There were no tears streaming down Nico DiAngelo's face when he decided.
Decided what, exactly?
He wouldn't tell anyone.
This secret was his, and his only.
Nobody had to see.
At least, not until he was long gone.
It was too much for him.
He couldn't take it.
Surrounded by death.
A sister dead so long ago.
Millions more had died.
Millions have yet to die.
Would he be the death of another?
Two best friends are down in the depths of Tartarus.
Nico knows that they will not ever, ever resurface.
He would be no help to them.
The Doors of Death, he knows, will never close.
Carnage for all eternity, until there are no more souls to die.
Nico knows this.
Nico knows too much.
Nico can't tell them.
Nico won't tell them.
Nico will never tell them anything ever again.
Because of this moment.
Years of trying.
Wouldn't Bianca be proud?
No. No, she would not, he thinks.
But this is the only way out.
The only way out.
Nico knows this.
But, others would say (if only they knew), you are our last hope.
Only you can help us close the Doors!
And, if only they knew, he would tell them, No! I cannot!
But they would not listen, as always.
Nico knows this.
And he knows that to murder oneself is the only solution.
So here was, standing alone.
He raises the Stygian blade to his neck.
No, not the neck.
He pulls up the sleeve of his left arm, exposing the soft skin of his wrist.
And with a mere flick of his knife hand….