Advanced chapters on [email protected]/Saintbarbido.
(General P.O.V)
Loth ran. Percy and Annabeth matched his stride, muscles burning as the unstable corridors of the Ministry twisted behind them. The monstrous, magic-beast version of Dumbledore loomed over the wrecked chambers, absorbing errant spells like a virus devouring tissue. The creature's roar shook the walls, and every step it took fractured the ground behind it.
Ahead, the Veil shimmered—an impossible doorway hanging in the corridor's end. Escape. But between them and salvation, walls of shifting rubble rose. Stone, spell debris, fragments of desk and bone coalesced, guided by raw, chaotic intelligence.
Loth narrowed his eyes. This wasn't accident. This was the beast's last defense.
He sprinted to the front. "Percy, Annabeth—get behind me."
He extended his right hand, Anodite energy flaring. The magic wove around the limb, forging a massive, pink arm that snapped into place: hulking, powerful, ancient. He braced and punched the rubble wall—stone exploded outward and splintered.
"Move!" he roared, and Percy and Annabeth rushed past the breach.
But the rubble regenerated. Smaller walls formed again as the creature's chaotic will poured through the structure.
Loth's temples ached. He'd banked on pure drive, the beast's own momentum pushing him to the Veil. He should have conserved more energy. But now, seeing Percy and Annabeth sprint just ahead was all the fuel he needed.
They leapt over fallen pillars and through smoke-choked hallways, each new obstacle forcing Loth to summon another blow from his forged fist-arm. Anodite energy throbbed through him with each strike.
At last, there it was—the Veil, pale and ghostly. Beyond it lay nothingness—and safety.
Loth reached out. But then—
A keening scream rippled through the air, bending light and gravity. The beast had reached critical mass.
Pain detonated in Loth's bones, a tidal wave of pressure that curled his toes before the blast even hit. His vision trembled, heart thudding like a war drum. Aura Sense screamed: raw chaos. Magical entropy. It was expanding, spreading faster than thought.
Percy and Annabeth faltered, scrambling to support him as the air grew hot and thick. The roar came again—a wave of pure magic, unlike anything before.
Then purple light shattered the blast.
Hecate.
She appeared through the smoke not as a mist construct but herself, arms raised. A shimmering dome blossomed around the trio, fractals of divine purple fighting back the advancing chaos.
The explosion cleaved around her shield like water around a rock.
For a heartbeat, it held. Then the brilliant blast surged, licking at the edges of her barrier. The raw chaos magic hissed and dissolved the outer rims of light into smoke.
"Go!" Hecate's voice thundered. Her robes flashed as she staggered beneath the assault. "Leave now!"
Percy reached for Loth. Annabeth crouched to lift the fallen Necronomicon, urgency in her eyes.
"No! Stay behind me! I'll protect you!" Loth snarled, pushing back, every nerve screaming.
Hecate's shield flattened, light flaring hot at her fingertips. "You're insane," she spat. "You would fight chaos itself?"
The shield quivered.
Loth clenched his jaw. "If we push together, there's a chance."
Hecate's eyes turned cold. "You have no idea what you've unleashed."
The ground shuddered. Dust coiled around them. The purple shield burst like a bubble—but Hecate's voice cut across the roar:
"Go. Now! Save your friends!"
Only that convinced him and gritting his teeth, Loth stepped into the shimmering veil. Percy and Annabeth followed. Behind them, Hecate's barrier fractured completely.
The layers of raw chaos hissed against the void, but they held. As the last of them passed through, Hecate's final words echoed in Loth's mind:
"You made a mistake."
And then—
Silence.
(Loth's P.O.V)
I blinked.
The ground beneath me was cool, soft, and shrouded in thick, swirling mist. Grey and endless. It coiled around my fingers as I pushed myself upright, naked, breath slow.
The last thing I remembered was the Veil—the blinding explosion, Hecate shouting, followed by silence.
Then nothing.
I looked up. The sky above was covered in a blanket of shimmering pinpricks—tiny lights, like stars scattered across the dark. Some brighter. Some dimmer. Some pulsing, like distant heartbeats.
I knew this wasn't real. Because the stars also occupied the sides.
"Another dream," I muttered, exhaling.
"No," a voice said behind me, cold and sharp. "Not just any dream."
I turned.
Hecate sat on a throne carved from something ancient—stone, bone, maybe both—her legs draped over one arm of it, chin resting on her palm. She wasn't smiling. She wasn't gloating. Just watching.
Silent. Piercing.
"What happened?" I asked.
"You lost."
The words hit harder than they should've.
I frowned. "You lost too."
She didn't flinch. "Everyone loses once in a while."
"But you're the Goddess of Magic," I snapped. "How do you lose to magic?"
That did it.
She stood, slow and deliberate, eyes flaring with violet light.
"I warned you," she said. "I told you what was coming. And instead of gratitude, instead of thanking me for saving your arrogant skin, for sending those two demigods to pull you out of that circus of an execution—here you are. Pouting."
I shut up.
I knew I should say something. Anything. But all that came out was, "…That thing. The creature. It was…"
"Ragnarok," she said. "A fragment-quickly growing. Manifested through chaos-magic when the beast exploded. You let it happen."
My chest tightened.
"We can still stop it," I said. "Nyx said I can. If I just—if we just fight it—"
She laughed. Loud and sharp.
"You're serious?" she asked. "You, Percy, and Annabeth are going to fight Chaos? A god born of entropy? With what? Friendship and stolen lightning bolts?"
"We stopped Kronos," I bit out. "Together. We pulled that off."
Her laughter only got louder. Cruel now.
"You really think a Titan and the Primordial entity of Chaos are the same thing?" she scoffed. "You think this is some power-of-three children's tale? You think your little lightning tantrum qualifies you for war against what came before existence?"
I felt the heat in my neck rise.
"I never asked for your help," I said. "You could've left. You should've left. Me. Luna. All of it. That's what I told you."
The laughter stopped.
Her face darkened. Then she walked forward, down from the throne until we were eye level.
"Do you think I wanted to help you?" she said, voice sharp as glass. "I was going to leave you. Let you burn in your own mess. You're reckless. Arrogant. Loud. You think power is enough. You think effort equals righteousness."
She stepped closer. "But Luna didn't."
My heart skipped.
"She begged me," Hecate said. "On her knees. Magicless. She gave up her gifts—everything I ever gave her—just to get me to help you."
I stared at her. I couldn't breathe.
"She understood what power does to people. What it costs. She knew that being different makes you a target. That monsters aren't always born—they're named. And she knew you'd never see it. You were too busy proving yourself."
I wanted to speak. I couldn't.
"And because of that," Hecate said, stepping back toward her throne, "London fell. And soon… the rest of your world will follow."
My voice cracked. "I—"
"You want to know why I lost?" she said. "I lost to buy you time. I lost to delay the end."
She looked different now. Dimmer. Smaller. Her godly aura flickered like a dying lantern.
"My real self is holding the chaos back. Right now. I've become the core of a stasis spell to contain it. I have maybe a year before it eats through me."
I felt the weight of her words settle into my spine. "And the other gods?"
She laughed again. This time it was tired. Bitter.
"They've already written you off. This world isn't worth the war. Not to them."
Silence stretched between us.
A whole world hanging by a thread. And that thread was breaking.
I frowned. "Wait… what do you mean this world?"
Hecate exhaled sharply through her nose, then gave a dry chuckle. "Fuck it," she muttered. "Might as well tell you one of the biggest secrets the Gods have kept."
She stood and waved her arm.
The mists around us thinned, revealing more of the star-dotted sky above. And not just stars. Now I could see it—clearly.
Each "dot" shimmered. Pulsed. Vibrated with something deeper. And each one was familiar, wrong, and identical all at once.
"That," Hecate said, pointing to the sky, "isn't a sky. It's a map."
I stared.
"All of those stars," she said slowly, "are worlds. Different Earths. Parallel universes. Each one with their own version of the Greek Pantheon. Roman. Norse. Every myth. Every deity."
My stomach dropped.
"So the gods… you… you exist in all of them?"
She nodded. "We're connected across them. Through belief. Through memory. Even when mortals forget us in one world, the others keep us alive. Keep us real. That's how we've lasted millennia. We don't live in a single world—we live in the network of them."
It made too much sense. I was stunned, but I wasn't surprised.
My gaze drifted around. "And this place? This is your realm?"
She looked at me, lips tugging upward in reluctant approval. "Yes. Nightmare. My domain exists at the crossroads of the multiverse. A place between dreams and worlds."
"The Mist gave it away," I said. "And the fact you said this wasn't a dream."
She raised an eyebrow. "You're smarter than you act."
"Thanks," I grunted, still trying to process everything. "Where are Percy and Annabeth?"
"They've moved on. You'll see them again."
I swallowed hard. "And London?"
Her face turned grim. "Gone."
I knew the answer before she said it. Still crushed me to hear it a second time.
Luna...
Hecate's tone dropped, cold and sharp. "I'll be frank with you, Lothal. The gods had a vote. The moment Chaos broke through and consumed London, they decided to abandon this world."
What?!
"…Even Poseidon?" I asked.
She nodded.
"Hades? Hestia? Nyx?"
She looked at me like I'd just asked whether oceans get wet. "They've all lived long enough to watch countless worlds fall. One more isn't worth the cost."
I stared at her. "But you're still here."
That stopped her for a second.
Then she looked away and gave a small, almost self-deprecating smile. "I've never had a daughter like Luna. Or a stubborn son like you."
I lowered my head.
Shame clawed at my chest. "I—"
The realm rumbled beneath our feet.
Before I could finish, Hecate stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me.
Tight.
Her warmth wasn't just heat—it was magic. Ancient. Real. Alive.
I didn't even think. I just hugged her back.
She whispered into my ear, "No power within this world can stop Ragnarok. The only power that can… has to come from outside."
I stiffened. "You mean—"
"You," she said. "Only you can do it."
"…I'm not ready." All this was happening too fast.
"You will be."
"But what makes me different?" This mess wasn't fully my own. Why did I have to clean it up?
"You've done it before," she said simply. "You're a plane-walker, Loth. A rare soul capable of moving across realities. You carry the spark—the anomaly that lets you walk between stars."
Another quake shook the realm. A deep crack split across her throne.
Hecate stumbled. I caught her, still reeling from the revelations.
She winced. "Ragnarok… It's trying to breach my realm. It knows we're planning something."
I looked at her in horrified realization. "It's after me. My body. It wants to possess me."
Hecate didn't answer. She just placed her hand on my chest. Purple light flared against my skin.
"I've placed a seal on you," she whispered. "One that'll only unlock when you're ready to face it. You have a year. Maybe."
Then she started to push me.
"Wait!" I yelled, resisting the pull that was dragging me away. "We're not done—I don't understand my part in all of this!"
"You need to," she said. "Learn about Order. Learn about Chaos. Master every kind of magic you can. You're the anomaly, Loth. You're the Savior. The Hero."
"No!" I shouted as the stars pulled me backward, light folding around my arms, my chest, my head. "No! You can't just—!"
"Go!" she screamed. "You'll find your friends in the Final World!"
Then the throne shattered.
And I was gone.