Unknown to the mortal world as a whole the loss of the Hero of Olympus was the initial impact on a piece of glass. The damage looked small at first, but without his influence the Olympians' paranoia was growing. Since the Hero of Olympus had become aware of the world of the Greek gods, he had been instigating changes. His quests had been unorthodox, knocked the God of War down a few pegs, returned several symbols of power to the Gods, healed the most favored demigod-daughter of Zeus. He had saved a goddess that hates all men, successfully proving that not all men are horrible. He had saved a demigod camp, and then saved the world itself. He faced down the Lord of the Titans, turned down immortality, and made the gods acknowledge their children. In one day he had saved billions of lives, and changed something that had been going on for centuries.

And then he did it all again nearly a month after he had saved the world once. His success made the gods realize several things. The demigod had saved the world again, but again he hadn't been able to save everyone. Athena's bitterness at her daughter's death had driven her to anger and resentment at the Hero of Olympus. Zeus realized that this demigod had power, possibly too much power for a single demigod. And so the Gods of Olympus had rid themselves of this threat.

Without the Demigod, things had deteriorated in the following years. In the ten years after, unrest grew amongst the gods. Many began turning on one another, within four years the conflicts had spilled over into the mortal world. Hades withdrew from the world, retreating into the underworld and the hearth burned lower than ever before. The gods began influencing the mortal world even more. Gangs under the control of the gods began running the streets, politics grew worse, corruption, theft, murder ran rampant throughout the city. Beneath Olympus, small things no longer mattered. A single mortal which was meaningless before, grew even worse. Those favored by the gods took power, mortal corruption became even worse, and while all these things occurred not a soul in the world above heard from the Hero of Olympus.

A single leaf fell from an oak. It fluttered down to the ground and was soon trodden upon by a heavy heel.

Booted feet clumped down the sidewalk and the man leaning against the wall realized it was time to pack up and leave. A tin cup almost flew into the man's hands as he began to rise, folding the cardboard sign and stuffing it into a bag hanging from the side of a shopping cart. He needed to be anywhere but here, the sound of heavy boots coming closer down the sidewalk.

Casting about, the ragged man looked for his hat. The nights in Chicago were freezing with the hat he'd have hated to go without it but those boot steps...the man froze, the boots had stopped moving.

His eyes snapped up, looking left and right. Shit, he thought when he realized that the man with the heavy boots had disappeared.

He cast about with his free hand as he kept looking for the figure. Expecting at any time for him to walk back into view and it would be too late to leave.

"Looking for this," a deep voice spoke from the shadows to his left. He turned to face the voice and froze. Half in the shadow was the owner of the heavy military boots. There would be no escape, he thought as his gaze swept upwards.

Dark grey cargo pants with bulging pockets met the bottom of a heavy black bomber jacket. The man's eyes continued upwards despite his subconscious thoughts to stop.

Aviators perched themselves on the bearded face of what he had begun to realize would be the last face he saw.

If the man saw the fear in his eyes he didn't care. The man reached up and removed the aviators, giving a wolfish grin at the ragged man.

"This yours?" He asked again, his smile beginning to unsettle the man. His gaze landed on his hat and the outstretched hand. Clad in white latex gloves the man's hands confirmed to the man that he wasn't going to be making it out alive.

The old veteran raised his head proud, facing his death full on.

"Aye, it is mine." The ragged man kept his gaze level, directly into the booted mans.

"You should go for a walk. This will be here when you get back in an hour," the booted man said, surprising the homeless vet.

He had seen this man's face, it didn't talk much to put the dots together but criminals didn't just let people go. This had to be some sort of trick, but past the wolfish smile and dangerous exterior, this man had nothing by kindness in his eyes.

The old vet took the hat from the proffered hand and started backing away.

"Come back in an hour. We'll keep your cart safe," the booted man said as a van backed into the alley past him. Three more figures got out of the vehicle. All equally imposing, in similar outfits. The homeless man nodded once to the man before him and turned, walking quickly from the area. Leaving the group behind him, he turned the corner and kept moving. He'd be back in an hour, and he really doubted that anything bad would happen to his cart.

"Why'd you let him go, Death?" One of the figures said. The bearded man shrugged.

"We aren't here to cause undue harm. These people have done nothing to us, it's them," he said pointing across the street at a one story building. "We're here because they work for the higher ups and have been stealing money from the people. They're profiting off driving people from their homes and slamming them with heavy fees. Remember that, War."

War gave a throaty laugh, clapping Death on the shoulder. "I know that. I'm just fucking with ya."

The other two figures walked around the side of the van. "You two done fucking around or are we going to do this?" The one on the right asked, unzipping his jacket.

"Bite me, Strife" Death growled. He grabbed the van's back doors and opened them outwards. He unzipped the jacket and shrugged out, revealing a shoulder holster with a 1911 and two extra clips on the counter weight.

The others were also shedding jackets, revealing several other weapons in similar rigs. The fourth figure walked up behind Strife and adjusted his harness. Muttering about unevenness.

Death cracked a grin, "You and Pestilence quite finished, or are we gonna do this?" He joked laughing, war joining in moments later as the two's faces tinted pink.

"Shut it, Death," Strife grumbled and Pestilence laughed. She reached over and grabbed his shoulder giving it a squeeze.

"Let Death grumble. He's just mad no one loves him," her face splitting into a wolfish smile.

Death growled half heartedly at her and War started laughing again.

As they joked around they began unpacking things from the van. Each one out on a military grade Kevlar and ceramic plate vest. Helping each other strap them on so their shoulder rigs were still accessible.

War reached into the truck and withdrew a S.A.W and two boxes of ammo. Strife took one of the boxes and shoved it into an easily accessible slot on the back of her armor, while War loaded the other into the gun, making sure there were no kinks in the belt before slamming the top closed and pulling back the cocking handle.

Strife withdrew a Benelli and loading a few shells in, before slinging it over his back. He turned to Pestilence and helped her secure a few extra magazines for her REC7.

Death withdrew a two shot breach-sawed off shotgun and slammed it home into the holster on his thigh before reaching back in for a loaded MP7 and two extra clips.

All of this was accomplished in less than two minutes from opening the back of the van. A few more bits and bobs were added to their harnesses before they were finished. Each person lay their weapons down on the bed of the van and pulled on a mask.

Death's was white in the shape of a skull. War's was white porceline with a single diagonal slash of red crossing from above one eye all the way down to the edge of the mask. Strife's was golden and horned, two three inch long curved demon horns sprouting from the forehead. Pestilence's mask was green and sunken, the face of a zombie molded to the front.

Fully masked and satisfied, death nodded to each of them in turn. He slammed the doors and pounded twice. Accepting his gun from Strife, he started walking towards the van as it pulled out of the alley. They meandered their way across the street without any difficulty.

The first person noticed them coming as they opened the front door. The woman froze and stood stock still as Strife calmly pointed the barrel of his shotty at her, almost tiredly. She backed against the wall as they came in, Pestilence threading a chain through the door handles, securing it with a heavy padlock.

Death wandered calmly into the center of the room, War on his tail as Strife finished tying the woman's hands and feet together with zip ties before he and Pestilence broke off, wandering through an open door, down a hallway.

Death walked to the front of the line at the counter, War right behind him, S.A.W. calmly pointed towards the people behind the counter.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I'd like to apologize for this, but this is a robbery!" He yelled as he reached the counter, ignoring the gasps behind him. He leveled his gun at those first in line and made a show of flicking off the safety.

War moved past him, pressing the muzzle of the SAW briefly up against the glass before motioning for the tellers to step back. The two tellers stepped back, hands never straying to an alarm button.

She pointed at the door and they nodded, both moving together, hands on their heads.

They exited the door and joined the others where Death had herded them against the far wall.

"Toss your phones in the middle, please!" He shouted, leveling his gun at the furthest person leaning against the wall. Phones began landing in the center of the room and Death began tying people's hands and feet with zip ties all the while under the watchful gaze of War and her light machinegun.

Pulling the final tie closed, Death ignored the whimpers of the hostages and moved to War, unslinging the duffle bag from her back. Walking to the door he opened the bag and unfurled a piece of paper with "Closed for Construction" on it with a forged work permit and county office log sheet. Anyone from the municipal would realize that it was bullshit, but this stopped any random bank goers from stumbling upon them and raising the alarm to the police. Sure, they could easily take the cops in this area, but why risk it.

He slapped the poster on the glass and unrolled a thing of "construction work" paper, plastering both over the windows.

He returned to War and gave her a nod before heading to the back room to see what was taking Strife and Pestilence so long.

War hefted her SAW and stared down one of the men on the far left of the hostages. The man's hands were calmly in his lap, but his eyes said he was preparing for something. War shook her head and swept her gaze away. She turned and began walking down the line, her finger moving to the trigger. She realized where she had seen eyes like that before. They were the eyes of a soldier, he'd be giving them trouble before long.

Death approached the open door with caution. The lights were out and he thought he heard Pestilence yelp. He raised his sub to his shoulder and stepped through the door. His eyes swept the darkened room taking in the upturned desk and the legs sticking out from under it, and sweeping across to the far corner where he saw Pestilence being roughly shoved against the wall. She gasped and the figure moved close growling something. Death silently let the MP7 hang on its strap and drew the sawed off from its place on his thigh. He crossed the room swiftly, pulling the figure off Pestilence and slamming it into the wall. Shoving the barrel into the soft of the figures throat, he glared into the face of the man who dared to touch one of them.

Or he would have, if there wasn't a golden horned mask glaring right back. The facts fell into place and Death dropped the barrel from Strife's throat.

"You two are fucked up!" He shouted, turning away from them and stomping to the door. "Really! In the middle of a fucking Heist!" He stormed out of the camera room and back into the hallway, raging about the two being idiots. War half turned to face him when he came back into the lobby. "THOSE TWO!" he roared. "FUCKING HELL!"

Her face broke into a grin underneath her mask. "If you dropped the Hell and gave it five minutes I wouldn't doubt it," she joked back, keeping the barrel of her gun pointed at the hostages.

"UGH!" He growled walking past the man on the far end. He was about halfway past him, when the man sprang to his feet, blade flashing in the light seeping through the skylights. Without turning, Death swung the gun around his back, letting the strap catch it and carry its ark, the butt slamming into the man's outstretched knife hand. The sawed off came up once more and he finally turned, jamming the barrel into the neck of the man clutching his hand where the knife had once been.

He kicked the man in his knees and smashed the grip into the side of his head. As the man rolled onto the ground his words reached Death. "Do you know who you're robbing! This is Chosen territory!"

"I don't give a shit if this is a gang bank" he responded loudly. He kicked the man in the side and leaned down as he clutched his broken ribs. He moved in closer and spoke in a voice barely audible "And you can take your favor of the Gods and shove it up your ass." He stood again and kicked the man in the face, waiting until the body had slumped to the ground before tying his hands, and arms together with several cable ties, before securing the man's feet to his arms with more ties. He dragged the man over to the line and left him there.

"If he wakes up kick him in the face," he instructed the man next in line. "If he says a single word, or makes a single noise. You both die!" Ignoring the man's vigorous nodding he moved back to War, his voice dropping again. "Let's make this fast, alarms already gone out. I just did a head count and we're missing one."

War's hand turned white as it gripped the under barrel. "I knew that one looked like a wind nymph. We shoulda plugged it when we came in," she growled. Releasing her death grip on her SAW she reached down and undid one of the buckles on her armor, dropping the satchel from where it was cinched to her back. Death caught it and hurled it at the hallway as Strife came back, rubbing his neck. His hand flashed up and caught the satchel, his mouth opening to say something before he realized the meaning. He turned back down the hallway and a shout of acknowledgement followed. Pestilence joined him and they rushed to the vault, Strife tossing her a block of c4 with a detonator and a small glass vial.

Strife grinned under his mask as they placed the devices on the hinges and lock. They were a combination of Human C4 and a directional charge of greek fire and a few other bips and bobs that no other living soul knew how to create. Magically warded or not, this door was coming down.

Pestilence and Strife moved away from the vault door a good distance. As they approached, War cat called and Strife's gaze snapped to Death. "Asshole," he growled raising the detonator in his hand and pressing the button.

LINEAR FISSURE

Flames exploded from the walls nearly burning him as he walked. The Giant beside him moving without a care in the world. The heat from the furnaces bathed Percy as he followed Damasen through the forge.

"Welcome to the forges, Perseus" the giant rumbled. "We need to get you outfitted before Lord Kronos finishes speaking to Tartarus. I'm sure the Lord of the Pit will have a few things to say to you as well."

The giant turned to Percy and raised an eyebrow. "Ready to meet the Blacksmith?"

"The Blacksmith?" Percy asked. Damasen laughed and shoved open the doors.

Interesting, Percy thought. He followed the giant through the door.

The heat slammed into him, stopping him near dead in his tracks. All around him flames roared and crackled like dozens of battling beasts. The fires leaped at each other, clawing and slashing. Their onslaughts heated the iron of the giant vats suspended from the ceiling by chains. Steam thundered from pipes that snaked around the room.

The giant walked right through, unfazed as flames belched from one of the massive fires. Percy steeled himself and walked onwards. The heat didn't abate. If anything it got more intense as Damasen wound his way through the forge. Up ahead Percy could make out the shapes of two enormous figures through the flames and smoke. Each held a massive hammer that would have probably taken two hands for him to even raise. To the rhythm of some unheard beat, they alternately pounded their tools into a piece of black metal.

They seemed to sense Damasen's approach and ceased their hammering. The figures both bowed deeply before pulling the giant into separate embraces. They both straightened as Percy finished passing around a giant anvil. When they saw his face they both staggered backwards in horror or surprise, Percy couldn't tell.

He didn't have to wonder long before one of the figures bounded across the remaining distance and slammed into him. Percy struggled in his pocket for a weapon that wasn't there as he felt his ribs creak as whoever had grabbed him crushed him in a bone crushing hug.

Percy knew that hug. He felt tears prickle at his eyes as he gasped for breath. "Tyson!" he gasped as the Cyclops released his hold on him. "What are you doing down here! We lost contact with you during the war?"

The Cyclops pulled back and started crying. "The mean demigods killed Ella! I tried an stop them But-" the Cyclops broke down crying again. "They hurt me too and when I woke up, I was down in this place." The Cyclops started smiling again. "But Kronos found me and brought me here. Can you believe he's the same one as the mean person who tried to hurt us?"

Percy couldn't help but smile at how little his brother had changed. He still couldn't focus on just one part of a conversation, but there was something that Percy saw in him that upset the former demigod. Where was that Harpy. He assumed Tyson and she were rarely parted. He started looking around up at the pipes, perhaps she was up there somewhere.

Tyson seemed to follow his gaze and immediately he started crying again. He tried to form words, but he just turned and ran deeper into the forge.

Percy started to follow, but Damasen held up a hand and started after the Cyclops. Percy's mind was spinning, something that was happening much too often for his liking.

The second figure walked up beside him. "We still haven't found her," he said. Clasping a giant hand on Percy's shoulder. Percy flinched at the voice. He steeled himself and looked to his right.

"Beck…." he stammered. "What are you doing down here?"

Beckendorf's face hardened. Anger clouded his gaze and Percy's muscles tensed.

"On orders of Zeus, Selina was to be thrown into Tartarus. According to him, there is no redemption for Traitors. So when they cast her in, I went with her. And Kronos found us," he paused and looked at Percy. "He explained everything to us. So we found a home here. We get to work in the forges, and in return Kronos' protection keeps us from being 'acquired' by any of the other beings down here."

Percy was stunned, Zeus had thrown the two of them into Tartarus, who knows how long ago. Perhaps his realizations had come too late, the King of the Gods had clearly been acting on his own accord for much longer than he had realized.

"Beck, I'm-" Percy started, but Beckendorf cut him off.

"Percy, I made my decision. Plus Selina and I had a good time in Elysium. None of this is your fault" but Percy wasn't convinced.

"No. It is my fault, but I'll make this right. I'll get you back into Elysium. I promise," he tried.

Beckendorf just laughed. "Percy, we don't want to go back. This place," he waved a hand around him. "This is our home now. We don't mind protecting those within this fortress and the city. In some ways, this is better than Elysium."

Percy started to argue, but stopped. "Alright," he clasped the man beside him by the arm. "But know this. One day Zeus will receive his penance for what he has done. I promise you that"

Beckendorf seemed to notice something in his face and nodded. "As you say, Lord of Avernus," he said laughing. "Bloods, that's going to be amusing to say" he said much to Percy's disapproval.

"You don't need to call me that," Percy grumbled. "Where's Selina?"

Beck's face broke into an even bigger grin.

"She's below, in the City. She's due in two weeks," the big man said, blushing.

Percy laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "That's a

mazing Beck!"

The two friends shared a laugh. They both turned as Damasen approached them.

"Young Tyson will be okay," the giant said. "I'll leave you in the capable hands of our smith," the giant said to Percy and the demigod beside him. "Someone will be by to escort you to an audience with The Lord of the Pit and Lord Kronos."

Percy nodded. "Thank you Damasen. It is good to see you once more"

The giant clasped a hand over his right breast. "You as well Young Perseus. I'm sorry you are down here, but we could use a strong soul like you," The giant turned and left, leaving Percy and Beckendorf together in the forge.

Beckendorf nodded once and clasped his hands together. "Alright, let's get you some armor."

Over the next several hours, Percy and Beckendorf worked alongside Tyson when he returned to create Percy's armor. As they worked, they traded stories. Beckendorf spoke of Elysium and Percy told about the second war. Their chatter helped keep them going as they worked, the time not as noticeable to them.

Exhausted and overheated, the three of them stumbled to the back of the forge. They laid out all the armor. They all stumbled into the showers, cleaning off as best they could. Percy marveled at how advanced the fortress was, they even had a source of running water or at least something that looked and felt like water. Even though the water didn't rejuvenate him like it had once, the thought sent a small spike of pain into his heart, he still felt better when they were all done and in new clothes.

His old clothes from the world above had been discarded for new garments. He wore a pair of leather, or of a similar material, trousers and a pair of shin length socks. A dark black t-shirt-esq garment was followed by a dark maroon vest. The vest was laced up, leaving his arms clear.

They walked back to the armor and Beckendorf clasped Percy on the shoulder. Under the blacksmith's instructions he put on the brigandine like armor. Dark leather like material with overlapping plates of the dark metal that the two smith's referred to as Bloodstone. The piece had long sleeves with Bloodstone studs that stopped at the biceps. Then came the pauldrons, giant Bloodstone domes that the top of reached about the same height as his chin.

Tyson helped him with his boots. The material was of the same as the leather, but they reached about an inch or two beneath his knee. There a segment of hard leather covered the knee, but still allowed it to bend. The thighs were left mostly bare, minus the armor that was already a part of the trousers. At the time Percy hadn't noticed them, but there was clearly enough material there to slow a powerful blow. About mid-thigh, on the side the Cyclops strapped a sheath for a dagger, and on the other leg a pouch for something small.

Beckendorf helped Perseus into a cape. Stark white, with a Scythe emblem. At the neck of the armor, Beckendorf attached a hood. Dark black with maroon highlights. Satisfied, the two smiths pulled back and examined Percy.

"You-" Beckendorf paused and Percy began to wonder if he looked like a fool. "Look like a fucking badass!" The smith thundered pointing Percy towards a mirror that was half fogged up. Percy examined himself, looking back at the face underneath the hood. That face wasn't his own. He wasn't used to that face. Something had changed when he had fallen from the throne room of Olympus. There was a hardness there, his eyes were unkind. He wasn't the same man that he was before that fateful day.

"This is truly amazing. Thank you both," Percy said, his eyes sweeping the work benches, landing on the object that he had seen in passing.

As the two smiths basked in their glory and told him that he should return at any time, Percy moved to the bench and picked up what he was after. There was a piece of a porcelain like material that was left discarded as Selina was in the city and not able to work on the finer details of armor. Beckendorf followed Percy to the bench and was appraising what he had found.

"That's Bloodstone, but Selina did something to it to turn it white. It's not finished yet, she still needs to add the mouth holes and detail it for the faceplate of one of the royal guard's great helms." He explained.

Percy picked up the plate, feeling the eye holes on the faceless porcelain. This would do perfectly. He kept the hood on, and put the mask onto his face. It just seemed to grab his face and attach itself to it. He turned to look at the mirror and gave himself a satisfied smile. There, the only thing that could be seen was his eyes. The plain white accented itself with the maroon and stood out against the dark colors of the Bloodstone.

He turned to Beckendorf. The blacksmith looked him up and down and grinned. "Now that is BAD FUCKING ASS!" the demigod roared. Percy nodded his head once at his ecstatic friend and turned to the Cyclops that had come from the hall. It seemed confused for a moment before noticing the armor and cloak. "Lord Perseus," he said bowing. "If you would come with me, Lord Kronos requests your presence in the main courtyard."

Percy nodded and turned to the door. It was time to go meet Tartarus and then truly begin his existence in this Hell Pit.

The he left the room, his armor making no noise as he walked beside the Cyclops messenger.

A new immortal, preparing to make a name for himself once more.