Disclaimer:

The PJO universe doesn't belong to me. The plot was loosely inspired by IdeasCornicopia's story, Nico di Angelo and the Bane of the Gods (though it has completely deviated by now). The story, the way it's written, most of the incidents and some other aspects are the ones that are my own. There may be a few OCs sprinkled in later, but who knows?


A/N: Hey guys! This is AK again, here with the latest chapter of the new arc of WIR! Hope you like it!

Warning: Minor (very minor) panic attack. 'Weakness' and 'hopelessness' are mentioned, nothing too graphic.


Book One

Third Arc: Creating Cross-Currents

Chapter 10: Swords and Dummies


Thwump.

The sound of a sword partially embedded into armor.

Shlink.

The sound of metal grating upon metal.

Slash.

The sound of the opponent's head as it is thrown off their shoulders.

Thump.

The sound of a head landing on the floor to rest with several others.

Silence, disturbed only with the sound of harsh panting.

Nico snarled. He stabbed his celestial bronze practice sword into his opponent's torso.

Once.

Twice.

And once more for good measure.

Each time he pulled his sword out, a bunch of his opponent's innards flew out.

Soon, all that was left of the poor training dummy was a dented piece of metal which once bore a meek resemblance to armor, and a loose cloth bag resembling a deflated balloon, once stuffed to the brim with hay.

The few lone pieces of hay that stuck to the dummy only added to the pathetic nature of the picture.

To say Nico was frustrated would be the understatement of the year.

He threw his sword down forcefully.

His arms were burning like the pits of Hades but he paid them no heed.

He was used to worse, after all.

What bothered him was that he was weak.

He carded his fingers through his hair.

Compared to what he had been before, he was, quite frankly, pathetic.

But more than that, he was completely vulnerable.

And if that didn't terrify him, he didn't know what terror was.

One of the greatest of his few comforts had been the confidence that he could fight.

It was like a safety blanket for any demigod- the confidence that he could protect himself when things went south.

But now that he didn't have it, he felt exposed, and the warning symptoms of a panic attack made itself known.

When he realized that he was in his childhood body, he knew that he would be out of shape.

He wasn't that stupid.

But when he was faced with the Manticore, he hadn't fared half bad.

It had led him to overestimate himself.

And now, while training without the adrenaline rush, he saw the true, piteous state of his body.

The scrawny arms his opponents saw had none of the wiry muscle that allowed him to take advantage of their folly.

The skinny legs that were made to run, jump and kick started to burn at the ten minute mark.

The small stature he had used to his advantage time and again lacked the center of mass that allowed him to keep his balance.

The building blocks of his strength reduced to the clay it once was.

He had expected, to a certain extent, to be out of shape.

But he hadn't, not even once, thought that he would have to start from scratch.

He had hoped to retain at least muscle memory.

Or technical ability.

Or… anything really.

But no.

A big, resounding, no.

How is it fair?!

He felt like screaming into the chill morning air.

He flopped to the ground and held his hands in front of his face.

His palms were already bruised.

It had hardly been an hour.

The coarse cloth that was wrapped around the handle of the sword hadn't really helped.

He looked at his trembling hands and felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

He missed the smooth handle of his Stygian Iron Sword.

He missed the comfortable weight by his side.

He missed the sense of completion it gave.

He- wait.

What was that?

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Footsteps.

A steady gait and solidness.

No metallic clang to warn of Empousa, no scratch of claws against solid earth to warn of Hell hounds, no slithering to warn of the more reptilian monstrosities.

They sounded like honest flesh and bones dampened by rubber or leather.

It suggested only that the unknown being was human.

It did not mean that it was an ally.

Or safe.

Or sane.

As the footsteps came closer, he could hear the soft squish of sneakers.

Probably a demigod then.

Usually, it would be reassuring.

But during this time, the time of the Second Titan War, the time where demigod turned on demigod- it was a cold comfort.

The door to the arena opened and he stuffed his trembling hands into his pockets.

Don't show weakness if you can help it, he reminded himself.

"What are you doing?" called out a voice.

He craned his neck to see a boy coming his way.

"Who are you?" asked Nico.

"I'm Malcolm Pace of the Athena cabin," he introduced himself, "And if I'm not wrong, you are Nico."

"How did you know?"

"Saw you come out of the Sun yesterday. Annabeth told me to keep an eye out for you. So yeah, what are you doing?"

"I was training," he mumbled gesturing behind him.

The son of Athena did a double take when his eyes fell onto the row of mutilated dummies.

"I'll say," he mumbled.

His eyes were fixated onto the poor inanimate objects.

He then shook his head once and said,

"But why're you on the floor?"

"I'm- uh. I'm taking a breather."

"I see…"

"Yep."

"Okay, then... Why don't you- um, do yourself a favor and take one of the benches?"

"Too exhausted," he said, flopping backwards onto the floor again.

Malcolm seemed to be debating whether or not to continue the conversation.

He opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish.

Finally.

Someone as socially awkward as he was.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, the child of Athena seemed to decide it wasn't worth it.

The older demigod made his way towards the weapon's shed.

Nico observed him quietly.

While the fair headed boy seemed like the poster boy for discipline, there was a latent aura about him.

An aura that reminded him of a certain friend of his who was also blond and bespectacled.

A friend who had an affinity for lightning.

And somehow, this Malcolm Pace had a different feel than his sister.

If Annabeth could be compared to lightning, as unstoppable as a force of nature and nearly as precise, then Malcolm could be compared to the eye of a storm, a hair's breath away from raging, a ticking time bomb.

But as they say, every cloud has a silver lining.

With the other's sudden appearance, Nico's head cleared up a bit.

He used a few moments collect himself, focusing on the firm resistance against his back.

After a few minutes, he got to his feet and made a beeline to the next dummy in the row.

It seems like that mini-meltdown had some effect.

Nico felt a bit better.

And now, he could analyze the situation in a calm and cool manner.

He brought to mind all he had noted from this practice session of his.

He needed to train to re-build his endurance.

His stamina would build with time.

It helped that he knew the theory, even though his muscles were not familiar with the same.

And he had a long way to go if muscle memory should be gained, or as he should say, re-gained.

Once he started fighting in real combat, his instincts and reflexes will hone themselves.

What he really needed was practice.

While he wasn't aiming for perfection, he required enough skill to face the world outside Camp's borders.

And he had no intention of staying in Camp any longer than strictly necessary.

There were many reasons for his decision.

For one, there was the ghost of Minos.

Nico wasn't the Ghost King until he wrest the title away from it.

What more, he had to do it himself.

(He wasn't planning on letting that phony royal keep the title for its meager self.)

Secondly, he needed to gain experience.

Ironic as it was, he was safer with a more dangerous opponent.

When it came to such, he had the advantage- he hadn't survived for so long without taking down monsters much bigger and badder that himself.

But in the case of a supposedly 'weaker' opponent, he tends to underestimate it.

If he were to face a small range monster in the state he was in, he would probably be chopped to bits.

After he was recognized by his father as the son of Hades, if he was recognized by his father as the son of Hades, he would simply have do the same with his powers.

He would have to practice it somewhere out of sight.

But he had been there before, done it before, and got a black t-shirt for his trouble.

He knew which places he could use, and for how long.

And what do you know.

That was it.

Regaining his skills should be as easy as breathing.

It would be utterly and completely simple.

He would master the sword.

After that he would progress to other weaponry.

He really, really missed his own Stygian iron sword.

He would need it as soon as possible.

Often, he would find his hand drifting to his left hip where a phantom weight had settled, to lay his hand on the smooth handle, only to pull away with empty hands and tightness in his chest.

But he digressed.

There were other issues to be dealt with.

People might start getting suspicious when he would tire easily for no apparent reason.

The strangers, he could ignore.

Those he knew him would be the main problem.

Percy, although oblivious as always, was prone to sudden strokes of fortune (or misfortune, depending on how one looks at it).

Nico should be weary of him.

Best case scenario, with the right excuses, he would be able to convince him to help him train.

Worst case scenario, Percy would be a part of the pitch-forked crowd.

Big deal.

(Actually, it was a big deal, a very big deal, but that was a personal thing and had no relevance the matter at hand.)

Annabeth would be a bigger problem.

Best case scenario, she'd ignore him.

Worst case scenario, she would get curious.

Anyone with half a brain (which most people seemed to lack) would get suspicious if a young boy suddenly started training fanatically for no apparent reason.

And if he did not have a logical reason, it would be 'la fin' for him.

But if he played his cards right, maybe he could make it 'le fin du fin'.

He really would have to come up with some kind of a sufficient excuse.

And then there was his sister...

Argh!

He loved his sister.

He did.

But he couldn't bear to look at her now.

She now took her place as a Hunter of Artemis.

There wasn't much he could do.

If possible, she should be kept alive.

But while the Huntresses were in camp, most of his time would be spent meddling with this timeline.

When Bianca leaves for her Quest, he could only start his training and hope that whatever he did would be sufficient.

But oh!

If anyone asked about his new training regime, he could blame it on frustration at his sister leaving him.

It was plausible.

It would feel like he was cutting his heart out, but it wouldn't be forever.

This peacefulness held only until he was claimed.

He wasn't foolish enough to believe that he'd be safe.

It had taken a war and a half for his comrades to accept him.

Best bet, he had a week before he had to pack his bags and hightail it out of here.

One way or another.

Bianca or no Bianca.

This brought him back to why he had a crisis:

He still hadn't fully forgiven his sister for leaving him.

His fatal flaw was letting go of grudges after all.

Or letting go of things in general.

But one thought in particular plagued his mind.

He wouldn't have done it if he was in her place.

He hadn't done it.

He had stayed with the alliance camp rather than acting as a freelancer when Hazel had needed him.

He had stayed where almost all the people around him had hated him, so that his younger sister wasn't hated in his place.

Sure, it had gotten better with time.

He earned his fellow demigods' trust and respect as time went on.

For Hades' sake, he turned out to be one of the most influential pieces of the Alliance.

A legend, even.

But he would never ever forget the days when he had been treated like an outsider.

It had been one of the major phases of his life which molded him to be what he was that day- but he would not wish it on anyone else.

Least of all his elder sister.

And that was what awaited her if she had stayed.

A life of isolation and times of desperation and having to prove yourself time and time again...

But then again, a tough life was better than no life.

For the first time in this timeline, Nico had a creeping suspicion that his sister was going to die.

He felt bitter at the thought of his sister in the Hunt.

But it was her calling.

And she had to answer.

Even if it meant leaving him behind.

Even if it meant that she could die.

…It still hurt a lot though.


Malcolm observed CHB's newest addition from the doorway of the weapons' shed.

While it wasn't particularly unusual, it was a bit strange to have such a young child at Camp.

And he had quite a few opinons about him.

After all, one would give quite the impression if they enter Camp on Apollo's Sun chariot, or rather the 'Sun-bus', as Annabeth had taken to calling it.

With heavy bandages around their head.

Especially with the Hunters of Artemis as their co-passengers.

And the rumours.

One simply could not ignore the rumours.

One of them claimed that he had 'connections' in the Hunters' ranks.

Another one claimed that he had been healed by the Sun god Apollo himself.

Yet another claimed that he had killed a Manticore, all by himself.

It just goes to show that people will believe in just about anything you tell them.

He observed the kid with a small furrow between his eyebrows.

The technique was nowhere near flawless, and he could barely hold the sword up for more than one stroke.

He seemed to be in intense thought, and whatever he was thinking of seemed to be troubling him.

Seeing that it wasn't his place to butt in, Malcolm decided to do what he came to do.

He hefted a sword onto his shoulder and walked out of and away from the weapons shed.

He then went to the nearest dummy and started to slash holes in it.

He analyzed the situation while keeping a discreet eye on the pre-teen.

The boy spared a glance at him before stabbing the dummy over and over again.

Typical rookie.

Malcolm cringed.

Partially because of the utterly poor technique and mostly because he would not want to be in the dummy's shoes.

If he were, he would be dying slowly and in an excruciatingly painful manner-

But his death would be certain.

The child of Athena momentarily wondered if the boy knew about that particular fact before discarding the thought as utterly ridiculous.

Another surreptitious glance at the boy had him stifling a laugh.

It was not nearly as ridiculous as the sight of the boy trying to extract his sword which was jammed into a dummy.

Malcolm walked up to the dummy with long strides.

He grasped the sword with one hand and tugged it out of the dummy in a single fluid motion.

The boy immediately froze and looked at him with suspicion.

It somehow reminded him of his own younger self.

Malcolm rolled his eyes at Nico and shoved the sword handle back into the other's hands.

He stood a few paces away from the twelve year old and held his hand up.

"You must hold the hilt like this," he explained, demonstrating the grip.

The boy peered at his hand before trying it out.

He got it right the third time.

"A good grip is a part of the basic foundations of a good swordsman. If you don't have a good grip, you lose your sword. Most people underestimate the importance of a proper grip. What is the point if you know all the greatest sword techniques known to man if you have no sword? To maintain a good grip is also necessary because your wrist will begin to tire quickly without a proper grip. It will decrease your agility and technique…"

And that is how Malcolm found himself giving the newbie of CHB an impromptu training session at six thirty AM.


The day started relatively calmly- that is, relative to the last time.

There was a nagging worry for Lady Artemis in the back of his mind.

He needed to find a way to ensure the Goddess's safety.

She had been one of his most trusted allies in the war.

And she was also one of the Olympian Gods.

If she faded it would throw off the structural balance of Olympus.

After all, Hestia gave up her Olympian throne for Dionysus for a reason.

But even then, there had been complications.

If he recalled correctly, the shift of power had caused gender inequality in society, because the God to Goddess ratio in Olympus had tuned from 1:1 to 7:5.

Additionally, there had been a spike in the number of alcohol consumers and an overall depression in those who considered 'home' to be more important than 'drink'.

Another shift would most probably cause some other socio-psychological problem on earth, which they, quite frankly, would not be able to cope with.

At least, not at that point of time.

And he wasn't sure that he could just let go and trust that things would fix themselves, like it did in the other timeline.

After all, he was planning to make some pretty big changes.

He had to control them somehow.

Like how cadmium rods in nuclear reactors contain the nuclear reaction, preventing an all-out explosion- by absorbing the free, active electrons and letting only a limited number pass through.

However, Nico had no idea how he could possibly accomplish this task.

Nor did he have time to think about it with all the activities the Stoll brothers pushed him into.

After the two pranksters had heard about what happened from Thalia, they had made it their personal duty to give him the most memorable day in his life to make up for the ghastly first day of Camp he had had.

While the timing was inopportune, Nico had to admit that he appreciated the sentiment.

And that he hadn't laughed that hard in ages.

After the tour, they took him to the training area.

He went to the archery practice area and listened to the instructor.

Unlike the last time, he did have the basic knowledge of how to shoot an arrow.

Like the last time, he had not the strength.

He missed the target by a foot, but the Ares child who was the instructor said that he could be really good if he put in a bit of practice.

He caught sight of Grover as he retrieved his arrows.

The satyr was behind a bush, spying on a few Hunters talking to (or rather fighting with) a few Aphrodite kids.

Bianca was one of them, though she seemed to be trying to calm them down rather than agitate them further.

"What do you mean love is useless you-"

"Quiet, Carlen. If these cabin burning menaces do not know the joy of-"

"Oh, please. Love is so overrated-"

"Oh that's it."

"Carlen, no!"

"Oh yeah, what's the little princess- Arugh!"

One of the Aphrodite members, presumably the aforementioned Carlen, screeched like a harpy and threw herself at the Hunters. It quickly evolved into quite the cat-fight.

The Hunters ended up winning, though not without some serious battle scars.

Just then, Nico caught sight of Silena was walking towards them from the stables looking livid.

"Well, I'll say," said Silena, drawing herself up to her full height.

"I know we have our differences, but today? Today, you have crossed the line. This. Means. War."

Well, this should be interesting.


Preview:

"Okay, so now that we're all here, let's talk about today's Capture the flag,"

...'And now,' thought Nico with a grin, 'lazy evening, here I come!'

...Seems like he hadn't seen crocodile tears ever before.

..."I want to come too."

..."No, we can't," Nico found himself saying.

..."A twelve-year-old kid just what?" he cut in.

...Bianca.

...So that's where the other guard had run off to.

...Bianca looked up rather bashfully and nodded.

...No. Bianca.

It's going to be a high stakes battle next time, so tune in for chapter eleven, coming soon!


Reply to anon reviews:

eternaloblivion: Welcome to the story! I'm happy that you're enjoying it thus far. I agree entirely with your sentiments: Nico's a BAMF and his achievements could be brought out better. And time travel fics are one of my soft spots. Kronos has developed a sense of respect for Nico, it just isn't obvious/I'm glad you liked the Will of Janus. I hope that Nico's and Bianca's relationship is a bit clearer with this chapter. And don't worry, that Reynico bromance is right around the corner! Nico's a troll and in the best way! I've answered some of your queries in the world-building part of the 6th chapter of WIR:AI because they were really interesting, and the answers of the others will be revealed in the upcoming chapters. Look forward to it! (Also, the puppy eyes are unfair and you know it. I can't say no to puppy eyes... but my drafts... aah!) Thank you for reviewing!

KaneBro: Hello there! It's too bad that the polls already closed, but don't worry. The arc will be published, just a bit later than the others. Think of it this way: you're saving the best for last! As for your guess: I plead the fifth to avoid spoilers.

Matt: I'm glad that you think that he is funny! And I've announced the poll results and the reason for the poll in chapter six of WIR:AI. Check it out, if you haven't.

MisterWhite: Oh, if so, I'm glad. And yes, there is now, Solangelo ;). But I don't know if it will be endgame yet. The story has it's own mind you see. Kind of like the Labyrinth...

Guest: I like the chapter's title. It sounds interesting to pronounce. And I see that Will has been introduced. Cool beanz./ Thank you! I chose it because Aquila likes German, and I felt that 'first sight' didn't have the impact that I'd wanted.

Guest: Lovely chapter. Please update soon! (sorry for the short review)/ Thank you! I've updated now, and surprisingly on schedule! And no review is too short, don't fret.

But seriously guys, you don't know how happy it makes me when you review. Every time it pops up, I smile like a loon for at least a day. It doesn't matter how short you think it is, how nonsensical you think it is, or how curt you think it is- it makes me ecstatic.

A keyboard smash will make my day!

So don't hesitate to hit me up if you have anything to say.

(ah, that rhymed!)


A/N: That's it for the day! How was it? Did you like my theory on the repercussions of the Olympian power-shift? Don't forget to review!