Spirit Space- A Percy Jackson Titans Curse AU

ᄃΉΛPƬΣЯ ӨПΣ

The screen ran red with blood. 

I cringed as a woman's scream rattled my ears, surround sound is NOT helping in this situation. Horror movies really did it right. Skeletal warriors marched on and off screen carrying bloodstained swords or charged laser guns or some other lethal and totally illegal weapon.

Another explosion rocked the camera as a detonator was set off. Each time one sounded, screams of citizens and cries of children followed shortly afterwards. The familiar hum of a shipboard gun charging up rumbled before another deafening blast shook the screen.

Some man shielding his child from a bone soldier got hefted into the air, a skeletal hand drove through his gut and pulled out covered with blood and various human insides. As the father dropped lifeless to the ground, the onlooking child wails and runs to his side. He screams something incomprehensible before get shot down by the minion, gruesome squelching noises coming from the kid's multiple bullet wounds. His corpse laying by his fathers side. 

A woman briefly ran by before getting shot down as well. Blood pouring from the sudden wound in her chest. She clutched the puncture and wobbled before collapsing off screen. The cameraman yelped and scurried in another direction, flashes of blood, corpses, and dismantled limbs appearing. They panned back to the destruction. 

Skeletal warriors aggressively hunted down every last person before turning to face the only one left alive. The cameraman. Just before all his guts were about to be torn out of his body, an order from someone in the distance halted the horde.  

"Seize him."

The camera swirled around wildly until it dropped to the ground. Footsteps like thunder could be heard until a child picked up the fallen device. 

"Calling all heroes of the galaxy. Just come and try to stop me," he slurred, "Let  me give you a proper broadcast of my latest masterpiece." 

Taking hold of the camera he focused onto the old cameraman who was struggling against the decayed soldiers. He was a middle aged man with rich dark skin. Stained with blood, his news uniform used to be crisp and ironed. The man was clearly distressed as he panicked.

"Doesn't this piss you off, you lousy heroes?" the child narrated, "What's your name, man?"

"M-M-m-Mark..." he stammered.

"Well, M-m-M-Mark," the murder mocked, "You get to be finishing touch on my new masterpiece. Aren't you excited?" 

There was no response from the latter.

The killer frowned. "Mamma-fucking-mia. Do you not understand English? Should I switch up the language for you?" He took a step closer. "Ew, you've already pissed your pants?"

The former camera-man gulped as he looked down at his stained trousers. "W-what are you going to do to me?"

"As a thank you for broadcasting my art live, I'm going to make you the star of the show. After myself of course," the child chuckled as he set up the camera to face the captive man as well as himself. A full background of burning buildings and bloodstained windows could be seen. Skeletal warriors were moving back and forth, arranging the dead bodies to form a shape.

Now, we had a full view of the serial killer, he was clad in black clothing. From the tips of his shoes, his gloved fingers, and cap on his head. The only color came from the fresh, bright red, blood stains covering his shoes, pants, and gloves.

The figure held out his hand to give the hostage something, a long dark metal chain. Mark clutched it tightly.

"I want you to choke yourself with this," he says, "I call it, the suicide scarf. Fitting, huh?"

(IM DED, SUICIDE SCARF, aidvuixgewiqufv. i'M a geNiUs, jkjk, death is very serious. 👉👈)

"You will be the star on top of my Christmas tree," he continued, motioning to the newly formed Christmas tree made from dead bodies. There were so many that it reached the roof of a store building. On that roof was a wooden hanging stand, like the ones they had for executions. 

With a snap of his blood stained fingers, the undead minions carried Mark to the top of the building. 

"Well, Mr. M-m-M-Mark? What are you waiting for?" 

The aforementioned gripped the chain so tightly his knuckles turned white. A wild look in his eyes erupted before he made a mad dash for the edge.

"Nuh-uh-uh," the murderer said. A skeletal warrior grabbed the edge of Mark's collar before he was able to jump. The cameraman screamed. 

"Such a disappointment.." the killer scowled. In a flash of darkness, he dissipated before reappearing on the roof next to Mark. The camera fuzzed before it zoomed in on the scene, a skeleton soldier now operating the camera.

"Do I have to do everything by myself?" He yanked the chain away and threw it around Mark's neck. The man let out a strangled cry, afterwards he was daintily placed onto the hangman platform.

"This has been another thrilling sequence by..." the murderer pulled a lever, causing the platform to collapse under Mark's feet. Mark gurgled maddeningly, saliva frothing from his mouth, before going limp. 

"The Ghost King." 

The camera panned out, showcasing the entire "Christmas tree". Carcasses piled on top of each other in a pyramid shape, and at the very top, Mark hung like a star. The live ended abruptly when the camera was smashed against the ground.

A suffocating moment of silence remained before they rolled the ads.

Authors Note: 

UHm.. blood warning?