[Hello, Author here. This chapter contains reverenced rape and necrophily. Read at your own risk.] [I don't think it's that hard, since this is the first time I am writing something like that but just be aware that it's there. Feedback would be much appreciated.]
"Please tell me you didn't. Lying about that might have been the worst of the things you just told me."
"Well, not really. Good news. No one dies. Bad news. We might fight a God at the end of our journey."
"Which one, Percy! Which one!"
"My bets are on Ares. Definitely not Uncle Hades though. He's not even the conspiritor. More like another victim."
"Percy! That's beside the point. Why would we fight Ares of all gods!"
"Because he is the thief?"
"What do you mean! He just helped us."
"No he didn't. He just gave us the godly equivalent of a nuclear bomb sealed in a backpack that will only open once we reach the Underworld"
"What?"
"The Lightning is in the bag."
"THE LIGHTNING IS I THE BAG!"
"Ow, not so loud you will wake up the babies."
"What babies! Please tell me there aren't any babies in the bag!"
"No there aren't. I meant these." I said as I pointed at the animals on my lap. One of them mumbled: "Why does he smell like the wild? Hummm. Fishlegs."
"What kind of fever dream is that lion having. I wonder."
"Percy. What do you mean with the lightning is in the bag. Please tell me it isn't."
"Grover, I already told you it is. I can't just untell you and don't forget. You wanted to know. I could have just kept quiet." I said, having to suppress a small grin, while I thought about our next stop.
"Percy, your eyes are bulging again. What else do you know."
"Come on. The next one might be fun. It's the exact reason why I wanted to leave early."
"Thats not calming me. No wait. How did you know where our next stop is?"
Really, that's when he asks? Well fine. Atleast I can tell him this much since it's not that unlikely.
"G-man, you know more about the Greek world than I do. Remind me again who held the domain of prophecy before Lord Apollo?"
"I think your father did, why?"
"And did you know the one thing water is famous for, well, I really mean my father?"
"Just tell me." he sighed tiredly.
"Water doesn't forget. Everyone born from my father has a slight possibility to inherit the power of future sight or something similar. And I happen to have met the three weavers before, Grover. We talked."
"But they never" talk", certainly not with mortals, Percy." Grover tried to reason with me.
" They do when you risk the future they already spun. They gave me some limited knowledge of what will happen in exchange for me not changing some events for the better."
"i hope you know that this sounds insane. But I do believe you. Now shut up and let me think." and that's what I did. It didn't take long however before he, too, fell asleep. Seriously at this point I think I'm developing insomnia. Honestly it wouldn't really suprise me since I do have to admit that there was a reason why I was unwilling to fall asleep. None the less, even though I was awake for longer than expected, I too followed them into the arms of Morpheus.
My nightmare this time around, wasn't as powerful as before, I immediately knew it would at most range from a few weeks to a few years. Considering I woke up as me, as Percy Jackson, I already had a guess what this one might be about. I was wrong. As soon as we stepped out of the truck and into the Lotus Hotel, I was gassed with chloroform and brought somewhere. The place was like a dungeon, dirty and filled with rats. There were steel bars that kept me from leaving and chains were wrapped around my limbs and neck. My senses and other additions from my system and nightmares were gone, like they had never existed. None of my demigod powers were responding either so I was essentially powerless. And the jailers knew. They enjoyed it. One night, while some prisoners like me, we're raving on or begin to be released, a jailer came to my cell. He unlocked the door and dragged me in chains along the floor and into a separate room.
Velvet red and cushions were everywhere. The lights were dim and red. I knew, simply from the lighting and the decor, that this room was made for sex. And considering the different places my chains could be bound to, it wasn't for the consential kind.
I freaked out and began to rip and tear on the chains, trying to get out and flee. But the chains were to tight. The only thing I had accomplished was drawing blood from my wrists.
Then the door opened and someone stepped in.
The man tried to play nice for a while, saying sweet words meant to calm me down as he ripped of my dirty pants and forced himself in. Eventually he had enough of my crying and begging and smashed by head into the bed frame. I passed out.
When I woke up, once again in the cell, I cried. I felt the blood run down my leg, even as I felt the wound inside close. I felt the world around me crumble, slowly at first but eventually, with everytime I was brought into that room, it faded away. There was nothing outside this place, no one willing to hear my plea and no man or woman out there that knew about me except those that visited.
When someone came that wanted to ride, they would. When some came that wanted to be fucked, I was forced to swallow blue, a pill I began to hate more and more, just so they could fuck themselves on me.
Then came the time where I didn't even feel like I was in control of my body, not even feeling them men, woman or monsters that forced themselves on me, not feeling it when one of them fucked my mouth only to, in a moment of revolution, get his dirty fucking dick bitten off by me and swallowed. I didn't even feel it as they cut open my stomach to get the nearly dissolved piece out of me, while they disposed of his dried out body.
There was nothing, no though no feeling no nothing. I had given up. I didn't even know how long it had been since I had arrived but I knew one thing, one undeniable thing.
I was theirs. Soon my "duties" changed. While I was still dragged into the red room, sometimes the visitors would take a chomp, ripping bits and pieces of off me. And everytime they did, the jailers would give me something that would keep me alive and make me regrow bones that had gone missing. But never the flesh. Not as long as it wasn't part of the "important" bits. I longed for death. To be gone, silently, without anyone noticing. Let the next one fuck a corps as long as I don't have to be there anymore.
Then something changed, only slightly at first. But there was a change a shift in the smell around. Where it previously carried the scent of blood and cum, now there was a hint of spices and sweat. Down in the distance, along the winding path of cells, the screaming of metal could be heard, followed by loud clattering as said metal hit the floor. This sound repeated, coming closer and closer until the origin of it stood in from of my cell. The last one. I couldn't see as much as I used to, the hits on my head and damage to my health had deteriorated my sight faster than age could. Everything was blurry and unfocused but then I heard something, finally.
My chains were snapped and then I felt myself be lifted of the ground. Then I heard:
"This one is dead."
No I wasn't. But the metal table, embalming fluid and casket I was eventually put in seemed to disagree.
The gentle waves crashing into my casket lured me into what I hoped to be eternal sleep. Then, finally, the world became dark.
Or not. Somehow I was no longer buried and most of my facilities had regained their function, even my eyesight had returned, somehow even better than I remembered. Water, the element of my father surrounded me, even as part of me was still stuck inside the casket, which had sunk to the bottom of the ocean floor. I freed my self, finally with more strength than I ever had, if my memory served me right.
I didn't know for how long, but I sat there, on the sandie floor, watching the waves and fish come and go. I began to drift around, following streams and currents before eventually after a long time, time I used to regain my sense of self, to regain who I had been, albeit changed, I surfaced on the shore. The country was unfamiliar to me and the language too. At first people stared at me but soon they slipped of, as if I didn't exist. I wondered why they stared, I wasn't naked nor wore indecent clothes. That much was certain. So why?
Then I came across a puddle of water, it's reflection painting an unsightly but undeniably truthful picture.
Half my face, or at lest where my left cheek had once been, had rotted of, showing muscle and bone, though mostly bone.
My pupils were milky grey while they still kept hints of green in their iris. I was pale, almost as if I had never seen the sun, though light grey would be the more fitting color. My left arm and right leg from the hip were blackend bones, not even showing a hint of flesh while my torso, hidden just like my legs, showed suture scars. Then I noticed the last thing, one that wouldn't be as obvious if it wasn't for my unusual and clearly dead appearance.
I didn't have a pulse.