A/N: Hello. I've finally returned. Life was hellish; well, mentally, that is. I am not in the least bright enough to tackle great subjects even though I want to, and I am suffering requiring a lot of sleep. Aka? I need someone to whack me upside the head and get me motivated! 'Passion' is apparently lacking in my neuron system. :(

Anyways. Great thanks to all the readers who liked the prequel of this story, 'Percy's Last - What I Imagined for the Blood of Olympus'. Honestly I strictly told it would not continue, but then (maybe the prayers (and reviews) from you guys worked) this inspiration came. A totally whole new level. So bless you all, I am urged to post this up. But like I said, the passion's becoming dangerously weak (though, I do have an ending, so I'm hoping I would be able to reach that at least...).

This story would be consisting of several chapters, just for the ease of reading. I may change that if I feel dissatisfied. I apologize for the messiness of this chapter (can't seem to unite my ideas D:), but humour yourselves and take this as a symbolization of wrecked tragedy. ;)

Anyways, enjoy! ;)

Who would have thought, the Muses sang, that the female demigod sacrifice for Gaia would have been someone other than the Seven? A female demigod, whose wits and wisdom she used to buy her fate. A fate she did not regret, never regretted – not if it was the same fate her momentary beloved, her idol of admiration, her hero, had treaded. Because it was the same fate as the person she had deemed as special in her heart, the girl never hesitated to go and get killed.

Reyna Avila Ramirez-Arellano was the last to be sacrificed.

Of course, this trickery was the biggest key to the defeat of Gaia and her minions.

...

It was days after Percy Jackson's demise.

His blood had, like what the hero had warned to his fellow friends before his demise, 'watered the stones'. It was only too fortunate that the ritual had not – goodness knows why – taken place in Greece where Olympus once stood, otherwise the dystopia would have been indescribable. Yet nevertheless, the hero's blood was shed, and now with the hero drained and earth watered, the great mother Gaia has half-woken.

Yet Percy Jackson's death had not just meant the awakening of Gaia. Oh no.

Right after he was slain, a dreadful rush of evil ill-omen struck the ever-warm goddess up in Olympus, shocking her. Hestia dropped the fire poker, immediately stopping what she was doing and stared into a distant horizon. The goddess stood up, dazed, but all the same, frightened.

She staggered out of the temple and ran out of Olympus, falling out of the skies and flew. Dread that ensnared her heart was of a different birthplace, but it seemed to have its own precious offspring that it wanted protected; its desperate prayer, almost a plea, was her guide now to the another place.

She turned into a ball of light, zipping through the skies. For days the goddess roamed, searching relentlessly for the intuition: a thread tugging at her, but faint. Soon she plummeted, diving straight into the mouth of a cave. Deeper, she found the legendary battleship.

Argo II.

The mothership sat in the middle of a huge cavern; eerie was the tranquility, nothing but curtains of sunlight and echoes of droplets greeting her godly senses, the air completely free of monsters and Gaia. The ball of light rushed up the ship's aisle.

Trails of tamer monsters and sorcery, perhaps allies, lingered about. Eerie was it too that the aisle was set down, almost as if expecting her arrival, almost as if beckoning her.

She scourged the decks, then plunged through the floors harmlessly upon finding nobody on deck, and combed through the rooms. When the goddess finally found them, her heart tore apart, finally understanding what had happened. Hestia quickly snatched the remaining heroes away in her light and, so to be faster than she had arrived, she chose to materialize, depositing everybody into the hearth of Olympus – right before the feet of the gods and goddesses.

Naturally, the godly parents leapt to their feet to tend to their children.

She stood just outside the temple, feeling the bright sunlight and gentle breezes. Her cape billowed softly, and she wondered subconsciously if she would have looked remarkable when somebody saw her.

Pandemonium tore throughout throne room. Medics were called. Rooms were made. Ambrosia, nectar, and whatever good food for both the human and godly sides of the demigods were brought. Minor gods and aurai flew about in frenzy, yelling while they carried out tasks, whispering to errand boys and girls who brought the necessities from the city of the news. Soon, word travelled down, and all of Olympus was veiled in anxiety.

But perhaps it was the godly parents who received the hardest blows, when they pulled their children close and realized – even without the foreboding dark anger-in-the-form-of-advice from Hestia – that they had to deal with their own child personally, face-to-face.

Hades/Pluto tried coaxing his two children out from their intense shock (for his case, the dilemma of having double-personalities became an advantage, because he had children from both aspects). Though Hazel was half-mad by guilt and Nico was frail-minded, Hades was proud to think that he had the lightest deal, because Nico still had enough sanity to restrain Hazel from extremities and both had stayed tight since, hugging Pluto's waist like lifelines. Desperately clinging onto sanity. And he was a god who could control madness too (and he promises he will save them). No, he did not have the lightest deal; he was blessed with strong, brave, dear upright children (yes, he will save them).

Jupiter/Zeus had tried talking to Jason, but the son of Jupiter suddenly decided to go rebellious and had shut his father out of the room he was provided. Jupiter could only coax/persuade/holler from outside the marble doors.

Athena/Minerva had the hardest deal of all. She had to fight against a daughter who was absolutely mad at her mother for her misery and misfortune: If only Athena had not gone bonkers, had not "bestowed" the curse of Athena on her own daughter, made Annabeth go on that dangerous mission etc etc etc – the brutally true blames went on. Of course, all of that was meaningless. Everybody, including the screaming daughter herself, understood. But grief drove a person crazy, and as for Annabeth, who had actually fought all madness during her time in Tartarus with Percy...obviously, the loss of the man who supported her and shared the hardest times together – the loss of her partner – was like losing a piece of yourself. If the survivor of Tartarus was degraded to as such, that was a lot. The scuffles between Athena/Minerva and the degraded-to-irrational, screaming, grieving daughter eventually ended with the girl crumbling into a broken-mess in the crestfallen goddess's arms.

(Personally? Piper thought the goddess deserved it.)

Mars might have had the easiest yet most somber deal out of all of them. Frank was shaken terribly, yes. Percy was a cousin, with the wisdom of equivalent to that of an uncle's, to Frank; losing him meant Frank had lost yet another family member (and just how many times did that have to happen? How many more times to have the world get yanked from under his feet, leaving him dangling alone in the air helpless?) But the sturdy young soldier suffered in silence, letting Mars steer him to a quiet place in the corridors and place a firm hand on his son's shoulder as the boy – finally – choked in tears. But still, in silence.

Aphrodite was the most silent of the gods. A smile not gracing her face for once, she opened her arms to her daughter, who heeded. Piper all but fell into those arms and grieved, sobbing horribly, while her mother held her tightly and stroked her daughter's hair. Do not think, dear child. Do not think. Just cry.

Leo was as white as paper as he watched his friends shatter one by one, but Hephaestus, similar to Mars, pulled him aside and guided him to his room. Only the aurae who opened the door for the Lord saw them last, but she knew the stricken demigod could not muster a single tear even as his father pulled his head to rest against his shoulder; the hyperventilating figure of the small boy seared into the aurae's memory as she quietly shut the doors.

But even now, as she sighed deeply and rested against the colossal pillar, she could hear the deep powerful voices (laced with sorrow) resonated dully from the palace deep behind. She knew what fretted them. Because situations have not changed. Have not gotten better.

Percy Jackson's death brought more disadvantage than just Gaia's awakening, oh yes (one that knocked the point home to the gods that death could badly affect people).

It also brought the curse of rendering the remaining Seven utterly, and almost excusably, useless.

A/N: Reviews please! xxx