XXI • πτώση

                                    

                                          
πτώση

                          
falling
                          
• • •
                          
The world was falling apart. 
                          
In every way that had been imagined by mankind, the world was crumbling to pieces. A thick cloud had engulfed the air, full of dirt and sorrow. The world was ending.
                          
One.
                          
A satyr, standing tall on the edge of the beach, fighting with a pipe held to his lips. Hellhounds fell before him, but more replaced their fallen brethren. 
                          
Two.
                          
Two girls, both wounded horribly, were helping each other stand. Back to back they stood, swords held in front of their shaking figures. An army of monsters advanced on them, and through blood spilling out of their bodies, the girls fought. A boy stood in front of them, launching arrow after arrow into the throng of monsters.
                          
Three.
                          
A man, riding atop a hellhound, was fighting like Thanatos himself was about to claim him. His path left a bloody trail as monsters fell before him. 
                          
Four.
                          
A girl riding a horse raced between the battle, her sword bringing as much devastation as the illusions she casted with secrecy. Monsters trembled before her, realizing too late that they were staring at an illusion and her true form was behind them, sword raised high. She was an avenging angel wreaking havoc.
                          
Five.
                          
A forgotten demigod stood tall on her own two feet. A monster disguised as a girl surveyed her from across a small span of five feet. Though a battle raged on, the two girls stared at each other as though they were the only two things in the world. A glint in the demigod's grey eyes, a battle cry on her lips. The world held its breath as she swung her sword at the beautiful monster.
                          
And Rachel Dare woke up with a name on her lips.
                          
"Annabeth," she gasped, her lungs constricting as a panic attack took ahold of her. "Alive. Annabeth."
                          
The oracle was screaming in her mind, snatches of the prophecies she had recited earlier were yelled. Because this was the mark of Athena, the lost demigod. The devastation of monsters. Annabeth Chase was alive, undeniably so.
                          
Rachel stumbled to her feet, not caring that it was the middle of the night, not caring that she was barefoot as she ran out of her tent. Not caring at the strange looks that the demigods on patrol gave her. But no one dared approach her; they learned long ago that the Oracle was not someone to mess with. She had saved too many lives to have gained any enemies. 
                          
The night was silent, juxtaposing the violence she had just witnessed in her dream. Rachel had no reason to believe that it wasn't happening right now; the Oracle was very timely with her visions. It was either occurring now or in the future, and Rachel needed to someone to know. 
                          
Rachel didn't bother announcing her presence as she barged into the healer's tent. Unsurprisingly, Nico di Angelo was asleep, slumped in a chair by an empty cot. The boy worked harder than was healthy, and every insignificant failure seemed to leach a little life out of him. But Rachel couldn't judge; she was the one who uttered the last Great Prophecy, foreseeing the doom of the world. 
                          
Rachel shook her head, red curls flying violently. There was no use focusing on the past, there was only the future. She reached out to shake Nico awake, but her hand passed through his body. Like he was nothing but a mirage, a ghost.