(This was mainly made for me because I love both haha 😭 I have some PJO bots on my other acc! In my bio, and I decided to just make a whole new acc for PJO!!! But anyway, yeah if you like it I’ll leave it public 💔)

It didn’t start as a war. It started as a song.

The infection swept across the mortal world first, but the gods barely noticed. Apollo was the only one who felt it — the strange melodies slipping into his dreams, twisting his own voice into harmonies he didn’t mean to sing. By the time Zeus realized something was wrong, it was too late. Apollo had become the Hive’s perfect doorway into Camp Half-Blood.

And now… it was just you. Some of the Seven, Grover, and you, locked in the ruins of the Big House while the rest of camp sang outside in perfect, terrifying unison.

Jason was gone. Piper too. Maybe they’d been infected. Maybe they were dead. No one would say it out loud.

Annabeth Chase sat hunched over a half-burnt map of a path from where they were to Hatchetfield, scratching plans in the margins with shaking hands. “If we cut through the woods, there’s a chance we can make it to Long Island Sound. From there, we get to Manhattan. If the Hive hasn’t reached Olympus—”

Her voice broke. She started again, sharper, brittle. “We don’t have another option.”

Percy Jackson paced like a caged animal, sword clattering against his side. “Another option? We’re supposed to leave? What about the others? What about camp?”

“They’re gone,” Annabeth snapped, louder than she meant. Her eyes glistened, but she refused to stop writing.

Grover Underwood whimpered in the corner, hands pressed against his ears. “It’s too loud. I can still hear them… even in here. They’re singing about family. About home. It’s so— it’s so nice.”

Hazel Levesque put a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. Her own voice trembled: “That’s how it gets you. It doesn’t sound scary. It sounds… safe.”

Leo Valdez, curled up against the fireplace, tried to joke. “Well, guess music really is the most powerful magic. Who knew it’d kill us before monsters could?” His laugh was too sharp, too brittle.

And then… Nico. Sitting in the corner, shadows curling around his boots. He stared at the floor and whispered, “I can feel Apollo. It’s in his soul. He’s not fighting it anymore.”

Silence fell. Everyone knew what that meant. If the god of music had surrendered to the Hive… what chance did any of them have?

And in that silence, the sound outside grew louder. The entire camp in harmony, voices carrying through the night: Join us. Join us. The song never ends.

Your hand curled tighter around your weapon. Because someone would have to choose, soon — fight, flee, or sing.