# Chapter 6: Tricks and Decisions Morpheus glided through the darkness between worlds, passing through shadows and dreams with the ease of one who called these ethereal realms home. The god of dreams moved with purpose, his form shifting continuously as he traveled—sometimes appearing as a handsome young man, other times as an older sage, occasionally as nothing more than a wisp of shadow with gleaming eyes. He emerged in a place that existed outside normal space and time—a vast chamber with walls that seemed both miles away and close enough to touch. The ceiling rippled like the surface of water seen from below, distorting the faint light that filtered through it. The air felt thick, heavy with age and power. At the center of this impossible space sat a massive throne made of what appeared to be solidified darkness. Upon it reclined a figure both ancient and terrifying—a being whose very presence made reality tremble. Kronos, Lord of the Titans, had not yet regained his full form. He appeared as a man of indeterminate age, his skin golden but cracked like ancient pottery, revealing molten energy beneath. His eyes glowed with the color of burnished gold, seeming to see not just what was before him, but all things that had been and would be. "You're late," Kronos said, his voice surprisingly soft yet carrying the weight of millennia. Morpheus bowed low, his form stabilizing momentarily into that of a tall man in a gray suit. "My apologies, Lord Kronos. I was attending to the final details of our plan." Kronos leaned forward slightly, causing the darkness around him to shift and pulse. "Tell me about this plan of yours. You promised me Percy Jackson would be neutralized." "And he will be," Morpheus assured him, straightening. "Everything proceeds exactly as I designed." "Through this son of Hades?" Kronos asked skeptically. "A child who can barely lift a sword?" Morpheus smiled, a cold expression that never reached his constantly shifting eyes. "The boy's weakness is precisely what makes him perfect. No one suspects him—least of all Percy Jackson himself." "Explain to me again why you chose this indirect approach," Kronos demanded. "Why not simply destroy the boy's mind yourself? You are the god of dreams, are you not?" "I am," Morpheus acknowledged. "But as you well know, the Fates have placed special protection around heroes of prophecy. Neither you nor I can directly harm Percy Jackson without severe consequences. We must work through others." He paced before the throne, his footsteps making no sound on the shadowy floor. "The son of Hades harbors intense feelings for Jackson—love, desire, jealousy, admiration. These emotions make him the perfect weapon. I've merely provided him with the tools and guidance." "And what exactly is this boy doing to neutralize our greatest threat?" Kronos asked, his golden eyes narrowing. "I've granted him limited hypnotic abilities," Morpheus explained. "He's been using them on Percy during sleep—the time when my power, channeled through him, can bypass even a hero's natural defenses." Kronos made a dismissive gesture. "Dreams are fleeting things. They fade upon waking." "Normally, yes," Morpheus agreed. "But repeated hypnotic suggestion, especially when accompanied by physical intimacy, creates pathways in the mind. Percy has already begun accepting subtle commands while awake, though he doesn't realize it." "This sounds slow and unreliable," Kronos said, his voice carrying a dangerous edge. "Patience, my lord," Morpheus urged. "The final phase begins tonight. I'll convinc the boy to drain Percy's power completely." This caught Kronos's attention. "Drain his power? How?" Morpheus allowed himself a satisfied smile. "A technique of my own devising. Through hypnotism and dreams, the boy will alter Percy's body to produce power-infused liquid. By consuming it, the son of Hades will absorb Percy's demigod power, leaving him defenseless. After he is fully drained of his demigod power, Nico will be able to even steal all his strength and his mighty muscles. And then, through some persuassion we will manage for him to give Nico even his divine essence, rending him a mere mortal." "Interesting," Kronos murmured, leaning back in his throne. "But will this child have the resolve to go through with it? Taking another demigod's power is no small thing." "He will," Morpheus said confidently. "I've touched his mind and I've been nurturing his resentment, his sense of rejection. Today he overheard Percy speaking of him with pity, calling him weak and unwanted. His pride is wounded, his desire for revenge growing. And beneath it all lies his obsession with possessing Percy completely." "And once the hero is powerless?" Kronos asked. "Without his godly essence, Percy's mind will be completely vulnerable to permanent alteration," Morpheus explained. "The boy will do whatever he wants with him. But more importantly for our purposes, Percy Jackson will no longer be a threat to your rise. The prophecy will be rendered meaningless." Kronos considered this, golden cracks in his skin pulsing with power. "I find it fitting," he finally said, "that the great hero should fall not to our direct action, but to the petty desires of another half-blood. It demonstrates the weakness of these mortals my children have bred with." "Indeed, my lord," Morpheus agreed. "Very well," Kronos decided. "Continue with your plan. But remember, dream god—if this fails, if Percy Jackson remains a threat to me, you will share in whatever punishment I devise for your failure." Morpheus bowed again, lower this time. "It will not fail, Lord Kronos. By the end of this, Percy Jackson will be nothing more than a powerless mortal, his destiny erased." "Go, then," Kronos commanded. "And do not return until you bring me news of success." Morpheus backed away, his form already beginning to dissolve into mist. "As you command, my lord." He disappeared entirely, traveling once more through the realm of shadows, leaving Kronos alone on his throne of darkness to contemplate the coming fall of his greatest enemy. --- The dining pavilion buzzed with the energy of hundreds of demigods gathering for the evening meal. Torches burned brightly around the open-air space, casting a warm glow over the long tables where campers grouped by godly parent. The smell of barbecue filled the air as nymphs carried platters loaded with food between the tables. Nico sat alone at the Hermes table, picking at his food without much interest. His eyes repeatedly drifted to the Poseidon table where Percy sat by himself, though not for long. Despite camp rules about seating arrangements, friends constantly dropped by Percy's table—Annabeth from Athena, Grover with his satyr friends, the Stoll brothers from Hermes, even Clarisse from Ares stopped to exchange what looked like good-natured insults. Percy laughed at something Travis Stoll said, throwing his head back, his throat exposed and vulnerable. His blue t-shirt clung to his body in places where sweat from his earlier training hadn't completely dried. As he reached for his goblet, the fabric stretched across his chest, outlining the powerful muscles beneath. Nico stabbed at a piece of brisket on his plate, his appetite vanishing as he remembered Percy's words from the forest. He watched a group of younger campers approach Percy's table, looking at the son of Poseidon with undisguised admiration. One small boy, probably no more than eleven, asked Percy something that made the hero smile. Percy stood up and walked to the edge of the pavilion where a decorative fountain splashed. He raised his hand, and the water from the fountain rose into the air, forming the shape of a galloping horse that ran in circles above the amazed children's heads. With another gesture, Percy transformed the water horse into a sea serpent that twisted and turned before dissolving into a gentle shower of droplets that somehow managed not to get anyone wet. The younger campers applauded wildly, their faces shining with admiration. Even at the other tables, conversations paused as campers turned to watch Percy's display of power. Chiron, from the head table, nodded appreciatively at the demonstration. "Show-off," Nico muttered under his breath, gripping his fork so tightly his knuckles turned white. He noticed how everyone gravitated toward Percy—drawn to his strength, his confidence, his easy power. Even now, as Percy returned to his seat, Annabeth rejoined him, leaning close to say something that made him smile. Their heads tilted together conspiratorially, golden curls brushing against black. Nico forced himself to look away, focusing intently on cutting his meat into increasingly smaller pieces. When he glanced up again, he caught Percy looking directly at him. Their eyes met across the pavilion, and Percy offered a small, friendly wave. But now, with Morpheus's words echoing in his mind, Nico could see what he hadn't noticed before—the slight downward turn at the corners of Percy's mouth, the softening in his eyes. It wasn't friendship in that look; it was pity. Poor, lonely Nico, sitting by himself, son of the outcast god, the weird kid no one wanted to hang out with. Heat rose to Nico's face, and he dropped his gaze to his plate. The humiliation of the forest incident washed over him again, combined now with the fresh sting of Percy's pitying glance. His embarrassment quickly hardened into resolve. After dinner, campers dispersed to various evening activities—the campfire sing-along wouldn't start for another hour. Nico watched as Percy spoke briefly to Annabeth before jogging toward the training arena, his sword-pen already in hand. Without consciously deciding to, Nico found himself following at a distance. He kept to the shadows. The evening air had cooled slightly, carrying the scent of strawberries from the fields and saltwater from the nearby ocean. The training arena was empty except for Percy, who had apparently come for some solo practice. Nico concealed himself in the shadows of the viewing stands, watching as Percy removed his blue t-shirt and tossed it onto a bench. Bare-chested, the hero began his warm-up exercises. Nico's breath caught in his throat. Despite having seen Percy without a shirt many times now, the sight still affected him powerfully. Percy's body was a perfect balance of strength and grace—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, defined abs shifting under sun-bronzed skin, powerful arms that could wield sword and sea with equal mastery. Percy uncapped Riptide, the celestial bronze blade gleaming in the fading light. He moved into a series of practiced forms, the sword an extension of his arm as he lunged, parried, and slashed at invisible opponents. Sweat soon began to glisten on his skin, running in rivulets down his chest and back. Nico watched, mesmerized, as Percy activated the arena's training dummies—automatons designed by the Hephaestus cabin to provide challenging practice partners. Six bronze warriors rose from compartments in the arena floor, their weapons raised. Percy grinned at the challenge, spinning Riptide in a casual circle before dropping into a fighting stance. What followed was nothing short of breathtaking. Percy moved like water itself, flowing between opponents, his blade finding gaps in the automatons' defenses with uncanny precision. He ducked, rolled, and leaped, using not just his sword but his entire body as a weapon. One automaton thrust a spear at Percy's midsection. Percy sidestepped, caught the shaft, and used the automaton's own momentum to send it crashing into another. As a third swung a heavy sword at his head, Percy dropped to one knee, the blade whistling harmlessly above him, then surged upward, Riptide slicing through the automaton's bronze chest. In less than two minutes, all six automatons lay scattered in pieces across the arena floor. Percy stood in the center, breathing hard, sweat making his entire body gleam in the torchlight. He hadn't received so much as a scratch. The display of skill and power made something twist painfully in Nico's chest. This was why everyone admired Percy, why they gathered around him like moths to flame. This was what made him the hero of Camp Half-Blood, the center of the prophecy, the one everyone believed would save them all. And what was Nico by comparison? A skinny, awkward boy who could barely hold his own against a single opponent in training. The son of the god no one wanted around, with powers that made others uncomfortable. No wonder Percy pitied him. Percy reset the training program, and six more automatons rose from the floor. Again, he defeated them with seemingly effortless skill, his muscles working smoothly under sweat-slicked skin, his face alight with the joy of combat. As Nico watched from the shadows, Morpheus's words returned to him with new force: "You must steal all of Percy's power first. Then, with his defenses weakened, you could permanently change him." The idea that had seemed so monstrous earlier now took on a different shape in Nico's mind. Was it really so wrong to want equality? To take for himself the power that Percy had been gifted simply by accident of birth? Why should Percy have everything—strength, admiration, friends—while Nico had nothing? Percy finished destroying the second set of automatons and paused to catch his breath. He grabbed a towel from the bench and wiped sweat from his face and chest, his powerful muscles still pumping from exertion. He took a long drink from a water bottle, some of it spilling down his chin and neck, tracking a path down his perfect torso. The sight solidified Nico's decision. Tonight, he would begin draining Percy's power. Tonight, he would take the first step toward balancing the scales between them. Percy activated the training program for a third round, and as the automatons rose from the floor, Nico slipped away from the arena, his mind already planning for the night ahead. By the time Percy returned to the cabin, Nico would be ready. The process would begin, and soon, everything would change. He would no longer be the weak one, the pitied one. Soon, he would have all of Percy's power for himself. And then, perhaps, Percy would know how it felt to be looked down upon, to be the one everyone dismissed. To be weak. And he will finally admire and fall in love with him. The thought brought a smile to Nico's face as he disappeared into the gathering darkness.