaving behind a casino full of entranced gamblers, none the wiser. Adamas allowed herself a rare smirk. "One day we return, but on our terms. Today is not that day."
●
●
●
[Santa Monica Beach...]
In Santa Monica, the sun lingered low over the waves. Percy approach the beach to cleanse it from human wastes. As the waters were now cleansed, several fishes approached him and swam happily around his legs. A five foot long mako shark approached him like a puppy wanting attention from its owner. Percy relented and allowed the shark to take him.
As they dove underwater, more sea creatures approached him, greeting their prince—more like a king—and thanking him for actually cleansing the ocean, unlike their ruler Poseidon who barely did anything. Percy, without showing any emotions, released out a gentle wave of his divine aura and cleansed the deep sea. All the human wastes that were dumped in there all disintegrated. Percy then commanded the shark to take him back to his group, to which it happily obeyed. When he reached the shore and meet back with his group, a spirit rose from the tide, a shimmering echo of Poseidon's domain.
"Your highness, Prince Perseus Poseidonas Jackson," it bowed and whispered, voice like rolling water, "Please take these."
Three pearls floated to his palm, each pulsing with the power of the sea. Percy felt the surge thread through him—each a token of favor, shield and instrument alike.
Percy lightly growled the moment he touched the pearls. An instrument with inferior craftmanship, huh? I expect nothing more for that degenerate counterpart of mine.
Adamas' eyes, fiery and precise, scanned the pearls, then the beach. "Tools from your so-called father, huh? It might have some use to us."
Percy only released a small amount of divine aura and have it surround the pearls. The pearls then glowed lightly and once it died down, the pearls looked more luminous than before. He then manipulate the atoms from the pearls and have them turned to nano water particles. He then stored the particles within his own essence.
●
●
●
[At the entrance to the Underworld...]
The entrance to the Underworld was not some mythic cave nor ruined temple, but hidden in plain sight, a black tower of glass and steel rising in Los Angeles. Mortals walked past it without a glance, their minds repelled by a pressure they could not name. Neon lights flickered overhead like broken omens.
Grover's face twisted, his nostrils flaring. "That smell—blood, ash, and something older. This is it."
Annabeth's jaw clenched. "A modern disguise. It feeds off mortal denial. They did not notice anything so they ignore it."
Percy said nothing. His fist clenched, every muscle taut. The closer they came, the more his blood boiled. He could feel the false echo of his brother's power radiating beneath the earth, a hollow claim to dominion. It made him want to break stone and shadow alike.
Adamas walked beside him, her scarlet hair burning like a torch against the oppressive dark. Her crimson eyes glimmered with contempt. "F*ck. Even the air here obeys him. Everything here is so wrong and so imperfect. So unworthy of being our brother's counterpart."
Inside, the lobby stretched vast and silent, the floor of black marble so polished it reflected their faces like a dark mirror. At the far end, an ugly old man, with a greasy beard and a cone-shaped hat in a black suit hunched over a ledger, its pages so heavy they cracked the desk. Beside it, coins gleamed in stacks.
"Charon," Annabeth whispered, her voice reverent and fearful at once.
The ferryman looked up slowly, eyes hollow, voice sharp as a knife drawn across stone. "Another batch of souls, but too warm, too alive." His gaze lingered on Percy. "And you... the stench of salt clings to you. I do not ferry sea-scum without tribute."
Percy slammed a bag full of drachmas onto the desk, the coins clinking together. "You'll ferry us. Now."
Charon's teeth bared in something like a grin, but slightly shivered in fright from his aura alone. "Arrogant... yes, you have your father's tone. Very well. Step forward."
The doors behind him groaned open, revealing a cavernous descent, torchlight flickering against wet stone. The air shifted, heavy and cold, and the sound of water roared distantly below.
●
●
●
[Approaching the River Styx...]
The stairs twisted downward until the air itself seemed to rot. The cavern widened, and there it was—the Styx, stretching vast and black, a current of anguish itself. Faces writhed just beneath the surface, screaming silently as they were swept away. The stench was unbearable, decay mixed with fire and iron.
Grover recoiled, hooves scraping stone. "Gods, they're alive—those souls..."
"They are bound," Adamas said coldly. "Why is the Styx River in such a bad condition?"
Charon's boat slid across the current, creaking like old bone. The ferryman extended his hand. "Enter. Or remain forever on this bank."
The group boarded, the vessel rocking under their weight. The river hissed, waves clawing upward as if to drag them down. One pale, rotted hand broke the surface and seized the boat's edge. Percy's trident flashed, cleaving it away, and the Styx screamed in reply.
"You dare strike the river itself?" Charon hissed.
"I dare strike anything that touches me," Percy spat, his eyes blazing with oceanic fury. "And besides, the River Styx has become so filthy with all these disgusting human garbage they call as unfulfilled wishes."
Even Adamas, usually measured, smiled grimly. "He is not wrong. Such irresponsible waste management."
The boat groaned onward, carrying them through black eternity until it scraped against the opposite shore.
●
●
●
The cavern widened into a vast chamber, and a low growl shook the ground. From the shadows emerged Cerberus—three heads of jagged teeth and molten eyes, each maw drooling strings of smoke and saliva that hissed when they hit the stone. His paws were large enough to crush boulders, his fur reeking of brimstone and rot.
Grover yelped, stumbling back. "Th-three heads—three—"
Cerberus snarled, his voices overlapping in a chorus of hunger and rage. The central head snapped forward, jaws clamping down just short of Percy. The shockwave rattled the cavern.
Percy didn't flinch. His trident gleamed as he met the beast's burning gaze. "Stand aside, mutt. Or I'll force you."
Adamas' aura flared crimson, her killing intent radiating so strongly that the walls themselves trembled. Even the leftmost head whimpered low in its throat, backing slightly.
Annabeth stepped forward, pulling a ball from her pack—a rubber toy, shimmering faintly with divine runes. She tossed it across the floor. One of the beast's heads tracked it, whining like a pup, but the other two snarled, indecisive.
Cerberus lowered slightly, still growling, but allowed them passage.
"Mercy, huh?," Adamas muttered under her breath, her lips curling. "A true Cerberus would have obeyed at once."
●
●
●
[The Fields of Asphodel...]
Beyond the gate lay the Asphodel Fields—a vast expanse of gray, stretching forever beneath a blackened sky. Countless souls shuffled aimlessly, their eyes blank, their mouths whispering fragments of lives they no longer remembered. Each one was colorless, hollow, condemned to nothingness.
Grover hugged himself, shivering. "This... this is worse than Tartarus. At least in torment you feel. Here, they feel nothing."
Percy's fury only deepened, his voice a growl. "This is no kingdom. This is a cage."
Adamas' eyes glowed blood-red in the gloom. "And the pretender dares call himself Hades while our brother would never tolerate such mediocrity."
The Underworld itself seemed to hear their scorn, a wind rising to whip across the empty fields. The air grew heavier, a divine presence stirring deep within the palace that loomed far ahead, its obsidian gates glimmering like the maw of a beast.
They were close now. And the false god within would soon know their wrath.
●
●
●
[Palace of Hades, The King of the Dead...]
The gray wastes of Asphodel stretched endlessly behind them as the ground began to slope upward, leading toward the heart of the realm. The closer they drew, the more the air itself thickened—like tar filling their lungs, every breath an effort. The fields gave way to a wide road paved in black stone, each slab etched with shifting runes that burned faintly under their feet.
Annabeth glanced down, her face pale. "Every stone here... they're names. Lives judged and sealed forever."
Grover shuddered, staring at the half-erased words scrawled into the rock. "And they just... walk on them. Forgotten."
Adamas' crimson eyes narrowed, contempt flashing. "This is desecration, not order. Brother Hades would never bind the dead to the ground as stepping stones."
Percy's grip tightened on his trident, the aura of the sea swirling around him in defiance of the Underworld's choking weight. "The pretender's throne is built on mockery. And it will be shattered."
Both Grover and Annabeth noticed how they called their Hades and how they mentioned a "brother" who also happened to be named as Hades as well. No way. It must be a coincidence.
●
●
●
[The Pavilion Of Judgement...]
Ahead, a colossal pavilion of black stone rose from the earth, its columns twisted like screaming faces. Beneath its arch sat three thrones carved from obsidian, and on them the Judges of the Dead. Their forms flickered—sometimes robed men, sometimes armored kings, sometimes little more than skeletal shadows—but their voices blended into one, droning like a dirge.
Souls lined up before them in endless procession. One by one, they were weighed, sentenced, and sent—some to Elysium, others to punishment, most to the endless monotony of Asphodel.
The party passed, unjudged. Yet the Judges turned their hollow eyes on them, their blended voice rumbling:
"You are living beings. You do not belong here. Turn back, or be broken."
Percy's aura flared, crashing against the pavilion like a tidal wave. "I bow to no counterfeit court. Tell your master his hour comes."
The central Judge recoiled as if struck, the runes on the columns flickering violently. The endless line of souls shuddered and scattered like leaves in a gale.
The pavilion dared not block their way.
●
●
●
Beyond, at the base of the final rise, the air ignited with the stink of brimstone and burning flesh. From the gloom descended three winged figures, their bodies twisted with serpents, claws dripping venom, eyes aflame with hatred. The Erinyes—the Furies—screeched in unison, their wings tearing the air.
Annabeth flinched, drawing her dagger. Grover nearly collapsed from the pressure, his knees buckling.
But Percy stood tall, his voice a roar that cracked the cavern walls. "Back to your shadows, filthy hags. You want to have a repeat of the past?"
Adamas' killing intent burst outward, crimson light spilling from her eyes. The ground cracked beneath her as she raised her hand, blood-red energy coiling like serpents around her fingers. "Try me, vermin. You will not reach us with your pathetic shrieks."
The Furies hesitated—immortal terrors reduced to trembling before two presences greater than their false lord. With one final hiss, they vanished into smoke, retreating toward the palace gates.
●
●
●
[The Gates Of Obsidian...]
Finally, they stood before the gates. Towering higher than mountains, forged of obsidian blacker than night, they pulsed with divine power. Souls wailed within the stone itself, faces stretching from the surface before dissolving again, an eternal torment bound to guard the false god's realm.
The gates shuddered, slowly parting as if recognizing the power of those who approached. From within poured the stench of fire, blood, and decay.
Grover gagged. "This... this isn't a palace. It's a prison."
Annabeth's eyes blazed with horror and fury. "And he dares call this Olympus' equal."
Percy strode forward, every step echoing with the crash of unseen waves. Adamas followed, her crimson aura scorching the stones, leaving the marks of her wrath behind.
Far ahead, seated on a throne of bone and shadow, waited the one who called himself Hades.
And soon, the pretender would feel the wrath of those who had once called the true Hades their brother.
●
●
●
As they approached this world's Hades, the group then found themselves surrounded by mirrors. An entire chamber made of mirrors then formed itself.
The mirrors were crueler than expected. Each pane reflected not their present, but fears made flesh.
Percy saw his mother, Sally, tortured and fade into shadow. He could almost hear her cries. Adamas saw herself shattered, her own past laid out before her. A trident pierced through her torso and her body collapsing in a pool of her own blood.
Annabeth's voice was sharp but fearful. "These are just tests. They planned on destabilizing us."
Percy's trident smashed the nearest mirror. "Useless tricks. They can't break me."
Adamas murmured as she also smashed the mirrors as well, "They'll only slow you down."
Every reflection that shattered left shards that hummed faintly with residual magic. Percy's eyes burned at the illusions, and Adamas' red hair caught the flickering torchlight, her own aura bending the chamber's reality to contain the lingering shards. Her own domain and essence burning brighter as their group's conquest is approaching its climax.
●
●
●
And then she appeared right before their eyes. Sally Jackson. But she was no longer the mother he remembered. No. She is still his mother but he sensed something different from her. Slowly, right before their eyes, her hair shifted from brown to silvery white, eyes splitting into heterochromatic brilliance—left molten gold, right azure blue. A strong a very much divine aura emitted from her.
Percy staggered back, chest tightening. "Mother..."
Adamas' measured calm broke; her hands clenched. "She... she's changed," she whispered, awe mingled with confusion. The impossibility of it bruised her rational mind.
Sally radiated authority, no longer merely mortal. She was a force quietly rewriting fate.
●
●
●
The moment their feet touched the obsidian floor after Sally's transformation, the Underworld responded. Shadows surged like living water, reaching, grasping, whispering. Statues groaned, fissures tore through stone, and rivers of black ichor churned with fury.
Hades raised his hands, his voice echoing with authority and accusation. "You are brave to come here, son of Poseidon," he said in an oily voice. "After what you have done to me, very brave indeed. Or perhaps you are simply very foolish."
He then scoffed in disdain, "Your father may fool Zeus, boy, but I am not so stupid. I see his plan. You were the thief on the winter solstice," he said. "Your father thought to keep you his little secret. He directed you into the throne room on Olympus, You took the master bolt and my helm. Had I not sent my Fury to discover you at York Academy, Poseidon might have succeeded in hiding his scheme to start a war. But now you have been forced into the open. You will be exposed as Poseidon's thief, and I will have my helm back!"
Percy's aura rippled outward at the accusation, a tidal wave of raw divine aura from his very own essence. The shadows recoiled, twisting unnaturally as if each atom of darkness knew it was no match for him. He did not need to strike—the presence alone bent reality. Yet his trident rose, ready, trembling with intent.
Adamas followed suit. Her blood-red hair gleamed like molten flame under torchlight, eyes burning the same shade. She did not shout, did not move hastily. Her aura, instead of the calm but deadly, had turned wild and ruthless, radiated like a volcanic eruption. The air itself bent to her will, the shadows folding, the statues' silent screams muted.
Hades faltered, his eyes flicking nervously. He had power, yes—but nothing like this. Not against them. Not against that teenager.
The teenager stepped forward, silver hair gleaming, eyes soft yet infinitely commanding. "You are nothing more than an echo," he said to Hades. "A hollow shell. Your authority is borrowed. Your arrogance is your weakness."
Percy's jaw tightened. Fury, righteous and pure, flared. "You think you can pretend to be him? To be my brother?" He stomped, sending tremors through the floor. "I've seen my brother. MY perfect brother Hades. I know what strength looks like!"
Adamas' hands ignited with a flickering red aura, strands of her power lacing the shadows like wires of steel. "You disgusting piece of sh*t. You wear his name and expect obedience from us? You are nothing but a farce!"
Shadows erupted from the walls, forming skeletal hands, clawing tendrils, and grotesque forms. Their whispers were ancient curses, promises of fear, gnashing of impossible teeth. Percy moved first: trident flashing, water spiraling like serpents around each blow. Every strike was surgical—cutting, piercing, severing. Limbs and shadowy appendages disintegrated into ash.
Adamas mirrored him, her movements fluid yet merciless. Each swing of her scythe-like sword didn't just strike—it carved reality. The shadows bent, folded, evaporated. The Underworld became a controlled chaos, a stage she orchestrated around Percy's fury.
Statues shifted, trying to intercede, but she ignored them. With a gesture, their weight was redirected into fissures, harmlessly collapsing into cracks in the floor.
Hades' hands glowed with dark energy. He hurled volleys of death-light—shadow spears, necrotic blasts, cursed chains—but Percy's divine aura absorbed and redirected them, water swirling into shields that deflected, trapped, or shattered each attack.
Adamas' divine aura coiled around the battlefield, bending the attacks of Hades into wild but controlled arcs, controlling every chaotic element. Her movements were wild but graceful, deadly precise, never distracted, never hesitant. Percy moved in a deadly duet with her.
The teenager spoke, his voice resonating like iron and moonlight. "Observe, my siblings. Your power is mine to guide, but not to wield. Strike where he is weakest."
Percy roared, voice echoing through the cavern: "Enough games! I will end this farce!"
Water erupted around Hades, forming javelins of piercing sea-force, driven by Percy's wrath. Each strike tore into shadows, into the imposter's defenses. The Underworld itself seemed to recoil from the divine authority that surrounded Percy and Adamas.
Adamas joined in with her own flares of red energy, precision strikes that exploited every weakness. Her sword cut shadows into impossible angles, dissecting the illusion of power that Hades had projected.
Sally stepped forward, her silvery hair catching the torchlight like moonlight on water. "He is hollow," she said softly. "Percy, Adamas, do not grant him reality. Turn him into nothing."
Percy's blows grew more furious but graceful, more precise, slicing the shadows around Hades. Each attack was a promise: they would not be intimidated. They would not fail. They would reclaim what had been violated.
Adamas' aura entwined with Percy's, amplifying every strike, shielding every movement. For a brief, terrifying moment, the three of them—Percy, Adamas, and the teenager—became a singular force of raw authority, bending the Underworld to their will.
The Underworld trembled as they combined their powers. Every strike injured Hades—cracks split his armor, shadows ripped from his form, and his energy faltered. He screamed, rage and disbelief fused into raw fear.
But the teen did not allow fatal blows. Percy and Adamas struck hard enough to wound, enough to humble, enough to leave the imposter gasping, but alive. The teen stepped between them and the shattered remnants of Hades' power.
"Enough," the teen said, voice firm and commanding. "He will not rise again until he has learned restraint. We are only giving him warning, not conquest. And calm your domain down, Adamas."
Hades fell to one knee, wounded and humbled, shadows twisting impotently around him. His chest heaved, and he met their eyes—not with defiance, but with wary understanding.
Percy exhaled heavily. "Brother... you're... really here."
Adamas' blood-red eyes glimmered, now calm but still alight with rage and relief. Tears slowly appeared in her eyes. "Brother Hades, you're back. I thought... I might have to fight him for real."
Aidoneus' gaze softened faintly. "You both did not just survive—you commanded authority. You reminded the Underworld that those born of Poseidon, Conquest, and Death alike are forces to be reckoned with."
Sally touched Percy's shoulder, her eyes gleaming heterochromatically. "We can't stay, but the path forward is clear. Your brother has marked the warning. Now it's your turn."
Percy nodded. "We've got the bolt. Mother's safe but transformed... and that false Hades knows his place—for now."
Adamas inclined her head. "We need to leave the Underworld today. One day is enough for this chaos."
Annabeth and Grover, who were watching from the sidelines besides Sally, were both in awe and in fear of what has transpired. The son of Poseidon and a demigod with unknown parentage but has presence and power far closer to a goddess fought against the Lord of the Dead himself. And an unknown teenager who clearly radiates aura so akin to Hades and has been called by the two as "brother" has appeared and overpowered the authority of Hades.
They do not know what to do with this information. Even Annabeth, a demigod child of Athena, does not expect the outcome as well.
Together, they all stepped through the dark corridors, leaving a battered Hades behind, the echoes of divine wrath and the assurance of the siblings' Hades'—now called himself as Aidoneus to differentiate the two— presence lingering in every shadow.
The Underworld had changed. Not conquered, but reminded of its limits.
And for the first time in a long while, Percy and Adamas felt the weight of family restored, of alliances reforged, and of warnings sent—loud, unmistakable, and final.
●
●
●
Somewhere beyond the veil of mortal perception, the constellations whispered.
「The Constellation "Father Of The Rich Night" notes the realignment of power.」
「The Constellation "Father Of The Rich Night" hums in delight that the Incarnation "Aidoneus" asserts his influence without claiming dominion.」
「The Constellation "Father Of The Rich Night" smiles and said that the confrontation is interesting.」
Even the stars seemed to shift, faint points of light recalibrating in response to the ripple of divine authority. Mortals would never know. The gods might only speculate. But the balance had subtly shifted.
Aidoneus' presence lingered, a silent judgment over Hades' realm, over Olympus' assumptions, over the paths of all who dared meddle in death's shadow. His aura marked both warning and potential—the possibility that imperfection could be punished without annihilation, that the fractured could be reminded of what true power looked like.
Percy, Adamas, and Sally moved through the world above with a new understanding, a quiet resonance of authority within them. The Underworld still breathed, still waited—but now it had learned to respect, if not fully fear, the tyrant child of Poseidon and the blood-red-haired strategist who walked beside him.
And somewhere, in the depths, Hades nursed wounds he had not expected, his imperfection exposed, his arrogance tempered.
The game was far from over, but the players had learned a crucial lesson: there are powers beyond the crowns of death, and there are siblings whose bond could rewrite fate itself.
「System generating message...」
「System: Observation continues. The constants shift. Imperfection acknowledged. Next sequence pending.」
The echoes faded, leaving only the cold weight of consequence—and the knowledge that imperfection, no matter how persistent, would never go unchallenged.
●
●
●
Unbeknownst to anyone else, Sally's hands moved with a quiet authority all their own. She clenched her fist, then slowly opened it again. A golden light coalesced, forming a fountain pen and a book, which gently descended into her palms.
The book opened on its own, pages filled with texts in an unfamiliar, flowing script. Letters shimmered faintly, as if aware of the hand that had summoned them. Outside the book, the same symbols hovered in the air, defying gravity, rippling like a living current of knowledge.
She lifted the pen and began to write, each stroke deliberate, sculpting reality itself. The events that had unfolded—the Mississippi battle, the Lotus Hotel, Santa Monica's spirit pearls, even the tense confrontation with Hades and reunion with Aidoneus—were being chronicled, revised, and redirected under her hand. The universe obeyed the subtle sway of her will, each word forming a new thread in the intricate tapestry of fate.
Her eyes flickered—azure blue in one, molten gold in the other—and she whispered softly, unseen, unheard, yet all-powerful, "The story has become increasingly interesting. Let's see how the next chapters unfold."
A thought lingered in her mind, one she had carried for longer than any human memory could hold. She alone had rewritten the ending of the first prophecy. She alone had nudged the plot of this world, twisting threads the Fates themselves had set. No deity, no constellation, no mortal, could challenge what she had penned. She was beyond their schemes, a quiet sovereign over destiny itself.
Thankfully enough, I managed to transform back to my mortal form a while ago when I reunited with Percy. Looks like I still cannot yet control my own abilities and had transformed back to my current form.
Her lips curved into a thin, secretive smile. Somewhere beneath the surface, she acknowledged a silent gratitude to ■■■—the only other soul who had glimpsed her manuscript's true form. Aware that her designs were being witnessed by a trusted reader, she recognized that even Percy, her own son, had unknowingly "edited" her work, guiding this universe in subtle ways disguised as normal actions.
Yes, she mused, she was the architect. She was the editor, the proofreader, and the author of all that had been and all that would be. Fate bent not around her—it bowed.
And as she wrote, the last line of the prophecy, the one that had nearly caused a war between the three Olympian brothers, shimmered with subtle changes. A sentence once absolute now reflected her will: a testament that the Fates themselves had been overruled.
Sally closed her eyes, the pen still hovering midair, her aura quiet yet impossibly vast. She alone controlled the current of this world. She alone had altered the very story of Olympus, demigods, and monsters.
And with that knowledge, she whispered into the void, "I alone am the one who writes the ending."