A being watches from the deepest pits of Tartarus, below Chaos itself. Finally, after countless millennia in agony, Order has broken free of its sibling, who had it entrapped for so long. There was a gap in the unending Chaos, and it had been that way for a measly few years now, attempting to regain its energy. Order knew it needed some strength to fully push through its bonds. If Chaos hadn't begun to tire, this chance never would've spawned. It could not be wasted, lest Chaos awaken and stop Order from reaching true, ensured freedom. When she escaped her sisters' grasp, Chaos could take only a restricted form, one which Order could defeat.

This chance shall not be wasted.

As Order, she had the most potential to devise a flawless plan. So she'd wait a little longer, spy on the world more with the powers she can use safely, then make her break as soon as possible. Perhaps a few days at most. She is strong enough as it is to be confident enough to stir and claim Earth as her own. But better safe then sorry. For the time being, she will watch the broken reaper of souls do his thing. He was a blemish on the land, a being to dark to belong in her ideal world. Order was born to combat utter desolation and prepare perfect embryos or organisms. She would refuse to allow a broken, disturbing creature to patrol a planet with this potential. Chaos wished to keep things how they were, unorganized and able to change. Order knew better. An extraordinary society is a dangerous, wasted one. Everyone must be in line.

She imagined herself tearing apart the primordial of darkness, enslaving Aether and Hemera, pressing Apollo and Artemis for their allegiance. She could use them, among others, to impact everyone. They truly had pure and beautiful light. That was the most valuable thing this universe had to offer.

On the other hand, Thanatos, Hades, Geras, Perseus... they had to go. She could confidently say that in spite of their respective talents, none could match her in combat, and her raw powers could of course match any being that isn't Chaos, or those who came before her, whom are too withdrawn from the world they'd never interfere. This was the time for order to become the norm. Chaos is strong, but weak willed and careless. All must be kept in check.

Meanwhile, Percy Jackson was making his typical rounds, slaying and collecting. He knew his power was insatiable, and it made him hunger for something new. Something to fill the void inside him. No special being would approach him that he could afford to harm. Joy lay in killing, but deeper inside, the real Perseus was dormant, in mourning. His outer self managed for the time being, but the pleasure that was felt wasn't real at all. Yet, what would it take for Percy to come back to himself? All that he knew was death. On the surface, he was a broken immortal. On the inside, he was a broken mortal. Regardless, the once legendary demigod was now a shadow of whom he used to be. All that he once was got replaced by power and talent.

Every time a being was slain by him, it's as if he absorbed their essence as well. He felt like a schizophrenic, voices in his head, telling him right and wrong. He carved his own path his whole life. Look where it brought him. What's the point in continuing to do it now?

'You're more then this' a voice spoke in his head. 'You've gotten this far. Keep trying.' He blocked the speaker out, not wanting to hear their suggestions. The voice almost had no tone, it sounded clear of all presence. Perseus Jackson stirred from his position within himself, knowing the voice was right. But he refused to truly take control. He had taken his mother's life. He did not deserve to live. Thanatos had cursed him with infinite life, and now, what was supposed to be a blessing was feeling more like a consequence of all his past deed. Negativity was a new way of life for the body of Percy, and with this realization, his lust for more death and power grew. He kept himself in check, his inherent sense of right and wrong still powerful, but this was not an easy thing to withhold.

Percy made a choice. Any immortal who rose up to challenge the world would pay the ultimate price. He'd shred them to pieces, torture them, and take their essence. He could solve his power hungry problems and do good. Yes. Killing would sustain him. For now however, he'd remain. Perhaps he can go back to being himself temporarily. He unlocked his own chains, momentarily pausing his crying. It was time for death to act as it once did. But don't be fooled. Percy was not back to normal.

A devilish grin found its way onto his face.

His power flashed with such strength, every immortal in the Greek and Roman world must have felt it.

A fire seemed to burn behind his gaze, like a match had ignited him from the inside, leaving a body of pure flames. One step forward showed his fluid stride, revealing that he seemed to glide forth rather then walk. He was a new person on the outside. But, what no one could see, was the inside of Percy had something more going on. A permanently crying boy, but one who had an insane light to his eyes, and a smile.

Let the immortals challenge him.

He would break them all.