Chapter 4: The Fall of the Chosen
Tartarus Awaits
The sun shone blood-red over Olympus that day.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
Percy Jackson stood bound in celestial bronze chains, wrists raw and aching, his body bruised from a fight he hadn't even tried to win. Jason Grace knelt beside him, still bleeding from a wound on his temple. Around them, the throne room of the gods held its breath—not in mourning, but in judgment.
Twelve thrones. Twelve Olympians. None dared meet Percy's eyes.
Except Zeus.
The King of the Gods loomed above them, thunder flickering in his irises, his voice an edict carved from storms. "Percy Jackson. Jason Grace. You stand accused of insubordination, defiance of divine law, and threatening the balance of Olympus."
Percy spat blood. "What law did we break? Saving Olympus? Again?"
Hera's cold gaze stabbed him like ice. "You interfered in matters beyond your station. You've grown too powerful. Too independent."
"We bled for you," Jason growled. "We lost friends. Family."
"And yet," said Zeus, "power breeds ambition. Olympus has endured not because of sentiment, but because it acts."
"Acts?" Percy said. "You call this justice?"
Reyna stood in silence behind Zeus's throne. She wore the armor of a praetor, but her eyes betrayed the war within. She didn't speak. Neither did Chiron, who watched from the edge of the room, head bowed.
But what cut deeper was the one who stood just behind Athena's throne, her gray eyes rimmed red.
Annabeth.
She said nothing.
Percy waited. One word. One defense. She had once stormed Tartarus beside him. Now she couldn't even look at him.
Zeus raised his hand. "The sentence is exile. To Tartarus."
The chamber gasped.
"No trial?" Jason snapped. "No chance to explain?"
"This is your trial," said Hera. "You are too dangerous to remain."
Hephaestus's hammer tightened in his grasp, but he didn't speak. Poseidon was absent, silent in the depths of the sea. Not a single god rose to defend their champions.
"Do not resist," said Zeus. "Your deaths would be less merciful than Tartarus."
Percy closed his eyes. He thought of Sally, of Grover, of the little things—sunlight on waves, Annabeth's laugh, blue cake on birthdays.
Jason's shoulder brushed his. "We'll make it out," he said quietly.
Percy didn't reply.
A flash of divine power opened a tear in the floor. Screaming winds howled from below—a chasm into madness.
The gods turned their backs.
And the heroes fell.
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A Descent Meant to Kill
The fall into Tartarus was long.
They plunged past crumbling ledges, through cold mist and foul winds that stank of rot and old blood. The River Phlegethon boiled below, and jagged cliffs loomed like teeth ready to consume.
When they landed, it was not on stone, but on bone.
Jason groaned, dragging himself up. "Still alive?"
Percy coughed, rolling over. "Define alive."
Above them, the rip in reality sealed, leaving them in eternal twilight.
Tartarus was unchanged. Worse, even. Like it remembered them.
They stumbled through the jagged terrain, battling monsters that never stayed dead. Old enemies—Empousai, Geryon, Krios—all returned in mockery.
"There's no way out," Jason muttered after days—weeks? Time didn't exist here. "We're not meant to survive."
"That's the point," Percy said, hands bloodied from clutching Riptide. "We were never meant to."
Still, they fought.
Still, they endured.
Not because they hoped to escape—but because survival was all they had left.
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Shadows of the Past
In the heart of Tartarus, memories hurt more than wounds.
Jason saw Leo's smile in his dreams. Reyna's trust. Piper's fierce gaze. Then they'd blur—faces full of betrayal, echoing Olympus's verdict.
Percy saw Annabeth.
Over and over again.
That silence in the throne room broke him more than monsters ever had.
"You okay?" Jason asked one day, watching Percy crouch near a crimson spring.
Percy didn't answer.
He stared into the water. His reflection looked older. Harder.
"I think we died up there," Percy whispered. "And they just buried our bodies down here."
Jason sank beside him. "We're still breathing."
"For what? So we can rot a little slower?"
The silence between them stretched.
Then, for the first time in Tartarus, Percy laughed—a bitter sound. "You know what the worst part is?"
"What?"
"I'd do it all again. Every mission. Every sacrifice. And they threw me away like I was a ticking bomb."
Jason nodded. "We were loyal. That scared them."
Percy's voice lowered. "Next time… I won't be."
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The Return
They found themselves at the edge of a void one day. Deeper than any trench. A place even Tartarus recoiled from.
Something ancient stirred.
Not a monster. Not a titan. Not a god.
A presence.
At first, they thought it was the stars playing tricks. Then the air changed. It shimmered—no, reverberated. Like reality bent to make space.
And then… he appeared.
Not in blinding light, not in thunder.
But in silence.
The void parted, and a figure emerged. Taller than Titans. Eyes like galaxies in flux. Cloak stitched from stardust and black suns. He was war. He was peace. He was balance.
Percy's instincts screamed.
Jason dropped to a knee without knowing why.
The being stepped forward. His voice was a whisper across eternity.
> "Two sons cast into the pit. Not for their crimes, but for their promise."
Percy stood. Riptide in hand. "Who are you?"
"I am Aetherion," he said. "Firstborn of Chaos. Creation and Destruction made flesh. I watched your world rise. I saw the spark in your blood long before Olympus did."
Jason's jaw tightened. "Then why now?"
"Because you have nothing left to lose," Aetherion said. "Only then can a warrior be reborn."
Percy narrowed his eyes. "You here to kill us?"
"No," the Primordial said. "I am here to offer you what Olympus never did—truth, power, and purpose."
Aetherion raised his hand. A door opened—not of metal or magic, but of reality itself—a portal to a place beyond Tartarus, beyond stars.
The Astral Realm.
"You were sentenced to die," he said. "But now, you will rise. Not as their heroes… but as mine."
Jason looked at Percy.
Percy met his gaze. This time, there was no doubt.
They stepped forward together.
To be continued in Chapter 5: The Astral Reforging
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