A/N: Would appreciate the constructive criticism guys. This is the first time I have tried something like this and I know it's bad. Any help on these types of fics will be appreciated if you have the time.
Also, like my last fic (if you can call it that lol), this is something I am dedicating to Alcatrex (The Last Centurion 1), check out his story, 'Time and Time Again'.
Great help to me during the last 24 hours lmao.
Also, this has been written in less than 2 hours and done in multiple installments since my exams are going on.
There are breaks in the story, where it doesn't quite flow, but most of them are attributed to the fact that this is a song fic and it's supposed to be like that.
It's a one-shot based on betrayed!demigods and OP!demigods, obviously with a few demigods (cough, Percy, cough) being more OP than others lol.
The fic is based on the song "Middle Finger" and one part is meant to represent one line of the song with each part being separated by an '-x-'.
His tears had been unseen or so he had thought, as they mingled with the water he once lied in.
Away from all he had ever known, hidden by the murky depths of the ocean that he hated.
-x-
He doesn't know if he ever loved him or not. Was he just another mortal? An unimportant pawn on their chessboard?
Was this his life? To think he was needed and then it to be revealed that he was used and after that, finally, thrown away?
-x-
They made this his life. Trapped him in a web of lies and a family of frauds.
It was a cage they made for him and he being the fool he was then, fell right into it without even realizing.
-x-
And then they let him out. Let him out of the cage whose bars were his family and friends.
Sent away from his home, never to talk to his peers again.
Could that really be considered an escape? Isolated from the world he lived in and exiled from the life he had?
It was freedom from the controlling clutches he had been subjected to, but instead forced into the mental shackles of loss and hopelessness.
-x-
Could he break free? Tear apart the chains that bound him, to be with purpose and joy once more?
To live again, be a new person, make a new life. To be subjected to another world, a vastly different one than his own, but a world where he could be anyone.
-x-
Desperation for anything is the only thing that soared in his mind right then, and the sense of hopelessness was replaced by the same determination which was once a tool for them.
A tool to be used for his own purposes now. Whatever they might be...
-x-
Others came. He didn't know them, but if they were offering help for his cause, he sure as hell won't reject them!
New powers, new identities, new family, new friends, and a new life.
But he wanted more. He thirsted for more.
-x-
They always needed help. And who will they take it from? Their children.
But if the same children were with him, part of his plans, and shared his aspirations, who would help them?
-x-
How did it get demigods on his side? More importantly, how did he get all of them?
He simply asked and those who thought the same joined him, those who wanted to be a part of the new world order, those who wanted to see them suffer.
And those who refused… had to be put down. Nothing personal, really, but he had needed a unified front.
-x-
An army. That was what he made. And he was gonna use it to finish what they started.
Demigods had been pushed down. Disrespected. Trained as soldiers, not sentient and emotional beings.
It was time to make them pay.
Pay for something whose beginning stretched back to Iason, the first mortal consort one of them had, or maybe even further.
And the end of the same will come. Soon. Very soon.
-x-
They made a big mistake by letting him out there, thinking he will die.
They stopped being his jailors, letting him free, his use exhausted and his life supposedly about to end.
He was free. Of all the shackles that had been placed on him, and he won't let the opportunity get away!
-x-
Their assumptions now bring their doom, the end of the age of immortals, the time for their rule to end, and his to take place.
Foolish decisions were unbecoming of her, but not the others. Definitely not the others.
Something to thank for the dictatorship the king had informally imposed.
-x-
He will send them all to the pit of eternal damnation. Maybe go one further, even.
Do what the king did to the queen, his wife and dangle every single one of them over the Void.
Let them experience nothingness, or as close to it as it gets.
Fading would be painless. But they were several millennia-old creatures. They had a very strong will to live. Hanging them from where Tartarus himself rose was certainly appealing.
-x-
All his generation was under his control. They were alone. Their armies reduced drastically, both number and quality-wise.
No one was left under their control. All of the demigods were free of the manipulations they had been subjected to since birth, they had been shown what their life was, and then it was obvious they would join him.
-x-
The first time he met him, common decency was not shown! It was treated as a joke!
Concern for him was non-existent, more focused on mocking his brother.
These were their parents! Petty beings involved only in their own affairs.
-x-
A parent should be there for the child. No matter the circumstances!
He wasn't the only one left to the whims of cruel step-parents, nor was he the only one whose family had problems after being targeted by them.
-x-
Child of a god he might be, but his blood had then run red. He could be killed but his father didn't seem to realize it.
His faith was misplaced, expecting a single poverty-ridden mother to raise a demi-immortal!
-x-
But he did survive. And now the time had come for them to regret it.
He was going to show them how much of an artist he could be.
Golden ichor will stain the halls of Olympus as he will depict his victory over the gods!
-x-
Bodies littered the streets of the magnificent city. Burned, scratched, bloodied, torn apart.
Dozens of dryads lay dead as he walked past them. Alongside him, demigods engaged in killing even more of them, the stronger ones taking on the loyal 'minor' gods
-x-
How could a small-g god stand against multiple demigods with the blessing of capital-G Gods?
Their powers may not be useful in battle, directly, but creativity was something each one of them was equipped with.
Golden ichor splattered on Riptide as two gods in front of him burst apart with a flick of his fingers.
-x-
He was tired of the rule of the gods. It was time for it all to end.
Just like gods usurped their forefathers, the titans, and the titans, their forefather, Ouranos, the protogenoi of the heavens, it was time for the demigods to take their place.
-x-
They would make their mark in history and it would not be because they aided the gods into battle, rather exiling them all to the depths of the immortal realm.
-x-
They had been walked on too often. And now fuelled by the addictive emotion of revenge, this would end. One way or the other.
Death would be preferable to this life and the uncertainty after winning, if they win, was overpowered by the knowledge that they would be creating a new world order.
They would recreate the world.
-x-
Demigods having a united front, no matter by the means they got it, was something to be feared. Along with the help of other 'minor' gods, they outnumbered the standing army of Olympus by far.
The Olympians sat, holed up, in the throne room, as they were faced with the might of their own children!
-x-
The throne room was near now. He wasn't their prisoner, but maybe if today went wrong.
Dying was not an option, not that he could die.
-x-
The golden doors fall back with a touch of his fingers.
The gods sat there, dressed in war regalia, fighting.
Fighting amongst themselves.
-x-
Words were exchanged like weapons of war on a battlefield.
Poisonous, brash, uncaring words were all that he could hear.
He watched as their parents went for each others' throats.
The fight would be over long before it began.
-x-
What pitiful beings they had listened to?
Faced with their defeat and still fighting like little children.
-x-
He relished the look of shock as Riptide went straight for and into the heart.
It was over in a matter of seconds.
The throne room dimmed as the sun god watched a bright golden liquid pool onto the floor.
-x-
Maybe the god of music was a title well earned. Even the screams were like sirens.
They called upon him. He wanted to hear those screams again. They were music to his ears.
-x-
And like that, they fell into battle. His cousins were by his side, as they made their way towards the king.
Twelve gods against five demigods. The odds were supposedly against them and yet they stood here, winning!
-x-
They won't withdraw. No defensive moves. Keep pushing and they would crack. And the moment they did, the age of the gods will finally be over!
-x-
He could feel the killing intent trying to break into his mind.
They had no idea, did they?
Just like the lack of information caused the downfall of dozens of civilizations in the past, the gods would fall too.
-x-
The wisdom goddess's spear struck his back, shattering on impact.
The shock on her face fed his soul.
The gods were fighting an unwinnable battle!
-x-
Victory was so near he could taste it.
Let a new golden age rise, as immortal demigods ruled over the immortal realm and the mortal realm.
-x-
He could understand why gods and titans killed mortals for sport. The feeling was exhilarating. To kill again and again because you like it.
Divinity was meant to be the dominant race and they will make it so again!
-x-
More gods rushed to the aid of the Olympians, all of them dying before they even took one step into the throne room.
-x-
This was the power. The power of the king. And his voice… it would become the voice of God.
Absolute command over everyone and everything, so similar and yet so different from charmspeak.
-x-
The gods were weak. Unable to take their true forms, bound by wards more ancient than the titans themselves.
Magic in its purest form, used by the Lady of the Mist to aid the demigods in victory!
-x-
His soul was bound to divinity itself by his patrons.
To live and exist as a domainless god without even having the blessing of Styx!
-x-
Aided by the goddess of hatred, everyone one of them became invulnerable.
A mortal bathed in her waters would be elevated to a god-like status, but an immortal? An immortal blessed by the oldest Oceanid was something that even the Olympians would fear if they ever got to know.
-x-
Dozens of demigods, earning the titles of god-killers, to become the heralds of a new age of humanity, to be more than what the gods let them be.
-x-
Golden liquid stained the skin of every being in the room. Wounds that were their own weren't even visible as they fought not on the ground, but a pool of ichor.
And it was almost over. Olympians cornered into one place, most of their number gone.
He wanted more. The feeling was too addictive.
-x-
And then he sat. On a throne tainted with the ichor of the gods.
On the throne of the last king.
The one who he had killed himself.
-x-
The power of the king was his. To command anyone to do anything. The voice of God.
And unlike that irritating love goddess, he didn't need to be physically present for that or have to be attractive to his subjects.
-x-
A new world order had been made. A new city. New rulers, new alliances, new relationships.
-x-
And now the task. The task of journeying to the depths of the pit. To capture the gods as they reformed. To hang them for eternity over the Void.
And maybe put a silencing ward or two.
-x-
They were the prisoners of their own creation now. Just as humans would fall to their creation that would be technology, gods fell to their own children.
It had been foreseen in the last three volumes of the Sibylline books, lost knowledge.
-x-
And now they had shown them. Broke free of their vile manipulative minds and actions, and become their own person.
-x-
His uncle restricted him from flying? Well, now the same uncle would bow to the ruler of the heavens and the seas.
Alongside his consort, someone who was already connected to them, long before him. A consort his uncle would have definitely killed during his reign if not for her usefulness.
-x-
And then he drew a tapestry. Depicted the fall of the gods, the ushering of the fifth age of humanity.
A tapestry painted in ichor, the blood of the gods.