Luscious Monsters

Nico bore his gaze to Malcolm's ghostly blues. "You've got to help me," he breathed, his nebulous words bouncing off the walls with a thick reticent quiet that seemed too silent, even for his own ears.

Nico spoke again, a little bit more raucous as he found his inscrutable mask crumpling, "I can't do this all by myself. She'd kill my—" Fiancé, husband, soulmate. "—Will if I defied her orders."

The son of Athena's shadowed eyes flickered sadly. Splaying out his gloved hands, Malcolm didn't meet his stare. "I'm sorry," he said faintly, noticing how Nico flinched, "now that the gods are in hiding once more, Lady Aphorei is free to prance around and curse anybody who stood against her."

"I know that. It's not exactly the best moral support, Pace."

"Sorry," said Malcolm sheepishly, offering a rueful smile. "I just thought you wouldn't know, considering the fact Lady Aphorei didn't tell you about me."

"I didn't know about you," implied Nico, his honeyed voice a lullaby of sworn promises, "but I know about everything else. I know what the others would be meeting ahead—I know the threat that awaits them all."

Malcolm glowered, turning his back on the son of Hades and taking a rather devoted interest in a begrimed-looking dagger that had a hilt of fine woven leather.

"If you and I are going to get ourselves out of Lady Aphorei's grasp without anyone getting hurt—" They traded wavering looks of doubt. "—we ought to be more careful."

"No one's going to die?"

"No one's going to die."

A sealed vow fell upon them; strong and intense. Nico could only hope he spoke true.

*.·:·. ✧ ✦ ✧ .·:·.*

Percy wasn't sure if he was breathing.

He quickly glanced around, taking in the horrid sight of the wet stones splattered with velvet crimson and the many people who bled on it. No. This wasn't right—

He'd never seen a sunset so red. He hated how many others died, ghostly terror on their faces, yet the skies seemed to look calm—peaceful, even. Percy's heartbeat stopped outright when he peered up, his sea-greens squinted grimly, and . . .

"Take on the right! NO! GO BACK!" shouted a sore voice as campers and Romans alike fell apart from an impact that Percy could not register quick enough. Above them all, a being made from tinted darkness and sorrows stood, it's smile a thing of savage grace.

Harsh whips of twilight and shadows slashed upon one another—one Light, one Dark. Glowing hot whites and simmering blues emerged from someone, someone who held everything together; someone who refused to fall. The person's facets were blurred, as if Percy's peripheral vision had been smeared with oil.

The prophesied Wielder. He may not see properly, but Percy knew enough—what he was seeing was the Wielder, fighting against the Dark.

Embers and crackling sparks of pure energy seemed to pour out of the Wielder, hazy flicks of bright light burning in cascades of green and grey. That—Percy realized—was what was keeping the Light together. That was what gave their side hope and a better future.

He could see it. He could see the way the Wielder fought and fought—but from time to time, he'd catch them tremble for a mere second before bringing madness upon them all once more. A beacon of hope—maybe there was a chance after all; maybe they could win this war, with the Wielder on their side—

The beams of light failed to avoid a lash of shadows, its needle-sharp end resembling a blade of pellucid black. Percy could do nothing—absolutely nothing as he watched the Wielder with horror creeping down his spine.

Then, there were roars of desperation, cries of plead and—

Someone had fallen.

All flickering light or any signs of power that protected them all dissolved into wispy air. Percy gaped in terror, his eyes wide and blank, gazing at the crumbling Wielder that knelt over a frail, delicate body. So small; the body looked so small.

Dead. Limp. Lifeless.

Black blood sprayed, over the earth, the stones, the corpses. A quick flash of silver and grey came bustling over. They were pulling the Wielder away, begging them to fight—telling them that it wasn't over, not yet—

The Wielder outright refused, yelling out words that were too muffled to hear. Percy knew he was shouting—screaming at them as a humorless laugh echoed in the skies. No, this was only a dream. This can't have happened, no—

"No. She's not dead," breathed the Wielder with a shuddering rasp, clutching the lifeless body in his bloodied arms. Dead, limp, lifeless. "Stop—let go of me—"

The mirthless laughter left an unscarred mark somewhere, somewhere deep inside him. Percy felt himself swim hazily to reality, the dream being claimed with a darkness that radiated warmth in an eerie way.

"The dead awakens. Gods, you all right?" muttered Faith, laying a petite hand on his shoulder; a gentle soothe to calm his nerves. Annabeth had looked like as if she'd been woken up so abruptly; there were visible marks under her panicked eyes. What Percy had seen—that was not a dream, it must've been a vision; someone was going to die—

Percy shut his eyes, ignoring the repeating thump in his chest as it sent searing sparks through his nimble skin. Feeling lightheaded due to the coppery spots that danced in his vision, he said offhandedly, "I saw something. I mean, a vision. Someone—gods, it was horrible—"

"It's okay," whispered Faith quietly, the soft corners of her mouth curving downwards as strands of her chestnut hair fell unceremoniously on her face. "It's gone now; please, calm down. You gave us quite a scare. It's okay."

Percy tried to look anywhere but the hunter. Even Annabeth appeared to be worried for him, though he swore he caught something flare up in those darkening eyes she bore.

"It's not okay," he breathed, "I saw the Wielder, and someone died—and, oh gods, what we're going to be facing . . . it's horrible. All of it."

Ragged breaths that fell upon each other in sync was the only sound he heard. Percy could vaguely remember who their enemy was; those clouded eyes with no mercy in them, the forlorn glee that was laid out on his dark simper, the look of victory that had made him shiver like a damned coward . . .

Something nudged his foot lightly. Percy did not move, but made his eyes travel from the floor to Annabeth's reluctant stare.

"It may be not the time," the daughter of Athena began, vividly hesitant, but continued anyway, "but I was wondering if you've seen anything that could help us."

Percy did not know how to respond to that. He darted his eyes to Faith, who frowned for a few wordless moments before nodding. He then remembered that something had gone awry between the two girls—they didn't look like they were on friendly terms just yet as they kept exchanging rueful eyes whenever Percy glanced away.

He brought his gaze on his scarred hands, trying to remember what it simply felt like to hold someone that he cared for. "Old," blurted Percy, blinking madly, "who we're going against with . . . may just be as ancient and powerful as Gaea herself. The enemy was a god who looked like the skies; and there was a lot of those awful creatures we'd seen when we received our quest prophecy."

"The . . . skies?" mumbled Annabeth, tilting her head slightly to the side, swimming within her thoughts. The hunter beside him remained silent, her heavy breathing matching his own as a hand slid on his knee—Percy knew it was the least Faith could offer.

Annabeth let her tongue run over her bottom lip in anticipation. Looking like she would've said more, she murmured, "I have a guess, I think. Who we might be expecting, in this war."

A war. Another gods-damned war.

Feeling a sudden burden collapse on his shoulders, Percy choked out, "Your guesses are always right, you know. You're right most of the time." The tender touch caressing his hand became a little rough, enough to emit a wince from him. Percy felt a sinking sensation in his stomach, and it took a painful while to realize what his words meant to Faith.

His mouth lay agape within a handsbreadth, an apology on the mere tip of his tongue before Faith shushed him and simply shrugged it off. As if it hadn't meant anything to her.

Annabeth subtly noticed this small interaction between the two before shaking her head. "I'm not always right," she spoke up, garnering their attention. The daughter of Athena continued shrewdly, "From your description, Perce . . . well, there are only two gods I know of that may be siding with the Dark . . ."

Percy took his time, noticing the fuchsia bloom that stuck on his palms as he rubbed it repeatedly. He had idly forgotten to clean his hands after he'd helped clean Faith up. Looking up, he said tightly, "The gods are in hiding, just as they've done before. If you're saying any of them would be siding with the Dark . . . well, it's one hell of an offense if so. All of them know that."

"Well, that crosses out Zeus and leaves one god left, then." Annabeth brought a hand to her face, cupping her chin and averting her gaze elsewhere. "From your dream, you said the enemy looked as if they resembled the skies. As ancient as Gaea."

Knitting his eyebrows together, he couldn't seem to grasp what the daughter of Athena was implying. To his astonishment, Faith looked as aghast as Annabeth did.

"You're not saying—?" the hunter started, letting go of Percy's hand, much to his dislike.

Still baffled, Percy had enough confidence to ask, "I don't get it. Is there another god of the skies here other than Zeus? Jupiter, you mean?"

"No," muttered Annabeth quickly, "No. Not Jupiter. I was referring to Gaea's husband, Ouranos."

*.·:·. ✧ ✦ ✧ .·:·.*

Annabeth's eyelids fluttered shut, waiting for a few quiet moments to pass by before greeting the gloomy light once again.

When she'd woken up to Percy and Faith upon one another; the healer had her slim bodice pressed against him, her head lolling upon his rigid shoulder with a slight calm-like tension easing between them.

Annabeth had felt an uplift in the corners of her lips when she'd seen the placid sight.

Blinking herself out of her daze, she brought a gentle touch to her cheekbone—the ambrosia and nectar could not heal it. Annabeth supposed it would scar badly; by then, she'd have quite the souvenir to bring back home.

"Perce," began Annabeth, feeling a stone drop down to her toes, "I was wondering . . . how, exactly, do we plan in forcing Lady Aphorei to return the memories she'd stolen?"

Faith had looked away, clearly trying to steer away from their conversation she'd spun. Annabeth flushed guiltily, suddenly wishing she had not spoken at all.

Percy held a rather thoughtful look on his face. "Don't you think Hades could control her or something? Wouldn't that make sense with what Neeks said before we'd left? He'd said something about death and memory being in the same dimension, I think."

Annabeth considered this for a second, idly scratching the nape of her bare neck. "I think you mixed it up," she uttered out, wincing at how loud her voice echoed within the small compartment. "When two elements happen to be in the same dimension, that usually signifies equality. Death and memory are alike, in some twisted way only the gods know what. So, I'd say it goes the other way around."

The daughter of Athena recognised the look he wore; his eyebrows were knitted, his nose was scrunched up, his lips were tightly pursed. Annabeth once admitted to how silly Percy had looked when he put up his thinking face.

She winced inwardly when the raven stretched out his lithe hands and heard a few snaps of bone clicking against bone. Percy started, doubtful, "So, any of the Olympians could leash the wild goddess of memory except for Hades? Is that what you're saying?"

A little nod was all Annabeth gave.

Letting her wary gaze slip, she caught Faith's eye, which had been piercing under her skin for some time now. Unexpectedly, Percy got up with a heavy grunt escaping his throat gravelly.

Alert, both girls gave him a dirty look.

"Where are you going?" demanded Faith; her words harsh—Annabeth recognised a faint hint of worry beneath her facade.

Percy snorted slyly at the hunter, allowing a genuine look of endearment shine in his eyes. "I'm only going to the bathroom. I feel a little queasy, that's all."

Annabeth knew why Faith was being jumpy all of a sudden as her mind drifted into the corridor at that horrid clothing store and those merciless cloaked figures.

Percy sensed this earlier than the daughter of Athena did as he waved a hand. "I'll be fine. Take care of yourselves while I'm gone, all right? I don't want to come back with you bloody and all."

Finding this as a cue to leave after a moment of silence, Percy turned to leave as Faith scowled at him, muttering hastily, "We're already bloody and all, Jackson."

The compartment door shut with a ringing click. Faith looked as uncomfortable as Annabeth did—their breathing was drowned by the chugging echo of the train wheels scraping against steel iron beneath them.

"Can you give me the handkerchief inside the bag?" said Annabeth suddenly, not taking the silence any longer. She gestured to the bag beside the hunter before she eagerly reached for the white towel she'd asked for.

"Thank you," she muttered quietly, dabbing the handkerchief on the side of her face. Faith did not say anything, and that wasn't surprising—

There was the fumbling of items in Percy's bag. Annabeth scrunched her nose up, glancing at the hunter oddly and—

Faith yelped, tossing a plastic bag at her in disgust. The daughter of Athena reacted immediately, the smell of coppery blood filling the room.

"What the fuck?" hissed the agitated hunter, staring at her palms in worry as Annabeth made a gagging sound at what she'd seen inside the plastic bag.

Quickly, the blonde closed it with an effort not to breathe in the horrid stench. "It's raw meat," cried Annabeth, holding it out for Faith to take. "What in Hades was it doing in there?"

"You ask me!" exclaimed the brunette, shaking her head and refusing to touch the plastic bag with her hands. Faith attempted to use Percy's bag as a shield before hissing, "Honestly, if this is Jackson's way of playing a prank—"

"What I'd like to know is where he even got the mutton from!"

"Oh, how suspicious," growled Faith, shoving the bag away sharply. "How'd you know it was fucking lamb meat?"

Annabeth felt exasperated, completely forgetting about the damned bag. "Mind your language," she snapped, rendering the hunter speechless. Closing her eyes for a mere moment, the daughter of Athena made a grab for the plastic bag. There was a lazy scrawl, looking as if it were written with a sharpie, on the almost-translucent material of the plastic bag.

"What are you doing?" said Faith, having quite enough of what was happening at the moment. "Surely you're not planning to book a private kitchen to cook that?"

Annabeth reined in her chortle. "Shut it, will you? You're being a pain in the ass."

"Mind your language," mimicked the brunette in a high-pitched tone.

The daughter of Athena ignored the fussy healer and tried to decipher the letters on the plastic bag. Did it say loved? No, it was luck.

"Lust?" blurted Annabeth out loud, regretting it the second Faith's head snapped up.

"What about lust?" Faith smirked—her trademark look, as she would put it. "Are you telling me those words read lust, Chase?"

"I—no!" she yelled, the blush on her cheeks betraying her. "Lu—never mind. It reads Lucius."

Faith brought a hand to stroke her hair rather silkily. "Luscious? As in, soft and pretty luscious hair?"

Annabeth looked again, making sure she did not miss a letter. Finally, she said, "No. It's a name. Look." Forgetting that the immature hunter did not like touching the plastic bag, it was abruptly pushed back in Annabeth's arms.

"I told you—" Annabeth could hear Faith's teeth grazing against one another. "—that I don't like touching that thing. I'd rather you throw insults at me instead."

As a sort of lump formed in her throat, Annabeth began quickly before her confidence could falter, "I'm sorry. About what I said yesterday and . . . well, every other day. I was being an idiot. I didn't mean it."

She might be even the one that would kill you once we arrive in the Underworld, Annabeth had shouted at the hunter without thinking of how it may feel like if she'd been told the very same words.

A flicker of hilarity gleamed in Faith's shady eyes. "Whatever. I don't care." You're a liar. "It's all right. Jackson seems to be more bothered, actually," said the hunter lightly, visibly trying to brush off the sincere apology as if it simply meant nothing to her.

Annabeth raised an eyebrow, dumping the plastic bag (whose contents made a jiggly sound) on the bleak floors. "Why do you always call Percy by his last name?"

Faith paused, actually looking like as if she were astonished that the blonde had bothered to notice. Suddenly, a grin too similar to that troublemaker smile Percy always wore appeared on the brunette's face. "I call him Jackson just to irritate him because I know if he tried to do the same to me, he wouldn't even manage to spell my surname as much as pronounce it."

Annabeth cracked an impish grin at this. "Seriously?" She felt a strong tug of appreciation for the hunter. Other than having a short temper and a rather appealing personality, Faith had quite the talent of pissing people off.

"Yep. I've gotten used to it, I guess." Faith shrugged, frowning and eyeing her as she said the next words in an unreadable tone, "It seems all obvious now why Jackson chose you."

"Er, he and I—wait, what?" stammered Annabeth, flustered. She couldn't help but glance away.

Faith seemed to render this an enjoyable moment to torment the daughter of Athena. She pulled down the hem of her pleated skirt as she spoke at the same time, "It's true. You shouldn't have let go of him, you know."

Annabeth's breath hitched, forming a tight knot ravelling in her stomach. Her lips parted slightly for a moment, then closed it again with a grimace. She could not grasp what Faith was implying; was it hate for what Annabeth has done?

Was she imagining when she heard a sly shift of tone in Faith's voice—sympathy, maybe? Jealousy or pity?

Shifting and ruining the silence, Annabeth met the weary hunter's gaze. "I know. I trust you to look out for him and never repeat my mistakes."

Faith gave her a look before murmuring quietly, "I will. Just don't get that bloody lamb meat near me."

Annabeth snorted and laughed; and she supposed it was great having to share her moments with the hunter after their little childish fights.

When she'd glimpsed at Faith, she knew the hunter thought the same.

*.·:·. ✧ ✦ ✧ .·:·.*

Percy lied, and he was feeling slightly guilty about it.

He'd went to the nearest bathroom in the train, nearly tripping over his splayed shoelaces when he wasn't paying any attention at all to his surroundings. Too vivid and bloody and real—those sickly bodies of the people he'd grown up with in camp, with their blood smeared on the rocky grounds—

It was a good thing he had stumbled out of their freezing compartment before he could have a panic attack.

"Oh, come on," muttered Percy to himself, hoping the ones who heard him wouldn't think he was going insane. "You've seen worse than this."

He hastily swung the door open, praying no one would be in there now when he was at his most vulnerable, and—

Shit. Shit. Shit.

A beast. A beast crafted from the gods' nightmares itself.

Sharp, narrowed slits that he hoped were eyes dug beneath his skin, a soundless growl escaping the creature's throat. Wild slashes hugged its silver scales, which bloomed from hues of glinting blacks to glistening golden. Its tattered wings spread, flapping once and sending a gust of wind at him.

This was the same . . . thing he'd seen when they've gotten their prophecy.

A monster made and owned to hunt, devour, rule.

Percy did not wait for another second before he had a firm grip on Riptide, its honed tip slanting to the side. The demon-like creature snarled at him, its wings unfurling—there were marked stretches of skin on them, swirling in a pattern of blades and spikes. He assumed if he got too close, he would be absolutely mauled with those fangs.

Run, run, run.

Percy wanted run for his life like hell. To his left, the door stood firmly closed—oh, gods, the thing would eat him before he even got his hands on the cold door handle.

"What in Hades are you," he breathed, terrified out of his mind. Percy had seen things; from Dracaena to the Arai. But this . . .

The creature snarled, baring those elongated fangs at him. Don't get too close. Don't get too close.

Still holding up his sword, Percy begged the gods for Faith and Annabeth to find him as the growling creature slowly advanced, a malicious hunger for blood twinkling in those mirthless red eyes.

Run, run, run.

The creature let out a blood-curling scream at him, its talons broadening as it turned over to the side. Percy could hear his heartbeat thump in his chest when those threadbare wings lowered slowly with grace. Beautiful—not at first sight, but definitely a majestic one when you took a better look at its wings.

Percy cocked his head to the side, and was bewildered to see the creature do so as well. Refusing to lower his sword, the creature hissed at him ferociously, and—

A saddle. There was a torn leather saddle hanging by the creature's back. Someone—someone was reckless and stupid enough to ride this monster—

Another growl echoed in his delicate ears as Percy's eyes widened, stunned. "Gods, you're not actually harmless, are you?" he murmured, not believing such a thing could be near the radar of harmless.

As if the winged creature could understand him perfectly, a sort of a rumbled growl escaped its scarred throat. His breath halted before saying in a small voice, "How in fuck did you even get here?"

This time, the monster stilled. Percy pieced two and two together, and—

Someone else was on this train. Someone who managed to reign in this creature and ride it, yet decided to abandon such a thing. Someone who knew there would be half-bloods in this train—

Staring at the demon with interest, it did look like it would do him no harm. Trust; Percy only needed for this one hell of a monster to trust him. Then maybe on the way, it would do them some good.

The thought of having these magnificent beasts on their side made Percy drop Riptide, making sure the creature knew what he was doing. There was a pattern of swishing celestial bronze as the rough hilt became the handle of a small, delicate pen once more.

He slowly held out a hand, silently hoping what he was planning to do was right. A snarl was all he got in response, earning an eye roll from Percy.

"What? Don't look at me like that," he said promptly, taking in on a sneering voice. He held an iron grip on Riptide, just in case. "Nothing's gonna happen if you don't trust me, you know. I bring no harm."

A low purr was all Percy got in reply from the beast. It shook, its barbed tail rising in an alarming height as it approached him with careful, calculated steps. Its feathery wings curled around him, blocking any chance of escape—Percy could just uncap his pen right then and there, but by then those talons would rip his throat—

Gods, he was so stupid to think such a creature would trust him. Of course, this was a beast made from the dark, trained by slavery and torture. As deadly as the silence; unknowing and fast.

Gods, help me—

"Lucius? You in there?"