angst, 11, “why are you still fighting?” 😢
[canon adjacent I guess, I don’t really know]
The enemy encircles Percy, who is on his knees, bloody and beaten. Demigods and monsters alike sneer and spit at him, calling him every awful thing they can think of. The son of Poseidon doesn’t move. He keeps his chin held high and looks forward, still gripping his sword in his hand, as if waiting for one last battle to begin.
Before him, the crowd begins to part, and soon the prodigal son of Hermes appears in front of him. Luke’s stride is slow and confident, with his sword sheathed at his hip. He looks down his nose at Percy, an evil smirk pinning the corner of his mouth to his cheek.
“Well, Percy, I tried to warn you that it would come to this,” Luke says as he stands over Percy.
Percy takes a shaky breath, his grip on Riptide tightening. “I’ve never been great at listening.”
“How many of your friends have you watched die?” Luke asks, pity in his voice.
“Too many,” Percy answers, his voice hoarse.
“And how many more would you watch die before you just surrender?”
Percy’s jaw tightens and he swallows hard, his green eyes losing focus.
Luke surges forward to bend down and grab fistfuls of Percy’s shirt. “Why are you still fighting?” Luke shouts in his face.
Percy lets out a small laugh, but a tear runs down his cheek. “Because being angry isn’t enough for me,” he answers.
Luke pushes Percy away with a frustrated grunt, his face contorting in disgust. “You think I wanted any of this?”
“I think you want all of it,” Percy replies. “You want to see everything burn because you’ve convinced yourself that once it does, you’ll finally feel peace. But the thing about fire, Luke, is that it’s never satisfied.”
Luke scoffs. “Don’t tell me, son of Poseidon, that you’re using that corny metaphor to tell me you’re here to put the fire out.”
Percy smiles, and his green eyes shine in the light of the torches his enemies bare all around him. “That’s a little corny, even for me,” he admits. “No, I’m… I’m here to make things right, finally.”
“And how are you gonna do that?”
Percy looks down at his sword, tilting his head curiously. “We started this together. It only seems right we end it together.”
The crowd around them becomes quiet and tense, as nervous murmurs begin to replace overconfident cheers.
Luke draws his sword and twirls it in his hand. “You never could beat me in a sword fight.”
Percy smiles again, and, still kneeling, places Riptide’s point on the ground in front of him. “I came close a few times, though, didn’t I?”
“There’s no ocean for miles, Percy,” Luke taunts. “There’s no way for you to heal. I’m afraid close to beating me is all you’ll ever get.”
“Pop quiz, Luke.” Percy says, raising Riptide just above his head. “When my dad’s obnoxious titles get rattled off, what’s the first one people say?”
Luke only has a minute to register the question, answering under his breath. “Earthshaker.”
Percy drives his sword’s tip into the earth,
and the ground
around them
c r u m b l e s.