The weight was unending. The mountains, stars and sky pressed down on Percy's very soul, It weighed nothing yet everything, it's very design, fated to push a being to their very limit, constantly adapting and changing for whoever has to bear the weight of the world.
For Percy? Oceans threatened to drown him to where he stood. The very air screamed in protest at his defiance. He held the sky, unending agony, of muscles screaming, bones grinding, and a mind teetering on the edge of oblivion. In another world perhaps he may have adapted, used a power like no other and ascended, but this is not that world. He has no power, No whispers in his ear to support him, it was just him.
Artemis and the others had retreated, guilt stricken yet resolute, a promise to return. A plan was hatched to combat the Titan. He clung to that promise, a fragile lifeline in the crushing darkness.
But promises, like lifelines, can fray and snap. The weight grew unbearable, not just physically, but mentally. Memories blurred, faces faded, and the world, his world became nothing but pain. His soul slowly splintered and shattered, into a million pieces barely holding their form, each shard a torment he cannot escape.
'This is the fault of the Gods.' To eliminate a threat to Olympus, his safety was delayed by a certain Thunder Bringer. That's what slowly developed in Percy's mind as Months went on. And he wasn't entirely wrong.
He counted at first, like a mad man encased in stone, seconds turned into hours and then days. At that point he had lost track, his mind barely functioning under the weight. Those days were the toughest but then days became weeks and weeks became months. And slowly an entire year has passed.
When Artemis returned, She lead a hunt combined of Demigods, Hunters and even monsters of the Sea God. All the bonds that Percy Jackson had formed came through to his aid, with struggle they managed to break through the forces guarding the world bearer and force the Titan of Strength back under the sky.
In return for their efforts? They found a husk. Percy continued to hold the sky, his muscles stiff, even as the weight shifted to another he stood his ground, arms high. His muscles and organs barely functioning yet he still breathed, even as his body and soul fell apart, his will did not. He knew if he did not bear the weight, Everyone would die.
His body is a grotesque parody of its former strength, almost resembling a hollow from a certain game series. His eyes were vacant, unseeing. They spoke his name, Annabeth wept, but there was no flicker of recognition. Annabeth took him into her arms gently as if the slightest touch will make him fall apart. In the end he was just a broken doll, lying lifelessly in the arms of his friend.
That very warmth gave Percy closure, a sign to stop, to be done. That it's okay to rest. As the unending pressure ceased, he lowered his arms and took his last breath, his duty finally over.
His soul, so crushed and mangled that even Thanatos couldn't retrieve it. He just laid peacefully even as the God of Death loomed. His broken body and the memories he left behind the only proof of his existence as he was barred from the afterlife.
Despair settled over the group. They had won the battle, but lost what mattered. They couldn't even save their friend. Annabeth slowly lowered him onto the ground as the group fell into silence, not knowing what to do.
Then without warning, a figure materialized beside Percy, bathed in an ethereal glow. She had almond coloured eyes and was impossibly beautiful, though weathered with age, she was still considered twice as brilliant yet that beauty was wasted as tears wept from the unknown woman, her braided hair falling over her shoulders as she leaned over the husked man. Her eyes stained red as she cried into the fallen man.
The hunters almost struck the figure, only Artemis held them back.
Yet the visitor paid no heed, they could not harm her. No one there knew her guilt. Even being told otherwise, she had personally bore witness to his struggle day after day, she watched endlessly not a single moment did she take her eyes off his unending pain. Not even a single second.
"He can be saved." she said, her voice hoarse and in a whisper. Still, those words were heard by everyone there like a crack of thunder.
Artemis looked the most unsettled, her face shifting multiple emotions before grabbing the figures shoulder, yet aside from a slight grimace, no action was taken.
"But a heavy cost must be paid," She finished, her voice echoing and her gaze unwavering. She looked back barely acknowledging the group, giving the barest courtesy, she focused on one person in particular. She locked eyes with Annabeth and simply smiled.
'What is the cost of saving a prophesied hero? How much would they have to sacrifice to give him life? Nothing they could give would be enough.' Those were the thoughts of Artemis as she began to realise the implications.
Before a single question could be asked…
*Snikt*
The sound of flesh being unknitted and torn was heard. Artemis stumbled back as golden Ichor pooled on the floor.
Yet not a single wound was found on the Goddess of the hunt. It was not her that was struck.
Her eyes shadowed as the unknown person pierced her own chest, her hand going through flesh like a blade and ripping out her very essence. Golden blood poured onto the lifeless body below her as she clutched her soul and heart with both hands, almost as if a prayer.
She cradled the essence in her hands, a radiant orb pulsating with life. With a final, aching look at Percy, she whispered, only for her own ears and perhaps his..
"This is all I can do for you… My Dear Husband…"
The orb pulsed, then dissolved, its energy flowing into Percy's broken form. He convulsed, his ravaged features contorting in agony as the foreign energy surged through him. The Goddess faded from view. Only Artemis realised the implications from this whilst the others were in shock at the gruesome suicide.
But there was no change. The cracks and holes in Percy's soul could not simply be filled. His self, his identity, had been eroded beyond recognition. The Sacrifice that was made was not to heal Percy Jackson, but to push him and protect him against the Tides of time itself.
For one cannot easily create a soul out of nothing, there must be something to fill in the gap.
This begins the Journey of the Mad King of Ithaca, the Infamous Odysseus!