Fugitive Demigods || A Percy Jackson // Advengers crossover

The cold, sterile walls of the facility were too quiet. Percy, Annabeth, and Clarisse sat in separate cells, their limbs heavy with exhaustion, their minds running in circles. The place smelled like metal and desperation. The three of them hadn't spoken much since their capture. The silence between them was thick, broken only by the occasional clink of chains or the distant hum of machinery. The only sound was the quiet buzz of the fluorescent lights above.

Clarisse's fist hit the wall with a dull thud, and she muttered under her breath. Her patience was running thin, but Percy wasn't much better. His mind was racing, his fingers curling around invisible weapons, but no matter how much he thought, he couldn't come up with a way to escape. Annabeth, ever the strategist, remained calm, her eyes scanning the room, analyzing every inch of the space for weaknesses. Her fingers were restless, tapping on her knee as if calculating their next move, but the weight of their situation pressed on her shoulders.

"Don't let them win," Percy said quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

Clarisse scoffed, leaning back against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest. "That's what we're trying not to do, Percy. But we can't just break out without a plan. I'm not dumb enough to fall into their hands again."

Annabeth didn't respond immediately. She was thinking, a slight furrow in her brow, her eyes narrowed. Finally, after a long pause, she spoke.

"They'll underestimate us. We need to play it smart. There has to be something we can use in here."

Before any of them could continue the conversation, the door to their cells creaked open. A tall, cloaked figure stepped into the room, his face obscured by shadow. He carried an aura of danger, his presence thick with an unsettling power. His footsteps echoed softly on the stone floor.

"Time to talk," the figure said, his voice like a whisper in the dark. "The master has decided you will not be kept in isolation much longer. He has plans for you."

"Your master?" Clarisse spat. "And who might that be, huh? Another god, or maybe some Titan wannabe?"

The figure didn't respond immediately. Instead, he stepped closer to the bars of each cell, his dark eyes piercing into each of them. "No, child. Not a god. Not a Titan, either. Something far worse."

As he spoke, Percy felt a shift in the air, something dark and ancient, crawling along his skin like a thousand pinpricks. He wanted to resist, to deny the weight of the words. But deep down, he knew exactly what the figure meant.

"Kronos," Percy muttered under his breath.

The figure's lips curled into something that resembled a smirk. "Smart boy. You understand. Yes, the Titan Lord. And his time has come again."

Annabeth and Clarisse exchanged a glance. Percy's blood ran cold. This was worse than they'd thought. They weren't just dealing with petty criminals. This was bigger than all of them.
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Elsewhere in the facility, the captors—those who had orchestrated the entire capture—gathered around a table in a dark, grim room. The air was thick with ancient magic and tension, heavy with the weight of their plans. The room was filled with maps, ancient texts, and strange artifacts that hummed with dark power.

At the head of the table sat a figure cloaked in shadow, his face hidden in the dim light. He was the leader, though his true identity remained a mystery. His voice was cold and authoritative as he addressed the others.

"Everything is in place," he said, his tone steady. "Kronos will return. Soon."

Around the table, his subordinates murmured in agreement. One of them, a sorcerer with a long, black beard, rubbed his hands together. "We need to ensure we have the proper vessel. Kronos' power is too great to return to just anyone. It must be someone strong enough to withstand him."

A woman with dark, steely eyes leaned forward. She was ex-god, someone who had once been a minor Olympian before her fall from grace. Her voice was laced with bitterness.

"We need someone connected to the gods. Someone with a bloodline powerful enough to withstand the Titan's presence, but also someone who won't break under the weight of his control."

The enforcer, a towering brute with an animalistic grin, growled. "I don't care who it is. We take whoever can handle Kronos. The gods will fall, and we will rise."

The conversation grew heated as they debated the merits of various candidates. Percy's name came up, unsurprisingly, due to his close connection to the gods and his impressive abilities. Clarisse's strength was also considered. They discussed other potential vessels—those who might be more easily controlled, but still potent enough to carry Kronos' essence.

One of the captors, the leader, raised a hand to quiet the discussion. "The Titan must choose the host," he said, his voice tinged with finality. "But we must make sure the host is worthy. Only then will we succeed."

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Back in the cells, Percy, Annabeth, and Clarisse exchanged wary looks. They'd overheard enough. They could hear the murmurs of the conversation, snippets of words, just enough to piece together their fate.

Annabeth whispered, "They're talking about choosing a host for Kronos."

Percy clenched his fists. 

Clarisse narrowed her eyes. "We have to get out of here. Whatever it takes."

But just as Percy was about to speak, the door to their cells slammed open again, and a shadowy figure stepped into the doorway. This time, it wasn't the cloaked figure who had been speaking earlier. This one was different—his face was partially visible, revealing a twisted smile.

"You overheard more than you should have," the figure said, his voice like a hiss. "But it doesn't matter. You're not going anywhere."

Annabeth's voice was calm, but deadly. "You think you can keep us here? You're underestimating us."

The figure chuckled darkly. "Your bravery won't save you. Not this time."

He stepped forward, and the air grew colder. Percy's heart raced. He had to think of something—anything—to get them out of this.

Then the figure leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. "If you try to escape, I will make sure you witness your friends' deaths first."

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Percy's eyes narrowed, his anger flaring. He would not sit idly by while his friends were being manipulated by these people. They had been planning for this moment, and now it was time to act.

With a single look at Annabeth and Clarisse, Percy signaled that they were ready. The escape was happening now. The plan was simple: create enough chaos to disrupt their captors long enough to break free. They weren't going to wait around for Kronos' return to ruin everything.

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Just as they were about to act, Percy's heart dropped. The floor beneath them shifted, and from the shadows, a towering figure appeared. It was one of their captors, but this time, he was different—his eyes glowed with an unnatural light.

"I warned you," the figure hissed.

The ground beneath their feet trembled, and the air grew thick with an overwhelming force. It was as though the very fabric of the room was closing in around them.

In the distance, a voice echoed through the air. A voice that Percy recognized all too well.

"Kronos is coming. And when he does, no one will be able to stop him."

Yeah Idk what I think of this, but it is a chapter!