The New Avenger

Deserve it

Percy's POV:

The world was darkness and pain. But not enough. Not enough pain. To much light. I killed them all. They were my friends, my mortal friends. My very presence signed their death sentence. And I didn't give it a second thought. Five people. Five good, kind people. Dead. Because of me. It's my fault. Whatever happens I have coming for me.

A fist hits my face, my nose erupts with blood. So much blood. But this nose bleed won't end the world. This nose bleed I deserve. The pain is a relief. The blows continue. To my body. My head. Every limb I have. The pain barely registers. The blows are meant to hurt, but they're angry. Frantic. Each punch is filled with hurt, anguish, fury. And I deserve it. I don't struggle as Peter attacks me. I killed his friends. It's only fair that he is allowed to kill me. He believed I was his friend, and I let him. Part of me believed it too. If there is anything that I've learned it's that the worst pain never comes from your enemies. The most cutting betrayals come for your friends. The ones you'd die for.

As a tall blond man tries to pull Peter off me I hope he fails. Whatever pain Peter inflicts on me won't be enough. It will never be enough. Each blow offers me solstice, in a sick kind of way. I don't deserve to live. Not when they are dead. Chiron was wrong. I am not strong enough, fast enough, smart enough. All I am is a freak. A freak who is supposed to be a hero. Great hero, one who can't even save his own friends lives.

Some part of me is aware that my beating has stopped, that Peter is gone. My body aches for the pain to come back. It hides the actual pain. If my brain is focused on physical pain then I can't think. Which is good, because when you begin to think you inevitably remember. So pain is good, and thoughts are bad. Ironic, perhaps. Effective none the less. 

My body is being moved, roughly, but still I struggle not. Because no matter where they take me, no matter what tortures they inflict on me, it won't be enough. 

I should fight. I should try to free myself. If not for me, for my mom. But who would want a son like me? To call me a disappointment would be offensive to disappointments. Because of me she had to marry Smelly Gabe, which practically ruined her life. And ever since I've learned of being a demi-god I've caused her nothing but concern. Disappearing. Nearly dying. Disappearing again. Nearly dying again. Over and over and over again. 

My mom deserves better than me. She and Paul, they could be happy together. But you can't be happy if you're constantly looking over you're shoulder. Looking for a threat you might not even recognize. The world won't give you anything, but this, this I can give my mom. Its the most important thing of all, really. Freedom. Freedom from the greatest evil in her life. Freedom from me.

I'm thrown in a vehicle and for the first time I look up, to see those who are carrying me. Its a man. He looks like he's used to be waited upon. Maybe he's what a girl would call good looking, but it's probably his obvious money they'd be after. Today nobody would call him handsome. His face is disgusted, furious. At me.

The guilt of what I've done crashes over me like a violent ocean wave. But instead of being refreshing like the sea should be it tries to pull me under. Like the muskeg in Alaska.

I'm drowning in everything. Who I should be. Who I am. Who I am not. What I have done. What I have not done. It's too much. It's the entire universe of everything I've done wrong in my life. I can't keep doing this. I don't know how much longer I can hold on before my head goes under for good. Air won't enter my lungs, the world is getting darker. My knees give out, unable to support me from the all consuming blackness. It can't take me. I can't let it. But still it comes. Closer. Circling. Everywhere. Nowhere. My stomachs heaves, bile spewing on the ground. 

My wrists are bound. I can't move. The air is poisonous, red. In front of me stands the pit turned living being. His feet are the size of coffins, flesh a nauseous purple color t,he same as the ground on which I stand. But his face, its unimaginable. It isn't a face at all, merely a black whole where a face should go. And everything is drawn towards it, the entirety of this place seems to be leaning towards the beings magnet face. My very soul seems to be being wrenched from my chest and I'm powerless to hold onto it.

This time there are no taunts. No cruel words. Just a laugh. A laugh that could split mountains. In fact it might be a mountain breaking apart. My eardrums scream at the sound. The entire world is covering its ears in its thunderous presence. Zeus's lightning bolt has nothing on Tartarus's laugh. But it is just a laugh.

And then I am free once again. Or as free as I will ever be.  

A/N

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