Chapter 25: Shattered Illusions

The air in the cabin suddenly grew cold, the shadows in the corners deepening until they seemed to pulse with a life of their own. Percy, still on his knees before Nico, felt a chill crawl up his spine that had nothing to do with his position or his nakedness. Something was changing in the room—something ancient and powerful was materializing.

Nico felt it too, his eyes widening as he turned toward the darkest corner of the cabin. The shadows there condensed, twisting and spiraling until they formed the shape of a man. Morpheus stepped forward, his form flickering between solid and spectral, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he surveyed the scene before him.

"My, my," the God of Dreams purred, his gaze sliding over Percy's diminished form with undisguised contempt. "How the mighty have fallen. The great Percy Jackson, reduced to this... pitiful creature."

Percy flinched, instinctively trying to cover his weakened body with his arms. The movement was futile—his thin limbs offered no concealment, and the action only served to highlight how frail he had become.

Morpheus circled him slowly, like a predator assessing its prey. "Though I must say, the face remains quite... fetching." He reached out, gripping Percy's chin with cold fingers, tilting his face up to the light. "Such delicate features. Almost feminine now, without all that masculine strength to balance them. And that hair..." He ran his fingers through Percy's long golden locks. "Like spun gold. At least something about you remains worthy of admiration."

Percy jerked away from the touch, his eyes flashing with a defiance that seemed out of place on his delicate features. Morpheus laughed, the sound echoing strangely in the cabin.

"Still some fight left in him, Nico. How amusing." The god turned to Nico, who stood watching the exchange with a mixture of awe and unease. "You've done well, son of Hades. Better than I could have hoped. Percy Jackson is neutralized—his power, his strength, his very essence now belongs to you."

Nico straightened, his chest swelling with pride at the praise. "Thank you, Lord Morpheus."

"But your work isn't quite finished," Morpheus continued, his voice dropping to a seductive purr. "The physical transformation is complete, yes. But the mental... the emotional... that requires more attention." He gestured toward Percy, who remained on his knees, trembling slightly. "He is truly yours now, Nico. Yours to shape, yours to mold, yours to degrade as you see fit."

Percy's head snapped up at this, his blue eyes wide with horror. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Morpheus ignored him, focusing solely on Nico. "The final step in his transformation is to accept his new purpose. No longer a hero, no longer a leader, no longer even a man in the traditional sense. He is now a vessel for your pleasure. A slave to your desires." The god's smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed too sharp, too numerous. "A sexual pet, trained to please his master in all ways."

Percy made a choked sound, somewhere between a gasp and a sob. "Nico, you promised," he whispered again. "You said this was temporary. That your father would restore me."

Nico looked down at Percy, really looked at him—the golden hair falling in waves around his delicate shoulders, the enormous blue eyes swimming with tears, the trembling lips that had just been wrapped around him in submission. This beautiful, pathetic creature bore almost no resemblance to the hero he had once worshipped. The strong jaw had softened, the powerful shoulders had shrunk, the imposing presence had diminished to nothing.

"I lied," Nico said finally, his voice flat. "I was never going to give it back."

Morpheus chuckled. "The truth at last. How refreshing."

Nico circled Percy slowly, examining him from every angle. "I thought I loved you, you know," he said conversationally. "I was obsessed with you from the moment I arrived at camp. The great Percy Jackson—strong, powerful, heroic. The son of Poseidon who could shake the earth and command the seas." He stopped in front of Percy, looking down at him with a mixture of contempt and regret. "But that's not who you are anymore, is it? That Percy Jackson is gone forever."

Percy stared up at him, his face a mask of hurt and betrayal. "I can still be that person," he insisted, his voice breaking. "If you give me back what's mine. I can be strong again. I can be the hero you admired."

"But that's just it," Nico said, crouching down to Percy's level, his eyes cold despite their proximity. "I don't want that Percy anymore. I thought I did, but I've realized something important." He reached out, brushing a strand of golden hair from Percy's face with mock tenderness. "I don't love you. I never loved you. I loved the idea of you—the power, the strength, the heroism. And now that I have all of those things for myself, I can see clearly what you truly are."

"And what is that?" Percy whispered, tears spilling down his cheeks.

"Nothing," Nico replied, his voice cruel in its simplicity. "You're nothing without the power I took from you. Just a pretty face with a weak body and a broken spirit. Useful only for what pleasure you can provide me."

Morpheus clapped his hands together, the sound sharp in the tense silence. "Well said, young demigod. Well said indeed." He began to fade back into the shadows, his form becoming increasingly transparent. "I leave him in your capable hands, Nico di Angelo. Make good use of your new... acquisition."

As Morpheus disappeared entirely, Nico stood again, towering over the kneeling Percy. "Do you understand now?" he asked. "There is no test. There is no temporary exchange. Your powers, your strength, your divine essence—they're mine now. Forever."

Percy stared up at him, the last vestiges of hope draining from his eyes as the truth finally, irrevocably sank in. The blue of his irises seemed to dull, the light within them flickering and then dying. His shoulders slumped, his entire body seeming to collapse in on itself as the reality of his situation became undeniable.

"You're never giving it back," he whispered, his voice hollow.

"Never," Nico confirmed, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he watched the final transformation take place—the death of hope in Percy Jackson's eyes. "This is who you are now, Percy. My possession. My toy. My whore. The sooner you accept that, the easier your life will be."

Percy's gaze dropped to the floor, his long lashes wet with tears. The sight stirred something in Nico—not compassion, not regret, but a dark, possessive desire. This broken creature was his creation, his property, to use as he saw fit.

"Now," Nico said, his voice hardening with command, "it's time for you to begin learning your new purpose."

Nico walked to the corner of the cabin where a large trunk sat against the wall—Percy's trunk, filled with his belongings. He opened it and began rummaging through the contents until he found what he was looking for: Percy's armor from Capture the Flag, the bronze breastplate emblazoned with a trident, the symbol of Poseidon.

"Get up," he commanded, turning back to Percy with the armor in his hands.

Percy remained on his knees, confusion mingling with the despair in his eyes. "What are you doing with that?"

"I said get up," Nico repeated, his voice sharper. "Now."

Slowly, Percy rose to his feet, his movements hesitant and unstable. Without his former strength, even standing required conscious effort. He swayed slightly, wrapping his arms around his naked body as if to shield himself from what was coming.

Nico approached him, holding the breastplate out. "Put it on."

Percy stared at the armor, then back at Nico. "Why?"

"Because I told you to," Nico replied coldly. "And because I think it's important for you to understand exactly how much you've lost. Put it on, Percy. Now."

With trembling hands, Percy reached for the breastplate. As his fingers closed around the bronze, his arms immediately dipped under the unexpected weight. He had carried this armor countless times before, worn it in battles against monsters and titans, moved in it as though it were a second skin. Now, he could barely lift it.

"I... I can't," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Nico's smile was cruel. "Try harder."

Percy gritted his teeth and attempted to lift the breastplate to his chest. His arms shook with the effort, the muscles—what little remained of them—straining visibly beneath his pale skin. He managed to get it positioned against his chest, but fumbled with the fastenings at the sides.

"Pathetic," Nico murmured, watching Percy struggle. "The mighty hero who slew the Minotaur, defeated Ares, held up the sky... can't even put on his own armor."

Percy's face flushed with humiliation, but he continued trying, his fingers clumsy and weak as they attempted to secure the fastenings. The breastplate kept slipping, threatening to fall to the floor.

After several more moments of watching Percy's futile attempts, Nico stepped forward. "Let me help you," he said, his voice mockingly gentle. "Since you're clearly incapable of doing it yourself."

He took control of the situation, positioning the breastplate against Percy's chest and securing the fastenings at the sides. The armor, once a perfect fit for Percy's muscular frame, now hung loosely on his diminished body, the bronze plating caving inward where it should have curved over pectoral muscles that no longer existed. The shoulder guards extended far past his now narrow shoulders, and the bottom edge of the breastplate reached almost to his hips, rather than sitting at his waist as it once had.

"Now the rest," Nico ordered, retrieving the arm guards, shin guards, and helmet.

One by one, he helped Percy don each piece, watching as the once-heroic figure was encased in armor that now swallowed his tiny frame. The arm guards slid down his thin arms, unable to stay in place. The shin guards had to be fastened at their tightest setting and still gaped around his legs. The helmet, when placed on his head, slipped forward, the cheek guards covering most of his face until Nico adjusted it.

When the final piece was in place, Nico stepped back to survey his work. The sight was both pitiful and oddly satisfying—Percy Jackson, once the embodiment of heroic strength, now drowning in armor that had once fit him perfectly. The bronze plates hung on him like clothes on a scarecrow, emphasizing the hollows and voids where muscle had once been.

"There," Nico said, his voice soft with cruel satisfaction. "The hero of Olympus, ready for battle."

Percy stood motionless, the weight of the armor already causing his body to tremble with exertion. His breathing was labored, his thin chest rising and falling rapidly beneath the overlarge breastplate.

Nico began to circle him slowly, like a predator stalking its prey, his eyes cataloging every detail of Percy's transformed appearance.

"Look at you," he mused, his voice deliberately thoughtful. "This armor used to showcase your strength, did you know that? The way it fit you perfectly, highlighting every muscle, every powerful line of your body. It made you look like a god among men." He paused directly in front of Percy, his eyes cold. "Now it just emphasizes everything you've lost."

He reached out, tapping a finger against the breastplate, which caved inward easily where Percy's chest should have filled it. "Your pectorals, gone." His hand moved lower, to where the armor gaped around Percy's abdomen. "Your abs, gone." He circled behind Percy, noting how the back plate hung loose where it should have hugged a powerful back. "Your lats, your traps, gone."

Percy remained silent, his head bowed beneath the weight of the helmet, his long golden hair spilling out from beneath it and down over the shoulder guards. The contrast was striking—the beautiful, feminine hair against the masculine armor, the delicate features visible beneath the helmet's edge juxtaposed with the warrior's gear.

Nico completed his circuit, coming to stand before Percy once more. "Try to move," he commanded. "Just a few steps."

Percy lifted one foot, the effort visible in the strain on his face, and took a halting step forward. The armor clanked and shifted around him, ill-fitting pieces sliding against each other. He took another step, then another, each one more labored than the last. By the fourth step, his legs were shaking visibly, even beneath the loose-fitting greaves.

"Stop," Nico ordered, and Percy froze immediately, his relief at the command evident. "Do you remember how you used to run in this? Fight in this? Lead charges against monsters three times your size?"

Percy nodded silently, his eyes downcast.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you," Nico snapped.

Percy raised his head with effort, the helmet tilting awkwardly as he did so. His blue eyes met Nico's, filled with a mix of shame, exhaustion, and despair.

"You're trembling," Nico observed, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "The armor that you once wore into battle as easily as clothes is now almost too heavy for you to stand in." He reached out, lifting Percy's chin with one finger. "It's fascinating, really. Your body has been completely transformed, weakened beyond recognition... and yet your face remains as beautiful as ever. More so, perhaps, without all that masculine hardness to detract from it."

He brushed a strand of golden hair away from Percy's face, tucking it behind his ear with mocking tenderness. "Your hair is beautiful too. Like spun gold. It suits you much better long like this. Feminine. Delicate. Just like the rest of you has become."

Percy's lower lip trembled, but he didn't pull away from Nico's touch. His body continued to shake under the weight of the armor, small tremors running through him from head to toe. Sweat had begun to bead on his forehead from the exertion of simply standing in place while wearing the bronze plates.

"Do you understand now?" Nico asked softly, his voice almost gentle despite the cruelty of his words. "This is who you are. This is all you'll ever be again. A weak, trembling boy with a pretty face and nothing else to offer the world."

Nico leaned in closer, his face just inches from Percy's, and inhaled deeply. A complex mix of scents filled his nostrils—the metallic tang of the bronze armor, the faint residue of polish used to maintain it, but beneath that, something else. Something uniquely Percy's.

"Your armor," Nico murmured, his eyes half-closing as he breathed in again. "It still smells like you. The old you." He ran his fingers along the edge of the breastplate, his expression contemplative. "Salt water, ozone, that distinctive scent that all powerful demigods carry... it's embedded in the metal itself."

He pulled back slightly, his gaze sharpening as it met Percy's. "But your body doesn't smell like that anymore. Your scent has changed completely—sweeter, more submissive." His lips curved into a cruel smile. "The contrast is... intoxicating. The armor of a hero, carrying the scent of power and strength, wrapped around a body that reeks of weakness and submission."

Percy flinched at the words, his face flushing with shame. The trembling in his limbs had intensified, his body struggling to bear the weight it had once carried with ease.

"Kneel," Nico commanded suddenly, his voice dropping to a lower register.

Percy blinked, confusion momentarily overriding his humiliation. "What?"

"You heard me," Nico replied, his tone brooking no argument. "Kneel before me. In the armor. Now."

Percy hesitated, looking down at the floor, then back at Nico. The command was simple enough, but in his weakened state, wearing the heavy armor, the action would be difficult and degrading.

"I..." he began, his voice faltering.

"I didn't ask for your opinion," Nico cut in coldly. "I gave you an order. Kneel."

With visible reluctance, Percy began to lower himself to his knees. The movement was awkward and uncoordinated, the armor shifting and clanking around him as he struggled to maintain his balance. His legs trembled violently under the strain, threatening to give out entirely.

Halfway down, his strength failed him completely. His knees buckled, and he collapsed the rest of the way, landing hard on the wooden floor. The armor clattered loudly, pieces shifting and banging against each other, the sound emphasizing his graceless descent.

The impact sent pain shooting through his knees and up his thighs, but Percy bit back a cry, unwilling to give Nico the satisfaction of seeing how much it hurt. He knelt there, head bowed beneath the too-large helmet, the armor hanging off his diminished frame like a child playing dress-up in his father's gear.

Nico circled him once more, admiring the tableau he had created. Percy Jackson, the greatest hero of their generation, on his knees in armor that mocked his former glory.

"Perfect," Nico murmured, coming to stand directly in front of Percy. "This is exactly where you belong now, Percy. On your knees before me." He reached down, lifting Percy's chin with his fingers. "This is your purpose from now on. Not fighting monsters, not saving the world, not leading quests. Your only purpose is to serve me. To please me. To be whatever I want you to be."

Percy's eyes flickered with a last, desperate resistance. "I'm still a demigod," he whispered. "Still a son of Poseidon. Still—"

"Still nothing," Nico interrupted. "You're not a son of Poseidon anymore—not really. You have no connection to his power. No divine strength. No abilities. You're barely even a demigod at this point." His grip on Percy's chin tightened. "You're just a hole to be used. A toy for my amusement. A slave for my pleasure."

"No," Percy said, though his voice lacked conviction. "That's not... I'm not..."

"You are," Nico insisted, his voice hardening. "And the sooner you accept that, the easier your life will be. Because this is your reality now, Percy. You're my sexual slave. My whore. My property, to do with as I please."

He released Percy's chin and stepped back, his eyes cold as he surveyed the kneeling figure before him. "The once-mighty Perseus Jackson, reduced to this. It's almost poetic, isn't it? The hero who saved Olympus, now serving on his knees." A cruel smile curved his lips. "I wonder what your father would say if he could see you now. What would the great Poseidon think of his son, kneeling in armor he can barely lift, ready to service another man?"

Percy's face crumpled at the mention of his father, tears welling in his eyes. The armor seemed to weigh heavier on his shoulders, pressing him down both physically and metaphorically.

Nico reached out suddenly, grabbing a fistful of Percy's golden hair that spilled from beneath the helmet. He yanked hard, pulling Percy's head back, forcing him to look up. The helmet tilted awkwardly, nearly falling off before Nico steadied it with his other hand.

Percy gasped at the sudden pain, his hands instinctively rising to grab at Nico's wrist, but they were too weak to do anything but rest there, a pathetic attempt at resistance.

"Your training begins now," Nico declared, his voice low and intense. "I'm going to teach you exactly what you are, what you're good for, what your place is in this world." He gave Percy's hair another sharp tug, eliciting a pained whimper. "I'm going to break what's left of your pride, your resistance, your memories of who you once were. And when I'm done, you'll be the perfect whore—eager to please, desperate for approval, willing to do anything I ask without hesitation."

His grip tightened, pulling Percy's head back at an even more severe angle. "Do you understand what I'm saying to you, Percy? Do you understand what's going to happen?"

Percy's tears spilled over, tracking down his cheeks. "Yes," he whispered, his voice breaking.

"Yes, what?" Nico prompted, giving the golden hair another painful tug.

Percy swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly in his exposed throat. "Yes... master," he managed, the words clearly tasting like ash in his mouth.

Nico's expression softened slightly, a flash of approval crossing his features. "Good," he murmured. "That's a start." He released Percy's hair, allowing his head to drop forward again. "Remove the armor. You've proven my point. It doesn't belong to you anymore—just like the strength and power it represents."

With trembling hands, Percy began to undo the fastenings of the armor, piece by piece. Each bronze plate that fell away seemed to take with it another piece of his former self, another memory of the hero he had been. When the last piece—the helmet—was removed, he knelt naked once more before Nico, his long golden hair falling freely around his face and shoulders.

Nico reached down, stroking Percy's hair almost tenderly. "Much better," he said softly. "This is who you are now, Percy. Not a hero in armor, but a beautiful, obedient slave." His hand tightened in the golden strands. "And tomorrow, we begin your proper training."

Percy remained on his knees, his head bowed, the once-proud hero of Olympus now completely and utterly broken, ready to be remade in the image of Nico's desires.