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Published:
2025-07-29
Updated:
2025-10-08
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5/?
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When the Mist Fell

Summary:

No one saw it coming.

One moment, Manhattan was Manhattan—horns blaring, crowds rushing, coffee cups in trembling hands. The next, the sky cracked. And everyone could see.

News cameras caught it. Phones streamed it. People screamed and ran, but there was nowhere to run—not from monsters that could smell fear, or from gods who didn't seem to care.

The Mist, that ancient enchantment that shielded mortals from the divine, was gone.

And the world went to war. Hope collapsed. And from the ruins, prayers began.

They prayed to the only face they had seen standing between humanity and the darkness. Old grainy footage of a boy fighting to protect others.

They called him Perseus.

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 1

POV: Alex Reyes, 21, NYC barista

Alex adjusted the straps of his backpack, earbuds snug in place, and tried not to spill coffee all over his jeans as he jogged across 5th Avenue. He was late for work. Again. Another double shift, another grumpy manager, another day wondering if his student debt would finally outweigh his will to live.

The usual.

New York was loud and busy, but predictable. Tourists, horns, flashing ads. Familiar.

Then, the billboard above the H&M store flickered. Once. Twice. And on the third blink, it didn’t come back. Not the ad, not the screen — the sky. A ripple spread across the air like someone was dragging a paintbrush through reality, peeling it back. The sky shivered and distorted. People stopped walking, phones went up in the air, a child gasped surprised, another started to cry.

Alex stood frozen. He squinted at the air above the Empire State Building where, just barely visible at first, something shimmered. At first, he thought it was a drone show. Something theatrical. Marketing. Political campaign. But then… it solidified, twisting and shining in the July sun. Marbles spires, gold trim. Huge bronze doors floating midair. A literal freaking palace. It was beautiful. It was impossible. It was just there.

Around him, the city was quiet. Horns stopped honking. Street vendors stopped yelling. Tourists (and everyone else really) were quiet, phones recording and eyes wide. Looking at the impossibility that had just appeared there.

Then came the screech.

Everyone around him flinched. A flock of pigeons — Alex could’ve sworn it had been a flock of pigeons a second ago… but not it wasn’t.

Claws. Wings. Feathers.
A woman’s face with glowing eyes and sharp looking teeth.

Alex’s cup hit the pavement.

The creature-woman-thing snarled and Alex saw a cop inside his car raise a gun and fire. Once. Twice. Three times.

The bullets hit. They didn’t bounce off. They sank in, but no visible wound formed, no blood, no sound of pain. The monster shrieked — angry— and tore through the police’s car’s roof with ease, dragging the driver out by the collar. Blood — red blood— hit the windshield.

And then more came.

Two more of those creatures hit the street. People ran, Alex didn’t. He couldn’t. His feet were glued to the pavement as his brain desperately tried to play catch-up. He was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. Because there was no way a freaking harpy was flying straight at the lady next to him. Her claws were outstretched, glinting like knives in the sun. Her wings beat the air with thunderous force, scattering paper cups and napkins and the last fragile illusion that this was all some CGI prank.

“Oh my God”, someone sobbed behind him. “Oh why God”. But God wasn’t answering.

Another harpy flew by. This time her (its?) eyes locked on him. Alex ducked, trembling. Something inside him — instinct, animal panic, some ancient ancestor’s ghost — screamed at him to run. But he couldn’t. His feet didn’t seem to hear him.

There was no framework for this. No myth, no comic book, no dream. This was raw. Real. And it was coming for him

The harpy’s scream split the air. A sound made of metal and fury and something ancient that had waited too long to be seen. She was close. Too close. Alex blinked, heart pounding. He was going to die.

And then—
A blur shot past him. A teenager — maybe thirteen or fourteen — blond hair, orange’s t-shirt, jeans, a worn backpack. In his hands, a sword. Glowing, hissing on the summer air.

The kid didn’t hesitate.
He jumped, spun, and sliced.

The monster exploded in a million specks of gold dust.

But the kid didn’t stop. Alex saw more golden dust hit the street before the kid stopped.

“Are you okay?” the teen asked

“I—I—what was that? Who are you?"

The boy grimaced. “No time. You need to go. Get inside. I was always told to get inside when monsters are around”.

He took off running, his sword flickering like a flame in the sun, disappearing in the chaos. Alex stood there, trembling, heart racing.

He didn’t know who the kid was. But as the sky above him continued to ripple, and the golden structure above the Empire State Building grew more solid, he realized something deeply terrifying: the world had been a lie. And someone had just torn off the veil.

 

POV: Lady Hecate

 

In her sacred domain, where the air buzzed with the hum of spells and the heavy weight of secrets, Hecate felt the threads of the world begin to unravel.

The Mist—her greatest gift to the mortal world—was bleeding.

She stood barefoot on an obsidian floor, surrounded by scrying pools. Every pool showed the same thing: cracks. Not in the glass. Not in the magic. In reality itself.

She whispered a spell to reinforce the weave.

It snapped in her throat like a dead vine.

A tremor ran through her. Not of fear. Of certainty.

The mortal world had seen.

She didn’t know how. A forbidden spell? A ritual forgotten? A curse triggered? Or something simpler—some tipping point finally reached, after so many centuries of silence and suppression.

She raised her hand, light sparking at her fingertips, and the air around her folded inward like silk. In the next breath, she stood in Olympus. She spoke the old invocation — the one reserved for crisis. Olympus answered.

“Well. This better be good”, said Zeus.

“The Mist is falling.”

Hermes’ voice came first, sharp with disbelief: “What do you mean, falling?”

“Exactly that,” she said. “The veil is falling. They see us now. All of us. Or they will”

She could feel the reactions ripple across the Pantheon:

Hera’s fury. Apollo’s chill unease. Ares’ restless eagerness.

Athena was the first to speak with certainty. “This may be mortal meddling. Some foolish attempt at clarity. A demigod with too much ambition, perhaps.”

“Or one of yours, Hecate.” Hera said icily. “Your bastards like to play with things they do not understand.”

“Or maybe it was you, Hecate”, came Demeter. “You were a traitor not so long ago. Maybe this is another of your tricks.”

“She’s not lying”, murmured Apollo. His golden eyes burned brighter. “I can feel it. In the way they look at the sun now. They are seeing it.”

Ares snorted. “Let them see. Let them tremble. Maybe now they’ll remember what fear of the gods feel like”.

“The mortals will not take this quietly”, Hecate said. “They will fear first. And when fear fails them… they will try to fight”.

“And fail”, said Hermes

“And die”, muttered Hera.

No one spoke after that.

Above the Empire State Building, Olympus shimmered into focus.

The age of lies was over.