Betrayed But Never Forgotten

One way ticket to Hell

Percy's pov

As I was falling, I had a lot of time to think about my life so far. Not pleasant reminiscing, but bitter memories that carved deeper grooves of resentment with each passing second. My first quest—naive and terrified, facing death at twelve when others worried about homework. My underwater kiss with Annabeth, a moment I once treasured, now poisoned by betrayal. Getting kidnapped by Hera, my life stolen away for months while everyone moved on without me. 

Defeating Gaea only to be cast aside like yesterday's hero.

And Jason... The name alone makes my blood boil. His jealousy, his lies, his calculated campaign to turn everyone against me. The day they all chose him over me replays in my mind, their faces blurring together in a mosaic of betrayal. Even Annabeth—gods, especially Annabeth—her gray eyes cold as she turned away. The memory is a blade that twists deeper with every heartbeat.

Becoming Chaos's son wasn't salvation; it was exile. And now, a new sister given to me only to be snatched away, hovering between life and death. And the cruelest joke of all—being forced back to the ones who betrayed me, watching them need me after they threw me away.

Somehow I could tell it's been nine days. Nine days of plummeting through darkness, each moment stretching into an eternity of rage and bitterness. The air grew hotter, thicker, choking me with sulfurous fumes that seemed to feed my anger. The red glow of Tartarus illuminated my swords as I approached the entrance of that vast, hellish cavern—a place I've seen too many times for one lifetime.

Columns of jagged rock, rivers of liquid fire, and every manner of death trap covered the landscape as far as my eyes could see. The terrain itself seemed to pulse with malevolence, as if Tartarus itself recognized me and hungered for my fall.

As I neared the ground, I scanned for familiar surroundings from my previous descents into this nightmare realm. In the distance, I spotted the putrid swamp where monsters are reborn, bubbling with primordial ooze, and the Phlegethon—the fire river that burns the throat as it 

heals. These landmarks were perverse old friends now.

 CRACK

I landed on one knee, my sword Nightmare impaling the hollow, cursed soil of Tartarus. Fissures spiderwebbed across the ground, stretching for yards in every direction—a testament to my strength, but also to the hatred that fueled it. The poisonous air no longer bothered my lungs—Chaos had seen to that—but it still stung my eyes, as if determined to make me weep when I refused to.

I stood up and flicked my hood off. No need for secrecy in this place. Let them see my face. Let them remember who brought their destruction. The Empousai nearby backed away, creating a clear path. Their glowing red eyes betrayed their fear—they recognized me not as Percy Jackson, but as Torture, son of Chaos, harbinger of their doom.

I pushed my ash-streaked black hair out of my eyes, my fingers lingering on the scar that traced my cheekbone—a parting gift from my former friends. As I walked, I passed Kelli and her minions. She tried her usual seduction routine, her mismatched legs clacking on the obsidian ground.

"Percy Jackson," she purred, "or should I say—"

I didn't let her finish. Nightmare whistled through the air, cleaving her into dust before she could even scream. Her minions scattered like cockroaches, their eyes wide with terror. I felt nothing—not satisfaction, not remorse. Just cold, efficient rage.

Occasionally, I crossed paths with monsters I'd already met in the world above. Cyclopes who once served in Poseidon's forges, dracaenae who'd begged for mercy on battlefield. Without hesitation, I sliced them in half, their death wails adding to the cacophony of Tartarus. Some called my name, pleaded, reminded me of mercy I'd once shown.I showed none now.

Ash fell from the cavern ceiling like black snow, coating my hair and shoulders. Trying to brush it away was futile—it crumbled in your hands, only to be replaced by more. Like the memories I couldn't escape, no matter how I tried to brush them away. I gave up on the ash and continued my walk in bitter silence, killing anything that dared meet my gaze.

The blood on my blade never dried, never dripped—Nightmare drank it all, growing warmer in my grip with each monster I dispatched. My steps left blackened footprints, as if the very ground were scorched by my passage.          

****

"You want me to do what now?" Nyx asked, her voice echoing with the power of primordial night.

Let me go back a little. I was stalking through the darkest part of Tartarus when she appeared before me—a woman formed of swirling darkness, stars glittering in the depths of her form. Recognizing who—and what—I was, she brought me to her palace, a structure built of solidified shadows and the bones of forgotten gods.

As I explained my mission, her expression shifted between amusement and curiosity. Her eyes—voids filled with dying stars—never left my face.

"I need your help to win the war against Tartarus," I repeated, my voice hollow with exhaustion and anger.

Nyx studied me, her fingers tapping a rhythm on her obsidian throne. "You've shown your strength and worthiness over the many times we've crossed paths," she said finally. "And you've never cowered before me, never begged, never flattered. How refreshing." A smile played at her lips. "So why not? Tartarus has grown tedious in his ambitions anyway."

"Thanks, Lady Nyx," I told her, standing up, ignoring the pain in my limbs from days of falling and fighting.

Nyx rose from her throne, darkness billowing around her like a living cloak. She waved her hand, and reality seemed to tear. From this rift emerged a pure black baby dragon with white highlights along its scales, sea-green eyes that mirrored my own, and a spiked white tail. It circled the chamber once before diving down to land on my shoulder, its claws digging into my armor but somehow not breaking my skin.

"A gift," Nyx explained, her voice almost gentle. "For not cowering in fear, for facing me as an equal. It will keep you safe in battle—your lives are bound now. If you die, it dies. If it dies, you die. It can grow to full size or shrink at your command."

I nodded and cautiously patted the dragon's head. Its scales were warm despite their midnight coloring, and it leaned into my touch with a sound like a purr.

"I will name it Dawn," I said, the irony not lost on me—a creature of night named for the coming day. The dragon sneezed, releasing a small jet of blue-black flame, then curled around my neck and fell asleep, its tail wrapping around my arm like a living gauntlet.

"It seems to like you," Nyx observed. Her expression grew serious. "We should head to Camp Half-Blood. I sense... disturbance there. Your absence has allowed chaos to breed—and not the kind you serve."

She placed a hand on my shoulder, her touch like ice and starlight. The dragon stirred but didn't wake. As darkness enveloped us, I thought I glimpsed something in Nyx's eyes—not quite concern, but perhaps recognition. One outcast recognizing another.

Then it all fell into darkness, and we were gone from the pit, leaving nothing behind but the echoes of monsters' fears and the footprints of a demigod who'd lost himself to bitterness and rage.