When Nico had felt that darkness swell up within him, that ominous prickle that trawled its way down his back when one of his friends died, he had almost sighed in relief. Percy Jackson was dead. He would be reunited with Annabeth; everything would go to plan. What he did not know -could not know- was that Percy Jackson had not simply died by some absentmindedness in battle, some inadvertent graze from an enemy strike that simply cut too deep. No, Percy Jackson had killed himself. At the very moment that Nico Di Angelo felt that chasm of death open up within himself, he was, unlike Grover, oblivious to that devastating fact. If he had experienced that same morose severing of the empathy link as the satyr, the son of Hades might not have been able to still his rapidly beating heart nor smile almost imperceptibly. Instead, the son of death might have wept.

Percy Jackson had decided that enough was enough. He had spent a mere few weeks alone without Annabeth, but the days stretched on endlessly and it felt like an eternity to him. What was the point of an eternity without his love when he could join her in the Underworld and have a real forever with her? He had kissed his mother goodbye, given Paul Blofis a kind of one-armed hug, and then loped out of their Manhattan apartment, driven to Montauk. For days, Percy's only company was the dip of the waves as they swelled and crested on the shore. No seagulls flapped about and no dolphins nor fish kissed the surface to meet him. It seemed everybody had deserted him. In the end, Percy Jackson had simply wandered into the surf, letting the waves ripple across his feet, his legs, his torso.

He had contemplated falling upon his sword, letting Anaklusmos take him away, but in the end, he had decided perhaps it would be easier to let a real riptide sweep him away off to the land of the dead. Anyway, Annabeth had had to face her supreme fear of death and so it seemed only fitting that Percy face his own ultimate fear to reach her.

The boy had called, prayed for a message from his father, anything that would give him a sign that Annabeth would be returned to the earth, returned to him. But all he received was silence. How dare they, the Olympians, ignore the boy who had saved their worlds? Percy was beyond furious. He wanted to provide some kind of message to the gods. Of course, his goal had been to be reunited with Annabeth, but if pissing off the gods was a little side hustle on this deathly quest, then who was Percy to deny himself such joyous revenge?

He had so few pleasures left now anyway that it seemed almost inhumane to not do so. Or so Percy's twisted, grief-warped mind had argued. The gods and goddesses of Olympus saw him as nothing more than a weapon; a tool to use, to manipulate when they needed, and to discard when they were done with him. He would show them: he was not some flimsy knife that they could toss away or retrieve when they felt the urge -he was a sword, deadlier than riptide, and double-bladed with a vicious edge that would destroy all those that betrayed him. The venom of spite and betrayal had coursed through his veins. Percy could practically feel the coldness as it bubbled in his arteries and capillaries and he let the anger consume him. It wasn't just the Olympians he wanted to destroy, he wanted to hurt his so-called friends. Frank, Leo, Jason, Piper... everybody. He had personal reasons to hurt them all: Calypso knew the pain of a lifetime without a loved one but she got her happily ever after- and yet had the audacity to refuse to help him?; Thalia had been given renewed life- how was it fair that she be given a second chance and Annabeth was denied the same thing?; and Grover who was supposed to be Annabeth and Percy's best friend had refused a quest to reopen the doors of death for the girl. The thing that hurt the most was Nico's betrayal. He had the power to bring Annabeth back and he stoutly refused! Percy knew that his own demise would hurt the son of death; Nico's unrequited crush was no secret. When the young demigod thought of Nico's doubtless devastation, a bitter smile cut his face, mirthless and full of darkness.

Now he knew exactly how Luke Castellan had felt. How easy it was to succumb -no, welcome- the bitterness that curdled when one was left alone. Percy's mind glossed over thoughts of his old Camp Half Blood mentor and he gave no further thought to the fate of the son of Hermes. If he had, perhaps he would have interrogated Nico further. And maybe Nico would have reluctantly divulged the truth of the matter. Percy would be broken-hearted, but perhaps only in a figurative sense. Maybe he'd have gotten over it and lived out the rest of his natural life until old age finally stoppered him. Nick Di Angelo would wonder about all of these what-ifs for years, tormenting himself with constant internal arguments as to whether or not he could have saved his friend's life -and death.

Percy pushed his way into the water. Maybe he imagined it but it seemed as though the waves tried to push him away. As if Poseidon had seen into Percy's mind and decoded his decision. The boy shrugged away the thought. His father didn't truly care about him, otherwise he would've been there for him. If Poseidon actually loved Percy Jackson, he'd persuade his brother to relinquish his claim on Annabeth Chase, let the girl return to the life that awaited her with Percy. But the sea god had done nothing. He hadn't even tried to alleviate his son's pain. Percy's anger swept itself into an underwater tornado that dipped above the surface and hurtled towards a small seaside township. For weeks afterwards, the townspeople would talk of the massive entirely unprecedented waterspout that had upended their community and stolen away the lives of many young children.

As Percy waded deeper in the water, he held his breath. He didn't know why he did this. When he was younger he used to do it to pretend that he was normal, that there was no petrichor weaving its way through his veins. And for some unknown reason, he still did it. Annabeth would know why: she'd explain that it was some Pavlovian response or something, some kind of psychological coping mechanism that eased the pain of being a demigod. He'd ask her when he saw her. Surely, it'd be only a few more hours before they were reunited? He let a smile trace its way across his face, and this time it was pure, full of hope and without a hint of spite. Soon, they'd be together.

The cold sea enveloped the boy and he closed his eyes and then let the water actually wash over him, breaking that blessing that Poseidon had cast upon him. Waves broke overhead and they crashed heavily on the shore as if the crested waves were fighting the sand.

For a moment, Percy had an inkling of doubt. What if...? He shook his head and his hair danced lazily in the blueness of the sea. No, he would do this. Percy took one last breath. And then he welcomed the water into his lungs, felt it rush down his throat and swirl about inside him. So, this was drowning. He thrashed about in the water, fighting himself, and the waves above him swarmed and coalesced into a violent tsunami that rose and fell with the rapid beats of the boy's dying heart. It would be so easy to just stop, to flush the water out of him and flail for the surface but he refused.

The pale light of day shone down in crepuscular waves that flickered through the water, casting an eerie pallor, a deathly glow over Percy's features. The pain in his lungs screamed at him and he smiled mirthlessly. He was dying. He shut his eyes, the ghost of a smile still on his face. He was dead.

*

"Uh, could you hurry it up a little? I'm kinda expecting a date."

Charon stared at him vacantly.

"Oh, I see," he replied, "you're a poet, or maybe a comedian, yeah?"

Percy arched an eyebrow superciliously.

"What?" Boredom etched his voice and Charon waved his fingers in front of the boy's face, mocking him.

"A date wit' destiny, innit? All poetic and whatever. Well, hate to break it to you, lad, but death's death. Your destiny's over, and if you missed out on earth, then tough luck."

The ferryman went to take Percy's drachma but the boy held onto it, determined to prove his truth.

"No, I really do have a date. My girlfriend died a few weeks ago. I'm joining her in paradise."

"Never be too sure, boyo." He reached for the coin again but when Percy opened his hand, it was empty. A skill courtesy of a lesson with the Stoll brothers. Charon slammed his fist down on the bench top.

"Now, listen, here, just because you're a godling, doesn't mean you have some kind of ... natural immunity. A lifetime of heroism doesn't always make up for one bad deed." The man eyed Percy pointedly and the son of Poseidon passed over the coin.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." He sighed heavily. He was so tired of life, couldn't death just hurry it up a little? He was seriously missing Annabeth. In the past few weeks, he'd found himself forgetting things, the exact gold of her hair in the late afternoon sunlight and whether she tied her left shoe first or her right one. Such tiny things, her little idiosyncrasies and quirks. He didn't want to forget them all.

Charon frowned at Percy. He'd been joking when he'd sniped at the boy but now he was feeling slightly strange. An aura hung around the boy and it was not good. As much as the kid had annoyed him by withholding the coin, he didn't hate him. After all, this was the lad who had negotiated Charon's raise. The ferryman preened under his Armani suit. He had a whole wardrobe of them now, and not just Armani. He now had Brioni, Prada, Valentino as well as some exquisite Savile Row pieces. He supposed that he should probably offer the boy something in exchange.

"Hey, listen here." The boy was staring vacantly about the room, evidently bored. Charon snapped his fingers in front of his face, here he was offering the boy something life-saving -well, death-saving- and the kid wasn't even listening.

"Perseus Jackson!" Percy's head whipped around and he stood, starting into the blackness of the ferryman's eyes.

"Yes?" A crease disturbed the smooth mocha of the man's forehead but he persisted, nonetheless.

"Listen. Word of advice, when you find yourself downstairs, don't try for paradise. Just, let it be. Okay? This is important. Do not contest your fate. The fields of Asphodel are good enough for anybody." Percy let his gaze wander. Why was this insufferable man telling him this?

"No, you listen. I just told you, I'm meeting my girlfriend in Elysium. Don't tell me otherwise, got it?"

The boy stalked into the lift and crossed his arms, waiting for the ferryman to join him. Charon heaved a sigh at the boy's impertinence. Oh well. He'd tried to warn the kid. Wasn't his problem anymore. The ferryman raised a hand to close the door of the elevator but Percy beat him to it, stabbing the button viciously. It was a shame that the kid had done that, for if they had waited only a second longer, perhaps he would have seen Nico Di Angelo as he and Mrs O'Leary bounded through the room, in one last attempt to save Percy Jackson.

*

Percy did not wait in the EZ Death queue. He knew he was too good for the fields of Asphodel. Instead, he stalked towards the jury. He looked around for Cerberus but didn't see the dog and made a mental note to visit the dog once he was granted Elysium. He recalled that Annabeth had promised to bring the dog another red ball and some treats the last time the demigods had seen Hades' guard dog. He wondered if she had done so and vowed to himself that he would bring the dog the treats anyway... He didn't want Annabeth inadvertently breaking a vow made on the River Styx.

The boy cast the path to Elysium a glance as he approached the jury. Soon, he would be home. The faces of the three judges seemed to blur before him as they muttered furiously amongst themselves. Something wasn't right. Percy knew from some high school pop quiz on historical figures that one of them was a former American president, another was a famous scientist and the third was a renowned blues musician that Paul Blofis liked to listen to when correcting test papers, but their names were lost in his mind. Whipped away by more consuming thoughts like why the fuck they were taking so long to approve him.

The president looked at him through discerning eyes and Percy felt a shudder run through him. He decided in that moment that he did not like the man, no matter how many times he had saved the USA. His voice was stern, yet familiar. Percy recalled hearing it trickle out of the weak SMARTboard speakers at his old high school during many a history lesson. But what he had never imagined was the way he would feel as history was made, as Perseus Jackson was rejected from Elysium.

"We regret to inform you that we will not be able to permit your entrance to Elysium..." That voice was so stiffly formal and Percy hated it. In that moment he wanted to destroy the man, slash at him with Riptide and feel the life force leave him -even though he was already dead. And then Percy immediately regretted the thought. Was it these kinds of thoughts that tumbled through his brain that had caused his exclusion from Elysium?

The blues singer spoke up. His voice was that smooth velvet that crooned out of Paul's study late into the nights, especially during exam season. His hesitance did not behoove him; it seemed wrong stammering over the dreadful words that marked Percy's hellish fate.

"Normally a suicide would mean immediate denial into Elysium: it's ... traitorous to reject the life bestowed upon one by a god. To refuse such a gift... although we know you have refused such things before." Percy supposed that the man meant the time that Percy had refused immortality. Gods, he wished he had accepted that then. Immortality as an immortal would be better than eternity in Tartarus or anyplace without Annabeth Chase. Percy strangely felt distant from himself. The words didn't hurt so much anymore and he almost felt numb.

"However, in your case, we would have overlooked the suicide were it not for..." The singer looked away. For a moment some emotion returned to Percy and he felt disgusted with the musician. Acting like he was actually sad for Percy, like it was on some reality show. There were no cameras around so why was he acting like he actually cared?

The scientist took over from the singer.

"Were it not for your promise. To Miss Chase. A vow sworn on the River Styx. A suicide may be deemed acceptable in the rarest of cases, but a broken promise made on the Styx? That... well, I'm sorry Mr Jackson, that is unforgivable."

A distant roaring rose up in Percy's ears. No. No. No. This was wrong. Things weren't going according to plan. But he should have known: nothing had ever gone right for him. Except for maybe Annabeth, but even she had been stolen from him.

Percy didn't hear the rest of the conversation. He stared at the path to Elysium vacantly and vaguely wondered what his punishment would be. He was led away by robed wraiths. As he was led along the edge of a cliff face, to the precipice he let his eyes cross the chasm. Perhaps it was some deliberate twist of fate but it seemed that the cliff face, where he was supposed to remain for the rest of eternity and fight every enemy he'd ever vanquished, overlooked Elysium.

He saw a beautiful house guarded by a gorgeous willow tree and he saw a girl setting up a picnic blanket beneath the sturdy boughs of the tree. Annabeth! Perhaps the afterlife wasn't so bad after all. He'd be able to see her from afar. Maybe with her closeness, the ache in his heart would ease. He had forever to heal after all.

Or maybe not. His already shattered heart sunk even lower as he saw another figure cross the field to join Annabeth on the blanket. Luke Castellan. Annabeth leaned into his embrace, twined her hands into his hair and kissed him. Percy screamed, a cry of pure anguish. No. This could not be.

A robed figure smirked at him from beneath its hood. Mrs Dodds. His old algebra teacher and one of Hades' furies.

"We've been looking forward to this, Mr Jackson." She said clipped, curt and yet undeniably polite. Her teacher voice was as immaculate as ever.

Percy Jackson let the tears stream down his face but he raised his head, tilted his chin defiantly. His eyes flickered from the nightmarish scene, Luke and Annabeth, together forever. It was so so hard to believe the cruelness of the fates. Had he angered one of them, all those years ago, on the bus? Percy recalled joking with Grover that those three old ladies had been knitting the socks of death. He guessed that they probably had not liked that, had decided to entangle a terrible twisted knot in his lifeline, something so unutterably soul crushing that he would wish that he had never even been born. The son of Poseidon stared back into those cold dead eyes of his former teacher. She smiled back, viciously. The boy wiped at the tears from his eyes, brushed a hand through his dark hair.

"Oh, just kill me now," he replied and although his soul was darkening with melancholy and fear, he managed to cock an eyebrow. He could act. He would act. Through his tear-blurred vision, he flashed a grin at the harpy before raising a single finger at her. She growled and swooped down upon him, a darkness that enveloped his entire body.

And then the screaming began. And it didn't subside for centuries.

*

Sometimes, Annabeth would have the oddest feeling. The faintest glimmer of déjà vu. Like she was forgetting something... or someone. From the highest window of her home, she sometimes caught a glimpse of The Beyond. Something on the other side of that chasm that yawned between paradise and the cliffs opposite the fields of Asphodel. Her neighbours in Elysium didn't like to speak of The Others, those who were never good enough to achieve eternal peace, and so she didn't pry. She was happy - why disturb her own serenity?

Occasionally, in the past, such peace of mind had been disturbed by a sudden inexplicable urge to study the photographs taken during her living life. But after a few years, the polaroids and pictures had faded, the faces almost indiscernible and she couldn't name a few of those photographed anyway. Those who remained nameless probably weren't important to her. All her friends were with her.

The only thing which seemed to ever-so-slightly draw her away from an eternity of happiness was that haunting sound that the wind carried sometimes. It was doubtlessly just another scream from the depths of Tartarus, but that couldn't be helped. And yet, a shiver still ran down her spine every time she heard it.

A voice, vaguely familiar as if from a dream or another life. It called to her, always, and remained on the precipice of her mind. So faint it almost wasn't there, but it was there. It drew her to the uppermost window of her house. She wasn't often home, instead spending most of her time with Luke in the home that they shared. She actually spent more time with her  friends -mostly demigods and fallen heroes she had known on Earth but many other deceased who she had met in death- in their homes than in her own mansion.

But when she did return to the empty house, she found her footstep tracing a way to that window, where, if she squinted hard enough, she could just make out a vague figure, across that chasm. She often caressed the sprig of moonlace, considering how it reminded her of somebody she didn't know or had never met, and if she strained her ears, sometimes she heard that ghostly voice as it screamed her name.

She didn't know what it meant. Perhaps one day this glitch in Elysium would be resolved. She kept meaning to ask that boy. Death's son, Nico Di Angelo. She had a feeling that they had been friends once-upon-a-time but he avoided her now and disappeared whenever she approached him. And so the mystery of the voice in the wind remained on the edge of her mind. For all eternity. It was annoying, sure, she supposed.

But there were much worse fates to endure.

~ ~ ~

Oh my gods, guys. How did you feel about this chapter?

This was actually supposed to be the last chapter (never fear, more are coming yayyy!) so take a deep breath and imagine for a moment that this. is. the. end.

Please let me know what you thought. I know it's an utterly heartbreaking ending and so cruel too ! How would you feel if this truly was the end? Let me know x

I was literally like twelve, thirteen, years old when I thought up this stuff. Like duuude, this is so dark, like what?? Crazy, right ? And yeah, this WAS literally the end. No happily ever after for Percy, just eternal torment. Forevermore. Pretty shocking considering Percy was like probably one of my first fictional crushes ahaha -but I guess I loved Luke too.

I think I probably love Percy a little more now because I really do think he deserves his happily ever after -what do you think? I haven't read the newest Riordan books yet (high school is hell-especially year 12... no time for anything !! It sucks.) but I remember in one of the earlier Trials of Apollo books, Percy seemed so world-weary. He was preparing for his examinations... something to do w getting into a New Rome uni and Apollo was being all annoying and like "Oh, I was the one who decided you guys had to do a torturous amount of music study to get in" and Percy seemed so tired of his life. So I guess that started the vague inkling of a plan for a better ending for the son of the sea god.

(Also, if you remember what part/book/chapter ^ the above is from, please let me know so I can reread it. :( Poor Percy, he really does deserve a better fate. Oh, and don't forget to vote n spam me w lots of whyyyyyy comments !)

Anyways, let me know your ~feelings about what just happened. Gods, I sound like a yoga instructor or something ahahah.

Hope you enjoyed (also, feel free to rant at me for what a ghastly fate twelve year old me decided Percy deserved haha.)