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The blood thumped in their veins, their eyes burning with rage.
Oh, how far they had fallen from the grace of the gods.
How dare they come to him!
How dare they cry out at him!
“For help”, they say. “We need you”, they pleaded. “You are our god,” they swore.
Their words are many, coated with sweet sugar that burns like salt on the wound. They try so hard but are futile in everything.
How dare they come to him!
How dare they cry out at him!
After they left him, abandoning him to the gods, leaving him to serve their will, He growled at that. The very idea of being like the gods hurt him, which led his followers to die and fall by the sword.
The ichor in his blood churns, humming a tune of the old times.
But after all, would he kill them? Bring them down and bury them?
The hate in his lungs writhe!
But to do that, he would be like the gods he hates. Like the Olympians who cast down all that they are displeased with. He would be like those ragelings standing before him in the entrance way.
No, he would not fall so far as they did, but he will rise above them all.
The night spoke to him, whispering promises, offering all he might desire, but he would control it.
He could control the darkness within, but these monsters before him would not survive it.
The rageful monsters had no need for Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon. They demanded from Perseus. They demanded the Hopebringer. They demanded attention from the Destroyer, the god of hate and vengeance… their god… the god of demigods.
They demanded something they did not know.
They cried out to him in desperate prayers, sending them above, for all to hear, their unshed tears choking them!
Did they not know the danger before them, the very creature of hate they cried for?
The gods had forgotten the ways of the Styx, the oath for which she stood! For she was gone.
But it was Perseus’s blood that demanded retribution!
For the crimes committed!
He demanded payment!
He sought it in pain, in blood, in vengeance!