If high school and akumas has taught me anything; it's that when more than five people gather to witness something, it's probably very good or very, very bad for the person it's happening to.

Sherman's war time was a perfect example of the latter.

At least two-dozen kids sat in a makeshift circle in what looked like an armoury or arsenal. There was a board with really old weapons like swords, daggers, nunchaku, hammers and one of those spiky ball thingys chained to a stick. There were a lot of swords and daggers.

But, and thank God —gods? God and gods? Nobody?—Kayla came up with this weird, slightly curved, very black sword before I could pick up a nunchaku, wack Sherman over the head with it, and run for my life.

'Your weapon, signore.' Said Kayla, the green shock girl, bowing reverently.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see someone doing the same thing with Sherman.

'Remind me how I got into this again?' I said, acting scared. Unfortunately, it wasn't that hard.

Kayla laughed. 'Make him pay, di Angelo.'

I turned to Félix. 'No. Really. What the heck happened here?'

'Donc vous ne vous souvenez pas avoir juré sur la River Styx de presque assassiner Sherman pour avoir traité Will un esclave?' [So you don't remember swearing on the River Styx to almost kill Sherman for treating Will like a slave?]

'Non.' I admitted. 'Me rappelle plus.' [Remind me].

Félix gave me the fast version of my—Nico's—call for war two weeks ago when Sherman Yang tricked Will and some Lou Ellen kid into doing chores that he was supposed to do. When Will came to me/Nico exhausted, smelly, and half passed out, I/Nico got the truth from the weakest member of the strongest cabin ever. I/Nico got so, so angry I/he almost sank the Ares Cabin and passed out for a day. When I/Nico woke up, I/he stuck my/his sword deep in Sherman's throat and vowed on the most powerful river of the Greek pantheon to end him in his favourite pursuit: Battle.

You know what? Leave me and Nico out of this. That was all Ares' fault for having so many lazy kids.

'Laisse moi récapituler,' I began, shaking. 'If I break the oath—si je romps le serment—the most lenient of punishments would be my death?'

'Oui.' Félix assured.

I closed my eyes and counted to ten thinking, Take me back to Paris. Oh God/s, take me back to Paris.

'Flying away, Angelo?' Sherman asked.

I really wished I could. 'Oh no, you—um—big for nothing. I'm gonna take you down Nicholas Town. Yeah! And unfortunately for you, they're no flights outward. Or taxis. Or—'

'War time! War time!' Cheered a pocket of kids who looked a lot like Sherman's siblings.

'I'm gonna break your tiny little wings that gave you the guts to step to me.' Sherman said, not sounding like Ivan from Nathaniel's class at all. 'War time!'

Sherman lunged at me with his bronze and unsurprisingly sharp sword. Instinctively I darted back. The only reason I didn't hightail out of there was the large crowd and my not wanting to die.

Then again, Sherman could easily kill me if his sword as much as accidentally hit my head.

I kept dodging and dipping and nearly-pleading-for-my-life-ing. Sherman was way too strong.

The strong will become weak, the brave will become cowards.

I wistfully thought of my and Nate's comic book. Where were Reverser's powers when you needed them?

The one time I landed a hit—Sherman's thigh—I felt pretty good about myself. At least until he punched me in the nose.

'Fichu,' I cursed. It meant damn in French

'Maybe,' Sherman said, smirking. 'but unlike some people I'm not a gay loser.'

Gay loser.

Years of teasing and discrimination rang in my ears. Memories of changing schools and hiding in fear flashed before my eyes like a fast but silent documentary. My conscience finally cleared when I met Nathaniel who accepted me even after that bitter time with the comic book.

Now Nathaniel wasn't here. Just a racist, unbeatable straight loser, at least six of his comrades, and a hot boy who was tricked into doing said straight loser's chores.

I could only remember screaming.