Disclaimer: I own nothing but the stories. Percy Jackson and all of the demigods belong to Rick Riordan. The gods, giants, Titans, etc., all belong to themselves.

A/N: This story is set somewhere after volume two of the Heroes of Olympus series (and maybe after volume three. We'll see, once it gets published). Written in a two-hour sprint as a faux prize after reaching 50,000 words for NaNoWriMo Thanksgiving Day. I mean no offense to the fans of the Roman gods, I merely prefer their Greek aspects. Sorry, Jupiter.

Zeus could feel the tight bonds holding him to the cavern floor, keeping his essence from escaping. The celestial bronze cuffs were too tight and cut into his wrists, leaving trails of golden ichor when he moved, if he did at all. He could hear the voices of the demigods, and the giants, bargaining, begging, for his life.

What did the demigods care about him? He had done everything in his power to push them away, to be the bad guy in all their scenarios, to act as if he were a selfish bastard who wasn't fit to be king of the gods.

Certainly, he had tried. He had tried very hard. The affairs with mortals hadn't been part of that plan, but were inevitable. He knew how to love, and he enjoyed doing so. Loving someone made him happy, and he could not rely on Hera –or Juno- to be there forever.

They could not rely on him. Zeus, Jupiter, whatever name you wished to call him, any of his many essences, he would not always be there for them.

He didn't act like he was, certainly. He did his best not to. It was better that they thought him an egotistical, selfish, idiotic adulterer than a scheming weasel who made plans so deep and twisted no one would be privy to the details at the end but him. They did not need to know how hard he had tried to keep their destinies intact –had even spoken with Luke, sending him dreams of where he kept his master bolt- in order to bring about the entire catastrophe. Poseidon had been angry, as usual, but it was all part of the plan. The Lord of the Sea loved his son very much, and would do anything in his power to keep him safe.

The Romans and the Greeks, on the other hand, were not such a family-friendly bunch. They fought and bickered and killed one another, never realizing that they were true family, no matter what name their godly parents went by. What did it matter whether he was Jupiter or Zeus? He was still himself. One person. Yet they never regarded it as such a way, and Zeus was forced to keep them separated. He knew that Hera –as Juno- would eventually attempt to bring them together, her jealousy and continuous delight in antagonizing him urging her to go behind his back, as usual, and bring about another big catastrophe he would have to deal with.

The Prophecy of Seven… Zeus knew the true meaning of it. Had known since it had been first spoken of, when the Fates had come to him while he lingered alone and had told him what was to come. They gave him a choice, and he had chosen. Be the hero, save the demigods, and be remembered as the worst king of the gods there had ever been. No one could ever know what he had done to keep them alive –keep them safe was the general term used at times like this, but being safe as a demigod? Preposterous- or the Fates would continue to weave another path of destruction.

Zeus was going to die. He had agreed, and for the end of the Prophecy, the demigods would fail, and he would die.

It was a fair price to pay for their lives. What was the life of one god to the lives of so many of his children, his nephews, nieces, granddaughters, and grandsons? They were as much his family as was his Titaness mother.

He would die for them, and they would never know.

"Gods are immortal!" Percy Jackson was speaking; that incredibly pliable son of Poseidon, who had done so much and received so little. "You can't kill him, it's impossible!"

"I know how to kill an immortal god," said the giant, down on one knee as to better speak to the tiny demigods. "All you have to do is take away the part of him that is immortal. All that is left is the mortal soul, and that is quite easy to destroy."

Zeus was ready. He kept his eyes closed, only listening. He did not wish to seem too eager in his death, and so, he feigned unconsciousness. He would not let the demigods succeed. But to do so, he would have to die.

Zeus slid away from himself, leaving Jupiter behind. If he had taken himself entirely away, then the giant would know, and his plan –Zeus's plan- would fail. Some part of him had to die, and Jupiter –with that annoyingly practicality that made up his personality- had insisted that it be him to go. Zeus was a survivor, had survived a long, long time without anyone or anything. Jupiter knew only war, and understood the risks that battle gave to the contestant. He was not afraid of death, and in dying, he could save many. Zeus wasn't sure he wanted to lose any part of himself, let alone the side that was outwardly reasonable, that was occasionally smiled upon, but he understood the risks, as well. If Zeus were to vanish fully from existence, then the world would collapse. It held itself together so tenuously as it was, it could not bear another breach of its delicate balance. As it was, the loss of Jupiter just might do more damage to the earth than good, but the demigods would survive.

Demigods were survivors.

He listened, feeling the first blow of the giant's hammer strike Jupiter's chest. Jupiter still wore the vestments of Zeus, would stay as he was until the giant's work was done. Zeus would only wait, and watch, and listen, the three Fates sitting at his side and threading, weaving, cutting as they always did, day in and day out, for all eternity. A single golden thread, woven through an entire lifetime of tapestry, grew ever closer to those sharp, sharp scissors, and Zeus could only wait. And watch. And listen.

Jupiter was mortal. The pain was only an ache, a terrible ache that struck his entire body still with the agony of it. The giant struck again, his pleasure evident on the thick words that spewed from his mouth. The demigods cried out, oblivious to Zeus, only seeing Jupiter, seeing him weaken, seeing him die, and crumble into golden dust that was softer, silky, like talc. Glittering, soft, and empty.

Zeus lay on the floor of the cave of the Fates, listening to them thread, and weave, and cut, as pain wracked his very being as a part of him was lost. Jupiter was gone, and only Zeus remained. Every monument that Jupiter had built, every item he had ever filled with his power, crumbled to dust like the remains of his mortal body. The temple in Camp Jupiter disintegrated, the imperial gold eagle lost its electric touch, the Camp itself was shivering, coming apart at the seams as all the power Jupiter had placed throughout its borders wavered and fell apart. The other gods would repair it, that, or the demigods themselves would. It would be renamed, for who would want to be part of a camp of the only god on Olympos to die a mortal death?

The demigods had failed in their quest to save their king, but the Prophecy had been fulfilled, and they were alive. The giant would fall, in the coming battle between the demigods and the giants; the help of their godly parents would spur them on, and together his family would defeat Gaea's darkest monsters.

Zeus would watch, keep the rain steady, and invisible, apart, and alone. He would remain vigilant, a watcher, a protector, until the Fates once again wove the golden thread into the story of the world again.