Return Of The Godslayer

Chapter seven

Sector 12-Camp Half-blood
Chiron Academy
Sara

That night I had the weirdest dream ever, and for me, that was saying a lot.

The cavern was dark. Giant doors occupied a corner, and its bronze light cast eery shadows across the walls and floor, and silhouetting the two figures that stood facing each other.

I recognized the place immediately from my lessons in mythology. Tartarus. Which meant that those doors where the Doors of Death.

"Are you sure about this, hero?" One of the silhouettes were saying. "Once you accept my blessing, you can never return to what you once were."

"I'm sure," the other answered. He was shorter than the first silhouette, but even as a shadowy figure seemed just as intimidating and his voice sounded vaguely familiar. "I wouldn't be here if I had second thoughts."

The first figure laughed quietly. "Your courage is admirable," he said. "You will make the perfect god if you survive this. I swear to you, your name will live forever, your glory eternal. Mortals will sing your praises as long as they live, long after all other gods and monster have faded— their names and deeds forgotten in time."

"I don't care about a legacy," the second said, he was angry for some reason, "and I sure as hell don't care about a stupid throne! I just want to do one thing. I want her back! And you said you'd help me, Tartarus!"

"I'll keep my promise, but bare in mind that what you are attempting is against the most ancient laws of the universe. There will be consequences, Percy."

Only later would I be concerned that I had stood in the presence of the last of the Primordials, the very embodiment of the underworld. But for now I was more interested in the fact that the other person was Percy Jackson. Like, the actual Percy Jackson.

"I don't care!" Percy said. "The world could burn and I wouldn't care." He sounded so sad, so... lost. "I just want my wife back..."

Tartarus began pacing the room. His hands folded behind him, his robes swishing as he walked. "And how far are you actually willing to go to save your beloved, hmm? Are you willing to die yourself? Are you truly prepared for a fate worse than her's?"

"I'll do anything you want!" Percy said. "I swear on the Styx, I'll kill Zeus himself if it means seeing Annabeth again! I'd kill everyone of them one that retched council!"

"The price of godhood is death," Tartarus mused. "Divinity would burn away your mortal flesh, turning your blood to ichor. Your domain will be chosen based on your deeds prior to this death. With my blessing you will be reborn as the most powerful god in a thousand years. Your power will grow to the point that it may even kill you, if you curse doesn't do it first."

"My curse?" Percy asked.

"The price of power, Percy," Tartarus said dismissively. "I'll be giving you a portion of my own divinity. I will raise you to the power of a Primordial with the means to destroy your enemies whomever they are, wherever they are. Like I said, it will cost you?"

"What will it cost?" Percy's voice had an edge to it.

Tartarus stopped pacing. He stood in front the hero with his hands still behind him. I couldn't see the expression on his face, but I could feel the tension in the room rising. "You simply cannot put a price on power, Percy. To be a god, to wreak the kind vengeance you desire—"

"What will it cost?" Percy interrupted him. He didn't shout, but he might as well had.

In the distance, a lone scream pierced the silence. The kind of tortured cry you could only hear in Tartarus, or the Wastes beyond the walls.