Um . . . yeah. Uh . . . *ducks behind bush as trash is thrown at her*

I'M SORRY. I KNOW I SAID A WEEK. I KNOW. I'M REALLY SORRY, GUYS, REALLY. IT'S JUST THAT YEAR 9 IS SCARY, MAN. Seriously. I have had two weeks of utter hell, and I usually say this all the time when I take forever to write a chapter, but this time I seriously mean it. The week I posted 37, and then after that I had three major assignments due, and then last week I had (dear God) 2 assignments on Monday, 2 on Tuesday, 1 on Wednesday and 3 on Thursday. Oh and one Health assignment on Friday, which I forgot about and wrote in the lesson I was just that ninja.

HOWEVER. I finished it. Here it is. Uh . . . yeah. *spirit fingers in this direction* Read~

. . . IF YOU GUYS GIVE ME OVER 5 REVIEWS I'LL GO 200% AND POST A NEW CHAPTER ON MONDAY. THIS MONDAY. AS IN JUNE. I MEAN IT. THIS WEEK IS MY LAST WEEK OF ASSIGNMENTS. THURSDAY IS THE LAST DREADED DAY. I AM SO EXCITED~

Disclaimer: I own various aspects of the story, however I do not necessarily own everything. C IS MINE. I SWEAR TO GOD, IF ANYONE COPIES HIM I WILL TRACK YOU DOWN. SERIOUSLY.

This is the Evil Realm,

This is the Dark Realm,

This is the Nightmare Realm.

Have fun, children, for the Devil will get you if you don't hurry up.

Chapter 38: The Nightmare Realm

Annabeth stared; that was all she could do. Around her, the world was dark and empty, the only thing she was aware of was her hand in C's. To her dismay, it felt so ridiculously warm and so ridiculously comforting. She tore her hand away. She suspected C was looking at her from the corner of his eye, but she couldn't tell.

"This is my world," he said.

Annabeth's eyes went from wide to wider as she realised he had spoken. Not the cold, fluid voice he sometimes spoke with, but an entirely different, almost human voice. He started walking forward, and Annabeth jogged after him. In this world, she felt no heaviness around her.

"What is . . . this place . . . ?" Annabeth didn't even understand what she could see within the darkness. C strode forward and crouched, somehow perfectly visible even in the darkness. He reached out to touch something, and an amber-gold flame erupted in a fireplace.

The flickering light began to illuminate the world around her; the small room that looked like the inside of a small cottage, with dusty chairs and tables. The fire spluttered in a small open fire place under a mantle, on which hung yellow, dried-up leaves of old wreaths and a dusty scabbard and sword lay on it. It looked derelict and old, begging for death.

C pulled a chair out and swept a hand across the seat before sitting down on it. For whatever reason, he seemed so normal in this world—in his world. He sat down and stared at the fire, as if transfixed. In the dim light, Annabeth could almost see the firelight reflecting of the glisten of his eyes under his long fringe.

She swallowed and looked away. "I wanted answers."

"Then ask the question."

C's immediate, although slightly rusty response left her staring. He remained still, staring into the flame. His fingers tapped against the arm of the edge of the table rapidly, blowing clouds of dust into the air.

"Where are you taking me?"

"To the place you'll find the one answer you want the most. The one I can't give."

"Which answer is— I mean, what question would that be?"

"Dunno," said C. He rolled his shoulders under his coat. "Whatever the question is, I can't answer it for you."

Annabeth swallowed. She stared at the fire, hoping she could find the same transfixion C seemed to have, but found nothing. Her palms began to sweat. They shouldn't be, she told herself, but the fact was that she had a whole new look on life and death now, and she couldn't resist the question.

She had to know.

"Is Percy . . . no, where is Percy?"

She watched the firelight dance of his eyes as they rolled towards her. Even when they were invisible in the darkness, she could feel his gaze pinning her to the spot. She swallowed back the bile rising in her throat from his glare.

"I can't tell you. I don't know."

"Okay," Annabeth breathed as C looked away. She slumped and leaned her weight against the table, which creaked dangerously. She rubbed her forehead. Okay, she thought. Okay.

C stood and shrugged off his coat. Annabeth stared as he revealed what he wore underneath it.

In reality, he only wore a black long-sleeved t-shirt, but over that he wore a sort of harness-like thing, stacked out with utility belts and bullet belts. Around his waist he wore three weapon belts, each one also decked with weapons. Belted around his thighs were more weapon belts, each holding knives and shuriken. Annabeth swallowed. It was extravagant in a way that didn't make him look scared; it made people scared to look at him.

She was sure he knew how to use those weapons pretty fucking well.

C reached over into a wall and appeared to open a door that had not previously been there. Inside she couldn't see, but he took his coat and deposited it in there, before retrieving another similar coat. If she hadn't been looking closely, she wouldn't have noticed the slight sleekness that coat had and the previous one did not.

What was she, a connoisseur of coats now?

C shrugged it on over his shoulders. Annabeth ran a million questions through her mind as she watched him with an analytical gaze. How does— What does— Does this—

She cut them all off and let her gaze settle on the sword on the top of the mantelpiece. Cautiously, she walked over towards it. She felt C's gaze follow her movement across the room. She was correct in thinking that it was a sword; a plain one in an old leather scabbard, so dusted over with age and soot it looked as if it were a stone carving. If it hadn't been for the slight reflection of the metal hilt, she wouldn't have seen it at all.

"What's this sword?" she asked.

C turned to face her. In two steps he strode across the room and placed a fingertip on the hilt. He appeared to be trapped in a moment of intense memories, because he then tore it away. Even under his hair, Annabeth could tell he was scowling. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"I ask the questions."

If C had been anyone else, she would have expected him to smirk or at least show some form of response. He didn't. Silently, his hand wrapped around the hilt and raised it off the stone platform it had been lying on for god knows how long. Dust billowed into the air and Annabeth was forced to attempt to fan it out of her face. She coughed.

Inside the dusty light with the flames licking the edge of the dust clouds, she could see the dark-clad C raise the blade from its sheath, the pose captured within the moment like an ethereal image of a dark knight. The blade was either gold or bronze, she couldn't tell from the dust and the firelight, but it seemed to illuminate itself.

The blade was in immaculate condition, freshly-oiled and glistening with a sheen that showed its long service. Its well-worn leather hilt fit perfectly into C's gloved hand, which appeared both completely comfortable and horrified at the same time.

He drew the sword completely free and then held it before him, regarding its smoothness, before flinging it right in Annabeth's face.

She felt its sharp tip brush the tip of her nose.

The angle of the sword made gauging its length dizzyingly difficult. All she could see was C's loose grip on the hilt, holding with his fingertips and his palm open, as if he were offering it to her. It looked light and deadly sharp in his grip.

"It's a sword."

"I can see that." She watched as C let it drop a millimetre further, and she felt the cool of its blade against her nose. If he had been holding it slightly looser, it would have cut through it. She could feel its sharpness even as it was completely still.

"Why would you have a sword in here? Don't you want to use it?"

"I have better swords."

With an expert flick of his fingers, he threw the hilt up and the blade flew up with it, until he caught it and held it to his face, cutting her view of his face in half with the thin blade.

"It's hard to imagine a better blade."

"This blade holds nothing but soppy sentimental value," said C. He turned it so the flat of the blade covered the left half of his face. Annabeth's eyes went wide as she saw the dimmest of images in the blade's reflection: of a younger, brighter face with a green eye. His mouth was less turned down, less creased and cracked from an eternity of injuries. He looked like someone completely different.

"This sword," C said, "Is my long-forgotten honour."

Armena doesn't call it a day when the time's up; no, she calls it a day when she's satisfied with everyone's progress, and, if she isn't, then we all stay behind doing the same drills that one person can't get right. She's that kind of teacher.

Today, it's because of me that we stay behind over three hours. The other members of the class look like they want to kill me right there, and unfortunately I have no doubt that they can, because they are sick of punching an immobile wall. There are small craters where their fists have worked away at the cement.

All except for mine.

The only thing I see when I stare at the wall is a small spot of dullness where the sheen painted onto the wall is rubbing off from my sweaty fists. Armena smacks me across the shoulder. "Step on it, Prior," she snaps, before turning to the rest of the class. "What's the deal? You call that damage?"

Armena's jaw works as she stares at the rest of the class. The tallest in the class is a boy, with large, beefy shoulders that look like my face could go through the back of my head if he punched me. His crater is slightly bigger than the others, with fissures branching off it into the wall.

"That there," Armena said, "Is complete shit."

The boy's face pales as Armena walks over. She stands a metre away in an untouched area of wall and raises her fist. "I want one punch to look like this."

She slams her fist into the wall. For a moment, nothing happens, but then cracks begin worming into the wall, spreading out around her fist like a deadly flower. There's a sound of something being wrenched away, and the whole front of the wall falls off with a shower of dust.

Armena scowls at the wall. "Go home and waste your time. You're dismissed."

As the people in the class tunnel out of the room, Armena holds me back. Her grip is enough to shatter my bones. "Stay behind," she growls. "I agreed a favour to someone."

Instinctively, my muscles tense. Is she going to try and kill me as well?

"Relax, midget," she says, releasing my shoulder. "If I wanted you dead, you would be long dead. And, I would have set the class on you in doing so. Not to mention I would have escaped and killed Thalia and Nico as well, but let's not go into detail. Now then, Prior, let's come to my office. You drink coffee, don't you?"

"I believe," said the alien-thing, "that the term you're looking for is eyefucking."

Tobias felt his stomach knot and his heart jump to his throat. He wanted to scream, he wanted to run, he wanted to stop breathing; but he couldn't. He could only stand there at the creature he had thought was one of Uriah's friends. Why . . . why were they doing this?

"Oh, really?" said Jason, completely natural. "I knew they came up with something."

Tobias swallowed his rising heartbeat. Stay calm stay calm stay calm, he reminded himself. Stay calm. Now.

"Yes," replied the lizard-boy. His black eyes were mirthless and empty. His mouth formed an inhuman smile in the shape of a "V". "Times have changed, haven't they? It seems only yesterday that we were fighting in the battle of Oblivion."

Jason's eyes frosted over for a moment, but then he scowled and snapped to alertness. "There's no way in hell you're Nall of Gaos. That bastard died years back when the bridge collapsed."

The creature's grin widened, showing fangs for teeth that gleamed like miniature daggers. "You underestimate my engineered species."

Jason scowled. His eyes glowed unnaturally. His hair began to lift, as though blown up by an invisible force. "Bastard," he growled. As he reached back to take the hilt of his sword, bright electricity sparked around his hand and wrist. "Why aren't you dead? What did they do to you to bring you back?"

"Oh, nothing major," said the creature—Nall. "But you see, all the bodies Gaos takes are kept locked away. Like your friend Valdez. All of us are in there. I can tell you where they are . . . but I won't."

Nall pulled his bow over his shoulder and nocked an arrow. He grinned ferociously. "Did you forget how brilliantly engineered I was to fight you, Grace? Did you go senile?"

Jason tore his sword from its sheath and leapt at Nall. At the same time, his clawed fingertips released the arrow.

Fuck, thought Tobias, standing there, completely helpless. Dodge!

But Jason didn't dodge. In one swift movement, he lifted his sword up before his face, and the arrow hit it head-on, splitting evenly down the middle. Nall's eyes were wide as Jason pulled his sword back for the kill.

"Adieu, Daemon."

Somebody call?

Holding it up to his face, Annabeth saw something else in the blade. Something far, far deeper than just an old sword. Slowly, C turned it so the flat of the blade covered his right eye, and Annabeth saw why.

Staring back at her was a different face. Still with dark hair and a heavy eye, but this eye had a hint of green in the iris, a green that sent a pang of painful nostalgia through Annabeth. But even she knew that it wasn't his green eye. Even this green eye was too weighed-down, too lined, too aged. Despite that, when compared to C's timelessly-old-looking face, it seemed so much younger. There was a permanent crease between the brow, and a turned-down mouth with a spot of blood clotting in the corner of his lips. That face seemed so alive.

She could feel C's glare lessen. She wondered why. He lowered the sword. "That was the face of someone I have long left behind," he said. "Someone who I once was. You don't understand how it works, I'd bet. However, I would think you were a fool if you did."

He sheathed the sword, and immediately, any glow that had settled on him that seemed even slightly more friendly disappeared. He placed the sword back on the mantelpiece, one handprint cutting through the dust on its scabbard.

"There," said C. "I answered. Any more questions?"

"Yeah," Annabeth said. "I ran all this way so I could have a little walk in the teeny house that's inside your mind."

C's jaw clenched. "This isn't my mind. This is my representation of answers in yours."

It took a moment too long for what he had said to settle on Annabeth. "Wait—"

"If I were to show you my mind, you would crumple, and the weight of it would turn your very being into a vacuum and you would collapse in yourself and tumble into Oblivion, the First Force of existence. Once there, you would no longer exist at all. You would never have existed. So no, this is not my mind. To make this place, I presented the small amount of answers sub-consciously to yours, and presented them within the confines of your mind. That coat I just took—you could see the subtle differences between it and the old one I had been wearing because you knew they were there."

"I don't get it."

"Good," said C. "You aren't meant to."

As he turned and looked away, Annabeth saw the faintest of a dark smudge on the side of his neck, like an old tattoo. The collar of this jacket is shorter than the other one, she realised.

C froze, as if he could feel her looking at it. His hand reached up and covered his neck. He glared back at her, and Annabeth felt the soles of her feet freeze to the creaky wooden floor. "Some things," he said, "You don't get to ask."

"Why not?" Annabeth snapped. "This is my mind, isn't it?"

C turned back to her, straightening. Immediately his form seemed to fill the room, fill it with darkness. She saw clouds of breath bloom from her mouth. The fire spluttered and died. The world had suddenly come so cold. Where she touched the wall, frost appeared on the window panes as ice began to freeze the glass. She felt the sting of ice freezing on her skin.

"Why not?" C growled. His voice was so cold no steam came from his mouth in the room. Frost appeared near him; gathered around his feet. Annabeth swallowed. She could feel the insistent fear tugging in the pit of her stomach, the icy feeling in her stomach and throat. Her knees felt like they had frozen over. Her legs shook.

Fuck, she thought. She couldn't peel her eyes away from his menacing form. It seemed to loom above her, reach into the beams holding up the roof, gather in a dark mist around her legs. Everything was cold and dark. She had felt this before.

Once before.

In the depths of Hell.

She had no doubt that the Daemon was before her. She was a fool to have thought otherwise.

Part of her wanted to scream and apologise; beg for mercy. Part of her wanted to fling blades and slice up the dark, ethereal being before her.

But she did nothing. She simply stood there until her legs buckled, and she fell to the floor. Her eyes remained fixed on the dark, demonic shape before her. She felt tears sting in her eyes. Shit, she thought. The warmth of a tear slid down her cheek. Oh shit . . .

As if on cue, she saw C staring down at her. His face was blank, and beneath his hair, she could almost see the faint, listless image of a blank face. "That's what happens."

Tear-stricken and horrified, Annabeth nodded, her mouth open. She felt like screaming. She felt like she was cold. Cold all the way down, like some monstrous icy creature had wormed its way into her spine and set up home like a tapeworm, stealing her warmth.

She hugged herself, staring at the ground. The white toes of C's converse-like shoes stared back at her, blindingly bright in the darkness.

She watched as they turned away, started walking away from her. She squeezed her eyes shut and slowed her breathing. It's all in your head, Chase, she reminded herself. It's literally all in your head. None of this is materially real.

"On the contrary," C said. His feet were still and pointing towards her as if he was leaning back to look at her form, crouched on the ground. "Everything here is real. In your mind. What is the difference between fabric reality and metaphorical reality? Who's to say this isn't another dimension in existence? You have to learn to difference, Chase, if you want to survive with me: the difference between what exists and what is made up of a lacking of existence."

Jason swallowed. Nall was in front of him, but he couldn't reach him. He could see the black smudges of his presence, and the smog that was gathering around Nall simply from the presence he created. He was there.

"You called, boys," he said. If anything, he sounded exactly the same. Exactly the same. He even looked the same. All the darkness in the room seemed to gather around him and make every light seen blindingly bright.

"Fighting over playthings? Never. I liked you better when you were trapped inside that shiny little sword of yours, Grace."

Nall made a loud noise, like a strangled cry. "You're not him!" Nall cried. Jason realised that noise had been some form of victorious grunt. "If you were really him, you wouldn't have said anything."

For a moment, the Daemon stood, stark and silent. "Humans are so shallow."

"No," agreed a voice. "You're not the Daemon."

Jason's eyes whipped up the corridor to see the form of Nico di Angelo. He had shed his old man look and looked so similar to this version of the Daemon it was painful to look at. The only difference was Nico's overcoat was open and he held a sword in his hand. It looked like it was vibrating, and Jason felt the air around his ankles hum with energy. "If you were the Daemon, I would be dead by now."

The Daemon said nothing, merely stared him down. "I'm right, aren't I?" Nico asked. "What are you doing here? Who are you trying to kill this time? Is it me? Or Jason? C'mon, pick one."

Slowly, the Daemon's mouth spread into a grotesque smile. "Tobias Eaton."

Jason didn't even have time to turn around before the Daemon lunged. Luckily, Nico was faster. In the fraction of a second where the Daemon's hands were airborne, reaching for Tobias, Nico moved and stabbed his sword into the wall between them.

"Not so fast," he warned. Nico's voice was dangerously calm. "You're not the Daemon. Who are you?"

The Daemon-fake kept grinning. "Someone who's ruining all of his plans."

Jason barely had time to process what that could mean before Nall took the opportunity to stab him in the back. Jason dodged just in time, but not soon enough to get away without the massive gash in his side. He grimaced and lifted his sword. Nall lifted his knife. "You can't win, Grace," said the demon-creature. "Not when even your backup is in danger."

"Di Angelo is fine," Jason growled. "Moreover, how can you have so many things going on in your mind? Have you forgotten that some of us maintain our original strength?" Jason felt the pit of his stomach tense, and felt the air suddenly drop. He stared as the telltale trickle of blood leaked from Nall's ear. The sudden drop in air pressure would have ruined his eardrums.

He must have gone slack in his old age, Jason thought bitterly. And he used to be so much fun to fight, as well.

Nall's eyes were foggy. Before he could move, Jason stabbed forward. He would never get over the feeling of his sword piercing someone. It made him want to vomit. The slight resistance, and then as the flesh falls away around the blade; the way the muscle tissue made a squirting noise and spurted blood out slightly.

Jason winced as Nall stood, limp against his sword. "What a sad end for you," he said to Nall, even though he knew he couldn't hear him with no eardrums. "I expected so much more, Lord Nall of Gaos."

He pulled his sword free, but not before he felt the air suddenly fill with sinister intent. Tobias was standing next to him, still with shock. Slowly, dreading what he would see, Jason turned and looked at Nico's fight.

Nico hadn't aged at all, Jason realised. Maybe he was going senile, but his skills remained unparalleled. The Daemon imposter lay limp at his feet, all sinister feeling disappearing into the air around them. Nico rested the tip of his sword against the ground. Slowly, he bent down and lifted the hair off the imposter's face.

There were no eyeballs on the imposter's face. Their face was pale and hollow, like a skull, with empty eye sockets and a toothy, fleshless mouth. "Shit," swore Nico. He stabbed through the chest of the skeletal dead body in frustration. "It's a diversion!"

Jason's eyes went wide. Of course.

He spun around, jumped over the dead body of Nall and pulled Tobias along behind him, but, he blinked once, and suddenly before him stood the lithe figure of Annabeth Chase.

Her hair was shorter than he remembered, and she definitely didn't dress in all black the last time he saw her, nor did she have two gauntlets with swords in them strapped to her forearm. Her hair didn't look like princess curls anymore; it looked close-cut and slightly dishevelled, almost like a pixy gone bad. Her eyes were more angular, more scowling than he remembered. The grey of them pierced his movements. "Sorry," she said to him. "The current me doesn't even know I'm doing this. Now, be a good lad while I stab you."

Jason couldn't move as her bronze blade pierced his abdomen.

So many people getting stabbed in such a short amount of time, he thought as his legs buckled under. Nall . . . the fake Daemon . . . probably Tobias and Nico next . . .

Hang on, he thought idly, falling to the ground. She said "the current me" . . . does that mean she came from the future?

He fell onto his side and stared ahead. He'd been in a similar situation many times. He'd heal soon enough. Stabbing hardly meant anything to him anymore. He let his mind wander calmly as he stared at the space where Annabeth's booted feet had been. He remembered the boots she'd been wearing: black, knee-high, thin-soled ones with a slight heel. They were the type of tapered, slim-looking boot that made one look like they had slim feet.

She must be really going for the dark pixy look, he thought. Oh crap . . . they're gonna try and kill me now so they can finally have a look at the intestines. . . . Piper ought to . . .

His thought stopped dead as if it'd hit a freight train. No, he reminded himself. Don't go there.

He considered staying conscious, but he really couldn't be bothered. Nico would give him the benefit of a doubt, surely. Until he'd had his nice sleep, that is.

I hope I don't get AIDS from falling into a puddle of Nall's blood, he thought before falling asleep.

Annabeth opened her eyes into the hazy sky above her. The feeling of the empty coldness surrounding her left her with a sense of vertigo, so she stared at the golden-veiled clouds above her. Of course. Pollution.

"I guess we're here, then," she said to the sky. She knew he would hear her. She patiently waited for his response. Now that she was past the terror of the ordeal, she felt reckless and angry. She wanted to get her way.

He didn't say anything.

Slowly, she sat up and looked around. Sure enough, he was sitting maybe five metres away from her, legs crossed under him as he sat like a child, staring up at the sky in the distance with a slouched back and a neck that jutted out like a Llama's. His coat fell around him. The same coat Annabeth had seen him out on in . . . in that place.

"Oi," she called. "Daemon."

She could sense him regarding her from the corner of his eye, but he didn't move. Didn't talk.

"Oh, I get it," Annabeth snapped. "You're getting all moody and acting like an angsty little shit because I annoyed you back there. Grow up."

She knew it was stupid. She knew it could kill her any moment. If she didn't know better, she would have thought C's skin had grown paler since she had woken up; it appeared to have a sort of thick pallor to it. But Annabeth knew better. He was fine.

She stood and smacked her palms against her jeans to get the dust off them. "Come on," she said. "Aren't you going to make me run somewhere?"

C didn't move. Not for a long time. Annabeth waited.

Finally, his finger pointed ahead of him. "Thank you," she growled indignantly, and began walking in that direction. After a few steps, she looked back. "Why aren't you coming?" she snapped. C hadn't moved. "If you don't come, I'll leave you behind."

Annabeth glared at him for a while, like a whining child, before finally crossing her arms and stalking in the other direction. Bloody lazy shit . . . he dragged me out here, anyway . . . not my fault he tracked me down and teleported me out here.

Eventually, she stopped. She was alone. In front of her, the huge, featureless expanse of the waist-high golden grass stretched out in every direction; a symmetrical panorama of nothingness other than the living, writhing mass of the golden stalks.

She turned back in a panic, but she couldn't see C at all. He was far behind her; hours behind her. Trying to calm her rising heartbeat, she reasoned with herself. Logically, she couldn't be that far. She'd just go back.

What if she went in the wrong direction?

What if she was lost?

What if what if what if what if?

She sat down indignantly and crossed her legs. I'm fine, she told herself, The Blank isn't too big. I can find my way to the nearest complex.

The Blank is the uninhabited part of America, Chase, said the logical part of her brain. No one'll look for you here.

Oh fuck.

Yep.

Shit.

Yep.

FUCKING—

As if on cue, she found herself staring at a group of Gaos agents.

Clyde sipped the coffee in his hands, letting its warmth seep into him like a welcome flame. He felt cold everywhere. Across the table, Elektra said, her head in her hands as she breathed out her stress. "I'm going to kill them," she muttered to herself for the thirtieth time. "Trying to kill our best tactician."

She sighed and straightened. "I'm sending you to the Watchers for your own safety. People here are biased. They'll kill you. They'll blame you. When we need you, we'll get you back."

"That's it?" Clyde asked. Normally, he would have cared, but he just felt so tired. "Okay, then. When do I go?"

"Tonight," Elektra said. "There'll be rain. I'll escort you. That's safest, I think. I've looked ahead and there won't be any trouble on the road. I can't let Alexis know, though. She has to believe that you're dead. As of now, only two other people know you're alive: a surgeon and a Demonology specialist."

"Okay. Do I get some warmer clothes?"

Elektra put a pile of plain-coloured clothing on the table. "Take them. Get dressed. In ten minutes I want you ready to leave."

Elektra walked out of the room. Clyde bundled up and took the final swig of his coffee. By the time he had opened the door Elektra stood on the other side, in dark, nondescript clothing and her hair hidden under a beanie. If Clyde hadn't previously known it was Elektra, he would have thought it was someone else.

She pushed him out of the doorway and hurried him down the corridor. She led him through a series of halls and small rooms so many times Clyde started spacing out. He suspected the drugs they'd used to operate on him hadn't worn off yet.

The last thing they reached were the outer doors. Elektra said something in urgent whispers to the guards at the door, and they opened it for her. She hurried through, Clyde at her heels, and plunged into the icy cold of the night. It was misting. Moisture gathered on Clyde's face and he blinked it away, the only light in the dark a single wisp of Elektra's hair that had come out of her beanie.

She pulled her dark coat tighter around her shoulders. "I missed this part. It isn't too long to the Watchers. Half an hour's walk."

Clyde remained silently, subconsciously finding a rhythm in his steps to count to, until he had long reached over 100 and he lost count. He wished he had something to listen to.

"Why are you coming with me? Surely I can't be that valuable."

"What? I don't want you to get lost on the road? If you haven't noticed, you're still pretty doped up on morphine and anaesthetic."

"That doesn't mean I'll get lost."

Elektra sighed loudly. Clyde noticed how, when she wasn't surrounded by other people, she seemed so much more open. She used her hands a lot when she talked; she was a gesture person. Clyde liked that. "What? Why are you staring at me?"

He recoiled in shock, but then grinned and answered, "You and the Elektra you are at the Order are completely different."

". . . You trying to say I'm bipolar?"

"What? No— I mean— Oh, screw it."

Elektra grinned. Her teeth white against the darkness. She had a nice smile, Clyde realised, not the stressed, tired smile she had at the Order. She looked like the type of person that was always laughing. If her face wasn't so young, Clyde was sure there would be laugh lines around her eyes and mouth.

"You're pretty nice yourself, you know, Clyde," Elektra said. She was still grinning. "How many times have you died now?"

"I don't die." Clyde poked himself in the chest with his thumb. "Eidolon, remember? Fool-proof. Designed by Gaos. . . . Actually wait . . . that means I'm faulty."

Elektra laughed again. She had a unique laugh; a contagious laugh. Clyde wanted to join in, but he couldn't muster the happiness to find it funny. But he smiled.

There were lights up ahead. The Watchers.

"This is where I leave you, Clyde," Elektra said. She waved to him. Most of her hair had come loose from its beanie. "That building over there is the Watchers. Just say I sent you. I sent some papers up before to tell Nico about it. If that doesn't work, ask for Tobias. We stationed him there precisely so we could do something like this."

Clyde stared after her as she wandered back to Order. It took every muscle in his body not to run after her. As it was, he stood there, watching as she disappeared into the black.

The Gaos agents stared down at Annabeth. Of all things, she was hit with a sudden bout of self-consciousness. There were four of them; two that looked like girls, one beefy guy and one person in a hood that Annabeth couldn't tell anything about. The tallest, the guy, looked down at her. Judging by the lupine shape to his face, he was a hellhound. A modern-day one from the complex Annabeth had been held at.

Slowly, Annabeth stood, keeping them in her vision. "Who are you?" she asked.

They all looked her up and down. "Who's agent are you?" the boy asked back.

"My question first."

He grinned; a slow, feral grin. His canines were too sharp and long to be normal human teeth. Annabeth stared at him. Don't show weakness, she reminded herself. Slowly, her brows moved into a scowl. "But," he said, "why would I tell the likes of you? You could be a Wester for all I know. Or worse: a Watcher."

Annabeth stared at him.

Then she burst out laughing.

The Gaos agents moved away from her cautiously. Annabeth held the back of her hand to her mouth and blinked the tears from her eyes. "Oh my God, that's funny," she muttered. "Me, a Watcher?"

The agents moved uneasily. "What's so funny?" the boy asked.

Annabeth sighed, easing out the rest of her laughter. She stared up at him, cold and hard. "I wouldn't be a Watcher if they showered me with divine power. Not after they tossed me aside like that."

"So you were part of them?"

"I'd hardly call it that." She rose to her feet. With the slight flick of her wrist, the blades slid from their sheaths. At the sight, the four drew back even further. All except for the lead boy. He grinned. "Annabeth Chase."

Annabeth kept her gaze level. No one cares what you're feeling. It's irrelevant. "And what if I'm not?"

"Don't pull that with me," he said. "I'd know you anywhere: blond hair, black clothes, blades"—he lifted a hand and pointed at her arm—"and those eyes."

"You want to go?"

Don't waste your breath, Chase.

Suddenly he was there, a black blur in the air. She felt him walk past, as though the world had frozen around them. He strode forward, his shadow casting out, into the group of enemy agents. They stared at him, and Annabeth could almost see the life force seep out of them.

As they crumpled, only one remained standing: the hooded person. They were staring at C. Almost unperceptively, they both nodded to each other, before the limp, empty cloak tumbled to the ground.

"You," Annabeth said, staring at him. He turned slowly. His face was stony and pale. He said nothing, but Annabeth could tell he was giving her a look that said surely, you didn't think you could get away from me, did you?

"Fine," Annabeth said. She glanced back at the dead bodies of the Gaos agents. She turned away. "Let's go. We're nearly there, right?"

The two of them walked in silence.

So . . . yeah. Um.

Stuff~

Oh, and you may begin the countdown to C's identity. Chapter 45 is the designated chapter. I'm telling you. IT SHALL BE THERE~

I am so looking forward to that. You have no idea. That moment has been in the planning since the start of Year 7. Just let that sink in.

Okay then. Gimme over 10 reviews this week and I will swear on the Styx that I get chapter 39 out by Monday night for me at the latest. (Should be morning for you guys in the North, if I'm correct).

Am I bribing you? Yeah. Deal with it, guys.

Chapter 45~ That is 7 more chapters, guys. 7.

ARGH. WE'RE PAST HALFWAY.

. . . by the time I'm doing Year 11 exams, I will still be writing this story at this rate. Wow. That's scary.

Well then,

Until the next time, kiddies~

-Owl