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In all honesty, Nico’s almost glad when the giants arrive. He’s lost track of how long it’s been since he’s seen blue sky. His memories of the world above feel as though they’re from another lifetime. So he doesn’t freeze in fear of the giants because what can they possibly do to him that Tartarus itself hasn’t already? Maybe he really is going insane.
But Nico di Angelo has never been a quitter. So he glances behind him into the abyss and at the Mansion of Night. He gives a prayer to the gods and leaps. The primordial goddess of night just laughs as he falls towards her palace.
His feet hit the ground and he rolls away from a chasm so dark and ancient it seems to have its own gravity. It’s like the Pit of the Underworld that he had let consume him just days prior. Nico forces himself away from its pull, finally turning away from the void. He shifts his gaze towards his surroundings.
He screams.
The immortals cackle with the indifference of children laughing as they stamp ants into smears on pavement.
The giants step off the edge of Tartarus, leaping into the infinite chasm of Chaos. Nyx follows close behind, led by the chariot of the night. They land together on the edge of the magically floating island. The very floor shakes.
Nico can feel the cracks in his mind widening as the sheer power of the primordial being’s palace overwhelms his mortality. He’s numb to the quaking ground beneath him. His sword slips from his grasp but he doesn’t hear it clang against the marble floor. He sinks to his knees as the ground goes still again.
Nyx tuts, eyes somehow glowing brighter in her own domain and darkness. “Pity. Though I suppose I should have expected this. No mortal mind is meant to witness such power. The Mist cannot shield you from it.”
The twin giants gloat and make mockery of the boy who has fallen alone into Tartarus and Chaos now kneeling unarmed and broken at their mercy.
“Well I suppose you can have him then. He won’t last long down here as it is,” Nyx concedes.
Otis and Ephialtes share a grin as they approach the son of Hades. Nico’s sword lays abandoned at his side and he doesn’t turn as they near. It’s only when a hand closes around his neck from behind that life returns to his eyes. To a boy who’s lived through war, the motions of battle are familiar.
It’s already too late.
He reaches for his sword but it falls away from him. Nico is lifted from the ground, the pressure against the arteries on either side of his throat bringing dark spots into his vision as he thrashes. The giant frowns, his hand only tightening around Nico’s neck. His twin picks up the sword still untouched on the floor.
All at once, the pressure is gone and Nico falls once more. The marble tiles come up to meet him frighteningly fast as his vision slowly clears. Too slow.
Pain flashes up his ankle as it twists under him upon landing. A defeated voice echoes through his head and he doesn’t know if it’s his own or a product of the new broken fragments of his mind. Well you weren’t getting away anyways.
Then the giant’s hand closes around his wrist. His arm is nearly pulled from his shoulder as he dangles from the grip of a giant. His own sword flashes in front of him before his captor’s twin drives it through the shoulder already screaming in pain.
The hand around his wrist slackens and he slips free but any relief is short-lived. His shoulder is numb with shock. A cold marble wall slams into his back and stone cracks as his blade cleaves through it. He breathes a shallow gasp of searing, tearing agony. Satisfied, the giants retreat.
Nico lets his chin fall to his chest. The hilt of his sword, wrapped in leather and molded to the shape of his hand, protrudes from his shoulder just under his clavicle. He opens his mouth to scream, shout, something but all that comes out is a weak, shaky sob.
The blade is positioned sideways, pinning him to the wall instead of slicing through him. Like a bug on display. His own weight tears at the wound. Bile creeps up his throat as he shifts, trying to find a position that might ease the pain. His bones grate against the blade holding him in place.
He tries to take a deep breath. Even he’ll admit that it sounds pathetic. I am Nico di Angelo, son of Hades, Ghost King. I can’t die here. Please, I don’t want to die like this.
He throws his head back against the wall. The pain of the impact is nonexistent next to the agony in his shoulder. He raises his other hand to grip his sword. For a moment, his arm rebels, refusing to let him keep tormenting himself.
But Camp Half Blood. Percy. Hazel. Bianca. The world that was depending on him. The few who would mourn him.
I will not die like this.
He pulls and the pain is blinding. Tears that he didn’t know he had left fall and mix with the blood pooling on the floor beneath him. His breath comes in thin gasps and choked sobs but then he’s free.
He falls again, sword slipping from his body and clattering to the floor once more. He crumples in the growing pool of his blood. The giants turn back towards him, holding a large bronze jar, but he can’t bring himself to care.
His blood trails across the floor. His sword is scarlet. Gods, if the giants don’t kill me the blood loss will. The world fades from view and for a moment, the pain falls away with it.
“Shame. I hope to see you again, son of Hades. You have done well. For a demigod, of course.”
– – – – – – – – – – –
Nico doesn’t expect to wake up. He opens his eyes and expects to be greeted by the gates of the Underworld. Instead, he is met with the dim glow of Celestial Bronze. He’s trapped in… the jar? The absurdity of the situation, probably coupled with the amount of blood he has lost, brings him to laughter.
It fades just as quickly when he hears the sound echo back at him. He’s alone. Trapped. He is covered in his own blood. The air is already beginning to go stale.
Nico digs through his pockets, trying to take slow, shallow breaths. He pulls out a Ziploc of ambrosia and a small, nondescript packet. He swallows down all three squares, watching the wound in his shoulder slowly scab over.
Then, he picks up his sword to scrape a single line into the glowing metal in front of him. He pops a pomegranate seed in his mouth and leans back against the side of the jar.
That night, Perseus Jackson dreams of curved walls and a boy who has survived Hell.
There are six days left.