A Valhalla Disaster.

All rights go to Rick Riordan. I own nothing but the plot. 

Summary: Percy, Jason, Piper, and Annabeth die and go to Valhalla. Except . . . The Greek and Roman, and Vallhalla is Norse. Yeah, they've got a problem. There will probably be three to five chapters to this story.  

Set after the Giant war and Hammer of Thor.

Percy's POV.

I awake screaming. I'm writhing on the floor, yelling. My cuts, my scars, not yet healed from the giant war, are split open, blood pouring down, like a thin waterfall of blood, red, wet, and sticky. I bolt up, panting, cold sweat flooding my body. My eyes snap open, and, alertly, I take in my surroundings. My hand, scarred and scorched, instinctually goes to my pocket, where my trusty ballpoint pen, Riptide, or Anaklusmos, sits. It doesn't look like much, just a plain black ballpoint pen, looking like it probably cost fifty cents, but when uncapped, turns into a celestial bronze sword. I reach down and placed a hand to my gut, expecting to feel burns and injuries. From what, I don't know. I just know they should be there. I blink in surprise. My skin is smooth, my only scars being my ones from the wars. Somehow, I'd survived! Except . . . That couldn't be right. I couldn't be alive. My senses expand. I stand in front of two wolf-headed doors, the words Valhalla inscripted neatly above the heads, close to the centre. Surrounding me are lights and palaces. It's beautiful, really, but I can't help but notice the lack of people. No one is walking the streets, fighting monsters, or talking. Immediately, I grow suspicious. I was healed, which should be impossible. The place was empty and vacant, which, with such a big place, wasn't right. My eyes narrow. Instinctively, I pull out and grasp Riptide tightly, ready to uncap at the smallest notice of danger. I reach out hesitantly and push the doors open slightly, slipping inside and attempting to be quiet.

In this room, there is a desk, with only two people. One of them, I notice observantly, has a name tag which reads Helgi. He stands next to the other gloomily, glaring at him.

Cautiously, I make my way over to the desk and glance up at them.

"Uh . . . Where am I?"

"Valhalla, kid. You realise that check-in time is at three and if you get here earlier we can't say your room will be ready." Hunding says. "Floor nineteen . . ." He muses. "You'll like it there, I think, Kid. Troublemakers, they are."

"We've upgraded you to a suite." Hunding adds.

"We've upgraded everyone to suites. All we have are suites." Helgi grumbles.

Hunding ignores him. "Do you have any luggage?"

"I-" I glance down at Riptide, still firmly grasped in my hand. "Just my pen."

"A pen? Why did you have a pen on you? Whatever." Helgi interjects.

"Do you want the minibar key?" Hunding questions.

What the hell is the minibar key?

"You want the minibar key. Kid, you want the minibar key. It'll be a long stay." Helgi answers for me.

"How long?" My mouth is dry and voice hoarse.

"Forever, or until Ragnarok. Whichever comes first."

"Floor's this way!"

I have no idea what they're talking about. Ragnarok? Suite? Floor nineteen? Valhalla? What are they talking about? However, I have no intention on getting left . . . Where ever this is, so I follow, confused. I still don't trust them. My hand rests gently against riptide, just in case. Helgi leads me through numerous turns and hallways, most decorated by weapons and wolves. My head is full with with questions, but I stay silent, confusion shadowing me. At one room we pass, metal clangs from inside, as if a sword fight is going on. At another, a pig's head lays at the door and I cringe. At one floor, laughter booms. Helgi yells for me to duck, and I blink in confusion. Duck? Why would there be a duck? Too late, I realise his meaning. A spear comes sailing out of nowhere and impales me in the gut. I cry out, my pain echoing, and I double over.