After getting abandoned by all of the Greek gods and getting basically kicked out of the Greek world itself, Percy doubted anyone could judge his next actions. Nobody could blame Percy when he lunged at Luke—a vicious look that you could only see in someone who was aiming to kill.

Adrenaline pumped through Percy's bloodstream as he sat on top of a now struggling Luke and pounded every surface of the available skin. He was in a blind rage that made his mind forget about everything—his exile, his burns—and narrow in on the blonde demon who'd ruined his life.

Maybe if Luke hadn't appeared so suddenly, Percy would have just slapped or punched him once. But that hadn't happened and the green-eyed boy was blind to all that was happening.

A bloodthirsty feeling bloomed in his stomach, much like how a flower bloomed beautifully in the sunlight. But the anger and bloodthirstiness and burning rage were not beautiful at all.

Everything about the emotion and feeling in his body was wrong, disgusting. Percy didn't care. He struck Luke once more on the nose, causing a gush of blood to spray on the floor and stain Percy's hands and Luke's face. His mind yelled at him to stop, to let Luke explain, to not kill him.

But his heart overcame his mind, cheering him on and demanding he kill the traitor, to serve justice to all the people who'd died because of Luke. Zoe, Bianca, Michael, Selina, Charles, Lee, and countless others.

Percy's hands moved on their own accord: reaching for Luke's exposed neck and squeezing. The boy thrashed and a weird gurgling sound came from his mouth. Percy felt a spike of pleasure go through him and he blanched, his hands loosening. Then he gathered himself and began strangling him again.

Luke had joined the Titans and gave Kronos a new body, his heart told him furiously—feeding his rage like it was a fire. He'd killed all of them.

"Stop, now," an unfamiliar voice said from behind them. Percy felt complied to turn, to give his attention. But he didn't move, his thirst for revenge too strong.

He remembered a saying Chiron had once told him when they'd been discussing Luke. "Vincit qui se vincit." He conquers who conquers himself. But he was too driven in killing Luke that he dismissed all of what Chiron was trying to teach him: The key is leading with your mind, not your heart.

"I order you to stop this instance," a different person than before said. The coldness in the sentence made Percy stop and turn around. The king was standing over him, the girl from the corner stood behind him—her dark eyes glimmering as she peered down at Percy.

The King lifted a sword up to Percy's neck, digging the blade point into his neck, nicking the skin. Blood trailed down Percy's chest and soaked the front of his fancy shirt. The bade itself was magnificent to look at. It was a traditional sword, with a steel blade. A cursive inscription was carved into the side of it. Of Bronze and Gold.

"Get off him now," the king commanded and Percy couldn't help but think of Nico. The King had the same effect on people as Nico did—even without being loud, people heard everything he said. The crown on his head was gone, leaving his head bald and shining, and Percy noticed for the first time that his voice was heavily accented and his face had traces of Japanese heredity in it. "Luke may be annoying but it's too much of a haste to hire somebody else to draw my baths."

Maybe it was supposed to be a joke but nobody laughed. The dancers were still staring at the scene in front of them, the women melting into their partners' side as their slinky dresses swished at their ankles.

From underneath Percy, Luke's chest rumbled as he choked out a laugh. He stopped suddenly and twisted his head to spit out some blood. Percy winced—the guilt had driven out the animal feeling in him. Only fresh guilt remained. But, as he stared at the King—who looked like a person who'd faced death many times—he also felt pure fear.

"I'm s—sorry," he whispered, rubbing his fingers together and feeling the sickening smoothness of blood. Luke's blood.

"Get off him," the King repeated. The point of the sword dug deeper into Percy's skin but it drew back as Percy swung his leg off of the limp body underneath him.

He couldn't help the feeling of disgust invading his body. He didn't know what came over him, that bloodthirstiness that overcame his voice of reason. The feeling had invaded his every sense, filling his veins with the need for revenge. Percy touched his burned cheek absentmindedly, sliding away from Luke and the King so he was no longer touching him.

He leaned his back against the leg of a table which had gold markings and silver plating. Perhaps a table that was filled with food, Percy thought hungrily. He shook the thoughts away, hunger was hardly something he needed to focus on. The King nodded approvingly, gracefully sliding the sword into its scabbard. It was only then did Percy notice that the hilt of the sword was gold, with swirling designs curling around the end.

The King looked around the ballroom coolly, his mouth set to a scowl. "Why has the music stopped?" He demanded, raising an eyebrow and spreading his arms wide. Immediately, the music started up again—as suddenly as it had stopped.

The King chuckled, sending a new wave of shivers down Percy's spine. It just felt wrong, for the King—who was scary and emotionless—to laugh, even if it wasn't even out of amusement.

The ruler swept out of Percy's sight, getting swallowed up by the crowds of people. Some of the dancers exchanged looks with their partners, giving the King nervous side-glances. But they eventually resumed their formal waltz-like dancing.

The girl hovered in front of Luke's groaning body, wearing a mask of cold indifference but her hands—which she was nervously twisting together—showed just how worried she was. Slowly, Luke Castellan got up, blood dripping down his face in disturbingly lovely rivers of liquid red.

They both paid no attention to Percy, who was staring at them curiously, his hands dragging across his face and leaving his face with dirty fingerprints coated in Luke's wet blood.

"Well," the girl said sharply, "for a second there, I thought he'd killed you. You seemed dead." She didn't say it in a concerned way but as if she was disappointed that he was still breathing. She sniffed, folding her hands together in a way that reminded Percy of a princess. "Shame, it would have been entertaining,"

Luke gave her a dry look, then mockingly offered her a smile as he picked himself off the floor and stood a few feet away from her. "I'm so glad my death would've brought you pleasure." He grinned and playfully shoved her shoulder. "Admit it—you would've missed me if I ever died."

She glared at him sharply, her button nose cutely scrunching up, as if Luke was garbage someone had left lying around in her house. "I'll admit nothing, boy. Certainly not that I find your company even slightly pleasurable. Like his majesty said, it'll simply be too much trouble to hire more help."

"As if you pay me!" Luke snorted, but Percy's attention was now only focused on the princess-like girl. Something sparked in his mind, a single flame of recognition in the pit of darkness that was his mind.

But it couldn't have been. . . .

"Zoe?" he whispered, his voice cracking as his face twisted. Luke and Zoe looked directly at him.

She noticed the look of panic and his extremely heavy breathing. Her stern face softened. Out the corner of his eye, Percy spotted Luke's face turning concerned. He felt a spike of sadness in his heart.

From the start of his Demigod life, he'd never known a Luke who hadn't been corrupted by his hatred for the gods. Somehow, in a place completely unfamiliar, Percy was meeting that Luke—the one who was a normal teenager who joked about normal teenager things. The Luke Annabeth had always known—the one who was her friend and brother.

Percy wondered if that was why Annabeth had such a hard time accepting the fact that Luke was evil beyond redemption. It made him furious for some reason. The blonde boy in front of him could be seen as just a child. Anyone who looked at him could never imagine him capable of hundreds of deaths.

When Percy looked at him that was all he imagined. But Luke couldn't have been there; neither could Zoe because they were dead—Percy had seen them die. However, they were still there when he closed his eyes and opened them again, silently praying they would just disappear.

"Oh gods," he said to himself softly, throwing his head back and it softly bumped the table edge. "I'm dead. I-I'm dead!"

His breathing was definitely increasing now. Percy was panicking and he felt like he couldn't breathe. He was reminded of the time of his mission with Hazel and Frank when he had drowned in tar because of Gaea. That was how he felt now—panicked and unable to breathe and dying.

But he wasn't drowning and there was only one thing that came to mind—panic attack. Percy's vision narrowed, becoming hazy and unfocused. He didn't notice Zoe and Luke moving until they were each on one side of him. Luke laid a soft hand on his shoulder to steady him, while Zoe tried to calm him down—telling him to count to ten with calm measured breathing.

He did. Eventually, he realized Luke was hugging him, supporting him even after Percy had pummeled him; another jolt of guilt went through Percy's body.

"Am I dead?" He asked, twisting his hands into Luke's shirt and pulling him closer to him. His vision was invaded by blonde hair but Percy didn't care. Luke was as warm as a heater and he didn't protest—just leaned forward so Percy could hug him better. "Did Zeus kill me?"

Zoe frowned. "You are alive," she assured him. "Zeus has exiled you, but there would have been war if he killed Poseidon's son."

Obviously, she meant that to sound comforting, but Percy could only see it as one sick joke. "As if Poseidon cared," he scoffed, drawing back from Luke. "He voted in favor of my exile." They looked shocked, angry, curious. Luke opened his mouth to say something but Percy quickly cut him off with a wave of his hand. "I don't want to talk about it, just tell me what this place is."

"This," Zoe said, her eyes scanning the ballroom with a look of honest affection, "is Elysium."

Percy swallowed the lump in his throat. "Elysium," he echoed. He licked his dry lips. "Huh, thought it would be . . . you know, bigger."

Luke snickered openly but tried to smother his laughter when Zoe looked at him, her face pinched and expressed. She rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath. It sounded suspiciously like 'stupid boys,' but Percy didn't dwell on it. He was more focused on the fact that he was in the Underworld.

"So"—he took a calming breath—"I-I am dead?"

"No!" Zoe snapped, her body tense. "You're dreaming! None of this is real."

Luke gave her a side look, angling his body so Percy could no longer see Zoe. He muttered something to her and a moment later, she got up and walked away—the back of her body taut and pinched.

Luke gave him a warm smile that put Percy at ease. "Sorry about that. Sometimes Zoe forgets that boys aren't so bad," he said, gracefully sitting down next to Percy. His eyes were a beautiful shade of blue that Percy guessed they could put shame to even the most magnificent oceans.

"What did she mean," Percy began, looking away from Luke, "about this not being real?"

Instead of answer his question, Luke said, "Do you know the story of Excalibur?"

Percy shook his head. "Who doesn't? I know a little bit about the legend but I'm not a walking Wikipedia."

"The stories said that whoever pulled the sword out of the stone would lead Camelot out of its Dark Age," Luke said. "Now the thing was, the world wasn't just suffering from plagues and whatnot, but also, monsters—Greek and Roman monsters, to be exact. . ."

Imperial Gold and Celestial Bronze hadn't been invented back then, so Demigods had no way to fight monsters. The entire world was completely unprotected and the gods couldn't help because of the Ancient Laws. A mage by the name of Merlin saw all the destruction and death and wanted to help.

He went to the gods but they turned him away. Many stories about Merlin claimed he was a warlock or simply one of King Arthur's advisor, but in truth—he was a son of Hecate. After the Olympians rejected his plea, he fearlessly traveled to the Underworld and sought out the help of Hades.

Hades gave him Imperial Gold and Celestial Bronze and advised him to use them wisely. Out of the metals, Merlin crafted Excalibur—the sole savior of humanity.

It was a mix of Greek and Roman, which made it beyond powerful. Fearing that corrupt Demigods would try to seize its power, Merlin enchanted it to only respond in the hands of its rightful owner.

Before long, a hero named Arthur came along, a son of Zeus, of course. With his help and Excalibur, Demigods followed him to the Age of Heroes. But after a while, the Greeks and Romans started disagreeing. Fights broke out and people got slaughtered.

Eventually, the gods decided it was best that they separate the two. There was some fear that in separating Romans and Greeks, the monsters would overrun the world again and the gods would fade because of that.

But even without knowing, the Romans and Greeks balanced each other out—Bronze and Gold together. The Age of Darkness was over and Roman and Greek lived peacefully in ignorance.

"Why are you telling me this?" Percy demanded, narrowing his eyes. Luke rolled his eyes.

"Think," he simply said. "Greeks and Romans. Bronze and Gold."

Percy studied the smiling dancing couples then slowly turned to look at the throne. The King wasn't sitting on it anymore, but rather he was dancing with a white-haired man with sharp cheekbone and a black woman whose face was hidden by a mask. The sword the King had held up to Percy's neck was still by his side, in its stealth, which flashed under the beaming lights of the ballroom.

The white-haired man the King was dancing with caught Percy's eye and he threw him a vicious animal-like smile. Percy looked away, shivering at the man and the sword both.

"Excalibur," he whispered. Luke smiled and clapped him on the shoulder as Percy raised a hand to touch his neck. The cut was already healing, clotting up and closing—but he could still feel the sword on his neck, the way it drained all of his energy and calmed him down.

Percy tightened his hands into fists. He raised a shaking finger to point at the King—who'd moved on to dance with a girl with short hair that curled at her ears. "You're telling me—that's King Arthur? That scary man is King Arthur?"

Luke shot a warning look at him. "Careful," he warned. "He doesn't take well to people calling him crazy. And to answer your question, no—"

"Oh thank god—"

"—he's King Arthur's descendant."

Percy gave him a sarcastic smile. "Oh! That makes it so much better!"

"This is the Underworld and you're dreaming about it," Luke patiently explained. Percy quieted down; this was the part he wanted to hear. "The reason why"—Luke fidgeted under Percy's questioning gaze—"well. . . . When Zeus cast you out, he took away part of your bloodline, the godly part. Now, even a god can't take away a person's parentage—even through disowning

"Think of it as a wolf pack. The Greek and Roman world is the pack and all the demigods are protected and they're together. If one of them gets cast out, they become an Omega—a loner. You're still a wolf but you're alone. You're still a Demigod—"

"—But I'm all alone," Percy finished bitterly. He dragged his hands down his face with a groan, his thumbs ghosting over the scar on his neck. "Monsters will still come after me and I'll still have dreams. Because of my scent and my fa—Poseidon."

"All this," Luke said, his clear blue eyes scanning the ballroom with a look of pure affection, "is just a dream, a fantasy."

They didn't say anything for a long time. Percy let Luke's words sink in. Just a dream, a fantasy.

Finally, he said, "If this is just a dream, why is everyone dressed like it's the Medieval Times?"

Luke shrugged. "Maybe you have a medieval kink or something. I mean, you have to admit I look dashing in this suit." He tugged on the collar of his jacket, smirking like he was gods' gift to everyone.

The frown on Percy's mouth deepened. "What is it with you and kinks? Not everything has to do with it!" he snapped, annoyed with Luke, with everything that was happening to him, with his terrible luck. "Oh, Geez. I'm going crazy."

Luke barked out a laugh as Percy ran his hands through his tangled hair. It felt like it was matted with thick liquid and when Percy pulled his hands back, they were coated in blood. He blinked and his hands were suddenly clean—scarred and dirty but not bloody; he must have imagined it.

Percy wiped his sweaty hands on his soft cotton pants then jumped to his feet. Luke followed him a moment later, his hands in his pocket and a grin still on his face. "Deuteronomy 28:34 'You shall be driven mad by the sight of what you see,'" he recited knowingly.

Percy looked around the ballroom, his eyes passing over the dancers as he searched for Zoe. "You're Christian?"

"Well, my mother may have been crazy, but she raised me well," Luke said. "Of course, after learning of the existence of gods, I think that belief system went out the window."

Percy couldn't help but look at him with a baffled expression. The last time he'd seen Luke and his mother, Luke had been so angry at her. For him to talk about her so casually was so unexpected—and he wondered what and who had helped him overcome his dark feelings. Maybe Zoe had helped him; they certainly seemed close enough for them to be friends.

"If you're looking for Zoe," Luke began, raising a finger to point, "she's over in her corner, looking quite angry and a little . . . constipated."

Percy gave him a questioning look before setting off in Zoe's direction, pushing past couples and keeping his eyes on the girl. He was so set on reaching that he almost missed what happened next: A pretty young man passing right through him.

Percy stopped in his tracks. The dancing didn't flatter at all—not even a backward glance that indicated the man had felt himself phase through Percy. Percy glanced down at his hands just as Luke reached him. His hands, long-jointed and thin, had developed a ghostly aura around them.

"Oh damn it," Luke muttered, reaching for Percy's hands. After a few attempts of trying to holding them, which left Percy's feeling like someone had dumped a bucket of ice-cold water on him, Luke managed to catch Percy's hands between his own. "You're waking up."

Luke's hands were warm, heating up Percy's cold ones, and the feel of them made Percy calm down. He remembered Luke and Zoe sitting by his side and calming down his panic attack.

"Remember," Luke said, his eyebrows knit together with dry blood tracing down his cheek. Percy's eyesight flickered and he caught himself swaying. Luke's voice was barely audible as he said, "you're no longer protected."

Percy's last thought before he woke up was, when have I ever been protected?

Author's Note: So yeah, I'm adding medieval mythology into this, with King Auther, Excalibur, and Merlin. Obviously, this will be relevant to the story.

Also, I can't believe I'm considering having Pansexual/Bisexual! Percy and pairing him up with Luke and Zoe in a Polyamorous relationship.

Reality? I don't know her.