The Bright One (Percy Jackson x Sandman SI) (2024)

His hands clawed at his throat, but the choking dark was gone. Flashing, fragmented nightmares flickered behind his eyelids. Gone were the whispers, thick with rot and madness, that had slithered into his ear. The claws of decay, once ripping at his heart, were absent, leaving a slick, putrid ichor in their wake.

He blinked, the familiar gold returning to his eyes. He moved, his body still a finely tuned weapon. Yet, a hollow ache throbbed where his heart used to be. Relief warred with a cold, gnawing fear.

Despair was no more, instead Peace, a cold, hollow peace, settled over him.

Did I die…?

No!

A single thought, a flicker of memory, and the nightmares were back, a monstrous kaleidoscope of his deepest fears, his darkest potential futures. Truths no god should bear witness to, twisting his insides with a cold, metallic dread.

A voice, flat and lifeless, echoed in the emptiness, a mockery of sound. "Well, well, well. Look at the mighty Apollo, reduced to a whimpering whelp."

A primal snarl ripped from Apollo's throat, a flicker of his godly rage battling the terror. He slammed it down fast, schooling his features into a mask. The voice, mocking as it was, had the bizarre effect of shattering the nightmares. A single thought wouldn't dredge them back up, a chilling truth resonating with him. This voice, whoever it belonged to, repulsion itself emanated from it, pushing the nightmares away. It wasn't difficult to connect the dots.

"Greetings," Apollo rose, his form restored to its perfect glory, but it was a hollow shell. A practiced smile stretched across his lips, never reaching his eyes. "Despair of the Endless, I presume?"

A naked figure coalesced out of the emptiness. Obese and pale, a mess of tangled hair half-heartedly pulled back. A grotesque ring pierced her cheek, drawing a line of red that she absently licked away, a flicker of something monstrous replacing the dullness in her eyes for a heartbeat before it vanished.

"Clever boy," she rasped, the voice like sandpaper on bone. "Though I wouldn't call it an honour to be recognised by such...radiance." The last word dripped with same dullness, yet there was sarcastic edge to it.

"Touché," Apollo said, his voice flat. Keeping a poker face was a monumental effort, considering the apocalypse unfolding in the Cosmos. But this... this pale, fleshy horror before him might hold the key, the key to either salvation or a nightmare that made the current one look like a picnic.

"Not so broken, after all." Despair tilted her head, a flicker of something resembling disappointment slithering through her raspy voice. Then, with a sickening yank, she ripped the hooked ring from her cheek. A crimson gash blossomed, spilling a trail of burning blood that splattered across the colorless void. From the splatter, mirrors erupted, each one a shimmering portal reflecting a fragment of the vibrant world Apollo knew.

Yet the vibrancy was now gone. Despair held absolute dominion, casting their pall over everything reflected in the mirrored windows. Each glimpse shattered another shard of Apollo's composure.

Olympus, once a glittering monument of divine power, was now a desolate wasteland. Gods and goddesses, who once revelled with abandon in the absence of mortality, now lay gasping their last breaths. Zeus, the King of Gods, his once mighty father, desperately tired to hold on, yet even he was waning into embrace of oblivion like everyone else. All except Hestia. Her form, withered to the brink of death; an old crone clung desperately to the last flickering ember of the Hearth - the one thing Despair craved to extinguish.

A tsunami of darkness had drowned the tower of the Celestial Sanctum. Collapsed figures littered the flickering rooftop, a horrifying reflection of his own demise. Artemis channeled the last dregs of her strength to shield their younger brother and mother. Her once unwavering steel hung by a thread, Despoina and the Muses mirroring her fall at her feet, their music choked into a rasp.

In a trashed chamber, a circle of runes faintly glowed. Themis, his stern teacher, sat wasted in the centre, surrounded by the howls of endless darkness. Her body held on a sliver longer than the others, but her soul screamed through the runes, a desperate plea clawing at the Earth, to her Mother, the very cradle of Life.

A flash of silver illuminated a pillar of darkness, where the reckoning had begun. Angels lay scattered across the steep slopes of the mountain, their broken might reaching out above to a withering Moon Titaness. She held her lover to her heart as she pounded the ground with a primal roar, begging for mercy that seemed impossibly distant

Ichor hammered in Apollo's ears, a deafening roar drowning out the world's demise. Through the twisted windows, the canvas of reality bled its colours. No vibrant sunrise this time, just the slow, horrifying drain of life from every corner of existence. From the hallowed halls of Delphi to the bustling streets of Varanasi, mortals crumpled like ash, their pleas for salvation now swallowed by the final oblivion creeping in.

The reality vibrated with a symphony of despair – hollow screams of terror, rage, and a primal ache for mercy. It echoed through this world, countless others, the stars themselves – a cosmic chorus singing in the face of an uncaring abyss.

And Mercy came. Primordials and Archangels, the Eldest beings of Existence, unleashed their might without restraint, for the first time since the War in Heaven. From Nyx holding away the Veil of Night throughout the Cosmos from the waves of corruption to Raphael strengthening the last thread that held the Cosmos from falling to Oblivion.

But it was Shiva and Gaea who stood above all. They danced a primal ballet of destruction and creation, wielding the very forces of existence as weapons against Despair. Theirs was a reckoning fury, an unparalleled rage fuelled by a love for their cosmos.

For a moment, the flicker of Hope that was on the verge of dying seemed to burn brighter than ever before, Salvation filling the Cosmos.

But Despair wasn't deterred!

Not the ethereal maw of despair consuming the cosmos, but the grotesque figure beside Apollo. Fleshy, obese, a sickly pale monstrosity. She lumbered towards the window, revealing the colossal battle raging outside. Gaea and Shiva, titans dwarfing galaxies, wielded weapons infused with the cosmos' essence, their strikes aimed at the churning abyss.

"Pale, isn't it?" she rasped, her voice a sickly purr laced with chilling fascination. Her pudgy hands, shockingly crimson-stained, gripped the window with inhuman strength. "Bleak, cold, desolate… perfect." her stubby finger hovered over the scene where Gaea and Shiva's weapons neared the abyss.

Apollo fought the urge to tear her arms away with all of his might.

"Beautiful," her continued, her head tilting towards him, the illusion of curiosity a grotesque mask. "A hollow shell, yes, but a touch from the source…" her finger flickered towards the abyss, "...will bring its true glory. Don't you agree, Apollo?"

The putrid air hung heavy, thick with the stench of decay and the rasping breaths of a dying cosmos. Apollo stared at the fleshy monstrosity before him, her pallid bulk a mockery of life. From the moment this abomination dragged him here, she had reveled in twisting the knife.

The cosmos burned outside, countless beings extinguished like dying embers, everything he held dear teetered on the precipice. Yet, here, in this shattered cage, a different kind of death loomed - the death of Hope!

Apollo knew he had to be smarter, had to carefully choose his next defining words with the precision of his sister's arrow, for the fate of everything might depend on it. Yet his heart roared, a primal roar of rage and defiance, pushing him past the breaking point. And his composure shattered.

"You wouldn't dare," Apollo snarled, his voice a rasp scraped from the glaciers of Hell. "Because I'll end you." His words dripped with deathly certainty, the fire in his heart stoked by the dying cosmos, the roar in his ears an echo of a collapsing world.

"They say life burns brightest at its zenith," he spat, stalking toward the impassive Despair. "But I say it's when oblivion nips at your heels, especially when it's twisted with sad*stic glee. Life fights back, claws bared, teeth bared, burning brighter than ever before!"

Then, at the moment of reckoning, Apollo ripped Despair's pale hands from the window. "I am the Hope of Life," he roared, gripping her grotesque head, forcing her to meet his blazing golden gaze. "Look upon me, Despair of the Endless! Can you withstand the retribution of LIFE?!"

Bravery or stupidity? The line blurred in the face of oblivion. But regret? Not a chance. He'd spoken his truth, a primal defiance against the dying cosmos. He was Hope, a flickering ember against the encroaching darkness. And Hope, by its very nature, wouldn't go out without a fight, even if oblivion was what awaited him in the end.

Despair. Just... Despair. No twisted amusem*nt in her eyes this time, just a hollow emptiness that mirrored the dead world around them. Then, a flicker. A twitch at the corner of her grotesque lips, a ghastly echo of a smile blooming on her ruined face. "Fascinating," she rasped, the word raw and torn from her throat. "Absolutely fascinating."

Her hands, impossibly fast, darted down to snag his chest. "You wouldn't just go out, would you?" she hissed, her voice a caustic whisper. A single finger, bone-white one moment, thrummed with an alien brilliance the next. A light Apollo couldn't comprehend, couldn't even describe.

"Burn then," she snarled, that fingertip plunging straight into his core, into the last flicker of Hope keeping the Cosmos from oblivion. "Burn brighter than all your damn stars."

A white-hot agony ripped through him. Light, blind and all-consuming, erupted from within his heart. Apollo didn't even have a moment to scream. One second he was lost in the abyss of Despair's heterochromatic eyes, the next he was ripped from the grey, suffocating realm. The last thing he heard was a whisper, almost a sigh, yet it echoed in his very being.

"Hope..."

Yes, hope. It pulsed in his chest, a searing transformation where the dying ember used to be. Hope forged in the agony of the cosmos, a defiant flicker clawing its way back from the brink of oblivion. An inferno of retribution, fuelled by the embers of a fading life, roared to life within him.

Apollo felt it all, a symphony of emotions played out on his very being. His lips stretched into a ragged laugh, a sound that defied definition. It was a laugh of bliss at rebirth, sorrow for the struggle, fury at Despair's touch, and a savage irony at the twist of fate. It was a laugh that echoed with a thousand untold stories, a thousand battles fought and won, all condensed into this single, final moment.

And he fell. A blazing comet, hope burning brighter than any star, Apollo plummeted into the maw of Despair. The cosmos itself seemed to dim as his light eclipsed everything.

——————

In this maelstrom of hopelessness, Gaea and Shiva manifested, their forms dwarfing even the dying galaxies. One, a blazing inferno, wielding destruction itself. The other, a gnarled staff in her hand, the embodiment of life, creation teetering on the precipice of oblivion. Opposites, yet bound together, they faced a singular point – a writhing black orb of Despair, the epicentre of this cosmic rot, a yawning maw threatening to swallow everything.

With a deafening roar, a burning dark trident and a staff, weathered and brown, slammed into the churning and roaring abyss.

The impact sent shockwaves through the very fabric of reality. Parts of the abyss erupted in blinding white flames, consumed by the fiery touch of destruction. Other sections withered away, draining of colour and life, succumbing to the touch of decay. The abyss recoiled, a grotesque entity writhing in pain as its form fractured. A monstrous roar tore through the cosmos, a chilling symphony of agony and pain echoing throughout the cosmos.

Shiva and Gaea struck again, their attacks now not just blind rage, but honed with newfound purpose. They felt it, a flicker of defiance descending into the cosmic abyss. The burning trident and weathered staff slammed into the fracturing void with terrifying precision. The abyss writhed in resistance, but the combined might of Creation and Destruction bore down on it.

With an explosion that rivalled a quadrillion suns, the centre ruptured, revealing a pulsating, trembling dark dot – the very source of corruption. Its gaping maw hung open, vulnerable and exposed.

Yet, Shiva and Gaea didn't seize this opportunity. They kept their weapons anchored in the abyss, eyes fixed upward. Above them, a blazing comet streaked through the cosmos, its light momentarily eclipsing the dying galaxies. The abyss roared back in a trembling rage, a primal fear echoing through the void for the first time. Countless tendrils of despair erupted from its withering mass, a desperate last stand. But Shiva and Gaea held firm, the tendrils shrivelling and turning to ash before reaching the comet.

Then, in that final moment, a streak of gold shot across the fading canvas of the cosmos. Stark against the bleakness, it arced towards the ruptured abyss, aiming for the pulsating dark dot – the one that struck the tainted mark on Apollo's own heart.

In that golden streak blazed the very essence of retribution, the defiant spirit of Life itself.

Hope and Despair clashed.

A searing explosion ripped through the cosmos, a blinding burst of pure, radiant gold. It was a light akin to God's wrath, consuming the darkness of Despair, atom by atom, sending it crashing into oblivion. In that moment, the cosmos was reborn, bathed in the radiant light of a hope rekindled. Silence descended, broken only by the faint after-echoes of the titanic battle. The cosmos, scarred but not broken, breathed anew.

————-

The first sight of Apollo, radiant and whole, washed over Selene with relief so profound it almost hurt. But relief quickly curdled into something fiercer. In a heartbeat, she was on him, her grip like a vice around his chest. Her eyes scanned him frantically, searching for any lingering shadows, any trace of Despair's touch. Finding none, she did something utterly unexpected. Her hand, a blur of motion, landed on his cheek with a resounding slap.

The God of Light, still reeling from his ordeal, stumbled back, a bewildered look etched on his face. Then, as understanding dawned, it morphed into regret and apology.

"I'm so sorry, Selene," Apollo rasped, pulling her into a fierce hug. He clung to her warmth like a drowning man to a lifeline. "So sorry. I knew better… I promised…"

Selene cut him off, her gaze locking with his. The kiss that followed was a torrent of unspoken emotions - bliss, anger, a desperate relief that consumed them both. It was a kiss as fierce and dangerous as the battle they'd just emerged from.

For they stood on the windswept summit of Mount Hermon, the sun finally cresting the horizon and bathing the world in a bruised, twilight glow. The Gods and Immortals, cleansed of Despair's corruption, stood tall and mighty once more. Even the scattered mortals, the lucky few who'd escaped Death's grasp, breathed free. But human civilization as a whole? It was gone, utterly shattered.

Among the survivors, there was the Watchers as well, their angelic forms cloaked in an unsettling uncertainty. All except their leader, Samyaza. He rose towards the summit, a horrifying rage twisting his features. But Apollo, still locked in his kiss with Selene, barely spared him a glance. His eyes, blazing with newfound hope, met Samayaza's. In that instant, Samyaza and his brethren froze. A gasp, choked and silent, escaped their lips as reality itself seemed to constrict around them, like unseen cages tightening with each passing heartbeat.

Ultimately, the jubilant kiss was shattered, not by hostility, but by a presence far grander. A throat cleared from above, a sound that resonated with power and authority, yet held a hint of concern.

Apollo and Selene reluctantly broke apart, their gazes darting upwards. The sky above Mount Hermon was no longer empty. A celestial army of Archangels filled the heavens, their radiant and burning forms a breathtaking spectacle. In the forefront hovered four figures, each radiating an aura of unparalleled strength. From Gabriel, the One who wove the Order, to Uriel, the Flame of God, to Raphael, the Healer of God, to Metatron, the Voice of God – Silver City had finally arrived.

Selene's grip on Apollo's hand tightened as a singular figure descended from the celestial host. Metatron, the voice of the divine, his expression an unreadable mask. His gaze swept over the frozen Watchers, a flicker of something akin to relief crossing his features before settling on Apollo and Selene. Though his posture remained formal and regal, a hint of hidden emotion flickered in his eyes.

"Phoebus Apollo," he boomed, his voice resonating with power, "your actions in the face of this great catastrophe have been….momental, unprecedented even. We're deeply grateful for your intervention. However," his voice took on a more authoritative tone, "the restoration of order falls within our purview. We'll take it from here."

Apollo locked eyes with Metatron, the divine gaze unwavering. Then, a single word shattered the fragile peace that cloaked the cosmos. "NO."

The word echoed across the mountaintop, across the sky, across reality itself. A tremor of response resonated, and all around them, on the summit, in the heavens, Primordials began to materialise. Beings of unparalleled power, their forms still burning with the essence of creation, emerged from the very fabric of existence.

Right beside Apollo and Selene, Shiva and Gaea materialised, taking their stand. Reality itself buckled under the weight of their power, the very fabric of existence strained as these most powerful beings of the cosmos gathered in one singular place. Their powers, restrained yet ever-present, pulsed at their fingertips.

And Cosmos once again hung in balance.