The Ghost King Chronicles

"Better to rule in hell than serve in heaven."


C o n t e n t s

Part O N E:


Part T W O:


Part T H R E E:


Part F O U R:


Part F I V E:



And their sun does never shine,
And their fields are bleak and bare,
And their ways are filled with thorns:
It is eternal winter there.
-William Blake


It encompassed every corner and crevice of these eternally damned lands. It suffocated every ounce of life that dared tread upon its domain. Nothing escaped its vice-like choke hold once it wrapped its steely fingers around ones throat. There was no compassion or mercy in these blackened corridors. These lands do not judge. They are free of bias and discrimination. You can be a high King or lowly peasant and you will suffer all the same if the judges call.


Oh the screams!

Grotesque wails so brittle they cracked the air like a cat o' nine cutting the soft flesh of silence. A wicked sound that crawled its way up your spine and in to your brain. Its rapacious claws tore away at your sanity and sent you in to a rabid frenzy of abject misfortunes. It was a symphony of horrid screeches and wails ranging from deep baritones to high falsettos.

Any unfamiliar with this terrain would not last more than a moment before succumbing to the pernicious shadows that crawled across the scenery. Grubby hands grasped for any mortal flesh, looking for a reprieve from their eternal damnation. Manic eyes dashed around endlessly as they watched and awaited their next torment. Their opaque mouths forever opened with their endless screams.

They are avaricious creatures, as all Underworld dwellers seemed to be. A nasty disease that infected and plagued whomever inhaled the seemingly noxious gases wafting from the very hearth. It was a pungent odor, really; sickening to Above-landers. The stench of death lay at the heart of the aroma surrounded by the festering decay of souls and sulfuric gases. Even the beings with strong stomachs could not take the pestiferous fragrance for long before they were forced down in a mess of retching heaves and coughs. Few, veryfew living creatures could sustain themselves in the kingdom of the dead. One such creatu-


The slightest movement tracing its way around the edge of the shadows was seen. The only sound emanating from the perpetrator was the lightest of breaths and steady beat of his lively heart. Thump. What living being would be foolish enough to enter the realm of corpses?Tha-thump. Surely one warranting a death wish! Thump. A flash of white was seen as the creature moved through a shaft of natural lighting.Tha-thump. It was the child borne of life and death. Love and hate. Dark and light.

Nico di Angelo.

The one and only son of Lord Hades, God of the Underworld.

The self-proclaimed 'Ghost King'.

No one dared challenge his title.

King of the Ghosts.

Ghosts. Souls percolating in insanity.


Luna, Lunar.


King of the Moon.

Lady Artemis would be none-too-pleased to hear of this little revelation. Her being the Goddess of the Moon and all. Moon Goddess. Moon. Luna. Lunatic. Insanity. Ghosts. A vicious cycle set on repeat.

She was the Goddess of Insanity, and he the King. 'She would be quite perturbed, I believe.' He pondered for the moment. 'Perhaps that explains her odd mannerisms.' At that thought a sarcastic little smirk quirked his lips but soon fell in its ephemeral lifespan. No single emotion lasted long on his face. He was a stoic figure; intimidating with his cruel aura and magnificent features.

What was so alluring about this creature?

I say creature for I dare not call him 'human'. No human, no matter how wicked, could be as cold and aloof as this black-clad being. Another trait inherited from his father.

Maybe it was the way he moved in such a sinuous manner. With each shift of his pale athletic figure his entire frame rolled and followed through with the movement like a serpent; a grace so captivating yet even more eerie. Chilling. His wiry muscles rippled the same way a felines would as it trailed a hapless doe. A black panther would suite him best I imagine. The way he prowled through the lands mirrored that of a starving panther stalking its prey. So controlled and quiet, yet threatening all the same. A beautiful site to see.

Or perhaps it was his appearance. Hades knows how superficial some can be. He was apparently blessed with desirable looks. Had he ever truly noticed his Adonis features? No, not really. Of course he noticed the wayward glances of the opposite sex. The way they eyed him up and down with looks similar to a hungry wolf. Mysterious, yet recognizable, smiles captured their lips and lust sparkled in their eyes. Had he ever taken advantage of that fact? Of course he did, once or twice. Though he was not one to let himself go with any woman that strutted across his view.


No, they had to catch his attention. A feat in its own right. But he was, after all, a teenage boy. Could you blame him for acting on instinct and hormones? It'd be a miracle had he not.

They came to him, like bees to honey. It was so very strange to him. He was not haughty, in fact he attempted to stay away from any group of people. Avoiding crowds was his specialty. Yet some how they managed to find their way to him. All so much alike it was sickening. The very thought of such sheep made the bile rise in his throat. Where had originality and individuality gone? It was beaten down and kicked around by the mainstream executives looking for a better marketing pitch.


He tried to keep away from them. He really did.

He dressed in odd black clothing: black ripped pants, black shirts, a black leather duster, black combat boots, a skull ring, and even on occasion black gloves.

His wardrobe was nothing more than a tattered mess of stolen and thrown out clothes he managed to grab up. His hair was an unkempt mess that matched his apparel. His skin, once a healthy shade of olive, now was a stark pale white that clashed with his choice of shade grotesquely. There were dark rings tainted a sickly bruise-like color marring the area under his eyes. A side effect from all his shadow-travelling, monster fighting, and sleepless nights. All in all he was a bedraggled mess.

What he didn't know was that his choice of style was one of the things attracting attention. It was dark, mysterious, and unique. He stood out like a shadow in the sea of light.

Secretly most, if not all, females have a desire for the 'bad boys'. That's what he came off as. His shaggy inky bangs hung close to his brows, casting a shadow across his face and making his obsidian eyes stand out further more, as odd and contradictory as it may seem. They were an endless abyss gleaming with either genius or insanity. Which one is still under debate. The longer one looked in to them, the further one would get lost in the maze of his mind.

His face, most commonly seen placid or twisted in to a bitter smirk, was accentuated by the contrasting highlights and shadows. Finely sculpted cheekbones stood out on his pallid complexion. Had it not been for his angular jaw structure and blackened eyes one would almost call his features effeminate.

Enough of his appearance though. I'm certain you'd much rather hear about what he's doing down in his homelands of the Underworld.

His lean figure moved with a sinister finesse through the ashen charnels called 'The Fields of Punishment'. The endless wails of the dead beat in to his skull like the sirens of a defective ambulance. Though he did nothing more than brush past the ghostly forms of his subjects. Their eternal torment and screeches all too familiar to this one. It bothered him as much as a fly would bother a tree. He had grown used to the sounds of torture and actually began to feel a sort of irate affection for the sounds. It was homey. Anything and everything that reminded him of here.

The phantoms screamed out to their leader for help against the torment encasing them. They begged and plead to him; bartering items they didn't have for even a moment of relief from their punishment. He simply breezed past them. He does not barter, not any more; and they did not deserve any help. They were a ragged bunch full of lies and their auras were forever stained with their wicked ways.

Thick leather soles touched upon the ashen ground with little more than a soft thump.He could have very well been walking barefoot with the unnaturally lithe way he maneuvered. He got lost in his thoughts and allowed the cries to dull to a drone.

It was winter in the world above, meaning school was in session for all other campers. With the exception of the year rounders, of course. That left none of his 'friends' at the camp and certainly no reason for him to remain there in the bitter cold.

He was a widely ignored character when it came to his 'summer home'. Even after four years, and the title of a War Hero, he was still avoided like the plague. After the war had ended he was showered with attention and respect. He did not enjoy the aforementioned attention, though the respect was...warming? Yes, warming in a sense. Of course it did not last. After time he was just the scary son of Hades once more.


Why was he so terrifying?

He thought and thought about. He sat in his cabin alone and upset at his social misfortunes. Lashing out, he screamed and beat the walls until his fists were bloody and distorted. Bones shattered from the savage contact with the marble surfaces of his cabin. The pain was numbed by fiery hate and adrenaline. His cabin was left a wreck. Beds, widely unused, were broken and destroyed, desks overturned and shattered. Anything breakable was broken. Nothing was left unmarred. Nothing but his family picture and a little figurine of Hades. His father.

The thoughts ravaged his mind relentlessly as he nearly tore the door off its hinges in his mad dash to escape. He had no strength to stumble through the shadows. Not in his beaten condition.

Campers stared in horror at the scene presented to them. They were offered a glimpse into the illusive boys room. What they found was utter destruction and chaos. Blood, his own, splattered all surfaces. The walls, the floor, the furniture, the door, the windows, and even the ceiling was painted with droplets of dark crimson.

Complete horror.

All brought on by their ignorance.

They passed it off as another act of violence by the dangerous boy of Hades.

He had no name to them.

Only the title of his father that weighed so heavily upon his shoulders.

'Why? Why do they hate me? They stare at me as if I am a monster! A creature no better than Kronos. No better than the dirt beneath their shoes. Why did you leave me, Bianca? I need you. I can't take this! What did I do to them? I helped them, didn't I? I convinced father to help in the war! What did I do wrong?'

The questions plagued him for many years.

Never did he reach a conclusion.

Not until a little while back.

The truth was bitter cold. It always nagged in the back of his mind, yet he ignored it. He didn't truly want to believe it. But as time passed it grew louder and louder until it was blaring in his skull.

'I was born.'

It was the truth. He was born. Born to the God of the Underworld. Lord of the Dead. Ruler of Monsters.

He was dark with menacing eyes and an imposing figure. He could raise the dead, control the shadows, and rule the ghosts. Certainly he had to be evil!

All their sideways glances, hideous whispers, and rumors all took their toll on him.

He could not stay full term. It'd kill him.

The only reason he stayed for the summer was for four others. The only ones he hesitantly called 'friend'. Percy, Annabeth, Thalia, and Grover, to an extent. Of course there were acquaintances in his good grace like Clarisse and as much as he'd like to deny it, the Stoll brothers.

Though what he considered an acquantince and what someone else would consider an acquantince were two very different things.

His sort of acquaintance was one that did not give him frightened or dirty looks when they thought he was not looking. They held a sort of mutual respect for one another and a distinct understanding. Though they lacked the common civility of friendship.

They were the other Heros of the War.

The demigods who fought in the last stand all held his acquaintance.

There were few of them left.

Only the heroes would understand.

They had experienced the pain and the death. The fought for their lives, for the Gods existence, and for Olympus. They slayed monster after monster until gold dust clouded the air and painted their bodies. They killed enemy demigods. Blood stained their weapons a sickening ruby.

For a moment in time when they took their last stand at the doors of the Empire State Building did they share the shocking wave of fear and determination. They all looked death in the face and were physically, mentally, and emotionally scarred.

He respected them.

They knew what the new campers did not.

Now that most of the Heroes are grown and gone he did not want to stay at camp any longer than necessary.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he strolled further through the Underworld. He was covered in soot and ash from the Fields of Punishment as he crossed over to the Fields of Asphodel. Shades roamed about as the screams faded to quiet sobs and moans. 'Pitiful creatures. I think I prefer the screams.'

A slight sneer encased his lips as the shades cried to be brought back to life and how they didn't deserve to die. Everyone deserves to die.

The black grass swayed in a nonexistent breeze and a heavy silence plagued the atmosphere, bringing a depressing aura to the lands. He grimaced at the uncomfortable feel of the place and nodded to himself. He did prefer the rivers of lava and barbed wire sections of the Fields of Punishment. At least there it seemed life dwell. As much as he enjoyed the dead he craved for the living. Something he'd never get. He was resigned to that fact.


It boiled under the surface of his skin like magma waiting to burst free from a volcano. His jaw clenched as he smoothly sidestepped a fallen stalagmite.

Often he wondered what it'd be like to be like his cousins Percy or Thalia. They were loved by many and praised for their heroic deeds. Of course he didn't want to be recognized for what he's done. He simply wanted to be understood.

Now Nico has a little more angst than the common. Growing up a demigod and living in the Underworld tends to do that.

Black brows furrowed as he contemplated the idea of being in their position. By now the idea was stretched out, pulled apart, and completely exhausted. He looked at it from every perspective, every light, every angle. Yet he could never picture himself anywhere else. This is who he is. Yes, he yearned for normality. What half-blood doesn't? Still, he couldn't help but think no matter how shitty his own life is, it's all he knows. There is no way of changing who he is and where he came from, so there is no point in obsessing over what can never be.

He will always be the 'bad one' hanging in the back.

He will always be the unrecognized one.

He will always be just 'The son of Hades, the son of the Big Three.'

And so he brushed off the pain and resentment, picked himself up, and carried on with himself. Albeit he's a far more impersonal, brazen, and aloof version of himself. At least he no longer beats himself for answers and silently sits alone in his cabin, wondering 'What if?' He passed that phase.


He felt a tingling sensation, like icy pin pricks up and down his spine. A shade was forming before his eyes. He paused, waiting patiently for it to materialize and speak. Soon a rugged male specter faced him. Those hollow eyes filled with fright and respect. Respect due to the fright. It got down in a misty kneel, awaiting permission from its lord to talk.

"Rise and tell me why you interrupt my musings."

He always spoke formal with the spirits. They seem to react better when he did so. It rose in one adroit motion and began speaking its scraping tones.

"My lord, Lord Hades requests an audience with you immediately."

That was it. Oil-slick eyes pierced the shade with an intensity that made the spirit shudder subtly in fear. After a moment of silence Nico spoke once more. His voice was metallic and sharp. The venom laced each silken syllable and the frigid tone left the air feeling cooler.

"Very well. I will arrive shortly. You are dismissed."

It gave a sharp nod and bow before vanishing as swiftly as it came.

Shades. An easily frightened lot.

With a passing wonder as to why his father wanted him he allowed the shadows to engulf his body.

He welcomed the cold darkness of shadow travelling, and it welcomed him in return. There was no resistance as he passed through. His breath came out in calm puffs of frost and the chill settled in bones. Energy was taken as a payment to the shadows in turn for his passing. With the exchange he stepped out of the darkness and in to the throne room of his father's palace.

Hades watched the shadows grow and breath with life with menacing charcoal eyes. His ichor blood ran as cold as the darkness surrounding him. Erebus stood behind him, though more as a shadow than a figure. To his left sat his wife, and niece, Persephone. The colors in her skin, hair, and clothes were dulled magnificently with the winter season. It frustrated him to no end seeing the dead look inhabit her eyes.

With nothing more than a faint sigh he looked back at the darkness. A humanoid shape took place just moments before his only child strolled out. He had grown a lot over the passing years and to the never changing God it was so very odd.

He remembered seeing Nico and his sister Bianca as just children happily running around and clinging to their mother.

Maria di Angelo.

Pain coursed through his body as he thought back to his mortal love.

Unlike other Gods he actually did love her. They had two children together and he visited her many times over the course of twelve years. He would have built her a palace of gold if she so pleased. Losing her, it just further brought on his merciless and wicked nature. He distrusted his brother and felt a deep bitterness toward his family for what they had done.

He remembered the way she looked. A smile passed on to their daughter Bianca and dark gleaming eyes like their son Nico. Black hair in soft billows and a slender, motherly figure. She was bold and didn't let Zeus intimidate her in to letting her children go. Ultimately it caused her death. A slight grimace marred his pale lips.

That soft, loving smile would never make his day brighter again. When Bianca died, he went a little with her. His bitterness was shoved off on to his last remaining child and only reminder of Maria. Nico. Certainly his children had to be incompetent! All his demigod children had died before reaching maturity. Oh and Hades was far less promiscuous than his other family members. For his children to die was a terrible thing.

Black eyes observed his son for a moment, taking in his proud stature and virulent aura. Eyes dark as Tartarus stared back in to his own. They were cold and calculating, not a trace of affection left to linger. There was a hint of emotion he could not rightly identify. But it was extinguished just as soon as it appeared. There was almost nothing left in the boy to call human.

He had turned his own son in to a monster.

He was destroyed.


It racked the Lord of the Dead's mind for a moment before being extinguished just as quickly. 'Good. If the boy is a monster then he will succeed in his job.' He could make up every excuse in the book but that would never stop the little voice from nagging and screaming blame at him in the back of his mind.

He had done it.

Nico knelt before his father, awaiting the signal to rise.

"Rise, my son."

Smoothly he stood and glanced at Lord Hades and Lady Persephone. He gave her a bow of respect then one to Lord Erebus. Even in his gaseous state, Nico could almost make out a faint grin on those misty lips. His attention was brought back to his father as the Lord rose from his throne. The fluid motions and cascading black fabric of his tunic reminded him of oil running down a rocky path. Each movement made was unnaturally smooth and caused Nico to feel inferior in comparison. It made him feel like a cumbersome oaf, even though that was the furthest thing from the truth.

Lord Hades made his way down the black marble steps only to stop before his son and look upon him critically. A frown creased his features, only furthering Nico's feelings of inadequacy. In reality, his father was pleasantly surprised with how strong and domineering his son appeared. Only, he looked far too much like himself and not his mother. That was one reason he favored his sister over him. She looked more like her mother. Finally he spoke. His voice was pure ice and fear. No way around it. There was no evil within it like many think. His father was not evil. Just misunderstood, as he is.

"Nico, my son, it's your birthday, is it not?"

He stood slightly wary, eying his father and speaking carefully. Even though he was watching his words that did not stop the poison from filling the words and the cool indifference from stinging the air. Why did he care if it was his birthday? The most he got from his father on his birthday was his sword, though many believed he forged it himself.

"Yes it is, my Lord."

His father gave him a hard glance before continuing on. The meeting was tense and far too formal. Not what a father and son should be like. That brought thoughts of Poseidon and Percy to mind which he quickly banished.

"How old are you now?"

Again, he was surprised at his father's question. Why does he care to know his age? But of course he would never say, or think, that for Lord Hades to hear. That would be a terrible terrible thing.

Literally he was over 70 years old, due to the Lotus Casino. Though he knew that wasn't what his father meant.

"I am sixteen."

Just as Hades thought.

He could see the well concealed surprise and wonder as to his questions. It was mildly upsetting to see his son feel such a way. Was it really that odd for him to care?


He gave a hum in response before turning around smoothly and striding over to Erebus. Nico could not see what was going on but he could hear the lightest shuffle of fabric before his father and Lord Erebus came gliding back in front of him. Lady Persephone, out of pure curiosity, not generosity, came to stand beside her husband. She gave Nico a disdainful look before looking back to Lord Hades. Nico gave her a cold glance and nothing more.

Finally his father looked back down to a slightly confused and curious Nico. The expression made him want to grin a bit. It was almost innocent, except for the underlying sinister tone. He cleared his throat to catch his sons attention once more before continuing to speak.

"That is quite a feat, especially for a child of Hades. How you managed and not your sister still puzzles me."

He grimaced at the hurt and frustration that crossed his sons face. Though by the neutral expression it seemed almost as if Nico was used to it.

He is.

To Nico, the grimace was one of disappointment and disgust aimed at him. Of course he felt the pain of his fathers remark burning his insides and the frustration that he just wasn't good enough. He isn't as good as his sister, obviously. He'll never be good enough to his father.

He'll just never be enough.

He's resigned to it.

Without hesitation his father trudged on in his words. He would not let his sons weaknesses hinder him. Zeus, he should be happy with his father!

"Either way, that and the war years ago has shown me you might not be completely useless. On that note, I have a gift for you."


Nico was shocked. Not only was he complimented, well complimented in Hades' way, but he was going to receive a gift? He would have stood with his mouth open and eyes wide had he not been afraid of what his father would do. In fact, he stood straighter, if possible, and even more stoic.

He tried to hide his surprise.

His delight.

His fear.

He was surprised his father would be so...kind? He was delighted he was not completely insulted per usual. Oh and he feared it was all a joke. One big joke in order to hurt him further, humiliate him more.

Hades noticed.

He frowned but continued on.

"As a reward for your efforts I, Lord Hades, grant to you, Nico di Angelo a crown."


Nico stared at him with a perplexed expression. Lord Erebus stepped forth with a black velvet cloth. His opaque hands skimmed the soft surface before flipping back the folded edge and revealing an odd piece of metal. It was as black as his Stygian sword. Black as a nightmare. It appeared to be breathing and Nico looked closer, noticing how it moved in wisps before realizing it was the shadows curling around a piece of barbed black metal.

He looked back up to Lord Erebus, whom simply grinned his nebulous grin. Then he looked over to Lord Hades, who stared at him with an unreadable expression. He did not even dare look at Lady Persephone. There would be no good expression there.

"It is created from Stygian and shadows, made in the forges of the Underworld, dipped in the river Styx, and designed by Lord Erebus himself."


Lord Erebus did not design it by himself. In fact, he did not design it at all. It was Hades who had created the plans for it and over seen the entire operation. Did he want Nico to know that he designed it? No. It'd make him look weaker, in his opinion. Caring brought upon weakness. So he could not look like he cared.

Of course Erebus had helped by providing shadows to encase the barbs of Stygian metal and powers to fuel it. But, as promised, he would take credit for the design.

Nico stared for a moment, overwhelmed by what he was receiving before turning to Lord Hades, about to ask why he was receiving it, not that he was ungrateful or anything. Simply curious. Before he had a chance to ask his father kept on explaining.

"This crown is the only of its kind. It is a symbol of power and heavy gift. With it comes responsibilities both Lord Erebus and I expect you to take care of. The power it contains is beyond any weapon you ever owned. If you accept this crown you accept the powers and you accept the duties. You will become the crown Prince of Darkness. Do you accept?"


It was the most his father ever spoke to him at once. It was the most his father ever offered him, even if he did not make it. His father believed in him, believed he could hold such power and so did Lord Erebus. Oh it scared him. He did not want to fail them, but he did not want to deny their gracious gift. And so he calmly took one step forward and looked his father square in the eyes.

"I accept your gift, my lords."

His expression was strong to the point of near defiance. Almost as if daring Hades to say he couldn't do it. His lip twitched, wanting to grin at the boys determination, but he kept his face expressionless. Then he turned to Erebus, eyes meeting for a moment before he grabbed the crown gently and twisted back to face his son. Persephone made a disgruntled sound but was ignored for the most part. This was an important moment in both his son's and his own life. Her jealousy would not affect it.

Nico drew his black sword and touched the tip to the black marble floor before getting down on one knee in a kneeling position. One hand wrapped around the dark leather hilt while the other covered the butt of his sword. His head was bowed as his obsidian eyes looked at the mirror-like floor.

He could see the reflections of his father, Lord Erebus and Lady Persephone. 'She looks quite unhappy.' He observed from her akimbo stance.

Expressions were distorted on the reflective surface but he could make out as his father reached over and placed the crown on his head. The feeling was odd to him. His father's touch lingered a moment more than necessary before he pulled back and spoke in his cold voice.

"Rise my son."

Fluidly he got back to his feet and looked to his father. Hades observed him for a moment, taking in the appearance of his son and carving it in his memory. He stood strong and proud with the black crown placed regally on his head. He looked as if he was born to wear such a dark symbol of power. It made him...proud? Yes, very proud. But of course he would not let him know that. Though he could not stop his expression from softening slightly and the tiny grin from curving up his lips. No, that was impossible to stop.

"All hail Nico di Angelo, the Prince of Darkness, King of Ghosts, and Ruler of Monsters."


Nico felt a dark smirk begin to creep up his lips in utter joy and pride at what his father granted him, but he fought it back. He could not let his father see his happiness. It may anger him, might disgust him. It'd make him think his son is weak. Nico did not want that. Not at all. Instead he gave a calm stare.

The shadows seemed to creep down from the crown and encase his body in their soft tendrils as well. It was a comforting feeling. The cold shadows slithered around him like serpents.


He then noticed it was not just the four of them any longer.

Skeletons, shades, and monsters alike stood around the throne room. Well, they bowed around the thrown room. him. It was gratifying, though embarrassing as well. He never was one for the spot light. With a signal from Lord Hades they all rose again. He turned back to his father once he started speaking of the crown and its functions.

"This crown will send any who dare try and wear it without your consent straight to the Underworld. To me. That is to keep any from attempting to obtain its power. If you tap it once, it will disguise itself as any sort of hat you desire. Tap it twice and it turns in to armor. Tap it once more to set it back to its original self. It acts like a miniature of my helm, meaning it radiates large amounts of fear, can render you invisible in every sense if you wish it to do so, and will allow you to melt in to the shadows to allow you to bypass walls and shadow travel with ease. This is a symbol of your power. Monsters and shades alike will recognize it as well as you. It will help control your powers. Your sword has evolved with the power of the crown. Do you understand, my son? "


He was going to be given that? He was beyond words at the moment. He simply nodded, while still processing the information. Lord Hades trusts him with that much power? A warm feeling began to grow inside his achingly cold heart. Happiness.

"Good. Now pay attention closely, boy. Here is what you will be responsible for. I will send you sporadically on missions when Thanatos is busy to collect the souls evading me. That means anyone escaping death will get a run in with you, whether they be monster, mortal, or immortal. It will be your job to find why the souls are lingering on Earth without my consent and decide if they should be allowed to stay on Earth or go to the Underworld for judgement. Only in extreme cases do I want you to come to me for it. I don't want you running to me for every little issue. You will cast the final vote in judgement if a case is at a standstill. You will assist Lord Erebus with what he needs in exchange for easy shadow travelling. You now have a dominion of the dead and creatures inhabiting the Underworld. That involves shades, skeletons, and monsters. Of course there will be rebellious monsters, seeing as you are a demigod, but that will be easy for you to handle. Now, do not disappoint me. I am putting a good amount of power in your hands, as well as my judgement and pride. Mess this up and I will send you to Tartarus. Repeat after me. 'I, Nico di Angelo, accept this crown along with its powers and duties. I banish the light and welcome the shadows.' If I accept, you will gain your titles."


He was scared to make the oath. Those were some really heavy burdens that would be placed on his shoulders. But his father believed he could do it, right? Otherwise why would he risk his pride giving him the powers? He could not let him down. He certainly did not want to let Lord Erebus down either. He repeated the oath with cold strength.

"I, Nico di Angelo, accept this crown along with its powers and duties. I banish the light and welcome the shadows."

Of course that did not mean he would not be able to walk in the light, rather the shadows would follow him no matter where he went. Eternal darkness.

His father gave him a deadly smooth grin. A foreign emotion flared in those dark eyes before he spoke words as smooth and cool as marble.

"I accept. Now it's time for a power upgrade, my son. It may hurt just a bit."


Unbearable pain.

With a sinister chuckle the pain flared up inside him. It felt as if every cell in his body was being dipped in liquid nitrogen and shattered. His limbs felt as if they were being torn from his body.


Soon he slipped in to the familiar darkness. Except this was unconsciousness. He had passed out from the excruciating pain.


His screams rang throughout the entire Underworld.

All activities stopped.

All cries were silence in the Fields of Punishment.

It was only his screams that filled the air. His throat raw and bloody from the unconscious screaming.

His father cringed inwardly at the terrifying sound. It pained him to torture his son so, but it needed to be done. Hades picked up the thrashing form of his son and brought him to rest in his room before leaving with a look back. Even with the obsidian door closed it still sounded as though his soon was in his arms. It'd be over in one week. One long week. With a sigh he resided to his throne.


It came in many shapes and forms.

Nico di Angelo knew each one intimately as lover born.

Lord Hades knew each one resentfully as lover lost.

A simple Child,
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?
-William Wordsworth

Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians, any of the characters, quotes, or The Crow.

Formatting and content inspired from The Crow by James O'Barr and Dark Angel by Ryan Corven

A/N This is Part One of my five part Chronicle.

Each part will be a lengthy one shot.

This was written over many different time periods, so excuse the shitty composition and choppy sections. I'm getting over some personal tragedies and this helped, to an extent.

Now here's a closer look to some parts.

When talking about the Moon being related to Ghosts, it's self-explanatory. Either you get it or you don't. And NO I'm not actually saying Artemis is the queen of insanity, nor Nico the king. All figurative people.

When talking about all the girls loving him, I'm not doing it to make him seem more attractive and such. I'm actually making fun of Mary Sue's. You know, the annoying OC brigade that somehow manages to capture his heart in 50billion stories? Not all are bad of course, but many are REALLY annoying. So that's what I was talking about.

When talking about him trashing his cabin in frustration, it's like it says. I can imagine Nico being fourteen or fifteen and so completely hurt and hateful because how everyone reacts to him. He's a son of Hades. That's all they see and it gets to him so deeply. This is also dedicated to those who are bullied to the point of suicide or self-harm. People can be monsters to one another. I know from experience. I was the bully. I was the monster. It was terrible and I regret every minute of it. I was an insensitive subhuman. I was also the one bullied at a point, but not in a way yous would think. And so that's how I wrote it. I wrote from experience.

If you don't understand the last 2 sentences...oh well.

If yous would like more information on why/how I wrote and such and I get enough requests, I'll write a sort of a/n chapter on the meanings.

Anything in italics that has "" around it is someone, aside from Nico, speaking.

Anything in italics with '' around it is a thought.

Anything in italics with nothing around it is just an emphasized word.

Each part will be placed under a new chapter. NOT a new story.

It is more convenient that way.

Reviews, CC, etc. welcome.