PERI'S POV

I've never taken drugs before (I've been offered a couple of times by some fellow delinquents back at St. Mary's, but I figured I need all two of the brain cells that I've got), although I imagined it would be something like this. I hated it instantly.

The room was spinning, my vision rippling like the broken surface of a lake. Leo and Hazel's voices sounded distant and staticky, like a radio with too much feedback. The Mist was so powerful that it became tangible, physical clouds of fog that rolled in and consumed the outlines of my friends and my enemies indiscriminately until I was lost in a blanket of milky white. I waved my hands in front of my face experimentally, and the cold Mist curled around my fingertips, something akin to smog in a bustling city's atmosphere.

Then the visions started.

The Mist glowed faintly like an old TV set coming to life. The scenes were immediately familiar to me, but clearly distorted as if they'd been filmed by the same dude who did those cheesy Goosebumps movies. I saw the deck of the Argo II with all of my friends— except they looked like zombies; decaying flesh, lifeless fish eyes, and dried blood covering their faces. The clouds shifted, displaying the oppressive walls of St. Mary's filled with demonic nuns adorned with curved horns and red pointed tails. To be fair, that part wasn't too far from the truth. Then the Mist showed me Gram's pawn shop, only the trinkets and antiques were replaced with severed heads and eyeballs floating in jars.

I stumbled backwards in a daze, my stomach threatening to expel that gross barley cookie. It would probably be much worse coming back up than it was going down. It was difficult to determine whether my sudden nausea was because of being underground or due to the disturbing images I was seeing.

I knew Pasiphaë was a sorceress, I knew this was all just a stupid illusion. But it looked and felt so real. The Stygian Iron swords in my hands felt heavy all of a sudden. And wriggly? I looked down and yelped in surprise. The blades in my grasp had transformed into massive snakes with shiny ebony scales, hissing and baring their fangs. I hastily dropped the serpents, and they slithered away, disappearing into the thick fog.

Immediately I felt naked, exposed, and defenseless. The Mist kept changing around me, showing me screwed up versions of my already screwed up life. I didn't want to look, but I was transfixed by the images. The Mist was all around me and avoiding it was about as hard as only eating one French fry.

"This isn't real," I said, but my voice was shaky, lacking its usual confidence. I swallowed and tried again, more firmly this time. "This is just an illusion."

Pasiphaë cackled. Her voice sounded watery and far away. "Is it an illusion, Periwinkle Storm, or something more? Don't you see what I have created?"

"You don't get to call me that!" I snapped, whipping my head around to find the source of her voice.

"No one will call you anything once you're dead," Pasiphaë sneered. "Clytius, be a dear and take care of our little Omega-Blood pest, would you?"

A shiver ran down my spine, and I had a feeling it wasn't the icy Mist hitting the back of my neck. My eyes darted around frantically, but it was hopeless. I couldn't see anything through the layers of Mist that encircled me. A wishful part of me hoped that the giant also wouldn't be able to navigate through the thick fog. The thick fog that pulled me in, begging for my attention, demanding to be seen—

SWOOSH! SHINK!*

Like most near death experiences, it happened quickly.

I had been alone in an endless sea of white... until suddenly I wasn't. Towering over me was a living, breathing impenetrable wall of black, shadow, and darkness. Being this close to it was like staring into the pit of Tartarus all over again. In its massive hands was a Stygian Iron blade like Nico's, except this one was five times the size.

The giant Clytius was upon me.

In stark contrast to the shadowy giant was Goldie. I'd lost track of the blade when the Mist rolled in, but it seems that my sword found me just in time to save my life. Again. I was shook, but I came to my senses enough to grab the Imperial Gold weapon with purpose and leap backwards, getting some distance between myself and the giant.

With the sword in my grasp, I felt a fraction of my usual heroism returning. And staring into his smug, shadow cloaked face reminded me just how much I despised Clytius. My fear turned to bubbling rage. This thing knew where my father was being tortured to death, and that was reason enough for me to draw its blood with my blade.

"You," I snarled. "Where is my father? Where is Anastasios?"

The giant merely watched me with his cold, diamond eyed stare.

"Tch. Fine," I muttered. "Guess I'll just have to cut the answers out of your filthy mouth."

Clytius grinned in that unnerving way, hefting his huge Stygian Iron sword in his hands patiently.

I gripped my own blade's hilt firmly and breathed deeply, my cells thrumming with a furious energy. A familiar sensation began to build in my chest, spreading throughout my form rapidly. The golden hairs on my body emanated a faint glow, weaker than before on Ogygia, but it would have to suffice for now.

"Omega Blade," I whispered.

I felt a little tug within as magic flowed into my weapon. The Imperial Gold sword glowed and began to enlarge. Greek and Latin symbols came to life along the blade, shining with a supernatural iridescence. The massive sword was already heavy in my hands, and I hadn't even swung it yet, but I did all that I could to radiate power and strength. I figured that Clytius was doing his best to contain his fear and amazement. We circled each other, watching the other's movements carefully.

Sure I was cocky, but I was no fool. My friends had told me that it takes the combined power of a god and a demigod to kill a giant. But that didn't mean I couldn't hurt him. Right?

Only one way to find out.

I charged forward with my massive sword poised to attack. Clytius grinned once more and raised his blade. At the last moment, I ducked and rolled between his massive draconic legs and stabbed him in his gluteus maximus. The giant's howl of pain was more satisfying than anything I've ever experienced.

Clytius spun around, and its reptilian tail swept my feet from underneath me. I fell to the ground with a gasp and rolled to my feet as quickly as possible, narrowly avoiding a black blade directly to the heart. That woke me up. It was as if the giant was telling me: this won't be that easy. No matter. This was a battle for survival, not unlike many I've fought my way through before. This was nothing new to me. Keep moving. Look for an opening. The sound of metal scraping against metal was only slightly louder than the grunt that escaped my lips as our blades collided fiercely. He was much stronger than I'd anticipated.

A quick counterattack, and I caught the giant in the side, just below his breastplate. Golden ichor dripped from the tip of my blade. Clytius made another strangled sound of pain and lashed out wildly with his sword. I jumped back, but my small victory was short lived. Already his wounds were closing themselves, and Clytius was beginning to recover.

I glowered with frustration. "Tell me where Anastasios is. I know that you know where he's being held captive."

Instead of answering me, Clytius growled and let loose an onslaught of attacks. It took every ounce of my focus to dodge, block, and parry his attacks. Beads of sweat rolled down my neck, and my arms were beginning to burn from the weight of the Omega Blade. I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep this up, and the fight had only just started. However, I was determined not to lose. Not again. Not when there was so much at stake.

But the Mist. It called.

I was dimly aware of Goldie moving on its own in my hand, parrying and deflecting Clytius's attacks. My arms jerked with the blade's movements as the scenes in the clouds of Mist changed before me. It was like a car crash. Absolutely horrible, but no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't tear my eyes away.

The fog glowed brighter, the details of my friends—Frank, Piper, Nico, Jason— being swarmed and overtaken by the monster horde one by one. The ugly details were crisp and clear, as if I was seeing this with my own eyes. Jason and Nico were beheaded, their skulls mounted on spikes as prizes; the dramatic irony wasn't lost on me— two sons of the Big Three, killed by lowly monsters. Piper's limbs were ripped off, as if all the monsters wanted a piece of her to themselves; so is the fate of a daughter of Aphrodite, forever wanted, forever craved by others. Frank was impaled with arrow after arrow until he finally fell to his knees and collapsed for good; the son of Mars, killed in battle just like so many of his brothers and sisters.

I watched them die, and there was nothing I could do about it. Was this a real time feed or just part of the illusion? It didn't matter, considering the purpose of showing me this was the same either way: to break my spirit. Shamefully, I had to admit that it was working. I wanted to scream, but no sound came out.

Without warning, Clytius back handed me so hard that I went flying through the clouds of Mist. I heard something crack on impact, maybe my cheekbone. A spiderweb of pain spread across my face. My body crashed to the floor, skidding a bit in a pool of ichor.

My father's ichor.

The strong metallic scent filled my nostrils, and I felt like retching all over again. His blood, my father's blood was all over me. The room was spinning once more. I couldn't focus. My face felt like it'd been hit with dry ice where Clytius had struck me, a lingering sensation of unnatural cold-burn. My hand went up to gingerly touch my wound, but my fingers recoiled immediately as the giant's shadowy essence had marked me, threatening to spread to my hands as well.

What manner of dark magic was this?

But it didn't matter. All I could think about was my friends. They were too young. We were all too young for this fate.

The Mist didn't give me time to grieve for my fallen comrades. It flashed all around me and displayed a beautiful girl with long brown hair and smoky green eyes consumed with hatred. Calypso. Her mouth was stretched into a perpetual scream of torment. I wasn't able to save her. A hole began to form in my chest.

My vision leveled out enough for me to make out the shadowy form of Clytius as he approached. His gait was slow and stalking, like a predator honing in on a cornered, injured prey. I grit my teeth in defiance as once more, all of my emotions gave way to rage instead.

I was no one's prey.

With mustered strength, I waved my hand towards the giant. My glowing sword rattled against the floor before slicing through the air. I willed the blade to zoom around the giant like a very sharp and very annoying mosquito, striking wherever the giant lowered his guard. Clytius growled and cursed as his body was mutilated by the sword, only to heal and be abused again. I couldn't believe this was working. There was hope for us yet. As long as I could distract him until the Doors opened—

The Mist clouds glowed a blinding white as they hummed to life once again. I tried my hardest to ignore the call of the Mist, focus only on the sword, focus only on Clytius, but my eyes betrayed me in the end when I caught a glimpse of a boy.

My blood turned to ice in my veins as the Mist pulled me in once more. A boy.

A boy with curly hair. His face contorted in a wicked grimace that didn't belong, that I didn't recognize. Flames so hungry they'd swallow the entire world. Leo. His expression was cruel and murderous. To storm or fire the world must fall. This... this could've been prevented. It was my job to stop this. I was supposed to look out for him. I had promised him. But I failed.

Clytius roared in triumph suddenly. My eyes snapped to his, and I felt my heart sink impossibly lower. While the Mist kept me distracted, the giant had managed to snatch my sword out of the air. His black hand bled profusely as he gripped the sharp blade, but he grinned victoriously nonetheless. I pushed myself to my feet, but Clytius pointed his Stygian Iron sword at my chest in a clear warning: don't try anything stupid, stupid.

Goldie jerked violently, trying to escape from the shadowy figure's grasp, drawing more ichor from the giant's palms. Clytius tossed his own weapon aside, the black blade clattering discarded to the floor so that he could use both of his huge hands to control the struggling sword. Holding Goldie sideways, he lifted the sword in the air. I had just enough time to furrow my brows in confusion before Clytius brought the flat of the blade down swiftly on his massive draconic knee with incredible strength.

Time seemed to slow after that.

There was an ear splitting crack as my sword broke into two pieces. The golden glow that emanated from the blade flickered weakly before dying altogether. At the same instant, I screamed uncontrollably. A searing pain, like someone replaced all my blood with molten lava overcame my body. I fell to my knees, clutching my chest, wondering why I couldn't breathe without feeling as though my lungs were filled with angry hornets.

Through my hazy, tear stricken vision, I could make out the wicked grin on the shadowy giant's dark features. Clytius took the two halves of the broken sword and brought them down on his knee again, turning the two pieces into four fragments. Another wave of sharp pain clawed furiously at my insides. It was more than physical. It was like a piece of me was being destroyed. Another bloodcurdling scream was ripped from my throat.

"B-bastard," I managed, though the word was like Greek fire on my tongue.

The evil glint in his dark eyes greedily drank in the sight of me writhing in agony. Clytius repeated the action again and again until I was a trembling mess of limbs. My fingernails clawed at the black and white tiles, trying and failing to scrabble for purchase. If only I could sit up. If only I could just get to my feet.

There was a deep, guttural rumbling. It took me some time to realize that it was the hellish sound of Clytius laughing. With a flick of his mighty wrist, he hurled the shards of my shattered sword right at me. I whimpered as some of the pointed shards grazed my face and arms, slicing through and drawing warm lines of vibrant crimson to surface from my skin. The sword fragments scattered throughout the ichor looked eerily beautiful, like a golden mosaic dedicated to suffering. In a place like this, it was all too fitting.

It had to be dumb luck that none of the shards impaled me in the eye or the neck or something. Or perhaps the Fates believed I didn't deserve a swift death, a reprieve from this pain, an escape from this godforsaken fucking world.

My blood dripped down and mixed with the pool of ichor beneath me, droplet by droplet. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Weakly, I plucked a golden shard that had embedded itself in my forearm. A fat tear fell from my eye.

"Goldie," I croaked, although my throat burned with the effort.

My poor weapon. It didn't deserve this. It was a good sword, a loyal friend to me until the very end. Gods, I couldn't even keep track of how many times it had saved my skin in just the short time we'd been together. This wasn't right. Killing me? Sure, whatever, I'm totally down to hit the reset button right about now. But my sweet, Imperial Gold baby? This had to be a crime against humanity— or at least a crime against swordkind everywhere. Ugh, my brain is making less sense than usual. I must be on the brink of death. I didn't think it would be this soon... or this excruciating.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

The good guys are supposed to win.

With the last of my strength, I squeezed the little shard of gold as tightly as I could, ignoring the throb of pain as its sharp edges dug into my palm. It was nothing compared to the agony of losing my faithful sword, my companion. More warm red blood trickled from my clenched fist into the pool of ichor below.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.

I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to wield you. I'm sorry that you're broken because of me.

I'm sorry that I was such a shitty sword master.

You were always more than just a sword.

You deserved better. Maybe in the next life.

I could feel the ground tremble with the weight of Clytius's massive footsteps as he approached, still confident and meandering. And strangely enough, instead of fear, fear of Clytius, fear of dying, fear of what happens after death, a rush of anger more intense than anything I've ever felt flooded through me.

This giant. He tortured my father. He pimp slapped me. He broke my favorite fucking sword. I wished that I could move. I wished that I could rise to my feet. I wanted nothing more than to strike him down, to slice him and watch his blood flow the way that he made my father's blood flow. To break him into pieces the way that he'd broke my sword into pieces. Vengeance. I craved his blood. I wanted to feel it, smell it, taste it as it bursts from his veins. My hands were literally trembling with fury.

Wait... no.

It was the shard in my grasp.

I unclenched my fist and stared in a mixture of wonder and utter confusion as the golden sword fragment, stained crimson with blood, vibrated and hummed in my palm. I distinctly remember my brain, lacking fresh air, felt a strange compulsion to answer the vibrating object as if it were a cellphone.

Around me, the other shards began to tremble and hum as well, creating a series of ripples in the pool of golden ichor. My own blood, deep crimson and fragrant, didn't mix with the ichor and instead flowed independently, arranging itself in a snakelike pattern. As if pulled by some sort of gravitational force within my blood, the sword fragments fell into line on either side of the red stream.

When the last fallen shard shifted into place, the result looked like something that an abstract artist might call a "blade". I, myself, was no abstract artist. There was far too much empty space between the shards, and there was no hilt to wield the sword— it all seemed very impractical and confusing. Something was definitely missing... and yet? A thought occurred to me. It was a crazy hypothetical, far fetched even for me. But if I didn't try, then this would certainly be my final resting place, along with all my friends.

My eyes flicked up. Clytius had retrieved his Stygian Iron sword and was taking his victory lap just a few yards away. It wasn't everyday that a minion of Gaea got the honor, the privilege to kill the Omega-Blood, so he was really milking this moment. I twisted my face up in fury and disgust, feeling my fist clench around the last shard in my hand once more. No, it wasn't everyday that the Omega-Blood was killed.

But it wouldn't be today.

I slammed the sword fragment in my hand down into the pool of ichor with the others. The shard seemed to swim through the golden liquid to join the rest that surrounded the streak of red that floated amongst the gold. I placed my palms in the ichor, my father's ichor— to some extent, this was half of the blood that flowed through my veins, half of me.

Strangely enough, I recalled Percy's words to me so long ago on the Argo during a particularly nasty aurae attack when I'd saved Leo with an attack I didn't even know I could pull off. I was just acting on instinct.

"This is ichor. Ya know, the blood of the gods..." Percy had said. "You should try and hone that special power. It could come in handy in a pinch."

If this isn't a pinch, then I've got no idea what is, I thought. This one's for you, Jackson.

I had no earthly idea what I was doing— or trying to do. But ideas and thinking? That's never been my strength. So I felt. I felt all the anger I had towards Clytius and Gaea. I felt all the rage and pain that they'd caused me and the people that I care about. I felt all the fury, the agony, the heartache and channeled it, willing the last few drops of magic left within me to flow freely into the fragments of my sword. The shards began to glow faintly.

Clytius was only a few feet away now. He looked down at me with a sneer. Hidden by the clouds of Mist, the domed ceiling trembled as I heard the giant speak for the very first time.

Any last words, Omega-Blood?

It sounded as if he were speaking through a chorus of the dead, using all the unfortunate souls who'd been buried behind the dome's stelae.

"Just a few." With my palms still firmly planted in the ichor, I looked up and smiled without an ounce of humor. "In the name of Anastasios, the god unknown, I resurrect this blade—"

What are you doing? Clytius roared and lifted his sword. Silence! I command you—

"From the blood of the Omega," I continued, "be reborn!"

Then the pool of ichor erupted like a geyser.