AN: Hey guys! I'm glad I got this chapter out! It was a little harder to write because most of it is exposition—but it was still fun nonetheless. I noticed that the text looks much better if you set the Story Width to ¾ instead of Full! It makes it look like it's formatted like an actual story instead of scrawled out onto a large page.


The Horrible Darkness


Amy slowly reached for her blades as a pair of red eyes glared out at her from within shadows. Cold sweat trickled down her brow as her fingers wrapped around the hilt. The eyes moved forward and from the shadows slinked a massive black wolf. Its mangy hide ran wild—hairs pointing haphazardly as if weathered from a mighty storm. The wolf's lips were pulled back in an ominous snarl, revealing razor-sharp fangs. Bloody teeth glistened in the bright moonlight like pearls dipped in red. They looked sharp enough to cut through metal. The wolf growled softly, prowling forward a step—then another. Its paws made a muffled noise against the wooden floors in Amy's cabin. Behind the wolf, Amy noticed something. A body? Pale legs protruded out from the shadows. Blood pooled around the corpse—clinging to the body's faded pallor and staining the floor with a sickening scarlet. There was so much blood. Amy's eyes darted around the room, looking for the other daughters of Athena.

Nothing but vacant cots. A deep primal fear panged within Amy's chest. Another step. The wolf was nearing the edge of her bed now. Amy shifted to a sitting position now, the cover of her blanket collapsing like a gentle wave. It fell in a mute pile on her lap. Frigid air suddenly swamped her bare body as she shivered in her night gown. The silence was killing her. It created an anticipation she never knew could exist. She wished that something—something would just rupture the incessant stillness in the air. Anything to draw the beast's attention away from her. Then, maybe—just maybe, she would have a chance. The upper hand. However, in the dead of night, Amy was alone.

She felt a steely resolve form within her—a flurry of emotions built upon a combination of fear and rage. A mixture that could only exist when was pressed back against a wall. Feeling braver, Amy pushed her thumb against the hilt of the dagger. It popped out, making a small sound. The wolf's low growl suddenly turned to a deafening snarl—its eyes suddenly wrought with an unbearable intensity. It pounced. Amy drew her dagger and thrusted.

The wolf's jaws opened wide. Her eyes shut closed with anticipation.

Then, nothing. Amy felt warmth spread across her face. She painted heavily, feeling her heart throbbing as if it was pumped full and was overflowing. Large, horrendous fangs froze still an inch away from her eyes. A rancid smell came from deeper within the gaping mouth. Amy exhaled shakily. The wolf slowly tilted and fell to its side—the brightness in its eyes fading. Amy's dagger was crimson. She wiped at her face. There was red everywhere. Shocked, Amy stumbled out of bed, tripping over her sheets. She was deathly cold all over. Her gaze turned to the corpse in the dark. Amy lurched slowly toward it.

The silence seemed even more deafening now. Amy could not shake the dread that had formed in her chest. It became worse as she neared the body. Her hands shook with anticipation. Her fingers wrapped around a leg and pulled. The body slid with a sickening squelch, leaving behind a trail of red. Amy gasped. Her heart froze. Ice flooded her veins like a sick poison. Her hand shot up to her mouth as she sank to the floor. Her other hand reached out to caress the corpse's face.

Nico. Amy felt tears brimming, threatening to overflow. But they did not come—fogging her vision with an opaque, watery film. He lay pale—white, even, amongst the full moon's splendor. His bare chest lay open to the air. Gory lesions painted his body in a shimmering warm layer as if one had splashed a bucket of paint across his body. Etched into his lifeless face was an eternal grimace—a pain not much different from the piercing gaze he had when she had first met him—devoid of emotion. It killed her to see him this way—the look on his face. It spoke a million words to her. She felt a horror creep over her like blanket. It sent chills down her back. Seeing Nico's face like this again stole her breath. Her chest hurt as if someone was gripping it tightly and squeezing. Why did he have to look like this? Why did he have to seem as if he were suddenly carrying the world's problems as his own? What happened to sharing these burdens with her? The face of the body she was staring at was not the Nico that loved her.

The coldness disappeared. Her hands warmed. Her face flushed. All of a sudden, she felt a rush of sorrow swarm her, overtaking her senses. A franticness took control of her body. She found herself shaking his body desperately. His head wobbled loosely.

"Nico?" Her voice came out pleadingly. "Nico. Please. Please."

Her hands fumbled clumsily across his face. "Nico," she sputtered. "S—Someone. Somebody! SOMEBODY! HELP!" Amy looked around frantically, hoping that by some miracle someone would show up with nectar in hand.

Hot tears rushed down her face uncontrollably as she began sobbing. Amy found herself rushing across the room toward the medicine cabinet. Her hands rattled inside the cabinet as medications fell from their shelves one-by-one like drops of rain in a raging storm. Her fingers clamped around rubbing alcohol and bandages. And then she was by Nico's side again, shakily pouring the alcohol across his body. It spilled along his stomach, washing the drying blood away. Her hands wiped at the blood with towels. There was so much everywhere. It just kept coming . . .

Her breaths came staggered. Her chest convulsed tightly.

"N—Nic—Nico," she stammered, struggling to get his name out between gasping. The mess on his body was getting worse. Scarlet streaks stained his body with every wipe.

A hand grabbed at her arm. Amy's head snapped upward. Dark-brown, lifeless eyes pierced into hers. Disheveled black hair lay matted across his forehead. His lips curled into a sickening smile. Shimmering red coated his teeth. Another hand pressed on Amy's back, bringing her forward to the face. Nico.

"Amy," he croaked. "You promised. You promised, Amy!"

Nico's hands clawed at Amy's clothes, pawing for her. A finger hooked around her collar, tearing her nightgown. She stumbled backwards. Nico got up and began stalking towards her, limping on his right leg. He was hunched over lightly, his left shoulder dipping forward.

"Amy," he wheezed. "Didn't you say my burdens were yours?"

Nico coughed, staggering against the bed. His head dropped as viscous liquid drooled from his lips. Amy's heart skipped a beat. His head snapped up like a whip, and he resumed stalking towards her. Amy took another step backwards, bumping into the wall behind her.

"Nico," she pleaded.

He took another step. "Share my burdens! Haha!" He cackled. His hands groped outwards, clinging to her shoulders as he heaved himself closer. He was close—so close she could feel him pressed up against her body. "I'm dead!"

He paused, then bared his teeth.

"How can you share my death?" He said, smiling insidiously.


Amy shot up in bed, her heart pounding. Her eyes raced across the room, glazing over the corner in the room Nico had cornered her. Around her dozed Athena's daughters. Moonlight spilled into the room from a top slit along the top of the cabin, casting a rectangular silver luminescence across the floor. Amy traced her collar with a finger, remembering the rip her gown had made when Nico clawed at her.

His eyes filled her mind devilishly. Red eyes stalked everywhere she looked. He laughed in the darkness—cackling a horrifying cackle. It pierced the still air. Amy pressed her palms to her ears.

It's not real. It's not real, she told herself. It was a dream. Just a dream. One stupid nightmare.

His laugh rang clearly in her ear. Her palms pushed in harder. Just a stupid dream.

"Amy," he whispered, almost whining. "Amy. Why did you let me die?" He's not real.

His voice grew harsher. "Why didn't you die for me? Did you . . . lie?"

"No," Amy whispered back. Nico . . .

"But, Amy," he said, the whining tone coming back almost sweetly. "I'm dead!"

"AND YOU!" His voice grew loud. "YOU ARE STILL ALIVE! WHY AM I DEAD? WHY DID YOU LET ME DIE? YOU BROKE IT! YOU BROKE YOUR PROMISE, AMY!"

"No, Nico—that's not true. You're not—"

"WHAT?" His voice shook the cabin violently. "WHAT AM I? TELL ME!"

"Stop, Nico—please—"

"WHY AM I DEAD?" Glass shattered around her in a thunderous, terrifying cry. The moonlight turned an eerie mute red.

Amy shook her head fervently, biting back tears. "No. NO! Nico. Stop. STOP!" She closed her eyes tightly, wishing with all her might he would leave her alone. This wasn't him. This wasn't her Nico. The Nico she knew was kind. He would never be like this—not her Nico. This was something else—a demon—an incarnate evil. This could never be him. She waited for his screams—for him to shriek at him and tell him everything was her fault. For him to tell her that she'd needed to share in his death. She felt her palms press inwards so tightly that her ears burned, vacillating between deep soreness and sharp pain.

Silence.

Amy opened her eyes warily. Bright light flooded her. The moonlight dancing along the floor was gone—cast away by an overwhelming yellow. The cabin was aloof in a wonderful splendor—the shadows slinking back in defeat. The Athena-painted windows around still held up against the beautiful moon. Standing around her were her sisters, dressed in pajamas. Their faces were wrought with fear. Exhaustion tugged at their faces.

"Amy?" One girl asked, stepping forward and rubbing Amy's shoulders. "Are you okay? Christie saw everything—said you looked like you were talking to someone. Hell, I woke up to you yelling. Did something happen?"

Amy shook her head. Telling would only make things worse. "No," she said, flashing a small smile. "Just a bad dream."

The frown on the girl's face eased, but the concern in her eyes remained. "Some dream, huh?"

Christie came forward—the girl who had witnessed everything—the gray in her eyes studying Amy scrupulously. They scanned over her assiduously, who felt extremely naked and vulnerable under their scrutinizing gaze. Amy wondered how much Christie had heard—or seen—of her nightmare. The dream had bled into reality and Amy did not know just how much of it had been real. The voice had seemed so real—so close to her—as if it was within her. Amy flushed, suddenly realizing just how many conclusions one could possibly draw upon hearing her screaming another boy's name in the dark—telling him to stop. She replayed her words mentally: Nico. Stop. STOP!

Oh gods, she realized, in horror. Any sane person would have assumed she was—that they were—or at the very least Nico was . . . Amy turned scarlet at the thought of Nico pressed intimately against her, the heat of his skin coursing through her fingertips as she ran them along his muscular arms—their bodies entwined under bedsheets. Her heart pounded deafeningly. Well, that wasn't something she didn't want, at least. That much she knew. Feeling even more abashed, Amy suppressed the overwhelming desire to bury herself into a deep heap of blankets and remain there for the rest of the year.

Under a thin sheet. Yes, that sounded perfect. She could run the camp from there, too. Drawing plans. Planning the plans. Organizing food. Everything could be feasible with the right setup. She could even have satyrs bring in food and dine in. Yes, that sounded great—perfect, actually. That could work. The more Amy contemplated the notion the more appealing it became. But, a nagging voice in her head irritatingly reminded her that the end of the year was just around the corner, making cowering under the blankets not a very long enterprise. Or a very effective one at that—to which Amy thought of perhaps even extending into the next year.

What am I even thinking about? She thought bitterly. This whole thing is so ridiculous.

"You honestly scared the living shit out of me," Christie said, guffawing. Amy felt relief course through her veins as the scrutiny from Christie's piercing gaze lifted. "Can you imagine what I was thinking when you started going off like that? I was on my phone and everything—just relaxing—when you just started going at it. I didn't even hear what you were even talking about—spouting off nonsense like that. I legit thought you were getting exorcised or something. Like I was thinking to myself—what the hell do I do? Can you imagine if I ran to the restroom to get water to toss on you and it just started sizzling? I'd shit myself."

Everyone laughed, filling the room with a much-appreciated mirth.

"But yeah," Christine continued. "Shitty dream?"

"You won't believe it." Amy sighed, pulling her blankets up. Having the blankets cradling her made calmed her racing pulse. "I'm fine, really, guys. You're all the best. I'm sorry I woke you guys up for something so silly."

The girl who had spoken to her first—Liz—smiled warmly. Her hands gave Amy a tight squeeze. "Hey, it's not silly. We all have bad dreams. Let us know if you need anything?"

"If it's not too much trouble," Amy said, feeling better. She scrunched her nose.

"Honestly, if anything I thought it sounded like you were having a really good dream," Christie said, grinning mischievously and prodding her elbow at Amy's arms. The heat that had slowly begun dissipating from Amy's face suddenly flooded her cheeks again. Feeling her face glowing, she gripped her blankets and twisted them tightly, bringing them up to her lips.

"I—Uh," she sputtered, scrambling for words from behind her blanket. "It really wasn't—well, I mean there was nothing like—" They fell out clumsily, staggering over one another.

"Relax, Amy," Liz said, rolling her eyes. "Christie's just screwing with you. We know it wasn't anything like that. But, if it were," she continued, her voice drawling out. "Then someone's being really dirty." She winked slyly at Amy.

"Liz!" Amy exclaimed, betrayed. She began grabbing pillows and throwing them at Liz, who cowered mockingly under the ensuing barrage. Happy laughter flooded the cabin as Liz ran to the other side of the bed under the fire of fluffy pillows. Their confrontation ended when Amy threw her last pillow and pulled Liz close to her in a warm embrace.

"You guys are such assholes!" Amy said, breathlessly. "But you're wonderful assholes."

"Especially you," Amy continued, kissing the top of Liz's head before letting go. "Now," she added. "It's still really early. Let's go back to sleep?"

The girls nodded in agreement, smiles beaming from their faces. As they turned to leave, Christie's voice boomed from the end of the cabin—far from Amy's reaches.

"Sure—or, at the very least we know someone's going to sleep well."

Amy rolled her eyes as the girls broke into a roaring, yet mellifluous laughter—their levity sonorous amongst the cabin's thick walls.

"I don't know how I deal with you guys," she said, grabbing ahold of her sheets and turning over.


The sound of birds chirping gently lulled Annabeth out of her sleep. Her eyes fluttered open, taking in the pulchritudinous forest. Hazy yellow light spread across the forest clearing, bounding off the wild, vibrant vegetation. Around her stretched tall trees, spanning to the sky as if reaching up to touch the heavens. Cool, crisp air chilled Annabeth's body as she inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with a harmonious freshness. It was nice here in the forest—far away from the busy streets of New York and Camp Half-Blood, which awoke in cacophony every sunrise and cradled the sun in a loving embrace every evening until disappearing over the edge of the world to be renewed every twilight like clockwork. She yawned as she stretched—arcing her body as she felt the muscles on her body pull taut, and then loosen.

Warmness flooded her body as she sprawled back onto the grass, closing her eyes and feeling the soft grass coddle her unrequitedly. A fly buzzed near her ear. She slapped it away.

I guess not even nature can be perfect, she thought to herself.

"Mornin' sleepy," a voice called from over her. She opened her eyes to find Percy standing over her, his gaze peering down from above like a towering titan. He wore a white V-neck t-shirt and black jeans that cuffed around his ankle. His hair was in a mess as if he had been running a hand through his hair. "'bout time you woke up."

Annabeth exhaled. Feeling the air passing through her body felt soothing. "Stop. You're ruining the vibe."

Yawning again, she asked, "how long have you been up?"

"About an hour or so," Percy answered. "I'm a bit of an early bird."

I know, Annabeth recalled. She colored at her familiarity with that detail. "What time is it?" She asked.

"Eight. Hey, Nico's still knocked out. We can screw with him if you want—the guy's a pretty deep sleeper."

Annabeth couldn't help but smile at the thought of a bewildered Nico—disheveled hair and all—waking up to find all his belongings missing along with his companions. The ensuing chaos would be well worth the chance to prank the son of Hades, who had apparently self-proclaimed it his life's enterprise to plague her life with incessant antics. She recalled the time that he had not only reversed the labels for hot and cold on her shower, but also replaced the entire knob so it would only work if she pulled on the knob instead of pushing it in.

She had spent the following minutes naked, attempting to procure water from the spout—only to vacillate between freezing and scalding when it finally began spraying spurts of water. She remembered the look on Nico's face when she exited the shower in her towel. He had been sitting on her bed, his face etched with the silliest look she had ever seen. Percy had been there, too—a co-conspirator to an unforgivable crime—barely able to conceal a smirk.

But, as much as she wanted to see the priceless look on Nico's face upon finding himself utterly alone in the middle of nowhere—a prize she would gladly treasure forever—Annabeth knew there was a more important matter that demanded her utmost attention. A girl's brother life was at stake—if he was even alive. Annabeth had held her tongue when Amy first told her of the girl's request, not wanting to condemn the girl's brother to certain abandonment. If he was alive and Annabeth doomed his rescue, it alone would be her perpetual burden to bear. So, here she was, searching through the woods on some expeditionary rescue team alongside her best friends.

And it was the best thing that had happened to her in a long time.

"No," she said, biting her lip and bumping Percy's leg reproachfully. "We're not on vacation or something, dummy."

Percy sighed. "You're right," he said, disappointment clouding his face. "But promise me we'll get him. Promise. That asshole got me good yesterday and I've just been thinking of so many ways to get him back."

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "I promise to be a part of your little stupid prank war," she said, unable to keep herself from grinning. Percy laughed, coming around to her front and holding his hand out for her to take it. When she did, he pulled her up.

"There's still hope for you yet, Annabeth," he said laughing. She rolled her eyes again.

"Let's just go wake that lazy ass up," she said, circling around a tree and finding Nico flopped face-down on the other side. His mouth was ajar. A blade of grass waved like the ebb and flow of a tide with his every breath. His black shirt was rumpled heavily—slightly pushed up and revealing his backside. Even with just the side of his face visible to her, Annabeth could gleam a glimpse of the young demigod's vulnerability that nestled inside him. Despite his trials and horrors, he would always shelter that softness in him.

At least, Annabeth hoped so. The three of them had suffered through countless ordeals together. And though they had overcome all obstacles, Annabeth felt that the challenges had been chipping away at her's and Percy's innocence like marble statues under interminable chiseling. Years of death and fighting had taken its toll on the pair of them—yet none of it seemed to trouble Nico in the slightest. She wondered if it was due to his lineage. Perhaps the son of the dead could not feel the same type of remorse she and Percy felt. It was his duty, after all, to ensure the dead stayed dead and the living prepared for the afterlife.

But, no—that couldn't be it. Nico disregarded duty when it came to Percy. When it came to friends. What he did for Percy irrevocably that he cared for his friends. That he was even willing to betray who he was at his very core to safeguard those he loved from harm. His camaraderie was undeniable. No one could refuse him that honor.

However, it was exactly because of his actions that Annabeth worried about him so. It wasn't natural for a demigod of his nature to rebel against a natural tendency. Nico existed for the sole purpose of enforcing the rules that governed the living from the dead. He ensured that the world remained harmonious—at peace with itself—amidst the chaotic humdrum of life. The one entity that ensured a consistency in a world where anarchy ran rampant in all corners of the world. And the fact that he broke this sacred covenant, therefore disrupting the balance of the entire world, frightened Annabeth. There was no way Nico could be at peace when he had knowingly shattered the foundations of his existence. Somewhere, deep down inside, Annabeth felt an insufferable apprehension frothing. It stewed with anticipation, lurching in her stomach. She'd never given Percy's return much reflection—having been overjoyed with seeing him standing in front of her. Living, breathing. Warm. Her Percy. Despite his faded memories, he was still the Percy she knew. His laugh. His jokes. The seriousness that shone in his eyes when people were in danger. They were all him.

And so, she'd never given it a second thought—thinking that she would be taking him for granted if she did. But, for some odd reason Annabeth found herself suddenly musing over the minutiae of Percy's return from the dead. If there was one thing she was certain about the Greek world they lived in it was that nothing was ever given for free. All things came at a price. And the price for bringing a loved one back from the dead? Annabeth shuddered at the thought of it and hoped with the entirety of her soul that it did not take a terrible toll on Nico.

She bent down, her hands resting on her knees. Then, with a hand, she reached out and prodded Nico with a finger. "Nico?" She asked quietly. She shook his shoulder. Nico muttered something unintelligible.

"Nico?" She asked again, a little louder. Nico moaned, flipping over onto his back.

"Amy . . .," he muttered, swatting at her leg. Annabeth smiled.

"No, it's me. Annabeth," she corrected, nudging him again. "Nico?"

"Oh, for gods' sake," Percy groaned. "Kick him or something. He's literally dead in his sleep. Get it? Because he's the son of the dead?"

Annabeth put a hand to her forehead as if she'd suddenly experiencing a severe migraine. She smiled in spite of herself. Stupid Percy.

"You know," she said, sighing, her voice reverberating with mock disappointment. "You haven't actually said something that bad in a really, really long time. That was actually just facepalm worthy."

"Was it?" Percy said, proudly. "I thought it was a pretty clever joke."

"Percy, that was fucking horrible," Nico muttered abruptly. "It was so fucking bad that I woke up to it."

Annabeth and Percy looked at each other in shock and erupted into howls of laughter. Percy, who was leaned against the trunk of a tree, slouched up against it as his legs gave out. Annabeth, who had already fallen onto the ground, reached out to rub Nico's shoulder as if to ply him with appreciation of his well-timed riposte. Her eyes brimmed with tears as her stomach continued to convulse in troves. The pair of them went on for a long time until they lay their—each on the ground—panting heavily as Nico stood.

"Honestly, you two are ridiculous. Can't a guy get a good rest?" He said, bitterly. "We've been walking for ages my feet are starting to hurt."

"Oh, quit your crying," Percy managed between breaths. "You've been sleeping for ages. Any more and poor Prometheus is going to have to go through his liver twice before you wake up."

Percy stood, leaning up against the tree for support. He exhaled deeply, still chuckling mid-breath, then said, "Anyways, we've gotta find that kid before—"

A twig snapped nearby. The three of them turned their heads sharply to the source. It had come from somewhere beyond a cluster of dense brushes, far out of sight. The mirth in the air dissipated as if sucked away to another world.

"Stay here," Annabeth said quietly, fingering her sword. She crept forward slowly, staying close to the ground like a predator stalking its prey. Her breaths came silently through her mouth as it lay ajar. Annabeth neared the first brush and pushed it aside with her freehand and proceeded warily. The frail branches on the brush crackled as she pushed through them. She felt Nico and Percy following closely behind.

Then, as Annabeth neared a thicker hedge, she spied a dark shape tussling on the floor. An animal? She couldn't tell. It cradled back and forth like a newborn. Taking another step forward, Annabeth brushed aside the branches and peered more closely—finally able to observe it clearly. Dark, muted blue eyes pierced into her own as the shape turned to face her. It screeched loudly and stood. It was taller than Annabeth by at least a few inches. Gashes ran down along its side, but no blood streamed from the gaping wounds.

No, Annabeth thought. That's not right.

It was the camper—Harry, the one they had been searching for—in a mangled mess. Harry's grimy brown hair clung to his forehead as he swayed back and forth intoxicatedly. His clothes glued to his body in tattered remains as if he had been mauled by a wild beast. Mud clung to his arms and legs, caking as it basked in the warm morning sunlight. He looked like nothing Annabeth had ever seen before. It was as if something primordial had consumed him. There was a rabid aura about him. Annabeth felt there nothing more he wanted than to tear her apart limb from limb.

"Back!" Annabeth yelled, stumbling backwards out of the hedges. "Back up!"

In a flash, Harry leaped forward inhumanely, propelling himself over the hedge-line. Annabeth fell back quickly alongside Percy and Nico. The three of them stood apart from one another evenly—Annabeth between Nico and Percy, who stood on her left and right. They backtracked slowly as Harry began advancing methodically. He panted heavily as if out of breath.

"What do we do?" Percy growled, sword in hand. "Do we kill him?"

"He looks as good as dead," Nico joked, though his face was tightened in a worrisome grimace. "Why don't I do my job for once and kill him?"

"No," Annabeth said, unsheathing her sword. Its sheen glared brightly into her eyes for a brief moment as it caught ahold of daylight. She held it steady in her right hand. Sweat trickled down her face as Harry stalked his way forward, pushing them back into a grove circumscribing a spacious clearing. Light here was the brightest, casting the world in a flourish of dazzling beauty. Harry looked oddly out of place as he stepped into the clearing with them—the darkness around him bubbling like an invisible shield.

"We've gotta bring him back to Amy," Annabeth continued. "I've never seen anything like this before. She's going to want to know why this happened."

"Are you volunteering, then, Annabeth?" Nico said, facetiously. "He looks likes you the best. I would volunteer, but I don't have boobs—and I'm pretty sure he's into that sort of thing."

"You know I can take him," she said, breathlessly. Her eyes remained fixated on the hulking Harry, who almost seemed rapt with a bloodlust fervor. "I—"

Harry exploded in a sprint, closing the distance before she could finish. He was much faster than she had anticipated. His hands wrapped around a stained hilt near his waist and swung outward. The sword resonated mellifluously as it connected with Annabeth's blade. Her blade faltered, and their blades followed through to their sides. Sparks scattered into the grass. For a moment, Annabeth was stunned by the amount of force pressed up against her blade. Her teeth gritted as she swung upward to block his next swing—redirecting it so that their blades ended up to the sides again. She'd never felt such ferocity from a foe before. Percy and Nico, yes, but never from an adversary. Her sword felt extraordinarily sluggish compared to Harry's agile barrage. She was barely able to defend against the next attack again—feeling the weight of his attacks forcing her to secede ground.

Roars erupted from her sides as Nico and Percy raced forward, slashing at Harry's limbs. Blood sprayed across flowers as their blades connected with flesh. Harry growled menacingly, backhanding Nico with the pummel of his sword and then stabbing smartly at Percy's direction. Percy rolled behind Harry and swung his sword, lacerating Harry's back. Nico, who had stumbled backwards from Harry's blow and was bleeding from his nose, grabbed at Harry's shoulder and punched him in the face. The noise made a sickening crunch as his knuckles connected with cheekbone. Harry staggered to the side.

Annabeth took her opportunity and darted forward, swinging her sword upward. The blow connected with Harry's blade—but before he could recover, Annabeth followed with another upward blow from the other side. Harry stumbled backwards as he leaned back to dodge the blow. Following through with her momentum, Annabeth continued her fusillade—striking from above this time. Harry held his sword out to block it—crumbling to the ground under the force of her blow and his wounds. His sword shot out of his hands under the pressure of the attack, clattering mutely on the grass. Annabeth's left hand shot out, connecting with his face.

Harry fell back onto the floor—his ragged breathing convulsing as blood clotted around his mouth.

"Fucker," Nico retorted, spitting out blood. "I thought for sure Percy and I had him when we both got him. But he took it like a champ and wrecked me."

A stony-faced Percy came up from Nico's side. "We're lucky there were three of us. I think if I had to fight him alone he'd be pretty hard."

Annabeth remained wordless—consumed by the sight that lay before her. What had made Harry this way? The darkness around him remained unchanged. Even now, he still looked like a rabid animal that had ventured out from the forest. A subdued wild animal, she thought. Yes, that was what described him best. There was something feral about the Harry that lay before her. It troubled her—gnawing at her chest with deadly trepidation as he wormed on the ground, soaking the ground in a disgusting crimson.

"Let's tie him up and get him back to camp," she said finally. "Amy will know what to do with him."

"At least he's not dead," Percy said.

"I'm not sure if this is much better than death," Nico muttered, wiping at his nose. "I don't even know what to call this. It's like the original Harry was replaced by a demon or something."

Annabeth shrugged. "Whatever it is, I'm sure we'll be able to find some sort of record about this in our libraries."

She knelt down beside Harry, reaching into a pouch attached to her belt. Her fingers found rope and began tying his hands together.

"There," she said, standing up. "Now we can take him back to camp. Now, which one of you boys want to carry him?"

Percy and Nico exchanged glances.

"Since you got hit in the face, I think I should probably start?" Percy offered, shrugging. Nico laughed, slapping Percy on the back.

"Keep this up, and I don't think I would mind getting hit in the face every once in a while," Nico said, grinning.

Percy rolled his eyes and hoisted Harry over his shoulders, who started slamming his tied hands together into Percy's back.

"Annabeth," Percy said, sighing. A slight impatience tinged in his voice. "Give him a little love tap for me? Pretty ungrateful for having someone carry him all the way back. If I were him, I'd kiss me."

"Sure," she said, coming around to Percy's backside. Her hand, still holding her sword, came up and pommeled Harry along the cheekbones. She didn't hit hard, but in that moment, she knew Harry had felt her resolve behind the blow—silent words spoken so simply put that even someone like Harry could understand. He stopped squirming and fell quiet. His darkened blue-eyes glared with an ominous resolution as if promising her that their fight had yet to conclude. She returned the gaze—a mute agreement between two rivals.

Percy sighed, with relief this time. "You're a blessing, Annabeth," he said. She rolled her eyes as if he had stated the most obvious fact in the world. "I think we can get back to camp by tomorrow night if we keep a steady pace."

"If you can keep up," Nico said, tauntingly. His dark eyes playfully teased the son of Poseidon. "Gods know you've getting a little chubby. Might even have to take a few food breaks."

"Shut up," Percy said, laughing. "Keep talking and I'm going to make you carry him."

"You're as strong as Hercules," Nico said, abruptly reneging on his remark. "—no, stronger even. Or do you want to be Odysseus?"

"Okay, smartass," Percy guffawed, shoving Nico to the side. He readjusted the dangling Harry on his shoulder. "Let's head out?"

"Sounds good to me," Annabeth answered, looking to Nico, who shrugged in agreement. Annabeth reached out and ruffled Percy's hair before walking past him, leading the way. She pushed past some brushes to find the main dirt road they had traveled on the day before. The road spanned across the expansive forest, snaking over miles of green land before ending abruptly at the edge of a cliff at the forest's fringe. They had spent the previous day trekking for over twelve hours—abandoning the trail often to venture deep into the unknowns of the thicket beyond—areas that would remain perennially unmapped. They stuck close to one another, however, to avoid losing each other amidst the sprawling vegetation that seemed to claw outward as if to capture its poor victims in a mortal embrace.

Annabeth stopped at a tree closest to the road and scanned it before finding an etch she had made previously, which pointed in the direction of Camp Half-Blood.

"This way," she said, shouldering a knapsack that lay at the base of the trunk. She shrugged into it and tightened at its drawstrings. Percy and Nico followed shortly after, their equipment clanging with each step.

"Let's go?" Annabeth asked again, after a moment, glancing to find both of her friends flanking her sides. Somewhere, deep inside, she knew her question bespoke of the future. She couldn't help but feel a strange apprehension tugging at her chest, as if warning her of the hardships that had yet to pass. Feeling Percy's and Nico's wordless agreement, she snugged into her knapsack a final time and stepped forward—leading them on the snaking path that would guide them home.