A/N: So ik it's been a while since this happened, but thanks for 100+ follows on this story. That's unbelievable to me, considering I don't consider this super awesome or anything.

Also, I'm finally on break, pRaIsE tHe LoRd. I can't promise imma update any more frequently over break, though; there's been many projects I've been meaning to get to. My mom wants a second painting for the living room, so I want to do that, and then there's obviously Christmas and New Year's parties/festivities (plus my birthday :P lol), so I'll be enjoying myself and eating all sorts of delicious, fattening dinners/desserts.

And then I have some studying I need to do too because remember that test I took a while back? I did REALLY well, and I've qualified for states! :D

I know it's been a while, but it's probably time to revisit our characters and their dilemmas. Hope you enjoy! (PS The chapter title's supposed to be: "I'm Fucking Sane and Other Lies I Tell Myself," but I ran out of characters so let's just pretend it's perfect, okay? Great! Stupid FF limitations.)

Disclaimer: All rights remain.

Annabeth

She wished to dream of Percy, but in every vision he was blurry, just out of her fingertips, just as she had brought upon herself with this fate. She wished to dream at all, but this torture was designed to keep her awake until Octavian deemed it otherwise.

"Don't touch me," she snapped, jerking her face away from Octavian's repulsive caress. Her cracked lips stung when she ran her tongue over the splits, and though she couldn't see herself, she was sure there were lavender bruises under her eyes.

"Feisty as ever," he sighed. "I thought you'd be more excited to see me, your first human interaction since you've been here."

"How long have I been here?" Annabeth realized. With such smooth floors and walls there was nowhere to even carve in the amount of days she'd been imprisoned.

Octavian's mouth curved up in a smug smile, as if he knew a secret she didn't. "Not long enough if you still have this cheek."

"Going to torture it out of me?"

Octavian shrugged. "We'll see; it depends on how good you'll be. I find I quite like your lip, but I'm not sure the people I plan to give you to will appreciate it as much as I do."

"What's your angle?" she tried, narrowing her eyes at him. "I know you plan to give me away for political reasons, but why all this… drama." She pointedly looked around the room. "Why lock up others if I was the prize you were after?"

He bared his teeth. "Don't flatter yourself; you're not my only valuable bargain."

"Why, Langen?" she repeated.

He tilted his head, towering over her. "Actually, I'd like to hear your guesses, Ashington. I've heard great things about you, and I have no doubt you've been sitting here, scheming with that big brain of yours. Let's hear it, then, see if the rumors are true."

Annabeth bit her lip. If she talked to him, maybe she was more likely to get what she wanted. Octavian was a murderous crazy, but if pleased, he could be negotiated with. If Athena had taught her anything, it was that everything could be unveiled for a price.

"Very well," she acquiesced. Octavian raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by her willingness. "I suspect you're hiding something," she stated quite bluntly. "Those people, they haven't done anything personally to you, but they know something you don't want them to. White Torture was designed to make prisoners forget, to have their minds and memories reshaped, so I suppose what I've been pondering is what memory you're trying to twist."

He blinked. "Interesting theory, Ms. Chase."

"I aim to please."

He barked out a laugh of incredulity. "You? My guard told me you bit him when he tried to stop you from cutting those damn chains into your wrists." His eyes sparkled with curiosity.

Annabeth shrugged as best as she could with her hands behind her, tied to the wall. "That wouldn't be entirely inaccurate."

"Entirely inaccurate?" Octavian repeated.

"Your guard fails to mention that he came in the middle of the night, and though it's never night here," she remarked, blinking up at the lights. Her eyes were so heavy… so tired. "I had good reason not to trust his intentions."

"We don't engage in that type of torture here. It's all diplomatic/" He smirked. "But fair enough."

"Excuse me for not trusting the bullshit that comes out of your mouth, Octavian."

He pursed his lips. "First names now?"

"Indeed. Are we not all friends here?" She glared. "Perhaps we can share a coffee later."

"When you leave your prison?" he laughed. "Okay."

"My theory," she redirected. "Do you not deny it?"

Octavian hesitated. "I do not," he decided, shifting his weight onto his other foot. He was telling the truth, she deducted.

Her lips spread into a thin, wan smile. "So, tell me Octavian. What did they see?" And then all of a sudden, it came to her, like a dream, like the answer she'd been longing for. "Were they perhaps monsters? Or are you the only monster here?" she accused, infuriated.

Octavian flinched back as her chains screeched at her sudden movement forward. After he'd recollected himself, he spoke. "I must say, Annabeth, I'm highly impressed. They did not exaggerate that brain of yours. What fun it will be to twist it how I wish."

"How did you get them? Are you a wizard? A witch? Satan himself? Infatuated with old myths of Kronos and Ouranos?" Annabeth had never been religious, but they were grown of Greek myths, and to see them come to life, to have Octavian admit his wrongdoings, it was too much.

"A science experiment gone wrong," he revealed, white teeth sparkling.

"A science experiment?" She grasped onto this new information, desperate for more. "For what result?"

"None of your business. I've already told you more than you deserve." His eyes flashed with rare anger.

Annabeth stubbornly set her mouth straight. "If I… if I help you, will you tell me more?" she bargained. It was risky; she would be helping an experiment she didn't understand, but knowledge was the most powerful of all, and if she could get her hands on it and run, she would reign supreme. "If I cooperate, if I'm good?" she whispered.

Octavian paused, taken off guard. "We'll see," he decided, which wasn't a no, it wasn't a no! Hope flooded Annabeth's senses. "But for now, back to your petri dish." He chuckled at his own joke.

"Am I part of your experiment?"

"Like I said earlier, don't flatter yourself. No, you are not."

"Octavian," she hesitated. "Will you really think about it?" She tried to seem kinder than she ever had in her entire life. She wished she could cuss him out, but insulting him would take her no further. It had to be polite anger, an anger that would subconsciously keep him on her side.

He didn't answer. "You would've made a good Queen," he said again, repeating the same thing he'd said the week before.

"Octavian!" she snapped, angry.

"You'll only miss me more when I'm gone and you're left all alone once more," he breathed, and he looked an awful lot like a skinny, mad scientist. The shadows fell unflatteringly on his bony face.

"I won't," Annabeth refused. "Never you," she vowed.

"You will," he argued.

"I won't!" she cried, trying to convince herself more. Strength did not come in numbers, not with her. She, alone, would be okay like this. But it felt like a lie. It was only natural to crave human interaction, no matter with whom. It would eat her alive inside, like a pesticide. He was a pesticide.

"Shhh, it's all over now. It's okay. It was cruel of them to make you fight me," Octavian whispered, tilting her face up to look at him. "You never would have won."

She bit her tongue, fighting to keep the bile down. "You lie."

"Do I? Look at yourself, chained up, just another pawn." He shook his head at her, offering a pitiful glance. She looked down, angry with herself and him, too. "You can rest your head now." His thumb brushed across her cheek, but she just flinched. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be, a close friend to talk to. I'll see you in a few days." He winked, leaving her behind.

She watched him go, helpless. Annabeth slumped forward against her restraints, the bone-tired, weariness coming back to her. Her chains jangled, freezing up with her sudden weight. A science experiment, monsters, a science experiment, monsters, a science experiment, monsters, a sci…

The lights were starting to look a lot like the sun now. The fluorescents were like summer in that people relished the light until it became too hot, until they began to perspire, until it was uncomfortable, until it wasn't everything they had wanted it to be. She had fallen into the same void as the rest; she was Icarus, and she had flown too close.

Annabeth stared at the ground and counted the sound of her own heartbeat, slowly growing more mad with each minute.

Nico

"But wait—where are you going?!" Will cried behind him, pulling back his small frame with warm healer hands. Nico groaned, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He had burned the note a long time back.

"Nowhere," he assured the older boy. Will frowned, worry lines creasing his forehead.

"You can't just disappear at eleven at night!"

Nico scowled. "The bonfire's over. There's quite frankly nothing I'm missing. Let go," he hissed, his dark eyes shooting to Will's hand on his shoulder.

"No," Will choked out. "Let me come with you," he pleaded.

"No," Nico persuaded, more stubborn than his blond counterpart. "I'll be back soon, I promise."

"No!" Will exclaimed, his agonized voice making Nico flinch with guilt. "I have been so good to you," the medic breathed, his voice cracking, his face crumpling. Only then did Nico notice that Will's eyes were shiny with unshed tears. "Tell me what I've done wrong, if I have, or tell me why you're leaving when curfew has fallen upon us because you owe me at least an explanation." Will shook his head, his grip tightening on Nico's shoulder.

Nico blinked. "I can't." He shook his head. He didn't know who he was dealing with, he didn't know if it'd put Will in harm's way, he didn't know how caustic the effects would be, and he would not dare bring his gem close to this minefield.

"Why? Why won't you tell me? Why won't you stay the night? Why do you keep sneaking off and keeping secrets and smoking when you think I'm not looking—because trust me, I've seen you do it?" Will pulled away, crossing his arms over his chest in that way he did when he was cold or upset.

"Will. Don't."

"No, Nico. I've been here with you since the beginning, or as close to it as I can get, and I can't let you walk out this door with something."

Nico's shoulders felt heavy. "I can't. Trust me," he whispered.

"Why should I? Why, when you conceal everything?" Will shook his head, resigned. "Forget it. Go. Run off on your little adventure and keep your secrets."

Nico stepped forward, but Will only stepped back. "Will—" he tried, but Will held up his hands.

"No," Will forced out, trying so hard to keep from crying. "Bianca can keep your secrets," he broke down. "You'll always have her, and it'll be enough. Or it won't. Either way, it won't be my problem."

"Will, stop. I'll come back, I told you, I'll be back before you know it, and if all goes how I hope, it'll be okay."

"You'll come back," Will agreed. "But you'll never really be back," he refused, shaking his head to himself. Will held open the door. "Perhaps one day, we will meet again as characters of a different story, as different people with different aspirations, and perhaps we'll share a life then."

Nico's mouth opened and closed at a loss for words. "Don't be like that." His was voice was hoarser than usual.

"I can't help you if you won't help yourself."

I am! Nico wanted to scream. This is for me just as much as you. I solve my shit, and then there's nobody in my mind anymore, and it's just you. Trust me, believe in me, love me and no one else. Don't leave me here alone; I don't know how to be alone anymore, not since I met you.

Instead, he was quiet. His silence was enough for Will. Will turned around and walked back into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him with a dull thud. It sent shivers up Nico's spine. And then the anger came.

Nico refrained from punching his fist through the wall. He stormed outside, his heart pounding, his hair flying around in the howling winds. It seemed the Earth was as angry as he was.

He struggled to pull a black box of cigarettes out of his pocket, and when he finally did, his finger had poked a hole in the packaging. Frustrated, he threw it against the bark of a tree, carding his fingers through his jet black hair. Nico cursed to himself, shredding the cardboard box to bits and letting the wind carry the pieces far, far away. He crushed a cigarette in the damp grass under his boot until it was as flat as a pancake, and then he cursed some more.

In trying to fix himself, he'd ruined everything around him. He destroyed everything he touched, and it took everything in him not to run back into that cabin and press Will up against the wall and scream his secrets for all to know if that meant it would give Will peace of mind because Will's happiness was his own.

Instead, Nico walked quietly and calmly to the Amazonian-Canadian graveyard, just as the note had instructed, adding Will's weight to a long list of his own.

…

It was cold out by the water, and Nico knew with a certainty that there was only so long until autumn fell upon them.

The headstones had collected dust, only a select few adorned with flowers, and even those had withered into nothingness, shriveling at the petal tips. He swiped his finger across the top of a wooden board and his hand came up black.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted it: a dark, willowy figure lurking under the shadow of a pine tree. Nico stuffed his hands into his pockets, keeping a safe distance.

"So you're my secret admirer," Nico drawled, his mood sour.

The body strolled out of the shadows, revealing himself in the moonlight. He had pale skin, paler than his own, and his clear blue eyes seemed like they appeared on an old, ragged doll. There was something about him that was so familiar, but Nico couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"You," the dark-haired Prince whispered, narrowing his eyes at the man in front of him. "I've seen you before, once." But where? Think!

"Me," he agreed, and Nico cringed away from him and his smooth voice. "Let's cut to the chase." And he grinned as if he understood a joke no one else did.

"Sure," Nico warily agreed. "You said you could fix my problem. Which one?"

"Which one were you expecting?"

Nico scowled, unaffected by his mind games. "Either you tell me why you've summoned me, or I leave."

"You won't leave so easily," he promised. "You're not as immune to curiosity as you like to believe, Prince."

"That's for me to decide."

The man cocked a silver eyebrow at him. "If you say so. I must say, I'm insulted you don't recognize me."

"Not my problem," Nico snipped, but in all honesty, it was bothering him too.

"Allow me to introduce myself: I am Octavian Geve Langen, and I'm here to offer you a deal you can't resist."

Nico blanched. He could see it now: glasses full to the brim of Cristal clinking against each other, Percy dancing in the middle of the ballroom floor with Annabeth, a perpetual frown on her face, whispers of royals floating through the air like clouds hanging above, tight shoes and sky-high heels, long trains of silk, draped across pale figures as they laughed so fakely that Nico wanted to punch them all, shake senses back into them—the Ball of the Betrothed, hosted by the Calbournes so long ago. Octavian had been there—Nico had passed him dancing with Annabeth at one point.

But more importantly, all he could focus on was that he was the man who'd captured Annabeth, according to the party who'd return after a mostly successful prison break.

Nico blindly stumbled back; he cursed. "How did you get here?" It was supposed to be secure, this base.

Octavian shrugged. "That's irrelevant. Let's get down to business: you miss your sister, right?"

Nico was stunned silent.

"I'll take that as a yes. You look down on my hospital, but we've recently made a breakthrough, and for a certain price, I'll take some pain off your hands."

"Go fuck yourself," Nico indelicately spat. "You're a twisted bastard, and if you know what's good for you, you'll release Chase." Against his own will, Nico had grown rather close with the blonde. She understood what it was like to hate yourself, she understood loneliness and the good and bad of it, she knew what it was like to hate to love and love to hate, and she, too, was the only other one to experience those sea-green eyes haunting her brain wherever she went.

"Well that's rude, considering that I'm offering to bring back Bianca."

His mouth fell open. "Necromancy?!" he hissed. "That's impossible; get away from me!" he demanded when Octavian stepped forward. "Bastard."

Octavian's eyes glittered, and Nico thought he was going to be sick. "Just ask Annabeth—she's seen my failed attempts." He laughed.

"At what?" Nico dared ask.

"Immortality. Over two hundred test subjects, and I've finally come very close. I need lovely Annabeth to figure out the rest, which, as you know, she'll surely do, indicted by her curiosity."

"What the fuck have you done to her?" he seethed, drawing his sword.

"Nothing she hasn't done to herself," he cheekily responded.

"How dare you," Nico's face was stoic, but his voice trembled with rage. "How dare you come here and promise me lies of fucking resurrection. You soil my sister's name, and you tarnish your own in your foolishness! You're one fucked-up son of a bitch, and if Annabeth doesn't kill you first, I assure you, we will."

"Bold words, Prince. 'We?' What 'we' is there here? You are alone. Your only companion is in my chains, and the Amazons would throw you away so quickly that it'd make your head spin," Octavian snarled.

Nico couldn't deny that he was tempted, however impossible it seemed. A chance to see his sister again? A chance to atone for his mistakes? A chance to hug her tight like he was a little boy again? But all he could think about was how afraid he was that she'd be different. He could envision a paler version of her, one with empty dark eyes and a heart smaller than his own. He wasn't sure he'd be able to bear that. And even if she was the same, it was a crime.

Hades hadn't been the most attentive father, but his father was the supreme leader of justice, the man behind the law, an iron fist, the one who had taught Nico the one mantra he followed his entire life: mercy doesn't exist. The law wasn't always easy, but it was the law.

Nico squeezed his eyes shut, his head pounding. "No."

"No?" Octavian repeated, his face twisting into genuine confusion.

"No," Nico echoed, and he was brought back to a conversation between his mother and him about two years ago when she'd first began really explaining what it would be like to be a young King:

"There are only one or two moments in your life that really matter, moments when you realize nothing will ever be the same and time is divided into two—before this and after."

Nico frowned, a vendor from two months ago popping up in his head when Nico had run into him mistakenly. "Which way do you go, mister?"

"No," he said again, and Nico thought that if this was a dramatic movie, this would be the part where the music soared like an eagle, the melody swelling at the climax before shattering to a silence. "This is my family, for better or worse, and I will not let you or anyone else take that away from me. You will not touch my sister, and when I make it out of here, I'll make sure everyone knows what you've done in your little tests. Rest assured, Octavian, your secret will be as public as you always wished."

Octavian bared his teeth, but Nico didn't flinch. This time, he was ready, this time he was positive he was doing the right thing, and it had been an awfully long time since he'd ever been this sure.

There was just one thing that was bothering him: why would Octavian have offered to resurrect her in the first place? What was his motive? Surely not out of the kindness of his heart—Nico highly doubted Octavian possessed a drop of compassion in that cold, black heart of his.

Nico reached out and 'accidentally' led Octavian into a tree branch, allowing his coat to snag on a loose tree branch. And then he saw it and it all made sense.

Glinting in the concealed leather case inside Octavian's coat was a sharp silver blade with a bone handle. Nico stumbled back in surprise. "You're here to kill me," he said out loud before he could stop himself. An assassination attempt.

Octavian froze, glancing down to knife in his breast pocket, and slowly but surely, he withdrew it. "So pessimistic."

"It's my own death. I was hoping for eighteen," he mentioned as casually as he could.

"What a shame. I can't believe you thought I'd bring back that devil sister of yours for you. If I brought her back, it'd be to torture you." And he grinned. "You and your stupid family, you're all small hinders to my plans, and if I could just take you out, it'll all fall into place." He paused, as if savoring the moment.

Nico rolled his eyes; Langens always had a certain taste for theatrics. "I'm guessing this is where you try to kill me?" he suggested, shrugging his small shoulders. "Tsk. You really shouldn't expose your deadly plans before executing them. Makes you seem like an amateur."

Octavian growled and Nico pulled his long Stygian sword out without another thought. It was second nature. He had known for a long time that his head would always be on the chopping block as the youngest King, and this was no different. Except it was. Expect everything was different because this was Octavian, and those tricky Langens always had something up their sleeves.

Nico sighed in resignation. "You can come out now." He wasn't sure who he was talking to, but sure enough, two shadows stepped out, one hidden behind a particularly thick-trunked pine tree, and the other landing gracefully from the treetops. He was outnumbered by Octavian and his goons.

"Eighteen is certainly wishful thinking," one of Octavian's men smirked, and Nico laughed.

"I've never been called that before—wishful." He smiled wryly.

"Well, there's a first time for everything," Octavian reasoned, and the brunet on his left beamed. "And a last, too." Slowly, they encroached on his space, and Nico knew with a certainty that he would fight his hardest and if he was to die, he would die fighting.

His own life was worthless in his own eyes, but back at camp, he had an angry blond waiting for him, and in Octavian's clutches was the power to mess with life and death, and the brains behind his entire operation—Miss Chase, and back home, far, far away, his favorite people in the world would be waiting for his return: old Queen Persephone and King Hades.

His loved ones were worth every bit of blood he paid to make it out alive, and he'd be damned if he didn't.

…

Nico curled his hand into a fist and aimed for the front of his nose. His knuckles made contact with the bridge of Octavian's nose. His blood splattered all over the dew-covered, green grass. Octavian hit him in return, and the King tasted blood.

"Come on, King, get up," Octavian mocked. "Get up and fight." The black haired-boy next to him slammed his hand into Nico's ribs and he winced, the pain rippling across his chest. "Focus," Octavian encouraged, and Nico licked his salty lips, running over the cuts and bruises methodically.

Octavian's brunet goon slashed his broadsword, and the arching shot sliced the fabric of Nico's shirt at the midsection. It missed the flesh behind it by perhaps a centimeter. Octavian swung in turn, and this time it ate flesh, tearing into Nico's smooth chest with ragged cuts.

Nico was already on the ground, his head throbbing—he was sure he had a concussion—the original bone-handled blade of Octavian's lodged tightly into the tree bark behind his head. He let out a shuddery breath, fighting to stay awake as they went in turn, hitting him each with satisfying cracks and squelches. His black iron sword was pinned in the grass a few feet away. He was pleased to see that Octavian's brown-haired friend was badly injured, maybe even more than Nico, but Octavian and the other back-up were relatively okay, just adorned with a few cuts and bruises, only one on Octavian's arm deep enough to cause real damage.

Nico was one of the best sword-fighters of their generation, especially considering his age. He was said to rank alongside Perseus and Luke, the infamous sword-wielding brothers, but Langens were on God status for battle. They could make a weapon out of a tree branch, motivated by their pure, sick love for killing and maiming.

Nico's head lolled back against the tree as a fist collided with the side of his face. Pain shot up his jaw like it was on fire, and he was sure they had broken his jaw with a million other pieces of him. But they would never break him, not until he was dead, which was starting to look better and better for his opponents now.

He spit, the pooling blood in his mouth dark against a headstone. "You were always into torture, sick bastard," Nico insulted, sneering in disgust. They gutted him like a fish, putting another dagger into his thigh and Nico saw stars.

"Big talk for your position," Octavian taunted, but Nico did his best to turn the tables. He had two options at that moment: leave the dagger in, keep the blood from coming out and suffering extreme blood loss and a resulting guaranteed death or painfully remove Octavian's weapon from himself, bleed to death, but manage to fight back. He hoped he was making the right decision. He could see Hades now in his head, inspecting him with dark eyes and a sealed mouth. Hades, give me strength.

He pulled the dagger out, and so began his clock, his blood rapidly exiting his body. Nico blindly swung, and struck gold. The dark-haired minion cried out and fell back as Nico stabbed and removed a blade in the side of his head. He passed out, dying in an instant from the puncture in his brain.

And then it was two.

"It was always meant to be me and you," Octavian whispered, and pulled out his more weapons as Nico dove for his sword off to the right.

…

Was it just him or was the sky starting to get darker?

"Why aren't you dead yet?" Octavian snapped, and upon closer examination, Nico was pleased to see that Octavian was roughed up now.

"I ask myself the same question every day," Nico cheerfully retorted. Octavian screamed in frustration, slamming Nico's head against a headstone.

"That's not very lawful," Nico managed to whisper, his eyes closed. He couldn't feel anything anymore; there was just so much pain and everywhere too. It had bloomed across his body like a bloody rose.

"You should've died instead of your sister. I bet it haunts you every night," Octavian tried to goad him into a fight, but Nico just kept fighting steadily and slowly. He was bigger now, he had grown, he was not affected by Octavian's childish attempts to make him fail. He had one goal, and it was to make it out alive.

Octavian slammed him into another headstone, cracking the stone in two, and probably something in Nico's head as well. Then it all went black as the night sky.

…

Nico squinted at the sky. It was turning orange now or was that just his imagination? He wasn't sure how long it'd been since he'd passed out, only that he was sure he had blacked out. There wasn't much he could've done to stop it. Three against one was hardly fair, and he was surprised he was awake now. He was sure that had been it.

Dazedly, Nico sat up, his skull splitting at the seams. He tried to clutch his head, but his left arm was dangling uselessly at his side. Nico threw up, and he felt even sicker when he realized blood was coming with his vomit too; that was never a good sign.

Octavian was nowhere to be seen. But he wouldn't have just left unless he was sure Nico was dead, would he have?

Nico reached up slowly with his right hand, albeit shakily. He grazed his throat with the fingertips of his hand and it came back scarlet red. Now he was trembling beyond comparison. Was this the afterlife? Was it over? Octavian had slit his throat, no doubt, so how could he be alive? Were they, whoever controlled this damned life, keeping him alive just to torture him?

Every part of him felt like it was on fire. His hand felt like it was burning with the blood of his throat. Dragging himself out of the graveyard with the right side of his body, Nico felt the overwhelming desire to give up and just lay there to die, but no. Annabeth needed him; he was the only one who knew what Octavian was up to, who knew that they were messing with things beyond them, and it couldn't possibly end well.

He couldn't save his sister, but he would not fail Annabeth too. She was his second chance, one he'd seeked for so long.

Nico couldn't speak, afraid his throat would give in with Octavian's deep cut and finally drown him in his own blood, but he had a working right arm that he would use to his full advantage. After painstakingly hauling himself to the Amazon base—a two-hour's worth journey by crawling and dragging through the mud— he found himself under the pale blue sky under the cool morning sun shivering at the South border.

Nico slammed a bloody handprint against the window, and a girl no more than fifteen screamed so loud that Nico's head began its ever splitting headache all over again. Guilt laced his soul; he hadn't meant to frighten her, and he was positive he didn't look so great. She'd probably experience night terrors for months from his appearance alone.

She pressed a red alert button, probably not recognizing him immediately—he was covered in mud and blood and everything in between—and even if she thought he was an intruder, that was okay. They would bring him to the center of the Amazons, and someone would recognize him immediately, and he could fix this mess Annabeth had gotten herself in.

Exhausted, Nico promptly passed out for the third time in the last twenty-four hours.

Piper

"Please, have a seat."

Piper quietly sat across from him, her gloved hands folded neatly in her lap. She had not seen Malcolm in what seemed like years. She had probably last seen him at the original ball that started this all.

"It's been a while," Malcolm noted, voicing her thoughts. They fell into an awkward silence.

"How's Athena doing?" Piper initiated the small talk.

"She sent me a letter once she reached India," Malcolm mentioned. "She seems to be well, though with her it's always hard to tell."

Piper nodded. "And how about yourself? A representative of Epresh now, huh?"

Malcolm nodded too. "It's been… educational. Very strange, though, this whole democratic thing, but I can see why my sister adores it. Speaking of which, how is my baby sister? She's always sworn in secrecy and highly unmotivated to tell me much of anything." He blinked, and Piper shifted uncomfortably. She was sure he'd intended for it to be a joke, but with the Ashingtons it was always hard to tell. Their sense of humor was peculiar. Regardless, she wasn't laughing now.

Piper bit her bottom lip. "That's what I've come to talk to you about. She's gone."

"Gone?" Malcolm's head shot up. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Octavian," Piper's voice trembled at his name, still fragile after Jason. Thalia was not faring well back at the base either.

"The Langen boy?" Malcolm frowned. "What about him?"

"He took her," Piper whispered.

Malcolm was stunned silent. "Why?"

Piper shook her head. "We don't know. All we know is that he's locked her up in that cruel hospital that he owns."

Malcolm stared, dumbfounded. "That's his jail?"

Piper slowly nodded yes.

"That prick!" Malcolm gruffly cried out, slamming his palms against the table. "What do we do?" His eyes were wide and she was reminded of Annabeth in the few times the blonde had found something to fear. It was frightening even to witness.

"That depends on Nico," Piper mumbled.

"Nico?"

She sighed in resignation and began to explain the largely complicated events of the past few, chaotic days.

Drew

"I don't want to meet your toy." She went to slam the door in his face, but Octavian stuck his foot in, wedging it between the doorframe. Drew could feel Cecily's gaze on her from behind—she was draped on the bed, her red hair mussed. Eager to leave Octavian behind, Drew scowled at the man in front of her.

"Don't be such a killjoy," he huffed.

Drew eyed his cuts and bruises. Her favorite was the bandage around the stab in his abdomen. "She do that to you?" She jutted her chin to his injury.

Octavian wistfully stared blankly past her, and Drew rolled her eyes. "I wish."

"Idiot. Who'd you battle? A squirrel?" She smirked.

"No one important," Octavian replied stiffly.

"Are they dead?"

"Of course," Octavian scoffed. "Do you take me for a fool?"

"I do, actually," Drew answered thoughtfully.

"You're not so useful that I won't kill you. Watch your mouth," Octavian threatened.

"I'm not scared of you."

"Yes, but if you want Cecily alive, I would be," Octavian retorted.

"She won't do it!" Drew called after him as he stormed away.

"Excuse me?" He spun on his heels, pausing a few feet away.

"Annabeth," Drew clarified. "I know what you want, and I also know she will die if she has to, but she will say no."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Octavian accused, but he seemed unsure.

"Don't I?" Drew could see Cecily slipping off her silk gown through the mirror's reflection out of the corner of her eye. It was very distracting. That little minx—she knew what she was doing.

"I'll be back," Octavian promised. "And it'll be all as I wanted all along."

"If you think so." The Raya shrugged, and slammed the door closed, just as harshly and satisfactorily as she'd wanted for so long. He's delusional, she decided, and hastily locked the door behind her.

"Who was that?" Cecily tiredly asked, suspicious.

"Nobody," Drew lied, her heart pounding in her chest. Cecily couldn't know what she'd done to Annabeth, tactfully guiding her right into the hands of her captor. Cecily looked doubtful. "Nobody important."

Annabeth

"I'm not crazy," she whispered to herself for the 107th time. Or had it been 108? She would have to start all over now. Her nails were black with dirt under them, her hairline had begun bleeding, but she wasn't sure when or even how. She suspected her sinister scraping had caused the injury. It was okay. She didn't feel it anyways.

"There you are. It's been so long."

Annabeth squinted up at the intruder. Had he always been so busted up? Her stomach twisted and she prayed he hadn't acquired more hostages.

"They would be proud of me now," Octavian assured himself at her look of disdain. "The gods will bless me, and if you were smart, you'd understand. You wouldn't fight this change, this era."

Annabeth's anger had not left her, but it had diminished, replaced by something that resembled pity. Octavian knew what he was doing was wrong, like Luke, but they were different in one way. Octavian truly believed he would be rewarded for 'saving humankind.' How could one be angry at sheer ignorance, at naivety, at misinformation?

"The gods aren't real," Annabeth whispered, though now she wavered. As much as she hated herself for thinking so, it was such a relief to have some contact. Octavian checked on her at least every other day, and when he hadn't seen her in at least four days (or so she guessed; time was difficult when imprisoned), she began to worry her lip, anxiety hitting her at full force.

"Are they?" Octavian's face didn't change. "Or are they simply not with you?"

She hesitated. She was a sinner, and if they ignored her presence, she couldn't say she would've blamed them. "No, they aren't real. Look around us, look at the kingdoms going up in flames, and at the people who suffer, the dead, the children, the innocent spilled on the sand. If they were real, the gods would care. And if they don't care, then they are no gods of mine." At least that much she was certain of.

Octavian scoffed. "You're wrong. The gods are real and they will come down someday soon to see all I've accomplished."

He was delusional, she decided. "Why would they have remained hidden in the clouds for so long if they were real?"

"They have been waiting till this moment," Octavian proposed, pausing carefully before thinking some more.

Annabeth shook her head at the ground.

"Do you have something to say?" he demanded at the look on her face.

"No."

"Spit it out," he ordered. There was a moment of silence before she spoke, albeit carefully.

"I believe… if the gods truly exist, then… regardless if it's one man or twenty…" she murmured to herself.

"Spit it out!" It was more aggressive now. Octavian picked her up by the chains and Annabeth refrained from whimpering in pain as the cold, jagged metal sliced into her rough skin.

"God stays in heaven because he too fears what he has created!" she panted, locking eyes with him. "Put me down."

"The gods love us," he argued, angry at her statement. "You say so because you have no faith in the divine!"

She half-heartedly shrugged her shoulders, wincing as he threw her back to the ground. Faith was a rare reward in their world. "You'll see, someday," she promised, and it wasn't meant to be a threat. "Someday, Octavian Geve."

…

He had said yes.

"What do you think?" Octavian glanced at her with cold, calculating eyes as she skimmed the tall chalkboard of math and science. The writing was scrawny, and Annabeth was sure it couldn't have been Octavian's work—no, it was much too complex.

"It's… incredible," she answered honestly. "And this… this is what your monsters are? Failed experiments?"

"They are," Octavian stated proudly, and Annabeth frowned. It was cruel to experiment on living creatures, but she could not deny her excitement in the furthering of science.

"What are you trying to figure out with all this math? What could have possibly had such caustic effects that we have ancient Greek monsters on the rampage?"

"That's for me to know and you to wonder," Octavian snapped. "Now, are you going to make yourself useful and find the flaw, or should I lock you up again?"

Annabeth's eyes darted to the chains around her wrists. He had released her feet for this, had let her out of that goddamn room, and there was no way in hell she would go back. "No! No," she amended. "Give me a moment." Perspiration rolled down the back of her neck, the nerves getting to her as she hastily scanned the messy work.

Her brain went into overtime, threatening to start a fire with the friction, and her thumb rubbed absentmindedly against her palm as she invisibly traced the steps of the large sums.

"Chalk," she demanded. It was risky to work for a sick bastard, but what choice did she have? This was her one source of information. She wrote fast, the sound screeching across the dark green board, chalk dust coating the tips of her fingers. She wasn't sure how long she'd been here, but the intellectual stimulation was exhilarating; she had missed it too much. Octavian watched in silent amusement, and what she suspected was thinly concealed awe.

"You're—," she halted. "Impossible." She gaped up at the tall wall in silent amazement. She spun on him. "You're—you're discovering immortality." And then she fell back against the board, staggering in surprise. The chalk fell to the floor, shattering in two pieces and sending chalk dust all across the floor like stars.

Octavian looked smug. But this was morally wrong, and Annabeth felt that she would be sick, but not because Octavian was on the path to playing the part of god, but because she wasn't as scared as she should've been. The temptation of power always tugged at her, but this was too much, and it hit too close to home.

"You would be the most powerful man of all time," she whispered, dazedly looking back up at the writing. "So…" she studied the science. He was taking the Turritopsis dohrnii jellyfish and trying to mesh their genes with other animals, thus creating rabid monsters. The Turritopsis dohrnii jellyfish had a neat party trick: when it faced some kind of environmental stress, like starvation or injury, it could revert back to the state of a small drop of tissue, which then changed back into the sexually immature polyp phase of life. It was like a butterfly turning back into a caterpillar, or a frog shaping back into a tadpole. The jellyfish weren't truly immortal—they could still be eaten by predators or killed by other methods—but their ability to manipulate their life cycle was incomparable to the majority of species'.

"You're using two!" she exclaimed, eyes wide. "Lobsters…" she stared at the diagram. "Their endless supply of the telomerase enzyme allows them to maintain youthful DNA indefinitely," she realized.

Octavian rolled his eyes. "I know what I'm doing, Annabeth. Tell me what I'm doing wrong," he hissed.

Annabeth hesitated. There was only one more organism she knew of that possessed traits like this. If he tried it, though, she was afraid it wouldn't work just as much as she feared its success. But he caught her expression before she could hide it.

"You figured it out."

Guilt flashed across her face. This was a mistake; she should not have convinced him to let her help. In a split second, she ran for the door.

"Stop her!" Octavian ordered. His guards leapt into action, trapping her in the room.

"I want to go back!" Annabeth cried. "I'll take the torture, I'll quietly give in," she promised, desperate.

"No," Octavian laughed. "You wanted to know so badly, and now you've solved it for me. You will tell me."

"I won't!"

"You will." He grinned. "Or I'll kill more."

"More?" she hesitated.

"Nico's dead."

Annabeth froze, all images of immortality and secrets flying out of her head. It was a punch to the gut. Annabeth fell to her knees, her brain spinning with pictures of a young kid with dark hair and a perpetual frown. It couldn't be true… it just couldn't. Tears pricked at her eyes. But Octavian had been beat up badly. Who else could've put up such a fight? She didn't even have it in her to cry, fully submitted to a silent grief.

"And your dear Perseus will be next if you don't cooperate."

She didn't know if he was lying anymore, but she had no doubt that he was capable of anything. She hung her head like a shamed pet, tears streaming down her cheeks in quiet disbelief.

"So? Which way do you choose?" Octavian taunted. The guards' tough gloves were leaving red imprints on her wrists, but she was numb to the pain.

"The jellyfish's cousin," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "The Hydra."

"Yes?" he eagerly encouraged. Annabeth squeezed her eyes shut, pained.

"They look similar to the polyp stage of the jellyfish, given that they're both grouped in the phylum Cnidaria. It has a tubular body with a tentacle-ringed mouth at one end and an adhesive foot at the other. They stay in freshwater ponds or rivers and use their stinging tentacles to grab any prey that swims past."

Octavian leaned forward.

"They don't go through senescence at all." Annabeth had began crying now, and her words were garbled. She was signing away the life of so many to save Percy. She hadn't been quick enough for Nico. She'd brought him to the Amazons. It was all her fault again. Her head was pounding.

"How so?" Octavian pressed. "That's impossible."

"No. Instead of gradually deteriorating over time, a Hydra's stem cells have the capacity for infinite self-renewal." She didn't want to say the next part.

"So what gene is it? What should I insert?"

Annabeth bitterly wept, haunted by the memory of her old friend.

"Pay attention, woman!" Octavian jerked her head back with her curls, and Annabeth felt like the world was crumbling beneath her. "The gene. Now."

"I don't know!" the blonde lied. "I don't know it!"

"Your stupid Prince! It's his head on the block; choose your words wisely!"

"FoxO," she gasped. "It keeps them regenerating. Please don't kill him," she begged, and she was acutely alert that she had never begged like this before. "You killed him." She put her face in her hands, hysterical as Octavian loomed over her. But he had found his answer, and she had sold her soul away with it.

Will

He shot up in his bed, aroused from his restless sleep by a warm hand. "Will!" a feminine voice hissed out at the crack of dawn. He squinted up at the figure, befuddled as to why Kayla Knowles was in his cabin.

"Hello?" His confusion slowly faded, though, when he saw the desperate look on her face. "What happened?" he demanded.

"It's Nico," she panted like she'd run the entire way. Immediately, his entire body was set aflame.

"What?" He couldn't believe his own ears. Already, he was lacing up his shoes, ready to run.

"He arrived this morning—I don't understand what he's saying. He's just blubbering a bunch of random stuff and Thalia's fetching Percy as we speak. He knows him well, but I figured you'll be able to decipher the rubbish coming out of his mouth even better. And besides, he won't stop asking for you. I suspect he's going to go into a coma soon; the blows to his head are brutal." Kayla shook her head. Every word was a stab to Will's heart.

Together, Kayla leading the way, they ran over the hills and fields to the South infirmary.

Will burst into the doors first, his blood pressure probably off the charts will all the worry eating away at his insides. "Oh my god." He had let him walk out. He had let him drive himself to his near-death experience. Guilt wracked Will's body. He would never leave his side again if he even got the chance to try again. Bile rose in his throat. No, he had to have a second chance, it couldn't be too late. "Please," he whispered despite himself, hanging his head. Will fell to his bedside, sick to his stomach.

…

Nico coughed real ugly, and Will felt panic building in his chest. He could not lose him, he refused. Will would make a motherfucking deal with Satan himself to keep Nico here with him forever.

"I'm bleeding a lot." Nico smiled like a ghost, and fear pricked Will's heart.

"Shhh, I know. I know, Nico. I'm going to fix you."

"I told you not to fix me," he whispered, raspily, a half-grimace, half-smiling curving at the corner of his whitened lips.

Will had only cried in the presence of a dying person once or twice before in his life. One had been his own father, a horrifying memory he tried to forget, but could not, try as he might. And the other had been a mother, lost in childbirth, leaving her son an orphan. He strongly believed that his own tears only sparked fear in his patients and it was hardly professional. He had come a long way since then, learning to mask his emotions for the sake of those he gave his blood and sweat to. The tears would only come after, when his tears couldn't hurt them any more than death did. But with Nico dying, he was fucking dying in his arms, Will felt himself splitting at the seams because it wasn't supposed to end like this. Nico was supposed to live happily ever after.

Tears of betrayal welled in his tear ducts, and Will swiped them away with the sleeve of his shirt pathetically. "They're trying to find some plants, Nico. We should have some dried and stored somewhere. Every emergency room in a palace should," he whispered reassuringly. But they were not in a palace, but instead a land of robbers and rebels with good intentions. Much to his relief, two minutes later, a nurse ran in with the flower petals, shriveled and dry, in her hand.

Nico's pulse flickered and Will thought he was going to die for a moment. His throat closed up horribly. Working quickly, working off pure adrenaline, Will crushed the flower petals in his fist, hastily sprinkling it over Nico's fatal wound. He applied pressure, his hands shaking more and more with more of the blood touching his gloves. It burned to feel Nico bleeding all over him, like it was holy water on his impure soul.

"Colocasia Carolinensis," Nico mumbled, drowsily. He was losing blood too fast; Will choked back a sob, his heart squeezing tightly inside his chest. When Nico almost died, he nearly died himself.

"Yes." He sniveled pitifully. "Of course you would remember my dumb ramblings." Will started crying because there really was nothing he could do anymore except pray the flowers would work and sit aside and watch the love of his life lose his life before him. A nearby nurse took over, deeming the head healer incapicated by his inner pain.

Nico's hand felt cold and lifeless in his own. The Prince's eyelids were heavy as he fought not to fall asleep.

"Don't you dare, di Angelo," Will begged. "You're supposed to outlive me." He covered his own mouth to muffle his hiccups. "You're supposed to argue with me some more." He was dimly aware of nurses pulling him back, whispering comforting words that provided no comfort in a moment like this. "You're supposed to tell me I'm stupid, and steal my doctor's coat, and hate mornings, and Mondays, and bright colors, and the sun. You're supposed to wake up right now and I have to shoot an arrow through your heart. Because you're a melodramatic, tragic hero, you're my fucking Gatsby, and you live for your causes and you have to die for your causes." He rarely cursed, but he was desperate. "You're supposed to have a stupid cigarette in your mouth that I have to smack out and save you because I'm supposed to save you, always."

"Will," Kayla's voice broke through his plummeting world. "Will, you have to let him go."

Will had always thought of himself as a rather calm guy. He had never been easy to anger, a gentle soul at heart, but Kayla's words tipped him over the edge.

"Let him go!" he exploded, shattering into a million pieces. He was well aware he was making a ruckus. Nico's eyes had long closed. "Let him go," he echoed. "I can't, don't you understand? I can't let him go. Everybody else let him go: Bianca let him go, his parents let him go, Perseus let him go, he let himself go, I will not. I can't." Will was inconsolable, hysterical.

"Will!" Kayla slapped his hand, hard. His knuckles shifted into an angry shade of red. "I meant his hand! You're hurting him!"

Him? Hurting Nico? Never… never. Will glared down at their interlocked hands through his blurred vision. Relenting quietly, he loosened the grip, but he dared not let go.

"I'm sorry," Will croaked, stroking the side of Nico's face with his scarred hands, however they trembled. He knew Nico couldn't hear him.

"Will, I'm kicking you out," Kayla demanded. He blinked stray tears out of his eyelashes.

"Kicking me out?"

"Yes," she said sternly. "You're freaking the medics out. They can't do their goddamn job while you're having a mental breakdown."

Will blinked, the waterworks building up again. Kayla's expression softened, her sympathetic side taking over. "I was supposed to save him, Kayla." His voice was hoarse from crying his guts out. His head hurt.

"C'mon, hon. Let's get you a cup of tea."

"Nico likes coffee," Will miserably whispered to himself, a shell of man, staring at Nico, white as the bedsheets as the medics scurried about like little mice.

"Coffee, then," Kayla acquiesced, guiding him out of the infirmary. Will didn't answer, finally quiet.

A/N: Octavian making puns about Annabeth before assassinating people is a whole fucking mood tbh. I just find it funny how angry you guys get over Octavian, while I just find him straight up hilarious lmao. Also can we just talk about the fact that Nico, half bludgeoned to death, remembered the flower Will told him about so long ago, even the complicated name and eVERYThIng bc he's such a smol bean omfggg. (Can he just become my personal teddy bear?)

Happy Holidays, no matter what you celebrate, and let me know what y'all thought about the chapter! Also, if you had midterms, I sincerely hope it went well. Now, I'm going to go eat caramelized popcorn now and sob at how good it feels to eat sugar again. ;) Until next time~

Fangirl xx

Mitsuha Miyamizi: If you're lazy, I'm the living dead. (That moment when it's been three weeks since an update. Whoops.) Thank you! My finals are actually after break, but I appreciate the sentiment nonetheless. I never study for finals, so I'm not too worried lmao, but thx. :D YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MANY TIMES I'VE HAD TO GO BACK AND CHANGE IT FROM D-R-U. Drusilla Blackthorn and her fam really be in my mind all the time lol. ME TOO, SIS. I wrote my English Op-Ed all about Frozen 2 lol including why Kristoff serves as such a good example for young boys :P Nico di Angelo be getting himself in trouble though, and that's the real tea (but I still love our smol boi). I legit can't wait till we get to Luke tbh, since he's the main antagonist, and Annabeth's his fellow crazy in a way even Percy can't begin to fathom. It'll be very interesting to see how his demeanor both reflects Octavians and contrasts it in very subtle cues. Octavian's a piece of shit, but Luke's just so hard to hate, which ig y'all will see. Hard to hate, yet hard to love. Mans found his perfect ambiguous grey. Yeah, so, the easy-bake-oven really was not my proudest moment XD Let's just ignore thattttt. I hope your finals went well and as always, thanks for reviewing~

Reader: This was probably one of your most amusing reviews tbh just because I've been there too, yelling at MCs like I'm batshit crazy (which I am). "All because you didn't want to stab him in the heart." Omfg that's just pure gold? Lmao it's all good. We all need a rant or two along the lines, and I'll take it as a compliment that you care enough about the characters to be so invested lol. Yeahhhh, Drew x Cecily is going well, but Drew is under some serious stress, since she kinda spilled all of Annabeth's plans to Octavian in the first place to save Cecily (and thus, subjecting Annabeth to this torture). Oh, well. Girl's gotta do what you gotta do to survive. Cecily's loyal to a fault, and I have a feeling she wouldn't turn from Drew no matter what, but Drew's secretly insecure so shhhh. ME TOO. Hades and Nico are one of my all-time favorite father-son relationships (and Hades is my "dad," so you already know I'm particularly partial to him lol). Nico's just an adorable bean. I mean, I'm a week late to updating soooo… I appreciate reviews no matter when I get them, especially when y'all put so much thought into it like this. Me too! I just got out of school today and honestly I've never felt more relieved (though I still have a shit ton of work to do oops-) I haven't exams yet, actually, but I hope yours went well too. And touché: thanks for always reviewing.

Guest: Agh, I'm here; I hope you liked it!