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Son of Hades (Percy Jackson) Chapter 369: Mother's Love
🕑 Added 2025-11-26 05:12:12 +0000 UTC[Third Person Pov]
As Lucian approached the Judgement Pavilion, he spotted two familiar figures waiting for him at the foot of the obsidian steps. Even from a distance he recognized them instantly—Persephone, serene and regal as ever, and Medea, whose very posture suggested a storm barely held at bay.
“Lucian!” Medea’s voice cracked through the air like a whip as she suddenly bolted toward him.
Lucian spread his arms open with a soft smile, ready to greet her, “Mother.”
“Lucian!” she repeated, but this time her tone shifted—sharper, darker. Her expression twisted with a fury he knew all too well.
“Mother?” Lucian blinked in confusion, his smile faltering.
“Lucian!!!” Medea roared, pulling her fist back with the dramatic intensity befitting a woman who once dismantled kings. Her eyes blazed with a feral, motherly wrath that made even the shadows flinch.
“Mother—wait! Let’s talk abou—!!”
Too late.
Her fist connected with his cheek with such force that Lucian swore he saw a literal impact frame, as if reality itself paused to appreciate the punch. Pain ignited across his face, and he flew backward, limbs flailing as he sailed through the air before hitting the Underworld’s sandy ground in a graceless tumble.
Before he could fully process the pain, Medea was already on top of him, fists raining down like divine judgment.
“You stupid, stupid boy! How could you go and die like that?!” she shouted between blows. “I raised you better than that! You didn’t even make it to twenty!”
“W–wait! Just—Mother—stop! Let me explain! Father, help me!” Lucian yelped, desperately trying to shield himself.
Hades, meanwhile, stared up at the ceiling with deep interest. He whistled a tune that did not exist, hands behind his back, studiously ignoring everything within a ten-foot radius of Medea’s rage.
Persephone sighed in long-suffering resignation as she walked forward. “Alright, alright, that’s enough,” she said gently, pulling Medea off him with the practiced ease. “I think he’s gotten the message.”
“Let me go! I need to educate that brain-dead child!” Medea snarled, kicking wildly in Lucian’s direction as Persephone dragged her backward.
“You know, I might be dead but that still counts as abuse!” Lucian whimpered, rubbing his cheek, tears forming from the corner of his eye as he slowly sat up.
“I’ll show you abuse, you frog-faced monkey!” Medea screeched. She jerked free from Persephone, kicked upward, and sent her sandal flying. She snatched it from the air with expert timing and—without hesitation—started smacking Lucian with it.
“I. Thought. You. Said. You. Had. It. Handled!” she screamed, each word punctuated by another slap, the sound echoing faintly around the Pavilion.
Lucian noticed the subtle shine in her eyes, the way her breath hitched. His agitation dissolved in an instant. He pushed forward through the barrage and reached out, pulling her into a tight embrace.
Medea froze mid-swing, sandal raised. Slowly, her arm lowered. Then she collapsed into his hold, shoulders trembling as tears finally spilled freely. Her voice cracked as she whispered, “You weren’t supposed to die like this. Not while you were still so young… You were meant to grow up. To outlive the tragedies of my other children…”
Lucian exhaled softly, guilt settling in his chest. He had momentarily forgotten the depth of his mother’s trauma—how many children she’d lost, how their deaths carved themselves into her legend and her grief. Of course she reacted this way. She feared losing him the same tragic way.
He leaned close and whispered something only she could hear—words meant for her alone.
Medea’s breath hitched. Her tears slowed. She sniffled, then grabbed a fistful of his hair, tugging his head back just enough to look him in the eyes. “Are you being serious?” she asked, voice soft but searching.
“Yes,” Lucian said with a weary smile. “So… can you please stop inflicting pain on your darling baby boy?”
She let out a shaky inhale. “Fine. I’ll choose to trust you for now. But that does not mean you’re forgiven.” She wiped her face with the back of her hand. “And don’t think you can keep pulling the ‘darling baby boy’ card forever—you’re almost an adult.”
Medea tried to maintain her stern expression. She lasted all of one second.
“Oh, who am I kidding? You’ll always be my little baby. Come here.” She yanked him into another hug, cradling the back of his head with tender familiarity. Her voice softened into a warm whisper near his ear.
“Happy birthday, you absolute headache of a child.”
Lucian’s cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, the heat radiating all the way to the tips of his ears. The embarrassment only worsened when he heard the poorly stifled giggles of Persephone and the unmistakable amused snort from Hades.
“Thank you…” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “But did you really have to hit me earlier? Wasn’t that a bit excessive?”
“I hit you because I love you,” Medea replied softly, her tone suddenly turning tender as she cupped his cheek with both hands.
Lucian blinked. “Wow… Please show your love for me sparingly, then,” he deadpanned, lips twitching.
Hades walked up beside them, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry to cut the moment short, but the Judges are getting impatient.” His voice was gentle, but there was that familiar undercurrent of authority. Beside him, Persephone’s gaze lingered on Lucian—a mixture of sadness, sympathy, and the kind of quiet worry only a mother-figure could produce.
After several rounds of reassurances, soft threats from Medea, and one final hug that nearly cracked his spine, Lucian finally peeled himself away and followed Hades into the chamber.
The inside of the Judgement Pavilion was unsettling in ways words rarely captured. The torches lining the walls flickered with an eerie green fire, their ghostly glow casting unpredictable shadows that danced like restless spirits. The walls and floors were carved from polished obsidian, reflecting distorted silhouettes along their glossy surfaces. Ancient banners and carved symbols—warnings, blessings, curses—decorated the space, each whispering secrets of souls long departed.
Lucian and Hades walked through the towering iron-wood doors into what unmistakably resembled a courtroom. Three figures sat high upon the judges’ stands, looking down with stern, centuries-trained gazes.
King Minos, rigid and cold as stone.
Thomas Jefferson, calm and kind, quill-sharp eyes watching everything. And William Shakespeare, whose expression carried a poet’s depth—yet judgment burned behind his gaze just the same.
All three, once demigod sons of Zeus, now eternal arbiters.
“Lord Hades,” Jefferson spoke first, inclining his head. “A rare sight, you gracing our hall. Though given the circumstances, not unexpected.”
Minos scoffed, his tone frosted with disdain. “Do not assume your presence changes anything. We will not be lenient simply because he is your spawn. Even you must accept whatever verdict we decide.”
“Relax,” Hades sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m not here to interfere. Just a witness.” With that, he stepped aside, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed, already bracing for what was about to happen.
“Please step forward, Lucian Blackheart,” Shakespeare commanded, motioning toward the center podium.
Lucian walked forward with an almost lazy confidence, hands tucked in his pockets, posture loose. The wooden stand rose smoothly from the floor, forming a podium directly before the three judges.
Jefferson folded his hands. “Before we begin your trial, is there anything you wish to say?”
Hades groaned audibly. “Oh, great. Here we go…” He dragged a hand over his face the moment he saw the look in Lucian’s eyes—the gleam of someone about to ruin the entire mood on purpose.
“Yes,” Lucian said, lifting his chin slightly. “I do.” He let out a long, exasperated sigh, his head tilting as a portion of his hair fell across his glowing eyes. “This trial is completely meaningless. We’re all wasting our time here.”
The judges froze.
“Care to elaborate?” Shakespeare asked, voice cool but dissecting.
Lucian shrugged. “I say this trial is meaningless for a couple of reasons. First—” His eyes lifted, pupils contracting in the pale green light. “—none of you are worthy to judge me.”
“Oh for Khaos’ sake…” Hades muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew this was coming. He felt it coming.
“Excuse me?” Minos hissed, leaning forward. His lips curled with offense. “You dare speak that way? Need I remind you your fate rests in our hands—”
“Hahahahaha—” Lucian suddenly leaned forward with a musical, mocking laugh. Hands still buried in his pockets, hair falling perfectly into place.
“That is adorable if you believe that,” he said with a smirk that bordered on unnerving. “Truly. The way you said it, too. Cute. But this is exactly why I said none of you are worthy. My fate isn't yours to decide. It never was.”
A tense silence thickened the air.
Lucian’s grin widened—mysterious, knowing, tinged with something manic.
“After all,” he murmured, raising his head so the green torchlight reflected in his eyes like a prophecy taking form, “Fate has always been by my side.”
Comments
Guto
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Ahmed
Can we stop the cliffhanger please 😭😭😭 it’s killing me
