Percy Jackson hates Kronos.
Percy hates the way the Titan King somehow, someway, cheated death- clawing his way out of Tartarus after four years to kill more of his friends, to throw the Olympians into their own prisons and claim Zeus' throne as hi...
Author's Note - HEYYY GUYSSS!! this chapter is so late im sorry ;-; The final third of this chapter has been edited. It should still flow, but keep in mind some details have been removed. Also keep in mind this story is rated as 18+.
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Percy still wasn't exactly warming up to the whole "King" thing.
The second he'd rounded the corner leading to the prison's entrance, the two Titans- Atlas and Pallas, who had been half-heartedly standing guard in front of the doors, had shot to attention, their gazes silently latching onto Percy as the younger trudged forward, his chiton swishing against his legs.
Once he was just a few feet away, the two of them- Atlas albeit grudgingly- dipped their heads, quietly murmuring: "King."
Flinching slightly, a muscle in Percy's jaw twitched, his gaze darting back and forth as he warily eyed the deities before him. "Can you- uh, could you guys let me through?"
"Of course, King," Pallas- a second generation Titan Percy wasn't all-too familiar with- replied smoothly, shooting a quick glance at Atlas as he reached for the left door handle and began to heave it open. On the opposite side, Atlas mirrored his cousin' s movements, grumbling under his breath in Greek about guard duty and babysitting.
Pretending not to hear him- Percy and the son of Iapetus weren't exactly on the best of terms- the demigod-turned-Titan quietly paced past the two of them, slowly stepping into the dimly-lit hallway. For a moment, he wavered there, completely and utterly unenthused about the prospect of rounding the corner up ahead and standing face-to-face with his friends for the first time since he'd half-killed them. For the first time since he'd spilled their blood, since he'd seen the horror, the anger on their faces-
For the first time since Annabeth had stabbed him.
Sucking in a deep breath, Percy forced himself forward, all but dragging his feet as the prison doors swung shut behind him, a low groan of divine metal on divine metal echoing down the hall as the locks snapped back into place. At his sides, nearly ten feet up the cracked stone walls, the Greek fire torches shifted minutely, bending in the whisper of air that sighed past him.
They'd heard that- they'd heard that. There was no way they hadn't, no way they didn't know, that somebody was just behind the wall.
For a moment, Percy felt twelve again. He felt like he was back in that dream, back standing on his tip-toes to see above the counter, staring into the black eyes of the man behind the register. He felt scared, nauseous, sick-to-his-stomach. He felt like a terrified little kid.
