A Son From Lands Unknown (PJO x Male Reader)

To Hades Proper

Imagine the largest concert crowd ever seen, a football field packed with millions of fans. Now, imagine a field a million times bigger than that, packed with people, with the electricity cut. No lights, no noise, no special effects. Something tragic happened backstage. Whispering masses of people just milling around in the shadows, waiting for a concert that will never begin.

That image would compose any given spot in the Fields of Asphodel. The black grass had been trampled by eons of dead feet. A warm, moist wind blew like the breath of a swamp. Black trees, poplars according to Grover, grew in clumps. The cavern ceiling was so high that it could've been confused for a bank of storm clouds, except for the stalactites that glowed a faint gray and threatened to fall on them at any moment. A few already fallen ones were dotted around, impaled into the black grass.

The group of questers tried to blend into the crowd, keeping an eye out for security ghouls. Percy couldn't help but look for familiar faces among the spirits, but the dead were hard to look at. Their faces shimmered and they all looked angry or confused. They would occasionally approach to speak, but their voices didn't sound like words. They sounded more like chittering, a la bats, or insects. Once they realized they weren't being understood, they'd simply frown and move away.

The dead weren't scary, they were just sad.

The group crept along, following the line of new arrivals that snaked from the main gates toward a black-tented pavilion with a banner that read, 'Judgements for Elysium and Eternal Damnation. Welcome, Newly Deceased!'

Out of the back of the tent came two smaller lines. To the left, spirits flanked by security ghouls were marched down a rocky path toward the Fields of Punishment, which glowed and smoked in the distance, a vast, cracked wasteland with rivers of lava and minefields and miles of barbed wire separating the different torture ares. Even from far away, people could be seen being chased by hellhounds, burned at the stake, forced to run naked through cactus patches, or listen to opera music. There was also a till that looked very tiny due to perspective, the ant-sized figure of Sisyphus struggling to move his boulder to the top. There were worse tortures, too. Things that none of the group felt like describing.

It was exactly how (Y/N) imagined his father and infernal uncles' domains.

The line coming from the right side of the pavilion was much better. This one led down towards a small valley surrounded by walls, a gated community, which seemed to be the only happy part of the Underworld. Beyond the security gates were neighborhoods of beautiful houses from every period in history. Roman villas, medieval castles, Victorian mansions, all of it. Silver and gold flowers bloomed on the lawns. The grass rippled in rainbow colors. The sound of laughter and the smell of barbecue cooking were detectable from where the group was standing.

That was Elysium.

In the middle of it was a glittering blue lake, with three small islands like a vacation resort in the Bahamas. The Isles of the Blessed, for people who had chosen to be reborn three times, and three times achieved Elysium. Percy knew that was where he wanted to go when he died, but (Y/N) had a feeling he'd never get to see its gates due to his father.

"That's what it's all about," Annabeth said like she was reading Percy's thoughts. "That's the place for heroes."

Looking at how few people were in Elysium, how tiny it was compared to Asphodel or even Punishment was something Percy found depressing, though. So few people doing good in their lives.

The group moved past the judgment pavilion and continued deeper into the Asphodel Fields. It got darker. The colors faded from their clothes. The crowds of spirits began to thin. After a few miles of walking, they began to hear a familiar screech in the distance. Looming on the horizon was a palace of glittering black obsidian. Above the parapets swirled three dark, batlike creatures: the Furies. It was almost like they were waiting for them.