A/N: A shout out to my wonderful beta Jewls. That girl is awesome. Just something I tried out with Nico. Hope it came out well.
Disclaimer: Don't own PJO and all that shiz.
~0~
He watches the smoke and flames drift almost lazily upwards with an impassive face and two fathomless black eyes.
Eyes that had once been a soft dark brown, so much like his mother's. Eyes so much like his sister's. But now they're nothing more than black pits that reflect hate, fear, and the beginning of madness. Eyes so much like his father's.
He flicks his hair away from his eyes and makes an impatient face, an uncommon action from the boy in black. It seems that nowadays, his face is permanently set in a way that watches time pass without the slightest difference.
Time doesn't matter to him anymore.
The boy throws in the last of his meal. An offering to the gods, they say. He always makes sure to give them the worst part.
A crow caws overhead. He twitches. A life of hard battles and other terrible things unconsciously cause him to grab for his sword. If he had been a different person, he would have chuckled or laughed at his own frayed nerves. But he isn't, so he doesn't.
The dark eyes drift back to the fire, and he watches and watches how the flames crackle and spit as he throws pieces of wood in, watches as the hot flames retell his story through hues of hateful orange and red. His mouth tightens. He doesn't need to be reminded.
He'd feel pity for himself if he could, but he can't, so he won't. And there it is, even the slightest though of pity brings back shattered and fractured dark images to his mind. Emotions broil under empty eyes that show nothing. But his body is a different matter, and he kicks the dirt in anger.
Anger that has made him massacre so many, anger that has lit the sparks in his life into hot, unquenchable flames. Anger that frightens whatever's left of the little cheerful boy that still longs for some comfort, the little boy who's drowning in his black and twisted soul.
At night he can hear the blackest shadows and darkest creatures whisper his name. The insanity plays with his mind, and he knows this, because no one, no one else can hear the awful voices.
He doesn't fear anything though, nothing, because he can't be afraid of what he's already terrified of. There is no fear in his life, because it's a horror book and he can't seem to escape the looming despair that claws at him.
They're wary and afraid for him, or of him. He can't tell the difference anymore. The say his soul's been shattered like glass. And he wishes it had been, because in truth, his soul's being burned. Burned by the same fire he's been staring at for the last hour.
But he doesn't like to dwell on these things.
He could be considered beautiful from a certain point of view, dark messy hair, a lean but firm build, and skin so white it looks translucent. But his soul's been so tarnished and so twisted into something so terrible that nothing can be considered beautiful in the boy that has forgotten how to love.
He makes sure to avoid mirrors or reflective surfaces, because he can see past the dark hair constantly falls in his eyes and the eyes as dark as midnight. He can see his soul. He can see the madness and hate that paints him black and red. And when he does catch a glimpse he goes ballistic, wild, and absolutely feral. But that doesn't help anything, in fact it only brings him closer to the ringing madness.
Nico di Angelo hates mirrors.
He won't summon Bianca anymore, because he's terrified to know what she'll think of the beast that has taken over her brother's face.
He's tipping over and he'll fall soon enough. Because one more piece of bad news, one more twist in his life, one more word impaled against him and he'll snap. Then the little boy they knew once upon a time would be gone for good. He'll go completely insane, and no words, no reason will be able to pull him out of the abyss that will close down on him.
Just like the fire that once burned high and then left the boy in the darkness…
Nico di Angelo would be gone.
~0~
Reviews are appreciated.