"You're a good person," I offhandedly said to Ingvild as we walked through the desolate wasteland of the Fifth Bolgia.

We'd been walking in silence for a couple of hours, just enjoying the quiet after we had left Cacus behind. The words I said were true, though. Ingvild really was nice. She was empathetic, kind, and tried to make others happy.

That's, like, Good Person 101.

Ingvild blinked, giving me a mildly surprised look. "…do you really think so?" She said unsurely, being too hard on herself per usual.

I shrugged, unsure what to exactly say. I had to repeat myself often with Ingvild, mostly because her self esteem was…worrying. "Sure, why wouldn't I think so? You're nicer than me, at least. You gave Cacus more kindness than he probably deserved."

Although, perhaps her kindness was born from naivety. Nico had been like her, once. The world beat him down and, well, he became much less happy.

I'd like to think that Ingvild could keep that kindness in her heart…but we would see. I'd try my hardest to preserve that spark, but the world could be cruel.

For now, though, Ingvild was a kind girl.

"I…don't think that's true," Ingvild slowly said, a hesitant grimace crossing over her lips. Her eyes crackled with endless optimism. "Cacus may have done horrible things—really, truly evil things, but that doesn't mean he was undeserving of kindness."

See? Endless optimism.

"Really?" I curiously asked, interested in her perspective on things. I had a lot of time to be philosophical in the void and as a statue, alright? Bite me. "And what makes someone worthy of kindness? Can someone be too evil for kindness?" I wondered, glancing at her as we walked. "Would you be kind to a rapist? Or a serial killer?"

I couldn't be kind to someone like that, personally. Or, well, I could…it depends. If they did that stuff to someone I cared about? Yeah, I'd be pissed. Anyone else? Well, it fully depended on my proximity and mood.

Besides, my dad was a rapist. Most of my divine family was like that. It's pretty shitty of me, but I didn't have the energy to care anymore. I'm not a hero. I sorta tried that before, and look how that turned out.

I'd like to think I would help someone out if I saw them getting stabbed or something, but…I'm tired. I'm so exhausted. As long as they weren't hurting Ingvild and I, I could ignore them.

Ingvild hummed, glancing slightly downwards. She bit her lower lip, thinking about how she would react to the dregs of society. If the eyes truly revealed someone's emotions, I wondered what the firestorm raging behind her eyes conveyed.

Confusion, perhaps? Deep thought?

Ingvild opened her mouth and finally spoke, voice hesitant. "Well…Matthew 7:12 said, 'So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets.'" Ingvild quoted, trailing off after she finished reciting the verse. "It's…I'm not sure…a rapist? They'd have to be a cruel person to do that, but…"

Matthew 7:12? Was she quoting the Bible?

"There's nothing wrong with treating cruel people as they treat you," I offer, finding her perspective to be just an eensy weensy bit impossible to have. JC was better than me, I couldn't love my enemies. "That's just human. Also, I didn't know you were a Christian."

On second thought, that should have been obvious. Everyone was uber religious back in the day, right? And she was from the boonies. Of course she'd be religious. And didn't she say she prayed with her parents before?

Eh, whatever.

"My father was the town's pastor," Ingvild awkwardly said, scratching her cheek. "I've always wondered if he…well," she cut herself off and shook her head, not wanting to get into the devil child of a pastor ordeal, "it doesn't matter now. But you're from America, I thought most Americans were Christian?"

Her dad apparently went on the noble to pastor pipeline and somehow found Satan along the way. What a guy.

"Me, a Christian?" I snorted. "Nope, not religious in the slightest. Me and the gods never went well together. I was a delinquent."

That was back in the good ol' days when I would dunk classes into shark tanks, shoot cannons at school buses, and play dodgeball with cannonballs. Turns out, I had quite the history with cannons.

I shook my head, getting back into the conversation. I gave Ingvild a curious glance. "So, how can you be a Christian while also being, you know…?"

Ingvild cringed, slouching. "A devil," Ingvild finished the sentence, earning a nod from me. She exhaled, eyes doing a lovely job at inspecting the ground. "I don't know. I haven't really thought about it—but…but He wouldn't fault me for who my parents are, right?"

She looked weak—lost, even. Unsure. She was looking for help, but Ingvild picked the wrong guy for guidance. I'm the kind of guy who couldn't find his way out of a one lane hallway.

I sucked in my teeth. "I've never met the guy, but, well, most gods I've met are pretty petty. They get mad over the slightest thing."

She didn't like that.

"The Lord isn't most gods," Ingvild argued back, her frown deepening. "Deuteronemy 24:16 said, 'Parents are not to be put to death for their children, nor children put to death for their parents; each will die for their own sin.'" Ingvild quoted, face troubled. "So…so I can't be blamed for what my parents did, right? Right…?"

Did she just have the entire Bible memorized? I was honestly kind of impressed.

"Well, you'd know better than me," I loosely said, shrugging. I wasn't going to let my bias against the divine hurt Ingvild. "And, as I said, you're nice. If God doesn't let you go to heaven, clearly He isn't worthy of worship."

Ingvild opened her mouth and then shut it, mind whirling as she contemplated what I said. Her frown had changed, going from despairing to dissatisfied. "I—I guess," Ingvild unhappily said, grimacing. She exhaled, eyes glancing around the wasteland. "But what makes someone worthy of worship…Percy?"

"…what?" I replied, almost blindsided by her question. "What makes someone worthy of worship?" I parroted, buying myself some time to think.

Worthy of worship? Have I worshiped anyone before? Zeus? No, hell no. My dad? Eh, I respected him some, but he seemed too personable, too human. Too flawed, I guess.

"I'm not sure," I admitted. "I've honestly never worshiped anyone before, no person or god. I could never worship the Greek gods when I was younger. They were too human, you know? They were flawed like you and I are."

More flawed, even, but I wasn't going to say that aloud. The Greek gods were horrible—somehow, the titans were worse. Atlas made Zeus look like a swell dude, and that said more about Atlas than it did about Zeus.

But, yeah, the Greek gods were like kings. And, as a proud American—my blood was dyed red, white, and blue—I refused to worship any king. We got rid of those guys when we dumped tea in the harbor.

"You refuse to worship…imperfect beings?" Ingvild hummed out, head tilting to the side. "So you'd worship someone who was perfect?" She asked, curiosity floating in her voice like a bee over a flower. "Or…what?"

Perfect.

It's a nasty word, one I didn't like very much. Zeus claimed to be perfect, yet I'd very happily disagree with that sentiment. "Well, it depends on what you meant by perfect," I said, thinking it over. "What does it mean to be perfect?"

"Omnipotence?" Ingvild offered, quick to give an answer.

"Why do you say that?" I asked her. "What makes power the standard for goodness?"

Kronos was stronger than me; that certainly did not make the bastard a good guy. Kronos was a day one Naughty Lister. He was Santa's number one bad kid growing up. Coal was all he got in his stockings.

Ingvild shook her head, disagreeing with something that I said. I wasn't too sure as to what she disagreed with, though, because I didn't make a yes/no statement. "Power isn't the standard for goodness, Percy…but we all have a sense of good and bad, right?"

I nodded my head in agreement. Where was she going with this? "Sure."

Luke was one of the worst dudes I ever had the displeasure of meeting, yet I was fairly certain we would agree on what acts are bad. Luke would just argue that the act, while bad, could still bring more good in the end.

Most people—at least in my experience—have the same sense of good and evil.

Ingvild continued speaking, growing in confidence as she talked. "If—if—we all have morality endowed in us…then wouldn't that mean morality is contingent on something?" She asked rhetorically, talking more to herself than to me. "And…and if morality is contingent on something, the source of morality—that source would then inherently be perfectly moral, right?"

"What?" I said in confusion. Ingvild was pulling out some big concepts and I had no clue what she meant. "Slow down a little. I understood maybe a good one percent of that."

"…alright," she morosely said, deflating like a sad water balloon that had been punctured and not popped. Ingvild's kicked-puppy face was honestly adorable. "So…suppose morality is real, as real as—as math," Ingvild began, still looking as if I had rained all over her parade. "If it is real, someone must have made it, right?"

I blinked a few times, processing her argument. The cogs in my brain slowly turned; if one were to pay very close attention, they'd hear rattling and see smoke pouring out of my ears.

Oh.

Finally, a lightbulb flashed through my brain. Her words made some sense. "You're saying that whoever made the concept of good and evil must be perfectly good, then? And you are saying that an omnipotent beinf must have made morality?"

Her eyes glowed, almost like there was a tiny star glowing behind her pupils.

"Mhm!" Ingvild bobbed her head happily. "They can't be evil as morality is derived from them. They must be omnipotent as even the gods are judged with the same morals we have. So…I think that an all-good, all-powerful being is worthy of worship."

I could get behind her concept of a perfect being; all-powerful, all-good, all-knowing, and all the other super attributes. I still had some gripes with the details, but if such a being existed, I'd worship them.

"Well, find me this being and I'd worship them," I said, amusedly smiling at her. I knew that my words would annoy her.

Ingvild huffed, pouting. "…I was talking about God," she moped, glaring at me with all the anger and rage of a puppy. And by puppy, I meant a fluffy husky.

Her features just weren't sculpted for emotions such as anger or wrath. Ingvild wasn't the sort of person to get mad, she just got annoyed or embarrassed or flustered. Never mad, though.

"I know," I playfully replied to Ingvild, hand ruffling her head. She wasn't actually short, being around five foot six in freedom units, but she was still shorter than me by about four inches. "But annoying you is more fun."

Ingvild shook her head, trying to fight back a smile. See what I meant? She just isn't able to get angry.

She reached her hand up and plucked my hand off of her head, our fingers staying intertwined. Her other hand reached out to poke my shoulder. "You're mean to me," she softly said, lips curling upwards. Ingvild's eyes grew mischievous. "And if you want forgiveness…you have to do something for me."

"I don't think it works that way," I skeptically said, laughing. I swung our combined hands back and forth slightly. "What do you want? An arm or a leg, perhaps? What contract does the devil want, hm?"

"A story," Ingvild declared, looking up towards me. "I…want to hear more about your life," she said, diverting her gaze, cheeks reddening. She lost all of the confidence that she had built up. "But, but you don't have to if…well…"

I waved my other hand casually. "It's fine; you are supposed to be my memoir, after all. Anything specific that you want to know, or…?"

"You can pick," she said, completely ambivalent about it. "Just…talk about whatever you are comfortable telling me about."

Whatever I was comfortable talking about, hm? I thought about it, trying to think of an interesting moment from my life to speak about. The issue was that my life had been a bit too chaotic.

If someone ever made one of those epics about me like they did for Gilgamesh and Achilles, my tale would be, like, five books long. Maybe six if you wanted to count my time after the void as a new book.

"Have I ever told you about the time that I had to find Zeus's special rod?" I asked her, fairly certain that I didn't tell her that story.

Ingvild shook her head, blinking slowly. "Zeus's…special rod?" She questioned in bafflement, cheeks going pink once more. "I'm, um, not too sure that you have?"

I clapped my hands together, smiling brightly. "Great! It really is a pretty interesting story—see, little twelve year old Percy Jackson was the one tasked to go and grab Zeus's precious rod."

"…what?" Ingvild was getting even more red.

I had to stop myself from laughing. I wondered how long I could keep this up for? She'd eventually figure out that I was messing with her, but for the moment, it was innuendos galore.

Sorry, Ingvild, but I like making you blush too much.

We laid down on the desolate ground, the purple sky stretching endlessly above us. There were still wafts of smoke that would float and ebb through the lavender cosmos—the majority of the pollution had died down, though. Shocker shocker, that's what time tended to do to most things.

"What were your friends like…Percy?" Ingvild randomly asked, head turning away from the heavens and towards me. "You loved them."

I loved them? That was a random statement to make. "Sure, I loved them," I loosely said as I rolled my shoulders, the barren ground churning when my shoulder blades moved. "Why do you ask?"

I turned to face her, dragging my eyes away from the violet sky. The color reminded me of Ingvild's hair in a way. Her hair was slightly lighter; even so, it almost looked as if the heavens had copied and pasted her shading and only changed the palette slightly.

Her orange eyes met my own, a curious flame crackling in them. Ingvild's irises bore an uncanny resemblance to Prometheus's irises. "Just…I like learning about you. Anyone who you once loved, they shaped you…right?" She then quieted for a moment, hesitancy spawning in her voice. "So, why wouldn't I want to see how you came to be who you are?"

I diverged my gaze for a moment, once more looking towards the eternal sky above. My friends had shaped me, I suppose, but I never really considered it in that light. And the Percy who had been shaped by the praise and support of the demigods of Camp Half-Blood was long dead.

Yet…even then, the traces still remain.

"Sure," I agreed, looking back into her eyes. "Is there anyone specific that you wanna learn about? Or do you just want me to give an overview?"

"Nothing in particular," Ingvild said, pursing her lips. "I…guess you should decide?"

I nodded slowly, closing my eyes. Who did I want to talk about? There were many people I had cared about—had because they are dead—but I don't want to just talk about anyone. I had been tight with Beckendorf, but would I say he shaped me?

Probably not. The same goes for, say, Clarisse or Silena. Friends, sure, but they didn't fundamentally change who I was as a person. So, who was the best person to talk about?

That was easy. I opened my eyes once more. "I was close friends with this girl, Annabeth Chase," I began, thinking back. I struggled to picture her face. "She's the same one that I went on the quest for the Bolt with."

"Ah," Ingvild said in understanding. "And…what was she like, Percy?"

"Prideful, for one. She almost got us killed by a Sphinx once because she was offended that its questions were too simple," I laughed out, remembering how ridiculous Annabeth could be. "Annabeth was also frighteningly smart, even if her pride could make her act like an idiot at times."

Ingvild hummed, moving slightly closer to me. "Do you miss her? How good of friends were you?"

"Do I miss her?" I repeated aloud, contemplating her question. "For a time, I guess. We had been very close—so close that I think we probably would have begun dating if the world didn't end. Yet…" I sighed, drumming my fingers against the ground. "There's no point in missing any of them."

They were gone, after all. Thinking about them was no different than thinking about a square circle—that is, neither of them existed. There was no point in thinking about things that didn't exist.

It was just a waste of energy. They wouldn't want me to miss them, anyways.

Ingvild's face had tightened ever so slightly, an almost sour expression crossing over her lips. "What did Annabeth look like, then?" Ingvild said, but the words that went unspoken were 'was she prettier than me?'.

I snorted, biting my tongue to stop myself from laughing. Invgild was jealous. I'd never seen her be jealous before, but it was genuinely hilarious.

"Annabeth had blonde hair and gray eyes," I told her, one of my fingers jutting out to lightly poke Ingvild in the forehead. "Besides that, I can't remember much more about her appearance. If it makes you feel better, though, I thought you were prettier than her when I could still remember her looks."

Now, I know I said…thought…earlier that the people from my past would want me to move on. Having said that, Annabeth would be furious if she were alive and heard me. Annabeth was many things, but most of all, she suffered from horrible jealousy.

"I'm prettier?" Ingvild flushedly said, bashfully averting her gaze. "You…um…are also attractive?"

I rolled my eyes. "Gee, Ingvild, sound a little less confident, why don't you? Don't worry, though, I am well aware that I look like a caveman."

"Hey, that's not true!" She protested, glaring at me with little heat. Her voice became much more firm. "You are very handsome."

Ingvild then reddened, flinching away as if she were burnt. She almost seemed startled by her own words.

I rolled once more onto my back, reaching out my arm to drag Ingvild closer. She was naturally warm, almost like a human bonfire. Malebolge wasn't lacking in heat—hell was known for its fire, typically—but I just enjoyed being next to her.

It certainly didn't hurt that laying next to her had the same vibe as swimming in the sea. It was just her nature to feel like the ocean, just like it was mine. Maybe a few weeks ago I'd have been more hesitant to be this confident with her, but time passed.

Time was pretty good at passing.

Ingvild was motionless at my side for a moment, but it did not take her very long to unfreeze. She pressed into me ever so slightly, her head leaning on my shoulder.

"So, for future reference, should I avoid talking about people who liked me?" I amusedly asked her, my fingers squeezing her shoulder.

"…no," Ingvild mumbled in embarrassment. "But—but you have me, you know that, right?"

I paused, throat catching. "What do you mean?"

Honestly, I was fairly convinced that she liked me: like liked me, I meant. I wasn't completely sure about my feelings for her, but they were similar to how I felt about Annabeth. Even so, they were different. I just wasn't sure how my feelings for Ingvild differed from how I felt about Annabeth.

If Ingvild confessed…would I say yes?

"I…nothing," Ingvild shut off, mentally crawling into the hole of insecurity and worry that she liked to hide in. "It's nothing. Tell me about one of your other friends."

If Ingvild could see my eyes right now, she'd probably have seen the flicker of disappointment that had just flashed through them. I breathed out of my nose slightly, feeling frustrated.

Romance sucks. My advice, kids? Avoid women. Life really had been so much simpler when I didn't need to worry about garbled up feelings that were frustratingly incoherent. Not better, per say, but easier.

Although, that's probably on me. Mom told me the most important thing for a relationship was, 'something…something…communcation…something.' Yeah, honestly, I can barely remember what she said.

Okay, I can barely remember her face, let alone some random advice she gave me years ago, alright? Screw off.

"You want to hear about someone else?" I asked Ingvild, who hummed in agreement. I kept talking. "I'll avoid mentioning girls…okay, there was this guy, Grover. Technically, he wasn't a guy according to the rules of a group of man-hating, bow-wielding cultists, but he had all the stuff that made a dude a dude."

Ingvild giggled, and I imagined she was probably smiling. "I can guess what you mean by that last part, Percy."

"Few, and here I thought I had to give you the Birds and the Bees talk," I dryly said to Ingvild, chuckling along with her. "But, yes, Grover was a buddy of mine. He was the other person to get the Bolt with me, but I knew him even before I found out I was a demigod. See, Grover was a satyr, and satyrs had the divinely-proclaimed duty to stalk poor little half-bloods."

"Oh? He stalked you?" Ingvild curiously asked, still snickering every so often. "But I thought he was your friend."

"No, he was my friend, yes." I agreed, thinking about how to explain the roles of satyrs at camp in the most heinous way possible. "But when I met him, he was double my age and would sleep in the same room as me. Grover followed me around school, you see?"

Ingvild cuddled into my side, her fingers moving to my scalp to gently rub it. I almost choked at the delicate, intimate contact.

"Are you sure that…um…you weren't, well, groomed?" Ingvild questioned me, but her voice wasn't too serious.

I tried to speak, but a shudder went down my spine from her massaging. Her nails were gently trailing lines across my scalp, and it felt really good.

I coughed to wetten my dry throat. "Grover? Nope, I'm fairly certain he wasn't a groomer," I said, laughing. "I sort of left out a handful of details—details like the fact that the satyrs from my world physically and mentally age at half of the speed humans do. He was my classmate."

And what a classmate he was…ah, I remember the days where he had sandwiches thrown at him during lunch. It wasn't so great back then, but it was a fond memory now.

Ingvild giggled softly, her nails trailing across my neck. "That's…probably an important detail, yes," she said with mirth. "Also…do you want me to stop? I will if you want me to."

Stop?

"Nope!" I quickly said, shaking my head. "You're good, yup. Not stopping would be very great. Yeah, yup. That!" I hurriedly finished speaking, not wanting her to stop scratching my scalp.

Ingvild had a talent. If the whole soul-trading devil thing didn't work out, she should become a masseuse or something. Actually, no. I want to monopolize her talents.

Call me J. D. Rockefeller because I'm cornering the market. He took oil, I'm claiming Ingvild's massaging skills. Personally, I think that's a win.

"I won't stop, then," Ingvild softly said, cheek pressing against mine. "So…what was Grover like?"

Grover? Right, that's what we were talking about. "Grover was a good friend, honestly. He was just an all around reliable guy. Sure, he had a crippling addiction to aluminum cans, but besides that, he was the best friend anyone could ask for. Friendly, brave, and filled with passion for protecting nature."

And filled with passion for a tree…said tree being his girlfriend.

Ingvild took in my words, a tiny smile on her face. "He sounds like a good person…and crippling aluminum addiction? As in the metal aluminum?"

"As in the metal, yes," I snorted, reminiscing. "And he really was a good guy. Even when he was stuck on an island while cross-dressing in a wedding dress, he remained brave and kept doing the right thing."

"Cross-dressing in a wedding dress?" Ingvild asked in bafflement, laughing at the absurdity of it. "How did that happen, Percy? Were you also in a wedding dress?" She playfully teased, smiling at me with warm eyes.

Luckily not. I was something much better.

"I was a guinea pig a few days before that, but no wedding dress for me, no. Anyways, that's a story for another day," I said, Ingvild pouting and sighing in disappointment, "but I think it's your turn to tell me about your friends or family."

Ingvild froze, her fingers pausing in their scratching. I nearly whined at the cessation, but I was a big boy. I doubt Ingvild would hear my complaint, given her…not great reaction to my request.

Simply put, she wasn't dealing with losing everyone well—like, at all. I already had all five stages of grief done with and put away, acceptance long done with. Ingvild? She avoided thinking about her trauma.

Basically, she was shoving her traumatic experiences in a box and lobbing them into the ocean, hoping that they would never come back to the forefront of her mind. Yeah, I wouldn't call that a good coping mechanism.

My general apathy and defeatism managed to be better than what she was doing. Just let that sink in. I should not be mentally healthier than anyone.

"Ingvild?" I gently prod, hoping I hadn't slaughtered the mood brutally.

She seemed to snap back to life, startled as my voice yanked her from her thoughts. "O—oh. Sorry, yes. I can tell you…tell you about them," Ingvild stuttered out, voice tight. Her fingers had quit massaging me, but that was the least of my worries.

I pulled her close, my hands firmly wrapping around her in a hug. "You don't have to; I understand, Ingvild. It's hard to talk about them."

She was handling her trauma far better than many other people I knew. Silena, for example, after Beckendorf died. That…was really, really bad.

Ingvild's head dug into my shoulder as she clung tightly to me. "No…no, it's alright."

"Are you sure?" I gently said. "You don't have to force yourself, you know."

"…I want to," she taciturnly muttered into my shoulder. "You already know some—I'm just over reacting…I usually do better."

I sighed, shutting my eyes closed. "Some topics are harder to talk about than others."

That's the reason I avoided talking, let alone thinking, about my time as Kronos's statue. That…sucked. It really, really sucked.

"I'm alright," Ingvild repeated, forcing herself to speak. "I'm alright. My father was the local pastor. He met my mother long after he had lost his nobility, and that's when they had me…" She trailed off, hesitant. "But that's not true, right? My mother, she wasn't a devil. Nor was my father…yet they either met a devil for a ritual, or…"

"So they met a devil for a ritual," I cut in, giving her no leg room to demonize herself…well, more than she already was. Cause, you know, she's a devil.

Ingvild silently nodded, chin pressing into me. "They met a devil and did a ritual. I wonder if my father knew? A pastor with a devil child?" She muttered out, voice darkening. "Or, if he didn't…no, no, he must've known. He loved me regardless—he had to have known."

I hadn't thought much of it before, but she was ashamed of her race, wasn't she? Ingvild probably grew up being taught to despise devils, and then she found out she was a devil.

"Your father would have loved you, even if he didn't know. That's what it means to be a father, right? To love your child no matter what?" I tried to comfort her, but I doubt it did much.

I know very little about good fathers, anyways. My experience there…well, I helped to kill my step-dad, so yeah.

"But…but would he?" Ingvild choked out. I opened my eyes and looked at her. She was nearly trembling. "Would he? I'm a monster. A devil. And—and if he didn't know, am I even…am I even his daugh—"

I sat up, grasping her and moving her into a sitting position as she did so. I stared into her orange eyes, my gaze trailing over the lines of tears which trailed her face. "You are not a monster, Ingvild. You are not. Don't you dare even suggest such a thing," I practically growled out, glaring into her eyes.

The very notion infuriated me. It made me so mad. Ingvild, a monster? The concept boiled my blood.

Ingvild couldn't meet my eyes, arms loosely hanging at her sides. "…but I'm a devil."

"So? Ingvild, you are the nicest girl I know—hell, you're the nicest girl I've ever met!" I firmly said. "And so what? Wow, you're a devil. I'm part god, Ingvild, and you want to know something? My father killed thousands, if not millions, of people. He was a rapist. He committed genocides. That is who my father is. Am I a monster, Ingvild?"

She shook her head quickly, an offended look on her face. "You're not a monster. Don't—don't say that. Your father did those things…and you aren't a devil, you aren't evil."

Not evil? I wanted to laugh.

"Really?" I snorted, eyes gleaming sardonically. "Ingvild, at twelve years old I destroyed a national American monument. At fourteen, I blew up a volcano and freed Typhon, the monster that caused my entire world to be destroyed. That same explosion displaced millions and killed hundreds."

"Percy—"

"No," I cut in, not giving her room to speak. "I'm talking. At fifteen, I blew up a ship and killed a close friend of mine and dozens of children who were manipulated. At fifteen, I killed—with my own hands, mind you—children and teenagers who fought against me. In other battles, I had to kill several of my own allies to win. And, in the end? We lost. So cut your fucking bullshit. The blood of billions rests on my hands. You just have a parent who isn't even worse than my dad. So, don't you ever dare call yourself a monster."

Ingvild looked down, shame burning on her cheeks. "I…didn't know."

I laughed, hand reaching out to ruffle her head. "Of course you didn't. I didn't want you to, Ingvild…" I trailed off, moving my hand back and scratching my neck awkwardly. "You think so highly of me and…I just didn't want to make you hate me with how disgusting I am."

She was the only person I had left, and who would want to stay friends with the guy who has the highest body count in history? And it wasn't just blood on my hands, but souls. Even the dead died twice because of me. Their souls gone to oblivion.

And it was all because I freed Typhon…all because I failed.

"You are not a monster," Ingvild said, sniffling as she built up confidence. She caught me in a hug, taking me off guard. "And—and it is their fault, not yours. Typhon destroyed the world, not you."

I was frozen as she hugged me, mind reeling. "But I freed him."

"Did you mean to?" She asked. I shook my head. "Then…then you aren't a monster, Percy."

"If only I could believe that," I sighed, hugging her back after a moment of hesitation. "And are you a monster, Ingvild?"

Ingvild didn't speak, unable to answer. She was physically incapable of accepting the fact that a devil wasn't necessarily a monster. Her upbringing didn't allow her to.

"I asked if you are a monster, Ingvild?" I repeated again. I pulled myself back from the hug, tilting her chin upwards so her eyes met mine. "Are you?"

"…I feel like one," Ingvild mumbled, ashamed.

"And I feel like one, too. But you said I'm not a monster, right?" I asked her. She slowly nodded. "Great. Then I say you aren't a monster."

Ingvild stared at me. And then she stared at me some more, her mind whirling. Ingvild sat back and moved out of the hug, her eyes meeting my own. She got completely off topic from there. "Percy, do you…do you like me?"

Huh?

I blinked. "What?" I reflectively asked, fully taken off guard. Where had that come from? "Well…in what way?"

Ingvild furrowed her brow. "Romantically."

Ah. Well, obviously I liked her. She was cute, pretty, and clever. She was fun to tease and managed to match my energy very well. How couldn't I like her? Like a sailor, my only love was the sea, and she was literally the sea made flesh.

I was also the sea made flesh, but that was off topic. The point was that, yeah, I liked her. But…addressing feelings had always been hard. Speaking about feelings with other people had almost always felt shameful. I couldn't help but deflect her words.

"Do you like me that way?" I answered her question with a question, my eyes roaming over the tear-marks which streaked her face. She really looked beautiful, even when she was melancholic.

I couldn't help but wonder, though, as to where her question came from? Why was she asking me this? The answer to her liking me was yes, obviously, but I didn't want to make things weirder than they already were between us.

Ingvild bit her lower lip, eyes diverted. "Only…only if you like me that way."

So, yes.

"Well, I only like you if you like me that way," I said with full seriousness. Again, I didn't want to make things even weirder between us.

"What if I did like you?" She asked, orange eyes boring into me, tiny flames flickering in her eyes. The fire in her eyes was tiny, but it was tiny like a newly-lit bonfire. "What…what then?"

"Then I'd like you," I easily answered, trying for a small smile. I was exhausted, though, my energy sapped from the prior conversation. "But only if you did like me."

The tiny sparks in her eyes seemed to gain fuel as she shuffled forward. Ingvild looked abashed, our eyes still locked. "Maybe I do like you…possibly. What—what then?"

"Then I'd maybe like you too, right?" I deftly offered, mouth drying and my throat tight. "But only possibly."

"Only possibly," Ingvild quietly agreed. We were both sitting on the ground, but Ingvild was now inches away from my face. "…what do you think of relationships, Percy?"

That was an odd question. "Romantic relationships, you mean?" I asked her. She nodded. "Well, I've never actually dated anyone before, but I think I'd enjoy being in one. Why, what do you think of them?"

Ingvild's palms planted on the ground as she thoughtfully hummed. "I…didn't mean it that way. It hasn't been a big deal so far, but neither of us considered that we have…well, we have different cultural values."

Huh. Yeah, probably. I'd never really considered it before, but it would make sense.

"Well, I suppose that's true. I'm from the twenty-first century, you're from the early twentieth," I said, nodding in agreement. In what way did she mean her original question, though?

"Percy, do you know what nattfrieri means?" Ingvild softly asked, cheeks glowing red. I'd never heard the word before. I shook my head and she sighed. "Back in Norway…nattfrieri was a means of courting. Literally, it meant night courtship," she said, looking away from me with rosy cheeks. "It's…what we've been doing."

"Oh," I blandly said, still somewhat confused. "I don't understand."

"…nattfrieri is an act of informal courting."

I still did not understand. Informal courting? Did that mean formal courting was a thing? That seemed very…Game of Thrones-esq.

I drummed my fingers against the ground. "What is the difference between formal and informal courting?"

Ingvild was quick to answer. "Informal courting is…I suppose the best word for it would be dating. People informally courting would go on walks, spend time together, and…um, non-sexually share a bed. Or, they should," she broke her words off, flushing. "…they didn't always follow the rules—anyways! Formal courting is like non-binding engagement. You are declaring an intent to marry, but it isn't fully binding."

Go on walks, spend time together, and share a bed.

Oh.

Suddenly, a lot of things made far more sense. By her cultural standards, we already were dating. Actually, we'd been dating for nearly a month by her cultural standards. It was no wonder that she seemed so unhappy when I talked about Annabeth.

Wait, did I manage to have a girlfriend and…fail to realize it? Oh my gods, I did. Everyone always told me I was a Seaweed Brain, but wow. It'd be more apt to say the lights were on but nobody was home.

My brain was slowly churning the information, the grinding of gears in my pea-brain a slow process.

If Ingvild was mentioning all of this…that likely meant she had a point with it. She basically said we were informally courting. So if she brought it up…

"You want to formally court me?" I concluded, my face pink. "Like—like marriage and all that?"

Ingvild was equally as pink, a tiny squeak leaving her throat; it was more of a wheeze, actually. "I…I…maybe? Marriage wouldn't be for a while, but…"

I might've died then and there. Do you know those beeping machines that they have in hospitals? Yeah, the thoughts going through my brain looked a lot like the screen when someone was flatlining.

Ingvild…was expressing interest in pursuing me as a husband. I had been more worried about dating, but apparently we had already been dating. Somehow, I didn't gods-damn know that, but we were!

Okay, alright. She said that formal courting was like a non-binding engagement. So it is above dating but below engagement. Okay, cool. The real question was if I could see myself marrying Ingvild.

Maybe? I don't know, I'm not known for thinking ahead!

Okay, different questions: do I want to get married someday? Yeah, I do. Do I romantically like Ingvild? Yes. Could I imagine myself romantically liking anyone besides Ingvild? Doubtful because loyalty is my fatal flaw, so if I commit to her I likely won't uncommit.

"Formally courting…" I repeated the term aloud, still feeling as if I were minutes away from a heart attack. "What would that involve?"

Ingvild played with her hands, flustered. "It…depends? Neither of us—well, we, um, lack parents. And there are no public places nearby…so the only change in our relationship would be kissing and—and commitment?"

"Okay, so basically I get to kiss you? That's it?" I asked, considering it in my mind. That didn't sound bad. Actually, it sounded nice. Quite nice. "And I would also be putting my downpayment down for us marrying, basically…so what did you mean by marriage wouldn't be for awhile?"

"A—a year or two?" Ingvild weakly replied, looking as if she wanted to sink into the ground. It was honestly pretty cute.

Marriage by eighteen or nineteen, though? Well, I always did do things early. But weren't you supposed to wait to choose a spouse because you didn't know if you will be committed to them?

For some reason, I didn't think that was an issue. My fatal flaw was loyalty and Ingvild was emotionally attached to me in a way that probably wasn't healthy.

I didn't hate this, actually. What were the benefits? I began counting on my fingers, nodding my head. "So, we get to kiss, we formalize our relationship, and we essentially agree to get married in a year or two?"

"…yes?" Ingvild weakly said.

Huh. It just sounded like more serious dating. I was always a pretty dedicated guy, though, so I imagined that I would dislike a relationship that wasn't serious. Honestly, why would you date someone just for funzies?

"Okay, sounds good to me," I chirped, shrugging.

Ingvild blinked slowly, somewhat stunned. "You…actually want to court me?"

"Well, you don't have to say it like that; why wouldn't I want to court you?" I questioned, giving her a piercing gaze. "Cute, loyal, playful, and smart—obviously I like you. Do you not want to do it?"

"No! No, I do," Ingvild rushedly said, shaking her head quickly. She looked painfully lost. Ingvild really had the confused-puppy look down. "Um…so, now what?"

"Kissing, presumably?" I said, raising an eyebrow. "I don't know, you're the one who knows everything about courting."

Kissing is what guys did with their girlfriends…fiances? Girlfrienances? I don't know the word for the limbo space between girlfriend and fiance, alright? But, it seemed like the logical conclusion.

"Kissing?" Ingvild echoed, our faces still remarkably close. She bit her lower lip, a contemplative look on her face. Then, she slowly nodded.

Before I could even say another word, her lips were connecting with my own. My eyes went wide at the suddenness of it, but after a second I leaned into her. It was soft, she was soft. Her lips were warm and sweet, like they were made of fudge.

I felt unsure, far too inexperienced to have any sort of competency, but I gently kissed her back. The world felt like it had come to a standstill, the only thing in existence Ingvild and myself.

It was only a short kiss, but I was certain that it would be held in my mind for all of eternity.

Ingvild and I walked through Malebolge, our hands interconnected and slowly swinging like a pendulum. Our relationship had not drastically changed since we began…formally courting. Gods, that term sounded so damn pretentious.

We had just become more affectionate with one another when compared to before…which honestly solidified the fact that I had been(and still am) an idiot. Ingvild and I had totally been dating for a while and I just never realized it.

The kissing was nice, though. Really nice. Super nice. Pretty awesome, in fact. It wasn't like she and I were frenching or anything, but kissing was nice. At least, I liked kissing. I felt quite a bit like a chain smoker getting his first cigarette.

Ingvild also seemed to enjoy it, so it was a mutual addiction. Yay!

I was a little bit jealous of her inability to get unclean. She claimed that I smelt like a sea breeze, whatever that meant, but I had doubts. Then again, it was possible that whatever my time powers had done to my body rendered me incapable of getting dirty…

Huh, maybe I had no need to get jealous.

"Ingvild?"

She looked over to me. "Hm?"

"Who was Virgil?" I asked her, remembering something Cacus told us. "Was he, like, some famous fighter or something?"

Why else would we need him to survive down here?

Ingvild looked at me in amusement. "A fighter? He…well, Virgil was a poet. He didn't fight in Dante's Inferno either."

"Huh, really? Then why would we need his help?" I curiously said, wondering what made the guy so special.

She shrugged. "He guided Dante through hell…maybe that's why? I'm not too sure, though."

"Cool, cool. Say, have you made any progress with your magic stuff?" I asked her, switching topics.

Ingvild's water manipulation was already in the realm of pretty damn good. Her control was worse than mine, but she could control far more water at a time than I could. We just fundamentally used water in different ways.

I wasn't too upset about it, though. Apparently the Sacred Gear she has, Nereid Kyrie, was capable of controlling the entire ocean at once. Then her demonic power, Sea Serpent of the End, allowed for her to generate insane amounts of water, control insane amounts of water, and to animate water constructs.

Funnily enough, though…if we tried to oppose each other's control of water, it just canceled out and the water ended up being controlled by neither of us. We had an equal amount of authority over water, basically, but I could be more precise where she could be more wide-ranging.

She also couldn't control liquids besides water. So no blood control or poison control for her. No storms, also. Unlike me, though, she had magic; or demonic power, as they called it for devils.

"…very little," Ingvild mopingly said, a slight downward curve to her lips. "I know that it requires imagination, but I've had…no luck."

"Not like I've managed much better with my time powers," I said comfortingly, allowing my eyes to turn gold for a moment.

My flashy eyes were only ever so slightly more useful than before, but their main talent was still dazzling people with their pretty golden glow. Besides that, though, they allowed me to tell where stuff would go.

What did I mean by that? Basically, I could predict things. I knew where a rock would land before I threw it. It was slightly more inaccurate with people; with people, it was more like I could sort of guess what they'd do? It wasn't perfect, though.

I really was doing a good job at roleplaying as a Sith Lord. Molten eyes? Check. Predictive powers? Check. My powers even reacted to my emotions! Darth Vader has nothing on me.

Besides the cool laser sword, of course. Riptide was still pretty awesome…

"You've still made more progress than I have…" Ingvild muttered solemnly, annoyed at her inability to use magic.

"Bull," I called her out, very lightly whacking her on the back of the head. She yelped and shot me a tiny glare—as always, there was zero heat to it. "In only a few weeks, you've gone from a complete novice with water to a scary skilled level. You have made insane progress."

Back at camp, some people had been jealous of how fast I picked up on things. Martial arts? A breeze. Sword fighting? I became the best Greek swordsman ever in, like, three years. My powers? I was doing stuff with them that my dad couldn't even do.

At camp, I was considered an idiot savant, a complete prodigy at combat. Now, though, it was my turn to see an absolute genius at work. Admittedly, I never focused diligently on my training…but still, her progress was mind boggling.

Everything I showed her came to her with intuitive ease. Martial arts? Pssht, easy-peasy. Ways to control water? Not even a challenge. The only area she was lacking in was with minute manipulation of water, but still…her growth was insane.

"And not all things will be super easy to learn, Ingvild," I tried to teach her, having learned this lesson ages ago. "You are insanely talented, but that doesn't mean you can figure out everything. Once we can get you a teacher, I bet you'll be a master with magic."

Annabeth told me something similar once. I don't remember what the conversation was about, but she basically said that the average engineering major wasn't smarter than Newton, even if Newton didn't know calculus at twenty.

The engineering student had the advantage of a teacher to teach him calculus. Newton had to do all that on his own. In this scenario, Ingvild is Newton. She's super-duper talented, but inventing ways to use magic will take her a long time. If she has someone to teach her how to use magic, it'd be much faster.

"Am I really that talented…?" Ingvild hesitantly asked me, looking at me with big eyes.

"Unfairly so," I affirmed, wrapping my arm around her shoulder and ruffling her hair playfully. "You just don't have anyone else to compare your growth to—at least, not anyone reasonable to compare your growth to. Not to brag, but I'm also stronger than the average bear."

"…stronger than the average bear?" She asked me, not sure as to what that meant.

Oh, right, she's old.

"Sorry, Grandma, I forgot that you're too aged for my references," I teased her, Ingvild looking at me in amusement. Unflappable, that one. "I'm rephrasing the saying, 'smarter than the average bear'. It's a pretty common…idiom? Metaphor? One of those. It just means you're skilled."

Ingvild hummed and nodded in understanding. "So…it is a compliment?"

"Ding ding ding! Jackpot, Ingvild, you got it in one!" I cheered. Her face, however, was confused once more. Sighing, I explained those things. "Ding ding ding is a noise made on game shows when a contestant gets an answer right. A jackpot is the highest reward you can get when gambling. Got it in one is a reference to golf, a sport where the best score is getting the ball into the hole in one hit."

"Ahhh," Ingvild said, looking down. "Sorry."

I rolled my eyes. "Stop being so quick to get down on yourself. You have serious confidence issues—there isn't even a good reason for you to have them with me. Ingvild, there is very little you could do to me that would make me genuinely upset…but I don't like how hard you are on yourself."

There really was little she could do to me that would make me unhappy. Firstly, I can't get hurt. I'm functionally immortal besides for one spot. Secondly, I don't care about myself. Thirdly, the only person I care for is her.

Ingvild opened her mouth to apologize, but she thought better of it and shut her mouth. "Okay. I'll…try to be nicer to myself?"

"Great!" I cheered, giving her a quick kiss on the lips. Ingvild was left blushing. "Haven't you heard people say that you can't love anyone until you love yourself? So chop-chop, get to it."

So says the hypocrite who very much does not love himself. How does it go? Rule for thee, not for me. Sounds good enough.

I generally avoided talking badly about myself, though. It can work for jokes, but outside of that, it just made things a bit awkward.

"I'll get right to it," Ingvild agreed, eyes gleaming warmly. Her cheeks were still fairly rosy. "But…I think that saying is incorrect because I'm certain that I love you."

I choked on saliva, stopping midstep. crashed. My mind mentally repeated her words twice over before I caught up to what she said.

"I—er…um…" I stuttered out, my brain doing a great job at not functioning. "Ah…so…huh?"

Ingvild snickered, her orange eyes glowing with mirth. She pulled my hand off of her shoulder, laced my fingers with her own, and then kept walking. I dragged behind her.

"I…love you too?" I offered weakly, caught incredibly off guard. I quickly moved back in line with her.

Ingvild hummed a tune, a chipper vibe to her. "I would hope so…" She nodded solemnly, still giggling slightly. "And you deserve that for teasing me so much."

For teasing her? I have no clue what she was talking about. I'd never tease her, obviously. Messing with people was cruel and unusual. They even put it in the Constitution, specifically laminated.

It was right after thou shall not kill and thou shall not pass. I was there with Hamilton and the rest when it was written, you have got to believe me. Would I lie?

"You're evil," I decided, pink fading from my face. "Truly horrible."

I'd have said a monster, but that word was…more than slightly touchy with her.

"You're my teacher…so where could I have learned it?" Ingvild wondered aloud as she hid a smirk.

I sighed despondently, shaking my head. "Truly, you are lost. I'm a paragon of virtue, so it must've been Nyx's influence."

"…a paragon of virtue?" Ingvild repeated, eyes narrowing as she looked at me. "You…you know those words?"

Okay, ouch. The worst part was that she sounded sincere.

"Hey!" I protested, pouting in offense—wait, no, I don't pout. That's not a thing I do, no siree. "I'll have you know that I know many words."

Annabeth read a dictionary to me once. It just may have been the very worst experience of my life. And, believe me, I know a thing or two about bad experiences.

Admittedly, I forgot most of the words she read to me, but still…I know some words? My English wasn't that bad.

Right?

"O—kay…" Ingvild dragged the words out and nodded slowly. She smiled warmly at me, eyes bright with happiness. "I believe you. You are smarter than the average bear!"

Ingvild looked so pleased with herself. It genuinely was one of the cutest things I have ever seen. I've said it before, but she really, really looked like a puppy. She expressed herself like one.

"And you meant that as a compliment?" I asked her, checking to see if she used the phrase right. She bobbed her head. "Then you're on the ball, good job."

Ingvild perked up, practically glowing. She liked her praise. Then, much like the puppy she acted like, she tilted her head. "…on the ball?"

"It means you're doing great," I told her, squeezing her fingers. "Although you might want to find a better teacher for that stuff. You may have used the phrase right, but I'm actually dumber than the average bear."

"You are not," Ingvild protested firmly. "Smarter, not dumber."

"Dumber, not smarter," I argued back, sticking my tongue out at her like the mature guy I was.

She poked me, sticking her tongue out. "Are not."

I really had corrupted her, hadn't I? So mild mannered, so well behaved…and then she met me. Eh, she is better when she is out of her shell. Ingvild made for a bad hermit crab.

"If you say so," I agreed, earning a tiny huff from Ingvild. "Anywa—"

I cut myself off when I spotted something in the distance: crude oil. Or tar, maybe, but my gut told me it was crude oil. As an American, I knew a thing or two about oil. Our sniffers were quite good at finding the stuff, after all.

And that…well, it was a sea of oil. Black, thick, viscous oil. The kind of oil that the US military would go gaga over. There were literally billions—if not trillions—of dollars of oil over there.

"Is…is that old blood?" Ingvild asked, eyes widening slightly as she looked out towards the sea of…well, maybe it wasn't actually oil.

"Why does your mind jump to that?" I teasingly asked, narrowing my eyes to look at the sea in the distance. "It looks a lot more like crude oil to me."

Ingvild pouted and looked away. "…it kind of looks like old blood. But it doesn't smell metallic, so you could be right? I—well, I've never seen crude oil before…"

I didn't respond, still staring into the distance. My eyes were narrowed into slits as I tried to make out something in the distance. I exhaled deeply. "Oh my gods."

Far into the sea of oil, there were people screaming and thrashing as they were dunked into the boiling sea like strawberries dipped into fondue. Their skin was red and burnt, charred black in several places—and that was only for those who had skin.

Some of them were skinless, their flesh exposed to the world as furious oil dripped from their wounded forms. It was horrific. Disgusting. Inhumane.

Eh, I'd seen worse in the Fields of Punishments.

"You—you see that, right Percy?" Ingvild asked in horror, voice heavy with distress. "Please…please tell me that isn't real."

I frowned, considering whether to tell her the truth or not. She looked truly pained, though, the torture in the distance weighing on her soul. Unfortunately, honesty is the best policy. "I see it too, Ingvild."

"We—we need to help them!" She said strongly, head flicking between me and the torture in the distance. "They…this isn't right."

"Probably not," I agreed. "But they're dead already. Typically, this is what happens to bad people when they die."

Yeah, I'm a bit apathetic to their suffering. I know I am. I've seen worse in Hades, though. Like, a lot worse. Nico's dad really had some clever tricks with red-hot corkscrews.

"How do you…how do you just not care?" Ingvild asked me, swallowing saliva deeply.

By seeing too much.

I sighed, giving her a soft look. "You get used to these things after a while. We can try to free them if you want, but I doubt it will do much. They're being dunked by magic, so I'm not too sure how to end the curse or whatever it is."

Ingvild's gaze traced the ground, eyes avoiding everything around her as she looked down. "But this isn't right…"

"It's hell—isn't torturing people the point of hell?" I rhetorically asked her, eyes drifting over the horizon.

Ingvild began to say something, but I tuned her out as I caught something in my sight. In the distance, there was a tiny pack of seven demons flapping their wings as they flew in our direction. And, unfortunately, I recognized two of them: Barbariccia and Ciriatto.

"—Percy?" Ingvild was saying something, but I didn't hear any of it.

"The Malebranche are coming," I said, not even bothering to address whatever she'd been saying. "I recognize two of them, but I don't know who the other five are."

I wouldn't be surprised if they were named dumb, dumber, slightly dumber, far dumber, and dumbest, though.

"But I thought you killed the ones you met?" Ingvild wondered aloud, a confused expression on her face as her eyes locked on to the demons flying towards us.

I nodded my head. "I did kill them. I guess monsters don't die here? They didn't die in my world, so things must be the same."

"I thought they did…" Ingvild trailed off, face scrunching up as she tried to recall if she heard anything about monsters dying. "I don't think Nyx said anything about them, so…you might be right?"

It'd make things easy if I were right…but things are never easy.

The demons got closer, now in talking distance. I could pick up the chatter between them, Ciriatto acting just as he did before.

Ciriatto licked his tusks, glee passing over his face. "Ooh! Look, look! Those souls look untouched! I don't think they've been tortured before, Draghignazzo!"

Did Ciriatto not recognize me? That's…weird. I've met several monsters after I killed them in the past, and they always remembered me afterwards. They were always huffy about me killing them, but these guys didn't seem to know me at all.

What in the world was going on?

"Mh, I agree, Ciriatto," Draghignazzo said, a sneer on the demon's face. "It's been a while since we received any pure souls. I wonder how such clean souls could get down here?" Draghignazzo wondered, but he quickly shook his head. "Doesn't matter! I call dibs on the girl!"

My fingers tightened in Ingvild's hands. I squeezed tightly, my blood boiling from Draghignazzo's words. Dibs? Why did he want dibs on Ingvild?

"Not fair, Draghignazzo!" Alichino shouted back, glaring at his fellow demon. "I call dibs. Just look at her. Just thinking of peeling her flesh apart, I can imagine her scream! She's mine! You can have the other one."

I was sorely tempted to lash out then and there, but Ingvild gave me a tiny look. 'Just wait, Percy…I can handle their words.'

'Are you sure?'

She just nodded her affirmation, and I sighed. I'd listen to her wishes, but it didn't change the fact that I wanted to kill these demons very badly.

"Pah, of course you'd want to get her first, Alichino!" A different demon, Calcabrina, taunted loudly, a smirk on his face. "You can barely make sinners squeal these days, you limp-fingered failure! You think you have a shot with such a pure soul? Ha!"

Alichino glared, hissing at Calcabrina. "You're one to talk! You say I can't even make a sinner squeal? You barely even have the ner—!"

"Shut the hell up! All of you, be silent," Barbariccia growled, tired of their antics. "Those aren't souls, you utter morons."

"Eh?" Ciriatto bleated out, confused. "But why are they here, then? They better not be like that damned bitch Dante!"

'Like Dante?' I wondered, projecting my thoughts towards Ingvild. 'What does that mean?'

Ingvild lightly shrugged her shoulders. 'I'm…not too sure. Dante and Virgil had divine protection in the story. Maybe that's what he meant?'

'Maybe.' I thought back, considering it. It was possible, I suppose.

The demons finally got within twenty feet of us, close enough for us to talk to each other with ease. Barbariccia shot a look at Ciriatto. "No, not like Dante. They possess no such protection," he said, turning back towards Ingvild and I. "Devil! Why are you and your pet godling here!"

Ouch, pet godling? 'Am I just a pet to you, Ingvild?' I amusedly wondered, projecting my thoughts at her. 'And I have an idea, just let me do the talking.'

'I trust you,' Ingvild easily replied before giving me a mischievous smile. '…pet.'

I rolled my eyes and addressed the demons. "Alichino, me personally, I'm not letting Calcabrina and Barbariccia bitch me like that. That's just me, though, but I understand that some people turn the other cheek."

Alichino nearly flinched back, a startled look on the demon's face. Clearly, he wasn't expecting me to talk to him, but his gaze wandered over Barbariccia and Calcabrina.

"What?" Barbariccia said, completely baffled. "No one spoke to you, god-spawn. Let your king speak!"

King?

"And he didn't even give you a chance to talk, Alichino. What are you, a bitch? Do the other demons call you Bitch-Boy? Me personally, I wouldn't take that, but that's just me, though," I pressured, shrugging my shoulders impersonally. "But taking Calcabrina's insults like a good boy? Well, I wouldn't allow anyone to speak to me like that, but that's just me. I guess you are just practicing the Golden Rule."

Alichino's face twisted, emotions flickering across the demon's face at the speed of light. He sneered, glaring at everyone…and his fellow demons began to snicker.

"Ha! Bitch-Boy, that's completely you, Alichino!" Calcabrina taunted, laughing loudly. "Gonna go read the Bible next, huh?"

I clicked my tongue and shook my tongue. "Wow. You're really just going to take that, Alichino? If I were the one getting spoken to like that, well…anyways, that's just me. I wouldn't dare talk for you, so I understand that you are okay getting called Bitch-Boy. Why else would you let them bitch you like that?"

The other demons began openly laughing. From beside me, Ingvild was watching everything with wide eyes and a very baffled face.

"Heh! Yeah, Bitch-Boy!" Ciriatto cackled loudly. "Bitch-Boy, Bitch-Boy!"

Barbariccia shot me a glare and looked back at Alichino. "He is instigating you, Alichino. Calm down."

"Hey, Alichino?" I called out to the demon. "You're just going to let Barbariccia talk to you like that? Take it like a good boy and all of that? Me personally, I wouldn't let anyone order me around like that, but I guess you just aren't me, so that's fine. I would not let that disrespect slide, though."

Alichino looked constipated, the laughter of his fellow demons becoming louder and louder as Barbariccia rapidly looked between Alichino and I. Barbariccia went to open his mouth, but Calcabrina spoke faster. "Yeah, sit down, Bitch-Boy!"

Alichino snapped, the demon charging at Calcabrina with a furious scream. "I'll kill you!"

"Ooh, a fight!" Ciriatto cheered excitedly. "Fight, fight, fight! Fight him, Bitch-Boy!"

Barbariccia tried to stop the fight between his subordinates, but there was no stopping their brawl. Alichino had latched onto Calcabrina and the two demons wrestled in the sky, the pair scrapping brutally in the air.

'Once one dies, attack,' I thought to Ingvild. 'But don't do it before. Trust me.'

'Always,' Ingvild agreed, eyes intensely watching the fight between the demons.

Alichino launched a brutal right hook at Calcabrina, Calcabrina's head snapping back with a vicious crack. They slugged on, their fellow demons chanting 'fight, fight, fight' as Barbariccia kept trying to break them up.

Calcabrina's claws caught on Alichino's neck, the tiny razors digging into Alichino's skin and tearing through flesh. Blood dribbled down Calcabrina's neck in a tiny trail. It wasn't a deadly wound, not at all…actually, it was quite minor.

But it was the first wound to draw blood. I may not be able to control the blood in their bodies, but the droplets trickling down Alichino's neck?

With a tug in my gut, I projected my authority onto the trail of blood and dragged it down. The scratch marks on Alichino's neck that were once minor got ripped into by his own razor-sharp blood, a minor wound turning into a deadly one.

'Attack,' I ordered Ingvild the instant that Alichino died. How did I know that he died? Well, I couldn't control the blood inside of a living person from a distance…but nothing stopped me from controlling the blood inside of a dead person.

Alichino's corpse exploded, spears of blood jutting out of his body and immediately impaling Calcabrina in hundreds of tiny holes. Calcabrina's corpse did as Alichino's corpse did, the body immediately exploding as spears struck at the other five demons.

They were more alert than Alichino and Calcabrina had been, lurching backwards to avoid impalement. I tried to impale them with spears of blood, but they evaded the strikes with incredible ease and agility.

"Quick…" Ingvild muttered from beside me, water pooling at her feet as she created it. It took her far less energy to make water than it took me. With a flick of her hand, a stadium-wide wall of water flung at the group of demons.

The world rippled with blue light as the water distorted the light passing through it. The tower of water flew at the group like a raging bull, but Ciriatto roared and a glow of violent energy burst from him.

The portion of wall closest to the group boiled, passing around the demons. Ciriatto had let down his guard.

A blade of blood pierced through Ciriatto, the demon distracted. With a turn of my wrist, dozens of bloody needles tried to pierce Ciriatto, but my attention was dragged as Draghignazzo swiped at me. His claws struck at my face, but nothing happened.

Draghignazzo looked at his fingers in shock, and I pressed my advantage. My fist struck out like a snake towards a rat, knuckles slamming into Draghignazzo's face. The demon tumbled back, but no blood left his mouth.

Lucky guy.

Flicking Riptide out of my pocket, I charged forward…only to come to a horrible realization. Draghignazzo was faster than me. Much faster. Before I could even get close to him, the demon had flung himself forward and crushed his knuckles into my cheek.

I stepped back, hissing. I couldn't get hurt, but damn did this guy have some strength. Another set of knuckles crashed into my face. Once again, I was hit, but now Barbariccia was also fighting me. I couldn't react as the pair slammed into me, my body simply too slow to fight back.

I hoped Ingvild was fairing well…eh, her reaction time was very good.

Draghignazzo struck a blow towards my face, but my eyes were now burning gold. I stared into his eyes as his fist crept towards my nose…and I opened my mouth, saliva jutting out like a bullet and slicing across Draghignazzo's cheek.

I swivelled around his fist and shuffled backwards to avoid a strike from Barbariccia. I caught a glimpse of Ingvild for a moment. She was doing fine, keeping Ciriatto and one other demon away from her.

I guess she killed one of the three demons fighting her, then.

Continuing to shuffle backwards, I continued to block swipes from Barbariccia with Riptide. His skin was incredibly tough, though, and not even a scratch had formed on him. Barbariccia gave up on tact and lunged at me furiously, wings batting behind him.

Draghignazzo attempted to blindside me as Barbariccia charged, but I could sense the blood dribbling down his cheek. His wound had healed remarkably fast, but he hadn't bothered to wipe the blood away. With a tug, his face was cut open once more and he stumbled.

Another tug pulled at my gut and I ripped the blood from his face and had it splash Barbariccia straight in the eyes. I swiped Riptide down at the momentarily blinded demon, my blade cutting the flesh off of his right arm.

My body spun around him like a matador dodging a bull, the charging demon stumbling past me. Barbariccia hissed, moving backwards. I dropped Riptide and flung myself forwards, my fingers stabbing into the wound that I had just made on him. He froze as I took control of his body.

Draghignazzo tried to help his leader, thinking we were grappling. He was wrong. Draghignazzo's fist inched at my face, but he didn't expect Barbariccia to swipe at his neck. A viscous gash formed as Draghignazzo screamed in pain.

His scream ended quickly, my other hand stabbing into the wound Barbariccia had just made. Draghignazzo exploded.

"Time to help Ingvild…" I mumbled, turning to where she was fighting. Sweat was dripping down her brow as she forcibly kept Ciriatto and the other demon away from her.

Ciriatto was surrounded by a red aura, the air visibly sizzling around him. He kept trying to swoop at Ingvild, but spikes attempted to impale him every time he got close.

Unluckily for Ciriatto, Ingvild had managed to cut him on the wings. With a tug of my gut, the blood dribbling down Ciriatto's back came under my control and lashed out, slicing through his wings and sending him to the ground.

Ingvild took initiative, dozens of watery spears impaling the demon from every angle. While she did this, I controlled the blood leaking out of a cut on the other demon she was fighting. It too toppled from the sky, spiralling to the ground.

He was turned into a shish-kebab, just like Ciriatto.

I walked over to Ingvild, Barbariccia unhappily trailing behind me. "You did good!" I cheerfully told her, my breathing slightly heavy. "Anyways, Barbariccia here is going to tell us all of what we need."

Ingvild held her knees, panting slightly. "Are…are you—" She took a breath, huffing slightly from exhaustion. "Are you going to torture…torture him?"

"Possibly," I said noncommittally. "It's up to him if we do or do not torture him, honestly. I'd prefer not to, but…yeah."

Ingvild stared at Barbariccia and me for a moment before she frowned deeply. "Alright…"

Good enough for me.

Using my control of Barbariccia's blood, I crushed the muscles in his arms, legs, and wings. He tried to scream, but he didn't have the ability at the moment.

I dropped him to the ground, the demon limply collapsing on the floor. "So, Barbariccia—remember me?"

Barbariccia gritted his teeth, pain clear on his face. "I…have…no…clue who you are!"

Okay, definitely amnesia.

"Did you die recently?" I asked him, crouching down. "Actually, do monsters die or do they come back to life after they die?"

Barbariccia made no move to speak, face full of spite. I sighed and shook my head. "I don't want to hurt you too much, man. I could make your death easy or hard. Just answer the question."

Barbariccia remained silent, and that was a bad decision. My fingers found the wound on his neck, and my gut tugged. Barbariccia probably would have thrashed and screamed under normal circumstances, but these weren't normal circumstances.

Ingvild looked away, face green.

"I repeat myself; did you die recently? Do monsters respawn?" I echoed my words from before, taking my hand off of the wound.

"No!" Barbariccia hissed, face scrunched in agony. "No, I didn't. They do not."

"Great! See how much easier it is when you comply?" I chirped happily, feeling no remorse for the guy. "Next question…what do you know about Dante and Virgil?"

Barbariccia's face flickered through several agonized and furious emotions before he finally decided to speak. "Dante went…went to hell after he d—d—died," Barbariccia stuttered out, pain rippling across his face. "Are you—are you with…with Virgil?"

"With Virgil?" I curiously asked. "What do you mean?"

"H—he comes here every…every year," Barbariccia struggled to say, eyes tight with pain. "Bec—c—cause he regrets…regrets failing Dan—Dante."

"Because Dante went to hell?" I guessed.

Barbariccia made a noise that sounded like agreement. "That…that human is s—s—so fun to t—t—torture!"

I didn't need to know that, thank you very much. I suppose Dante was a barrator, apparently.

"And where is Virgil?"

Barbariccia didn't respond, spite shining in his eyes. He gave me a hateful glare.

"Alright, then. Who are the Malebranche, exactly?" I asked him, glaring right back at him. "You guys are apparently pretty deadly, but you guys weren't that hard to fight."

Barbariccia kept glaring. "God killers," he hissed, eyes tight. "Once unsealed, you will die, godling! They'll eat your guts and rap—"

"None of that," I said, jabbing my fingers into his neck and blowing up his head. "You should've known better than to threaten Ingvild."

I clicked my tongue, shook my head, and stood up. The ground was coated in blood and water; actually, almost a football-field's length away, a new lake had formed from whatever Ingvild had been doing earlier.

"…sorry you had to see that, Ingvild," I apologized to her, walking over to her and placing my hand on her shoulder. "I should've told you to run before the fight."

She had done well—like, impressively well. Even so, I could have fought all seven of them alone. She didn't need to be around to see me torture a guy.

"It's…fine," Ingvild quietly said, turning around to look at me. There were some scrapes and cuts on her, but none of them looked particularly dangerous. "I understand and…I wanted to fight, Percy."

I bit my cheek, unhappy. "You shouldn't have to understand. You shouldn't have to fight…yet, you did a good job. I'm proud of you, Ingvild."

I really was. She held her own far better than anyone I ever knew would be able to. Maybe Thalia could do half as well as Ingvild, but I had doubts.

"You are?" She said, her orange eyes widening. "But…you had to help me."

"So what? Most of the people I fought with in my past life would've died where you succeeded, and they had years of experience over you," I said, grasping her hand and kissing her cheek, blood from my lips planting onto her face.

It wasn't my blood, obviously. I didn't do the whole bleeding thing. That was below someone as awesome as me.

Ingvild cracked a smile at my action, fingers wiping the blood from her face. "Thank you…and did you have to get blood on me?" She softly complained, still rubbing blood off of her face.

I shot her a cheeky smirk and poked her forehead, dragging blood across her skin. "Completely had to," I sincerely agreed, pecking her lips so she could taste copper. I then decided to kill the mood with a mallet. "So…how are you feeling about killing those three?"

I didn't have an issue with killing monsters, human or inhuman. Ingvild, however, definitely would have issues with it. Saint Ingvild wasn't the type of person to enjoy killing.

Her face shifted between a handful of emotions, but she looked more confused than anything else. "I'm…not sure. A part of me feels really, really horrible…but, at the same time, they'd have done…horrific things to me if we lost." Ingvild gazed into my eyes, guilt shining in her orange irises. "Is it wrong for me to be glad? Should—should I have found a better way to deal with them?"

Nope, I'm nipping that in the bud.

My fingers flicked her on the nose, a squawk leaving her mouth. "There's nothing wrong about feeling glad. Those guys were bad dudes, really bad dudes. You're happy that they can't hurt you, not that you killed them. That's the difference."

Ingvild stared at me for a while, a contemplative expression on her face. The roaring hearth that usually burned in her eyes had dimmed, but a warm flicker began to shine again. "Alright…thank you. I really love you, Percy."

She had a talent for warming my heart; it must have been because of those little flames that she called eyes. Ingvild would make Frosty the Snowman melt just by being next to him.

I looked over her body. Ingvild was covered in blood—most of it wasn't hers, thankfully—and she looked slightly battered. Her lavender hair had flecks of scarlet in it…and she looked just as stunning as ever.

"I really love you too," I honestly told her. I gave her another kiss on the lips, this one slower, more chaste. Ingvild needed to feel comforted right now.

Killing inhuman monsters back in my world wasn't like it was here. They didn't come back. It was final in a way that it wasn't in my world.

To her, this was more like killing a person. I'd killed plenty of human monsters, too. I'd helped kill my step-father at twelve. Killing people who didn't come back from the dead felt different.

I was always a pretty detached guy, though. I had never really considered the implications of killing mortal beings and I never struggled with it, but I did help other campers when they struggled with killing someone.

Sometimes, I wondered if I was a psychopath. It was easy to reject that idea because of how much guilt weighed in my heart, but I enjoyed causing pain. I enjoyed hurting my enemies.

Just…this was something to think about later. Ingvild needed me now.

I gently pulled back from the kiss, my hand grasping her own. "Tired?" I asked her, because I certainly was.

A tiny yawn left her mouth at my question, my lips quirking upwards at her response. Ingvild looked like she was moments from slumping over.

"Well, I'm tuckered, too," I said to her. Why in the world did I say tuckered? That's such a dumb word. "Let's get some sleep. When we wake up, you can figure out how to use your wings so we can get across the sea, alright?"

"…alright," Ingvild agreed. She eeped when I swooped her up and carried her like a bride. "What—what are you doing?"

"Carrying you to that lake you made. We can sleep in there, O' Lady of the Lake," I teased gently, walking towards the lake. And, yes, Ingvild had made a whole lake. I did say she could make a lot of water.

Soon after, we were at the bottom of the body of water, the two of us snuggling up against each other. If Ingvild held on to me tighter than usual, I didn't say anything about it.

I certainly held on to her tightly, though.

An: I felt a bit bad about taking so long to update, so take a 14k word chapter. I meant to update a lot more from the last time I updated to today, but…pollen. Dear God, the pollen. It's horrible. My eyes get so red, I look like I have the Sharingan. I've been on Easter Break, but I have slept almost the entire time because opening my eyes is literal agony.

On to less horrible things: I committed to a college, yay! It was tough to chose because a couple were giving me full tuition, room and board, etc, but the one I chose is only giving me full tuition…but they are giving me a job, so yeah. Working experience is very important to not being homeless.

Now, to stop yapping about my life: Ingvild. She's opening up a lot more now. Percy, as much as he claims otherwise, is a good influence on her. He is in the perfect place to give her the support she needs. Also, she would totally be Protestant, likely Lutheran. C'mon, late 1800s-early 1900s girl? Yeah, hard core Christian. I think canon should have explored a rural girl from the early 1900s finding out she is a devil. There is no way she should realistically be fine with being a devil.

I will be exploring Christian theology(exploring, not preaching) some when Virgil is here(it is needed for his arc)—he and Ingvild will be little nerds, it'll be fun, I hope. I'm actually really excited to write Virgil. Virgil is aware that God is officially dead in DxD, but…well, you'll see.

As for Ingvild being well-read? I need to characterize her somehow, lol. Canon didn't do much of it, but she is apparently a super genius on the level of Vali, a super devil. Ergo, Ingvild is a super devil. She should be smart. She should be stupidly talented. I just thought that making her a little bit of a nerd would be cute, so I did it. It's the same reason I made her dad a pastor—well, and because it is dramatic. Devil daughter of a pastor? Fun.

For Percy…canonically, he kind of is a psychopath. He tortured several people in canon and had a jolly good time doing it. Crusty, poison lady in hell, and probably others but I have a goldfish's memory. Of course, he also feels guilt for the things he does, but it usually isn't for the people he chose to hurt.

Ingvild, however, contrasts him by being a genuinely good person. She's nice. She's sweet. She's kind. She's moral. It makes them balance each other. And now they are dating…dating 2, I mean. Ingvild already thought they were dating since, like, day two. Read up on 1800s Norwegian dating practices, they are kinda cool.

Lastly, Ingvild is going to be ridiculously powerful. Canonically, she is compared to have talent as good as Vali, a super devil. She can control the entire ocean with her sacred gear. I also plan to give her something that will make her even more insanely powerful…but Percy also has some cool things coming up.