"Words, how little they mean
When you're a little too late"

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Song: Sad Beautiful Tragic, Taylor Swift

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XLVI - Rescue

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"Where are you, Percy?" Travis Stoll hissed under his breath.

He was silenced by glares from his companions. They had probably only been looking for their dear friend or classmate for less than an hour but every empty door and dead-end did nothing to help them.

They had started on level nine, all of them certain he wouldn't be held on higher floors. The floor had been empty, so to preserve time, they went down a floor to the dark and decrepit halls of level ten.

They didn't necessarily need the heavy mist of Lou Ellen, seeing as they were yet to run into a single person on this level, but it was a nice backup. They rounded yet another corner. And then they heard it; a scream.

The demigods straightened up immediately at the sound, and a familiar, yet very faint, wash of power lingered in these halls. "He's close," Kayla muttered. The rest of the group nodded. The witches, Ciara and Amabilia, reached for their wands. They took off, desperate as the screams continued.

They turned another corner. The power here was stronger, but they all knew he wasn't in this hall. The screams were getting louder. One more, and it was loud enough that they knew he was here. "What's going on?" Kayla asked, reaching for her bow.

"Only the gods know." Lou Ellen said. "I'm dropping the mist, let's go." Nods.

The scream stopped suddenly, and they all knew that meant nothing good. "For the love of the gods!" Travis cried, voice breaking halfway through. Angry tears welled in his eyes.

They reached a door, only to find it locked. Desperate, Travis and Connon slammed against it over and over, until the lock broke and the door flew open, revealing an unconscious Percy Jackson tied to a chair. The next moments were a blur. A man, a wizard, was in the room and a furious Lou Ellen tackled him to the floor, slitting his throat.

Ciara and Amabilia exchanged glances as the demigods got to work around them. Kayla's hands were glowing white, her eyes and skin steadily following suit. Connor pulled out a wickedly curved knife and cut Percy's bonds. Lou Ellen stood over the man's corpse, face horrifyingly blank.

This was wrong, in every damn way. They were so calm, so impassively emotionless that Ciara and Ama had to take a step back. If this was demigods when they were angry...

The thoughts were dark and twisted, but all of that flew away when Percy's eyes fluttered open. A babble of words came out of his mouth but Kayla ordered him to shush, and he did as he was told, biting his lip.

His colour returned, and the sweat dripping down his brow grew less. Kayla cleaned the wounds the best she could, and Connor and Travis helped him up. He was quite tall next to them, both girls noted.

They let the three pass them out the door and they followed after. The group walked silently through the halls, coughs from Percy being the only thing that broke the silence. They rounded the corner, and suddenly, an explosion rocked the building, throwing them to their feet.

"Water, now ." Percy snapped at Kayla as he struggled to his feet. She sighed, and dug it out of her bag, tossing it to him. He swallowed it and drew his sword.

"Percy..." Travis said nervously, cut off by a glare from Percy. His eyes were terrifying, burning with pain and anger. The lines of age had faded from his face and the light caught against a pale scar across his neck.

Travis bit his lip and Percy limped away, towards the elevators. It was obvious he intended to go into the fight, and they had no choice but to follow him. The man who was a hero, a prince, a leader, a bastard of one of the three great kings, a child of a broken line of betrayal and paranoia, who was broken by words but had lived to draw his ancient blade once more.

Perseus. Poseidon. Kronos. Ouranos. Chaos.

Demigod. God. Titan. Primordial. Creator.

Too much like his father.

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XLVII - A Time of Betrayal and Snakes

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The fight of the Department of Mysteries was in full force when they reached the next floor.

Spells were flying, and the ground trembled beneath them. White mist and black shadows lingered on the ground, ready and waiting for their masters.

It was Annabeth who saw them first, her face breaking out into relief when she saw him, despite the blood and the limp. She ran to them, dodging spells and swords as she did. Once he saw her, he broke away from the group, allowing her to barrel into him.

Miraculously keeping his balance, they exchanged a tight hug. "What are you doing here, you need to rest—" Annabeth says, cut off as a spell lands inches from them, and the two of them lept out of its bite, falling to the floor. His sword slips his grasp.

"I missed you," He says, as he grabs his sword.

Annabeth swallowed down her tears. "I know," she said, voice breaking. "I know."

They heard a yell and whirled to see Sirius get hit by a spell, loud cackling filling the air. Behind him, there was a veil that even from here, Percy could sense the darkness of. He was just about to fall in when a blur of black hit him, sending him sprawling to the floor.

Nico di Angelo now stood in front of the veil, black sword brought to draw. He smiled, and the veil suddenly erupted, shadows and the wails of the souls trapped in it coming to serve their master, their king.

It was a terrifying sight, his eyes black and smoking, his sword of death, Thnisimótita —mortality—in hand. Wails and screams of trapped souls warping and growing louder as the death eaters fell to their pestilence.

Another scream, sounding more like a sob cut through the air. Annabeth and Percy looked at the noise, and Annabeth's jaw dropped and her heart swelled with pity as she saw the sight. Percy's eyes narrow, hand flexing on the hilt of Riptide.

Amabilia had the gifted blade of Metis was pointed at a death eater, cheeks dripping with tears. The resemblance was so close to her, Annabeth knew it must have been her father. She remembered what Ama had said about him, the way she praised him for not being like other Purebloods.

But here he was.

Dressed in black and with the mask of The Dark Lords followers. Eyes strangely unfocused. "My daughter—" He tried, words somewhat slurred and forced.

Annabeth saw the burning rage, saw the way the blade glimmered. Athena, guide her, Metis, protect her, Annabeth prayed. There was no stop now, she thought darkly. Percy brought his sword up to deflect a spell and stumbled. Annabeth caught him.

"I AM NOT YOUR DAUGHTER ." She howled.

"NOT ANYMORE ."

"Ama, please— "

"How could you. Turn to this, when this is what took Mom? Join the very thing that took her from us?" She shrieked.

"Ama, dear listen, please, the imperious cur—" Ama lunged forward, sticking the knife between his lower ribs, before the words could drown out the roar of her anger.

Time seemed to slow around the pair. His face twisted up into surprise, Amabilia's face settled to stone. He crumpled, taking his daughter with him. His hands, shaking and bloody came up to cup her face and he whispered something to her.

The situation hit Amabilia seconds later, her face paling. She looked at war with herself. "No," She said, "I'm sorry, no, I didn't— how, Papa, how —" she let loose a scream.

"Plead for your father later, Amabilia Ventrence, and maybe he'll get his mind back," a voice spoke. It was cold and wrong in every way, sending shivers shooting up Annabeth's spine. Slowly she turned, and the man standing there, mere feet from Harry, was horrifying.

His eyes were red, his skin pale and snake-like. Wrapped in the same fine blackness of his followers, Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Flight of Death, smiled.

"Hello, godchildren. Come to fight?"