This story will get extremely AU and fly off the rails of Canon when the avalanche hits a crescendo later on, and everything will be upscaled. When I mean upscaled, I mean the power scaling difference between standard demigods compared to mortals. I understand that the series needed to have a lower fantasy setting with modern elements playing a massive role, but I wish to see some higher examples displayed. And that's the beauty of fanfiction.

In addition, there are parts to Canon I won't be including or will be overhauling, particularly some stuff published after BoO.

And the Norse will be, shall we say, taken in a direction never seen before; extreme AU in how they interact with the Greeks and Romans, and their overall place in Western society. I was dissatisfied in the direction Rick took that pantheon and what I envision for this story will not mesh with it in really any way. (Some of my more historically literate readers will know of the Varangian guard, Harald Hardrada, and the special place the Nords had in their hearts for Miklagard. Keep that relationship in mind.)

Also, and this is the most important part, I will be including substantial lore building to act as background history that I'm 100% certain nobody in this fandom has explored in its totality. I'm talking about interdigitating dozens of historical events from the Bronze Age collapse all the way through to the Second World War. If you thought what Riordan did with the Greeks and Romans clashing was inspired, then oh boy are you in for a treat. (Not all of it will be explicitly shown, but it will be present as either invisible threads that connect things or things hinted at.)

And it was all sparked by a particular catalyst, a question that had always perplexed me ever since I made the connection that all pantheons seem to exist in the Riordan verse.

I am of course referring to why a self proclaimed jealous god with billions of followers and many continents in his grasp would allow other Pantheons to exist in his stomping grounds. This question sparked an absolute beast of world building and history mixed together in a cohesive manner.

If you want historical events and references tied into inter-pantheon conflicts - not just the Greeks and Romans, the wars of the Macedonian kings and the Roman Republic, the rise of Christianity, the Fall of Rome, arrival of the Anglo-Saxons in England, the formation of the HRE, the Danish invasions of Britain, Crusades, Normans, the Reconquista, Cortez' conquest of the Aztecs, and the clashes between Greeks and Romans throughout history, all the while another religion overtakes them, then this fic will interest you.

The initial lore building done was the result of an hours-long conversation that went from the evening up until 3:00 a.m. Credit for the absolute unit of lore depth that stretches from the Bronze Age collapse to the Fall of Rome goes heavily to the failed American Aussie known as AxeTheGreat, the fake Welshman named Myrddin Emrys, the true American that goes by the designation of GBailey, and yours truly.

Later fleshing out of the original lore foundation and the early Medieval period through to the present day goes to Everpeach, lover of all things feline and unwilling, and my brother in Christ, Mand'alor the Sword of Jesus.

And those who sired me would beat me black and blue if I didn't acknowledge the genuinely substantial assistance and help from my brother, The Chosen Smurf.

Bonus points to whoever correctly guesses why I went with Infidel as a story name.

(LINE BREAK)

There is only one world-view that is worthy of us, and which has already been discussed as the Choice of Achilles—better a short life, full of deeds and glory, than a long life without substance. The danger is so great, for every individual, every class, every people, that to cherish any illusion whatsoever is deplorable. Time cannot be stopped; there is no possibility for prudent retreat or wise renunciation. Only dreamers believe there is a way out. Optimism is cowardice. We are born into this time and must courageously follow the path to the end as destiny demands. There is no other way. Our duty is to hold on to the lost post, without hope, without rescue, like the Roman soldier whose bones were found in front of a door in Pompeii, who, during the eruption of Vesuvius, died at his post because they forgot to relieve him. That is greatness. . . The honorable end is the one thing that can not be taken from a man. - Ernst Jünger, On Pain.

(LINE BREAK)

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The beeping noise of the heart monitor was the one thing I was focusing on as I struggled to remain conscious in the hospital bed.

For the last twelve hours, I'd been clinging to life despite all the injuries I'd received when... I couldn't even remember clearly. My thoughts weren't coherent enough to think of what event destroyed me.

Shouts of warning. Metal screeching against metal. Darkness.

I'd been struck. I tried to remember, desperately fighting against the encroaching darkness, but it was for nothing. Clawing harder, I managed to focus more and that was when my thoughts gained a temporary clarity where cloudiness and confusion had once been.

I'd been in an accident. I'd almost been crushed to death and I'd been taken to a hospital, the reminder making me think of what was happening.

'Why haven't the doctors helped me?' I heard the term Crush Syndrome mentioned, and something about a catheter needed, but nobody came. 'Why? Why are they letting me die?'

'God, help me.' My breathing was laboured and I couldn't move my arm to press the button for help.

I was going to die alone. Nobody was going to save me. The doctors and nurses sworn to treat me weren't here, and the god I prayed to was silent.

My breaths were wheezes now, my vision swimming as my lungs burned and I thought I saw a flash of movement in the corner.

I blindly tried to reach out, up to the sky, anything! But my arm refused to move the way it should, doing nothing more than shake unsteadil..

And just like my arm and the rest of my shattered body, my lungs eventually stopped responding to my command and darkness consumed me.

"I'm sure you have a few questions." A voice said behind me, causing me to turn sharply.

What happened? I was trying to breathe and now... I'm... somewhere?

I looked around and saw nothing but a grey expanse, the only three discernable things being me, the ground I stood upon, and the voice in front of me.

This was probably a drug induced hallucination from my body beginning to shut down, and it had me already panicking.

"Don't worry about dying," The voice said, sounding more pronounced and less disembodied compared to what it was just a scant few moments ago, "You're already dead."

'What?!'

I started shaking, refusing to believe this dream.

"I'm hallucinating," I rationalized, "I'll wake up whenever and I'll survive all of this."

A dark chuckle emanated from the area in front of me, a figure coalescing into existence before my eyes.

"Don't be so certain." The scenery melted away and I was watching... me?

I was back in the hospital room, staring at a bed with someone in it that looked like me.

And the monitor wasn't beeping.

"I," I was frozen in place, looking at the lack of rhythmic motion from my chest to signify breathing, "No." My voice was weak as I realized that this may not be a dream.

"Torn rotator cuff and fractured socket in your arm," The figure said next to me, the form and features constantly shifting so I couldn't tell who it was, "Fractured and broken ribs, severe concussion, lesion in the brain from impact, nerve and vertebrae damage in the lower back and neck, ligament and tendon damage in both knees, ribcage out of alignment, detached floating rib, pelvic bone forced out of alignment with the spinal column, and toxic levels of dying muscle cells in your bloodstream."

The list of injuries stated made me feel ill, the realization of why everything hurt, even with pain medication, hitting me.

"So," I looked at the figure, trying to not gaze at the broken shell that was my body, "Are you God? An... angel of death?"

I really hoped that this wasn't a hallucination. It meant my pain would give way to paradise.

"In a manner of speaking." The being replied, walking towards my body.

I didn't know how to feel about something that I wasn't sure about being near my body, so I followed it.

"Hmm," The entity hummed, tilting its head slightly as it looked up and down, "For all the weaknesses that exist in a mortal body, it is quite resilient in not wanting to die." It then turned towards me. "You would have survived if the toxins would have been flushed out. Neglect killed you."

I blinked in surprise, the number of injuries standing as a stark contrast to what was stated.

"You would have taken years and multiple surgeries to live a functional existence," It continued, "But you would have recovered. You simply had the misfortune of having particularly lazy and unmotivated caretakers."

The last part had me shaking in rage, staring at my own sightless blue eyes, the same colour as my brother and father's.

"They killed me." I whispered, my fists clenched, "They killed me!" My voice turned into a scream, my legs practically carrying me through the wall.

I barely registered that I walked through the wall like a ghost and tried to run away from the specter behind me, trying to find everyone I cherished in life.

Eventually, I heard crying in a waiting room, the voice familiar.

I ran through the wall again and I saw a sight that had struck me silent, my eyes wide in horror.

The doctor that killed me was in front of my mother and brother, the two openly sobbing.

"No," I ran to them, reaching out to them, "I'm okay. I'm right here." I reached for my brother's arm, but my hand passed through him like a mirage.

If I could choke, I probably would have as an endless expanse separated me from my brother. I could see him. I could hear that wretched sobbing that he did only when our grandparents had died… it had been so long since our grandmother died, and he had held me then, letting me know it was alright.

And I couldn't console him now.

I started yelling his name, begging him to hear me.

But he didn't respond.

My own screaming and crying didn't drown out theirs, and I fell to my knees and I felt my soul burn in anguish at their pain, my teeth clenching and my head burning.

A sudden seizing feeling had everything fading back into the flat, gray expanse of near nothing, my family disappearing from me.

"No!" My eyes focused on the entity, who now was the only thing other than me in this hazy and pointless hellscape. "Let me go back!"

"You can't go back." The thing's voice and facial structure shifted, resembling a mix between me, my brother, and father. "Your body is dead and you have nothing to house your soul."

"They killed me!" I shouted again, focusing on my rage so I wouldn't fall apart again, "They don't deserve to get away with it. Send me back!"

The being tilted its head, a disgustingly familiar grin on its face. My own smile didn't belong to that uncanny mirage of my family's shared features.

"You constantly refer to me as It in a disparaging manner, as well as calling me entity and being in your internal dialogue. Just ask my name if you are curious."

The statement took the wind out of my sails, the rage vanishing to make way for fear and curiosity.

"You ca-" I started, but was cut off.

"Yes, I can read your thoughts." It remarked simply, blinking slowly and without wavering in keeping those eyes on my own. "Can you guess who I am?"

I didn't hesitate to ask.

"Jehovah?"

It shook its head.

"A normal response from a Christian, especially since I have taken a form that you relate with protection and familiarity; your father and elder brother, mixed with expressions and mannerisms that you exhibit."

That was precisely why I thought this was Jehovah, but he claimed that he wasn't.

Unles-

"Please don't tell me you're his bastard kid," I started getting nervous at that thought, channeling my inner smartass as I mustered up some of the boundless contempt I had for that traitorous son, "I don't mind crushing your head if you bite my heel."

Not Jehovah snorted.

"I am most definitely not Lucifer, or any other names he goes by. I am something that the Christians, among others, came close to understanding, but were not completely correct about."

At the cryptic response, I tried to think of what he could mean. The major thing that stood out in contrast to other religions I was familiar with was that the Abrahamic ones were monotheistic, with God being at the beginning of existence, from whom all existence flows.

"You are on the right track."

"Stop listening to my thoughts." I gritted out, detesting the invasion of privacy.

"Privacy is nothing when you are dead, boy," Was the flat response, "Any pretenses you carried in life to conceal your self doubts and fears has been stripped away. I see you for who you are more so than you would be capable of with a friend, brother, or lover."

I tried to ignore what he said, wanting to figure out what the hell he was.

'Beginning of existence. One entity that predates reality. Apophis was the embodiment of Chaos in Egyptian mythology, but this doesn't seem like a worm creature.'

"What was shall be, and what shall be was." Not Jehovah scoffed, massaging his chin, "Frank Herbert did not create me, nor quantum entangling of multiple time streams."

The fact that I understood both references, including the quote, meant he was having me on just to irritate me.

And it was working.

"Am I in hell?" I asked simply, resigned to having to experience this forever.

"No," Was the reply, "Hell would be unadulterated chaos and drowning in every manner of neurosis imaginable. I wish to test your critical thinking abilities to determine how you interact with beings similar to me and if you can think outside of the box. It will determine my offer."

"What offer?" I couldn't keep the interest out of my voice, wanting to hopefully be free.

"Figure out who I am, then I will share."

I frowned and began thinking, trying to determine who this might be. Jehovah/Yahweh and Allah had a similar structure on their position in the pecking order of existence, being the cause of it all, but this guy wasn't precisely that.

Another possibility was that he was... perhaps a primordial type entity similar to what the Greeks said the Earth, Sky, and Night were. The entity presents as my brother and father, moreso with a vague similarity to my father's voice, but not my mother or sister. That hints at a being that isn't an archetype for the divine feminine, but that of the masculine. With all the mist, it could be a Sky Father archetype that is the contrast to the Earth or Sea Mother, but there's definitely solid ground under my feet.

No regalia, just a basic set of black pants and clothing, no symbols of power or wings to denote authority. A blank canvas, no tribe or loyalty to any of the faiths I knew of.

'So, maybe an unaffiliated, somewhat shared, concept among faiths that is almost always male.'

"Very close." He said aloud, a faint glimmer of amusement in his voice. "You reached that point a little faster than most. But I guess this little game has run its course if you already are on the correct path. You will only randomly guess my name and hope you're correct, so I'll tell you what I am."

I paid rapt attention as he kept smiling slightly.

"I existed as an entity at the dawn of the universe, being without form." He began grandly, holding out his arms, "Then, out of the tales told around campfires by the first humans that huddled around them for warmth and safety against the predators of the night, I was able to perceive them, and other beings took form from the combined beliefs of the peculiar little primates that inhabit the third planet in a specific section of a specific galaxy."

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The explanation set off an alarm bell in my head, a thought that was more terrifying than this being any type of devil in any religion.

"Are you saying the Immaterium is a thing?" The prospect of something like that existing was frightening.

A loud laugh escaped the being that may or may not be something beyond my understanding.

"An apt comparison, but not correct. You need not worry about being spiritually molested by Slaanesh. The 40k universe does not exist where you would be going."

I didn't miss the last part.

"What do you mean by going?" I asked.

"I have an offer for you, something very few are given. It involves you doing a little favour for me."

The way he said it had me on guard.

"Favour?"

He smiled the way my father did when he was about to say something that would irritate my mother.

"Yes," The being nodded, "And stop referring to me as It, Not Jehovah, and Being." He actually seemed to be a bit annoyed, "For simplicity, call me Chronus. The Greeks called their perception of Father Time that. I am not precisely what they or other religions perceive me as, but they have felt or seen glimpses of what I am and construed it as something that is part of their beliefs."

That at least made some sense on why several religions had some type of underlining similarities, even ones separated by continents.

"But back to the favour," Chronus continued, "I am in need of assistance with a particular era. Now, this may be a little strange, but you have already been exposed to death and the realization of how reality works, so I will be blunt with you."

The eyes of Chronus stopped resembling my own and flickered, looking like multiple small lights were dancing in them.

Almost like galaxies.

"The theory humans have deduced about the existence of multiple universes is true." He said simply, "The universe that you call home is unique in that it is connected to each one, enabling glimpses of these other universes to be seen."

A long silence was all there was for a time, my eyes wide in surprise.

"Like?" I asked, wanting an example to make sure I followed.

Chronus flickered and his form changed into that of a man with auburn hair and blue-grey eyes, a well trimmed beard adorning his face.

"The best defense is a swift and decisive offense." The cultured voice of Obi-wan Kenobi assaulted my ears, my breath quickening.

"Star Wars." I murmured to myself, thinking for a moment that it was possible that I was going there.

"No," Chronus said flatly, "That is reserved for somebody else that died a rather violent death thousands of miles from where you died. He would do very badly where I plan to send you."

"And where is that?" I asked, not wishing to beat around the bush.

Chronus smirked.

"And foes bear arms to the Doors of Death." He recited a prophecy from a book series I was very familiar with once upon a time. It was one of my favorites to read as a teenager.

"Percy Jackson." I didn't ask, I stated, my gaze directly on Chronus. "You're wanting me to be reborn in a universe with several contrary pantheons and more than one doomsday about to happen? What if I decline?"

"If you decline," Chronus stopped smiling, crossing his arms, "Your soul will pass on to the rendition of paradise that Christians perceive… but you will always remember that you could have saved countless lives and bettered a world."

The attempted guilt tripping struck a nerve that pissed me off. He didn't even try to be sneaky about it.

"What could I possibly do in a world governed by prophecy?! By Fate?" I demanded, clenching my fists, "I could never change anything on my own. I'm not Percy Jackson. Why would I ever give up Paradise, Paradise I sacrificed for, for some fucking death world where I have no agency?!"

Destiny and Fate were despised by me. The thought that my trials and tribulations in life were set in stone, along with my triumphs over them being previously determined was something I rejected. None of that was worth sacrificing my place in Heaven, paid for with innocent blood.

Chronus evidently took offense to my comments though.

"Since when has the idea of predestination stopped you, child?" Chronus seemed to darken, his presence expanding like I was going to be crushed. I was struggling to breath as he seemed to encompass all my senses. He was in front of me, behind me, around me. Within me.

I felt every single joint in my body creak, my eyes unable to focus on anything as the shadow cast by the entity of Time wrapped around everything. Even the light began to vanish from my sight.

"The poem you held firm to and were inspired by during your darkest hour. The tale of Jacob wrestling with God, even if it were a losing battle, that emboldened you. 'I am my brother's keeper.' you said when your brother asked you to save him from himself. Every moment you clawed and fought through life to not be crushed by it, your success up until your death was yours, no one else's. Do you consider it a folly that I selected you, out of millions who are born and die, to be reborn to possibly better a dying world? Think of any figure you looked up to throughout history, who steeled your will and spirit; none were chosen by me. You were!"

I was struggling to keep my sanity as this primordial being that I could never hope to comprehend in his entirety leveled most of his presence at me. Whatever my eyes were trying to see was flickering like it wasn't even there, yet was everything in sight.

"Please." I begged, trying to not pass out, unless I physically couldn't.

In an instant, the weight of his presence vanished and I drew in a gasping breath, my mind no longer struggling to remain stable. The shadow faded, and Chronus was back to looking like he could pass as an uncle or brother.

"Nothing is set in stone, child," The last word didn't have condescension in it this time, almost sounding affectionate, "It is not guaranteed that the son of Poseidon will succeed in defeating Kronos, or the Giants being defeated and the awakening of Gaia stopped. This is why this particular branch of that universe needs a little aid, that aid being you."

'What does he mean by branch?' I thought to myself, glaring at Chronus when he began to answer. That sensation terrified me, and that was why I didn't speak up.

"Different branches of the same tree." He said simply, "The 'trunk' of the tree is the one you would be most familiar with, the one that is canon as you would put it. But different possibilities branch out. You would be going to another one."

I silently listened to him, eventually making a decision to ask a question. I would not go in completely blind if I accepted.

"When will I be born?" I asked, needing to know this, "I need to know what you want me to do."

Chronus chuckled mirthlessly.

"I want you to be you," He stated, "You can change that world for the better by simply acting the way you think is right. No subterfuge needed. There is no grand plan. That world is your oyster if you have the will to grasp it."

"But the answer to your first question is 1992."

I went through the math, remembering that Percy was 12 in early '05, meaning he was born in '93. Annabeth was also the same birth year.

But that would mean I would be around their age, just maybe a year older.

"Noticed that, did you?" Chronus smiled, "Yes, you would be around their age. Quite a bit to be accomplished if you are crafty about it."

'Would I even be Greek though? Answer me, please.'

Chronus snorted when I asked without voicing it.

"You will be Greek, unless you wish for something else, and especially equipped to be in a position to assist in fighting the Titans and Giants. Do be creative about it though. I will very much enjoy it if you find another way to do it than others have in the past."

"But why can't you do this?" I asked, knowing it probably wasn't as simple as that, "I know you'd have the power if you could put my soul in another reality. So why not snap your fingers and fix it on your own?"

Chronus didn't seem insulted or annoyed. On the contrary, he seemed amused.

"Simple," He shrugged, "Influenza can be killed by temperatures that can melt iron. But no doctor prescribes that for obvious reasons."

I scowled at that, but he didn't let me speak.

"Reality shatters if I manifest my will with that much force. I want this world saved, not broken, so I will not be 'burning' the illness."

I had one final serious question, and it would be the final deciding factor. Details about what exactly I'd be would likely be ignored for some stupid explanation like needing a bit of fait-

"Correct."

"Speaking of faith…" I said slowly, weighing my words carefully to not choose the wrong ones. "Other than 'Help people', can you honestly give me any reason for why I should help them? I don't don't buy it that you couldn't find a nonbeliever with everything to gain that is almost as good a candidate," I stressed the word noticeably, "As me."

A brief pause and stilling of his posture was all that clued me into his inner thoughts, and it gave me nothing to work with.

"One sentence is enough." Chronus said, fully morphing into my father. But yet, it wasn't the father I knew. This was him like I had seen him in pictures when I was born, before he turned gray and weathered down. Tall, with black hair, bearded, bright blue eyes, and a deep tan from hours in the sun. "We lose down here, son."

Those four fucking words! My dad would never fucking say that!

There was so much I wanted to say. I wanted to tell this creature it was wrong, that his one sentence wasn't enough to make me go, but I'd be a liar. And it wasn't lost on me why it picked a father, my father, to speak those words to me.

"I… will go." Those words tasted like ash on my tongue, but I said them.

With that out of the way, my mind went to scheming on what to do to help prepare for the coming storm that I agreed to.

'The Greeks aren't even remotely comparable to New Rome in military prowess in their current state. Individualistic and no fortified settlement to have kids. There aren't any Greek legacies that I know of. I'll need to do something to prepare them and make us ready to fight the Titans and Giants.:

I was rudely interrupted by the entire environment beginning to shake, Chronus gazing at me with a hint of pleasure.

"You will do well as the person you will be reborn as. Your memories will slowly come to you for safety reasons. Your soul would kill a newborn body, even a demigod one. They will return completely by your fifth or sixth year, just before the death of one of my favorite mortals."

A light appeared in front of me suddenly and Chronus began to flicker in and out of existence.

"Good luck." Were the last two words I heard before everything disappeared in a burst of light.

He stirs. Zeus thought, his mind supplying him with a sharp influx of information from the faint flaring of monstrous power emanating from Mount Saint Helens.

His brother undoubtedly felt it ripple through his subterranean domain, and his other brother was always capable of feeling beneath the rock that was within a couple hundred miles of the shoreline. All three knew the origin from which the flaring had come.

Typhon.

The previous time, just a few short years ago, had been an accident caused by Hephaestus of all gods. He had unwittingly struck a structurally weak portion of the volcano's interior to funnel more intense heat into his forge. The result was an explosion from the pressure release that caused the mountain to erupt and sent his son flying through the side of the mountain and carving out a new river from the 147 mile channel he tore through the forested ground of Washington state. He might have even felt slightly sympathetic to his son, or Hekate for having to run damage control and manipulate the swirling currents of the Mist to manipulate the memories of hundreds of millions to believe the river had always been there, but his mind had been on a far worse topic.

It made Typhon stir.

He had stirred in his slumber on other occasions, often followed by environmental calamities that kill thousands.

And each time, it always put Zeus in an extremely negative mood.

Multiple aspects of what made him who he was were currently spread across different regions where the Olympians held sway, but an uncommonly larger portion was now sitting upon his throne, and it was where the majority of his consciousness was at now.

With the majority of his Self collected together and focused into one location, the positive and negative memories he had were more deeply felt, for gods seldom forgot and their minds were generally not weakened by age like the mortals of the world.

The stirrings of Typhon, this one no different, brought the memories of cravenness, ingratitude, and betrayal.

A sight that had chilled him to the bone like when he had gazed upon his father, ichor dripping from a dozen wounds as he gripped Poseidon's throat in a vice grip and dragged him across the ground. Typhon was the closest thing to Kronos he'd ever faced, an overwhelming force of nature more than an immortal.

And he alone stood against him.

It wasn't rage that had filled him when he realized they had abandoned him, it was emptiness. When he landed earth cracking blows upon the father of monsters, he made no sound, only steely determination. When he was sent to his knees three times from crushing hits that would have broken lesser gods, he made no sound.

It was only when, as he had been dragged from a pool of his own blood, and hoisted up in the air did he cry out for his brothers, his sisters, his children; his family.

None answered.

That memory was the one and singular reason in all of existence that he held no regret for the wholly unique agony he subjected Poseidon, and Apollo, to by ripping his immortality from him with the same mercy Typhon showed when he ripped his tendons from his body before tossing him from a mountain.

The king of Olympus turned his eyes to his brother's throne, training his electric blue eyes that crackled with his suppressed fury towards the very foot of it.

His brother always did try to match his theatrics, and it was seldom more cleanly shown than in the design of the thrones of the two sons of Kronos and Rhea.

Stone nearly as dark as obsidian harvested from the Marianas trench, the part of the ocean floor subjected to the greatest degree of crushing weight from the nearly boundless size of the sea, but still uncrackable. Etchings in the form of grooves throughout the throne housed glass tubes from white sand and water running through them, with Sea Sparkle algae within to illuminate the seat of power in a greenish blue light.

Only surpassed in splendor by the quartz throne the god of the sky sat upon, with gold veins running through it and a bolt of blue and white lightning streaking through the interior, desperately yearning to break free.

Zeus' eyes then dropped lower, looking at the coral and pearls embedded in the foundation of Poseidon's throne.

He remembered slamming his brother's head into it until he heard his skull crack after he was freed from the golden net, only for an even greater pain to be unleashed upon the sea god moments later.

And then he made his brother scream.

If any other entity had been present in Olympus at the moment aside from Zeus, they would have noticed the lightning within the king's throne would flicker, almost seemingly out of existence before reappearing at another portion of the throne.

Few would have realized that it was moving so quickly as to appear as if it were vanishing from sight.

Tearing his gaze away from his brother's throne when the urge to fling a bolt at it started to grow loud enough for him to almost consider it, Zeus brooded once more over the most recent of events that had transpired.

He had broken his oath again, just a few short years after the first time no less. But the latest time was far worse. Thalia, his eldest demigod child alive, was at least a girl. There was a distinct possibility that if and when Hera would discover her existence, her wrath would be stayed. His daughters were not often as targeted by her.

But his sons were.

Of all times for him to sire a boy, it had to have been with a demigod in today's environment. This particular type of union hadn't happened in centuries, reaching back to the final years of the Byzantine Empire. His son then had died fighting against the servants of that eastern anathema.

The chiseled face of the sky god darkened, his eyes nearly as black as the sky gripped in the throes of a mountain breaking thunderstorm.

His son, covered in countless wounds and seeing his basilius make a final charge, had followed to certain death. His mortal son knew loyalty in a way his own Olympian children and brothers had forgotten!

Loyalty… Loyalty. That word danced its way across his mind like a crackling bolt made its trek through storm clouds, filling him with a vengeful streak that always ran under the surface.

Of all brothers, he remained loyal to them. They were the ones who betrayed him, Poseidon twice so, and to prove he was the better brother, he was going to do something to reward his son for all the loyalty shown by his mortal half-siblings.

Standing upright, Zeus shed much of his power, sending portions of it across the United States and a few into Europe where bastions of their power still lay.

With his presence less detectable, he disappeared in a flash, leaving behind the scent of ozone and a quiet boom echoing from the skies above Olympus.

/ (SCENE BREAK)

Zeus, cloaking his presence, gazed at the newborn, the child that he could nearly fit in one hand in his current form having a small tuft of black hair that resembled his own.

Even after thousands of years and the change in environment for children, this time a hospital that housed them, Zeus still felt and remembered how familiar the current sight was.

Beryl Grace was a mistake, and so was the child in front of him. But he couldn't help himself. He enjoyed it too much and it looked like another round of hardship would strike his children just like all his others.

Heracles was self-explanatory. Perseus narrowly avoided it and actually got a happy life with the woman he loved, but the previously latest son of his that was known by mortals had been left without the use of his legs from a monster that Hera denied having helped smuggle into the area, which had a unique venom that was nearly untraceable.

"I'm truly sorry for bringing you into this world," Zeus whispered softly in Greek, gazing at his newest child, "Neither of you deserve this."

He thought of his daughter, little Thalia, and reached out to gently caress her brother's head, the baby squirming lightly in his sleep.

Zeus was honest enough to admit to himself that he favoured his daughters over his sons. He was much more unforgiving to Apollo than Athena when they betrayed him along with Poseidon and Hera. Athena might have been able to convince most that she did it to minimize damage and spring him out later, but he knew his brilliant daughter better than that. She would've only broken him out if the democratic approach planned out didn't work.

The same went for Artemis. His most willful daughter, his little moon, rebelled constantly and refused to be tied down, as was her nature. She and Apollo defied him where they could, but he just couldn't bring himself to stay angry at his little huntress.

His thoughts left the subject of his daughters and he smiled sadly at his son, the boy shifting around more actively than most newborns.

"Rest, my son," He continued to speak in Greek, enjoying the rightness in the words that English or any other mortal language he knew simply couldn't hope to replicate, "Your days will be difficult because of me. Please do not judge me too harshly that I love your sisters more openly. My sons suffer the most."

His sons, more so than his daughters, had parts of his personality that served him well as a combined thing, but not on their own.

Heracles had his charming nature and was a peerless warrior when he was still mortal, something that provoked Hera's hatred even further. Perseus was blessed with the same cunning that helped Zeus to infiltrate Mount Orthrys and deceive the Titans and free his siblings, which likely helped him to not endure a terrible fate. His son who was the last had inherited his liking for women and charisma, probably being the source of why Hera targeted him even when conflict appeared to be a potential problem ahead in the mortal world.

"I wonder what trait you will inherit, my little conqueror." He said to his son, Alexander. "Your namesake made a bit of a name of himself, despite being completely mortal."

Perhaps Alexander would have the intelligence Perseus had. He hoped so.

Even with his presence forcefully suppressed and his perception reduced, Zeus still felt a nurse enter the room. The young woman blinked in surprise at the presence of a tall stranger, her posture stiffening.

"Who are you and how did you get in here?" She demanded, ready to perhaps run for help.

"This is my son," He replied simply, ready to adjust the mortal's memory if need be, "I just returned to the states from a business trip in Greece."

He'd rather not leave a signature behind that either of his brothers or his wife could track, so he went with lying.

The nurse squinted closely at him, then to the child in the crib. She seemed to believe him, because she relaxed visibly.

"Ms. Adamas said you might turn up. It's a bit odd that you're named Zeus."

Zeus fought the urge to give a deadpan gaze at the woman, his eyes flicking towards the name tag.

Kassandra.

It was spelled in the Greek fashion, and her voice had a slight lilt to it that was familiar to him.

"Are you Greek?" He asked in the tongue of the mortals that first worshiped him.

Kassandra blinked and looked surprised.

"I didn't realize-" She began to say back in Greek, but he chuckled amusedly.

"Your English has traces of your accent present. It has been some time since I've spoken to another in Greek. Southern Attica, yes?"

Kassandra smiled brightly at the choice of language and nodded at the question, before her eyes went to the squirming little boy.

"No wonder he was named Alexander."

Zeus looked back at him and smiled.

"Indeed." The king of the Olympians ignored the nurse after that to drink in the features of the child he knew would pay for his actions.

After a moment, Kassandra said she'd give him some privacy and left the room.

Despite not being a particularly nurturing or warm type of parent, Zeus made the decision to act out of character for once, scooping up Alexander as delicately as he could.

The black haired child squirmed a bit and let out a cry, but Zeus shushed him.

"Hush, little one," He murmured, rocking him lightly, "Pater is here."

He began to sing in another language, the song a lullaby his mother Rhea sang to him as a child, a time before he knew about his siblings fate; a time before the little boy that grew up with the purpose of freeing his siblings from their father was burdened with it.

The infant stilled in his grip as he continued to sing and was breathing slowly now, his son opening a beady blue eye.

There was a faint, misty white swirl at the very center, ringed by the almost exclusive electric blue eye colour of his children; a trait from his maternal lineage undoubtedly.

After a moment of the matching colours of father and son meeting, Alexander Adamas went back to sleep.

Zeus finished his one time being around the child and set them down gently.

"You have an elder sister that has our eyes Ἀλέξ," He kissed his son on the forehead, "You are both my children, and I expect you to protect one another like I protected my siblings."

He deserved the title of king because he was the one that saved them. He didn't have any of their help getting them out, he led them into Tartarus to get the Cyclops' and Hecatoncheires out, He led them in the Titan War, he cut apart their father, he alone fought against Typhon for a time when his siblings and children ran and got his tendons ripped out as a reward.

Zeus scowled as he remembered that again, bidding farewell to his newest child.

Before he left to return to Olympus, he was struck by a startling realization as he thought of his children again.

Thalia had never met him.

'Save them, Zeus.' His mother kissed his cheek, holding him with a tenderness only a mother could. Her sea green eyes gazed upon him with a love he would always cherish. 'Promise me you will save them and protect them from your father.'

'I promise, mother.'

His wife and sisters abandoned him when he needed them. His children abandoned him, their own father. His brother, who he had shattered mountains with his lightning for and had battled for freedom against their father with their brother Hades, had abandoned him. The look of terror and shame in those eyes, the same shape and colour as their mother's, forever burned into his mind as he too fled from Typhon.

The King of the Olympians disappeared in a flash of light, leaving behind a faint scent of ozone.

___________________________

END CHAPTER

The Zeus POV was something I put because I don't think I've come across a fic that seeks to address why Zeus is so annoyingly arrogant about stuff in a somewhat "sympathetic" light.

Zeus, at least when he was having to act like a Titan to trick his father and uncles to free his siblings, was a worthy guy and took charge and led from the front. He basically made so many accomplishments that no wonder it went to his head.

Although it should be pointed out that his internal thoughts didn't mention the massive list of failings and shortcomings. He's definitely not an unbiased narrator.

Anyway, here's another fandom to conquer in the name of the Smurf. Later, everyone.

Raging.