Phoenyx: The reason why I Cuss, not Curse
My heart was pounding like a symphony of drums as I ran, and tears streamed down my face. It was your fault, the voice inside me whispered. You spilled innocent blood. You killed your own family. You deserved to stay in Tartarus, like the monster you are. Murderer. Thief. It felt like a thousand pound weight was attached to me. Pulling me down. I stumbled into the Hades cabin and flung myself onto a bed, sobbing. Memories of the deaths I caused replayed in my mind like some sick movie. Three of my siblings lying dead on the stone floor, a bloody sword in my hand. My mother's shrieks and howls. Nykolas, burned and cut, dying as I held him. Hale Delgado's tormented eyes as he held his dead brother in his strong arms while they dragged me back into my cell. The gas tank exploding, and bodies flying everywhere. The screams of children in a burning building. All your fault. All your fault . . . the voices chanted. A strangled cry formed in my throat. No . . . no . . . I whimpered. It's not my fault . . . it was an accident . . .
But I knew better.
Suddenly, I was back in Tartarus, facing the Arai. I desperately sliced through the air with my sword, and immediately fell to the ground. I'm burning alive, I mused panickedly. A scream escaped me. I could feel the flames eating up my flesh, the horrible, terrible feeling of your bones turning to cinder. Another spirit shrieked and dove toward me. I barely had time to bring my blade up to impale it. A loud cracking noise erupted from my ribcage when a force like a train traveling at a thousand miles per hour hit me. My pathetic croak echoed off the walls of the cavern, and I fell backward. The Arai screeched gleefully and flew down to prolong my suffering. The experience faded.
The sword dropped out of my hand as blood started to pool around the son of Trivia's body. An alarm sounded, but I was too shocked to move. I had killed plenty of monsters. But this was different. I murdered a demigod. Hale's brother. Legionnaires stormed into the basement, shouting orders. They grabbed me by the shoulders and forced me into the cinderblock wall.
"Aaron!" cried a familiar voice, as Hale thundered down the stairs. He faltered as his eyes met the lifeless form on the ground. "Aaron," he said softly, his regal face a mask of disbelief.
"I'm sorry, Hale," I choked, tears rolling off my cheeks. Hale knelt next to his brother and held him in his arms. His tan face drained to a sickly white.
"No," he muttered, "no." He looked up at me, his deep green eyes wide and pleading please, tell me you didn't do this. The Romans started to pull me back into the cell, yelling loudly. I didn't struggle. Hale's sad gaze was frozen in my mind.
It was like Tartarus all over again.