To Swear On Styx

Chapter Nineteen: I Give In

Playlist Part Nineteen:

The Mad King - Rok Nardin

Neptune - Sleeping At Last

~*~

Percy was standing at the threshold of the Olympian's throne room. It was winter, and the cold air was biting into his exposed skin, snow packing up in drifts on the ground. The sky was bleak, and the only color aside from white or gray was his blood, red against his pallor skin and the cracked stairs beneath his feet.

Pressing his hand against a still-bleeding gash in his side, Percy stumbled to the top of the stairs, his grip loosening on the hilt of Riptide. His palm was wet with blood, and each step sent crimson liquid splattering to the marble floor. His breath came out ragged, and when he looked up, squinting past the dying embers of the hearth and off to the thrones, his vision swam with black spots.

A cough tore its way up Percy's throat, and more blood dribbled out from between his lips. He was going to bleed out at this rate, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. The only thing that mattered was winning, and if he could just bring the Titan lounging in Zeus' throne down with him, that'd be good enough.

As if on cue, the Titan cast a sidelong glance at Percy. His legs were thrown up over one of the throne's armrests, and in his hands was a giant, wicked-sharp scythe. Its blade reflected the dim light seeping into the throne room, grinning eerily back at Percy.

The Titan's gaze dragged over the demigod, before a crooked smile flicked across his lips. "You're dying," he noted, and Percy grunted in reply, tightening his hold on Riptide.

He watched warily as the Titan- Kronos- rose to his feet and arched his back into a wide stretch. "It's not even fun, to fight you like this," Kronos mused, his gold eyes lidded in glee. "Perhaps..." He trailed off, snapping his fingers.

It took a moment for Percy, delirious with pain as he was, to realize what was happening- his cuts were healing up, open wounds knitting themselves back together. Bruises faded into healthy skin, gashes into thin scars. Percy's head cleared and his eyes refocused, the taste of blood draining from his mouth. His hand clenched around Riptide in a vice, and his eyes narrowed at Kronos' all too-eager expression.

Instead of taking the bait, and having the goading conversation Kronos probably wanted, Percy, newly healed for whatever sick, twisted reason, lurched forward, skimming up the stairs toward the throne. Riptide sang as it cut through the air, and there was a flash of silver as Kronos lazily flicked his scythe out in front of him. The sound of their blades meeting was deafening, and white noise rushed through Percy's ears. "I hope you liked Tartarus," he bit out, straining against Kronos' sheer strength.

Kronos merely arched a brow, before a wide grin tugged across his face. "Not as much as you did, I'm sure," he drawled. He reered his leg back then, his foot striking Percy in the gut, and the demigod went stumbling backwards to the landing, his chest heaving.

It was a momentary set-back; Percy yelled, and the palace around them rumbled, cracks shooting out around them and broken ceiling tiles crashing against the floor. Kronos arched a brow, batting away a chunk of marble with his scythe as he stalked toward Percy, eyeing the younger curiously. "So..." He stretched out the word, obviously amused at Percy's anger. "Earthquakes, too, Perseus? Please, I was already impressed. There's no need to delve further."

He let out a sharp laugh, and Percy bristled. "I don't want your attention," the younger spat, shifting Riptide so the tip of the blade followed Kronos as the older circled him.

"Too late," Kronos hummed. The Titan moved faster than Percy could process, tearing forward and very nearly goring Percy in the stomach. It was years of experience that kept him alive, Riptide arching down in an awkward hold that bent Percy's wrist the wrong way and sent a shudder up his arm as his muscles strained to hold off the sharpened blade of Kronos' scythe.