PLEASE READ!

So I have seven ideas, all are AU's. They will all be full length stories, that will go over 100,000 words.

The first one is set in Star Wars the Old Republic, there's lot's of lore and I can draw a lot of parallels. Percy and Jason are sith.

The second one is set in Modern Day in the Harry Potter Universe, Percy and Jason are Americans from Ilvermorny and they go to Hogwarts for their final year. Also a very good option

The third one is like a Spy thriller, but more like Mission Impossible.

The sixth is a cowboy western. It'll be pretty cool

The fourth one is a pirate AU with devil fruits (one piece) but it will be set in a original world, it's just came to me one night when I was trying to sleep.

The fifth one is a Destiny AU but I'm not expecting anyone to vote for that. Percy and Jason are guardians.

I placed the options in the order that I would like to do the most.

PLEASE REVIEW AND TELL ME HOW I'M DOING AND VOTE FOR A IDEA(I don't know how to use the poll)

That's all

"Are you sure this'll even work Mr. President?" The speaker was a middle aged man, dressed in a pristine suit, a suit that had been painstakingly cleaned over and over, in fact it was so well taken care of, it had survived the end of the world. this man's name was Adrian Lance, the brother of James Lance, the very same ambassador who was receiving a tour of the roman capital.

"Yes Adrian," replied the grey-haired man sitting in the chair before the small council. Seated behind a mahogany desk, with a alternate american flag bannered widely behind him. A striped red and blue saltire cross emblazoned on a white flag, President Rutherfield was the image of patriotism, a grim man of some sixty-five hairs. He was a soldier through and through, he had seen it all and done it all, and when the apocalypse had arrived, he had faced it with the dignity of a General - the very same role he had once filled in the United States Military.

"But what about their Legions?" Asked one of the women, a younger member of the group, she sat on the luxurious couch, nursing a exquisite glass of Bourbon. She tossed her brown hair, looking at the president critically at the President. "These so called romans have hundreds of thousands of soldiers, even with a full force at our call, we'd be hard pressed to resist them, but our armies are decimated. They'll destroy us.

"You give them too much credit, Adrianna." Commented another man, this one younger, garbed in a white suit and rancher's hat. "Those 'Romans' as they like to call themselves are all busy playing with shields and swords. We've got machine guns. Ain't nothin' they can do to mess with our forces when they spring the trap."

"Are we even sure this is necessary, though, Rupert?" Cut across yet another representative, another woman, and this one older in years and possessing a stern countenance. A long black dress hugged her form, and age had done little to diminish her elegance – her stunning beauty. "The Empire could be invaluable to us, would it truly be so terrible to accept their rule?"

A snort greeted her words, and murmurs rippled through the meeting, an expression of their nerves and fear. Even here, in the heart of New Orleans, they were afraid. They were afraid of monsters, of demi-gods, of the revelation of primordial powers and events far beyond their meager human comprehension. Fear had motivated them to band together, and now fear – and hatred bred from that fear – motivated their duplicity, their treason. Rutherfield, their leader, simply sat in silence and observed – noting their reactions, their speech. He let them argue and debate, and carefully weighed who to chide and who to support, applying his brilliance in tactics to the battle before him.

"Come now, Silena." Adrian chided in amusement, "you would suggest our compliance with these godless fools? Spouting rubbish about Olympus and Tartarus and any number of ancient, collywobbles nonsense?" The congressman shook his head, his lips curled to a sneer. "These Monsters are little more than tests from God, just as the church says, to attempt to stagger our faith. Unless you also believe that their Imperator can command lightning and fly on the winds?"

A ripple of nervous laughter passed through the assembled, all save Rutherfield and Silena, the former observing quietly and the latter with compressed lips. "I do not think we should discount this so easily, Adrian. If what we've heard is true, then the Caesar recognizes the states we represent as Imperial territories. We are subject to the scrutiny of his agents, now, more than ever."

"The Blackcoats." Rutherfield supplied in his gravelly voice, raising a bushy grey eyebrow at Silena. "You refer to the Empire's Intelligence division. Their secret police."

Silena nodded curtly, and the other representatives seemed to lose some of their newfound confidence, even Adrian Lance, who frowned some. "Surely, the stories can't all be true…" He murmured, looking around and then to Rutherfield. "Surely we don't believe the rubbish that's been said. Travelling through shadows? Riding on demon hounds? Commanding the dead? This is the stuff of fiction, not reality."

"No, Adrian." Rutherfield agreed, "I do not believe these stories, but every fiction has a root. To be so feared, these men and women must be highly trained, and highly efficient. Whatever the Empire may be, it is not foolish, it is not ill-prepared. They have destroyed every expectation we held for them – outfought and destroyed even the fiercest of the states that resisted them. They've spread across the North, East and West of the country like a plague." The representatives looked to each other uncomfortably, each of them remembering all too well the early days of the war, the relentless victories the newborn Empire had won.

"Jason Grace, Perseus Jackson and…" Adrian trailed off, frowning. "What was the third fellow's name? The other member of their little triumvirate." He peered around, but no one seemed to be able to assist him. Even Rutherfield, wise and prepared old Rutherfield, furrowed his brow. It was as if the name was on the tips of their tongues, tingling, taunting them – but they could not speak it. No matter what they tried, what they attempted, they could not say it.

"Nico di Angelo," supplied a new voice, an alien voice, from behind all of them.

The group whirled, and Rutherfield raised his eyes, widening them a moment later. Before them, dressed in a simple black business suit, with his a wicked looking pistol on one hip and an ominous black iron sword on the other, was a brown-haired specter of death. Faint black bags hung under his eyes, and the features of his face were fair, cast in a noble aspect. There was an aura of palpable danger, destruction, which surrounded the figure – as if imminent desolation followed in his wake.

There was no visible means of his entrance, yet even as he spoke, he was joined by others in black coats – stepping from seemingly nowhere, filling the room, their features obscured behind featureless black facemasks. The representatives were silent, watching the new arrivals like deer caught by a pack of wolves. It was Rutherfield who spoke first, voice calm and nerves mastered. "I presume I am speaking to the very same?"

"You are," Nico replied, stepping forwards and clasping his hands at the base of his spine. "I come bearing glad tidings, Mister Rutherfield."

"President Rutherfield!" Corrected Adrian Lance haughtily, "you mistake yourself, young man."

Nico looked down at Lance, raising an eyebrow. At six feet and two inches, the son of Hades had grown into quite the man, lean and powerful – toned musculature lending a lupine grace to his movements. "I am under the understanding that, per your Ambassador's words, the Texan Alliance has been dissolved and its client states assimilated as loyal territories of the Empire."

Adrian Lance blinked, but Nico did not give him time to do more than stand there silently. As if sensing something, the surrounding representatives subtly backed away, leaving Adrian very much alone. To his credit, or perhaps as tribute to his ignorance, he did not seem to care – or perhaps did not notice. "Your words to the contrary of the former President's current position, however, lead me to believe that you were not aware of this – or perhaps, you had never planned to serve the Emperor loyally. Perhaps thoughts of ambush, to lure in our armies, and crush them unawares?"

The representatives staggered as if hit, Rupert gripping the desk, Adrianna sinking into a chair, Silena swaying in the spot. Even Lance, infallible Lance, blanched. "I… We would never! That would be… very bad, yes, very bad." His eyes darted wildly, sweat beading his forehead. Suddenly, the suit seemed very constricting. "The President– that is, the former President can surely attest to this."

Turning to Rutherfield, Adrian nodded intently. The former President, however, did not attest. Instead, he stood from his chair, placing his hands on the desk. "I expected this, Lord di Angelo. That is the proper term, yes? You are a Lord in the Empire?" Nico nodded, calmly, as if all of this was completely normal. "Very well," Rutherfield said, "it has been a pleasure, but I'm afraid we must end this little farce." His fingers compressed a button, hidden, on his desk. Within the presidential building, alarms screamed, and the representatives began to recover themselves.

"I advise you surrender, Lord di Angelo. There is little you can do against our entire response unit."

For his part, Nico simply lifted his right hand, snapping his fingers. As if by some silent signal, two of the Blackcoats near the doors turned and calmly opened them. As they did, a staggering stench of death scoured through the room, sending the representatives into nauseous fits of retching. What followed was a collapse of corpses, outfitted in Alliance uniforms and holding their weapons. Every single one of the corpses had a precision wound, delivered by a blade or gun, killed instantly.

The representatives released a collective gasp of horror, terror and revulsion. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph…" Rupert said in a choked voice. "What manner of hell is this?" Adrian supplied, while Adrianna simply wept hysterically. Silena, for her part, closed her eyes and compressed her lips – while Rutherfield, unshakable Rutherfield, collapsed into his chair. "You aren't Human…" he said in hoarse disbelief.

Nico had not, even by that moment, blinked. "You would be correct. I am the Son of Hades, also Lord of the GraVe, Prince of Damnation, and the Ghost King. I am the Black Hand of the Caesar, and I am here to ensure the peaceful assimilation of the former Texan Alliance."

"Alright." Said Rutherfield simply, "very well, Lord di Angelo. You win. We surrender." He nodded to the representatives, "disarm yourselves. There's no point in fighting further. They have us." Not even bothering the argue, they did so – Rupert pulled out two revolvers and tossed them at Nico's feet, followed by a desert eagle from Adrian, a glock from Adrianna's purse and a large colt from Rutherfield himself. Silena, seemingly unarmed, simply stood and trembled.

"Ah… that is very kind, but you misunderstand me, Mister Rutherfield." Nico's voice had not changed in tone, calm and cool, like the icy caress of death upon a lost soul's ear. Soothing, calming, yet terrifying and horrible all at once. The speech of a true child of the immortal and the mortal, the perfect Hybrid of the fleeting and eternal.

"I'm afraid I don't follow, Lord di Angelo." Rutherfield commented with a raised grey eyebrow, "We have surrendered."
"Yes," Nico said with a nod, "but I am not a Praetor. This was never a negotiation."

"What do you mean?" He asked hoarsely, his calm exterior cracking at last.

"Quite simply, Mister Rutherfield, my duties are to ensure the security of the Empire, the loyalty of its Senators and Generals and the safety of the Caesar. As territorial leaders, you received an immediate elevation to places of Senatorial influence within the Empire, the moment your Ambassador offered you to the Imperator." Nico inclined his head respectfully, "that makes you Senators of the Empire, congratulations."

The group looked at each other, unsure, before Nico forestalled any questions by continuing. "However, this also means you are now citizens of the New Roman Empire, and thereby under the scrutiny of the secret police. No one is above my purview, save Caesar himself and the Lord Protector." Nico's Blackcoats seemed to shift stance then, subtly, from observation to preparation. "We are at war, you see. The creatures we battle have no care for social conduct, and familiars plague even us. We have become quite adept at ensuring the solidarity of our Empire, of course, but it is not always a clean business."

At this point, the representatives had begun to despair again, and even Rutherfield began to sweat. "I fear I'm rambling on a little, but the central point is that I exist to ensure that we are never weakened from within. That includes allowing the existence of Senators who, perhaps in their own misguided actions, see themselves as doing the right thing by attempting to seize more power than is their due."

"What are you saying, you bastard? That you're going to kill all of us?" Adrian's voice broke as he spoke, yet the last surge of wild defiance earned him some credit in Nico's eyes. Some.

"Not at all, Senator." Nico replied with a cold smile, "killing all of you? That would be wasteful, and rather pointless."

The group released a collective sigh of relief, but it was short-lived. The Blackcoats all drew their silenced pistols in harmony, training them on the representatives.

"You just said you weren't going to kill us!" Rupert shouted angrily. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I said I wouldn't kill all of you, Senator. Not that I wouldn't kill most of you."

Rutherfield looked around his office, from the Blackcoats to the other representatives, the men and women who had fought with him to establish the Texan Alliance, campaigned relentlessly to unify the disparate states. The passionate, brave men and women who had dared to defy, perhaps foolishly, the overwhelming power of the New Roman Empire. In the end, he recognized their flaw, their mistake – they had believed the Romans to be far less than them, believed that they were but a group of brainless heathens. Foolish. Stupid. It had cost them, all of them, their lives. Rutherfield closed his eyes and bowed his head. "I am so sorry."

Nico lifted his right hand. "Execute."

The gunshots rang out like a chorus of thunder, dropping every one of the representatives in precise, instant executions – all of them, save for Silena. When the noise died down, the guns returned to their holsters, the red-garbed Senator opened her eyes – staring around in a mix of horror, traumatic shock and relieved disbelief. "Wh-why?" She asked in a terrified whisper, to which Nico answered calmly.

"Because you recognised the idiocy of their plots, and advocated loyalty, despite being without a need to do so. You, alone, we can trust in the Senate. Congratulations, Senator Silena. Senātus Populusque Rōmānus. Welcome to the New Roman Empire." Beside him, one of his Blackcoats spoke, voice as cold and dispassionate as the grave. "My lord, it is time." Nodding, Nico stepped backwards, his Blackcoats accompanying him to array themselves in formation to his rear. "Wait here for the arrival of our forces, Senator. You will be expected to coordinate with the Generals to ensure a peaceful and healthy transition of power. I trust you can fulfil that duty?"

Silena nodded mutely, her features distorted by fear, and a faint green tinge, as if she were fighting the urge to vomit. "One of my Blackcoats, Volanus, will remain with you to support you in any way you need. He is a son of Athena, and has quite the head on his shoulders. Until next time, Senator." Without waiting for her reply, Nico stepped back and his Blackcoats mimicked him. Together, they collapsed into their own shadows against the wall, gone.

As if they had never existed in the first place.

That's a wrap on this one! Please Review

-Itslitttt