XI: Prophet

For the next days, I confined Nico in his bedroom, having Alastor watch over him. We talked about the quest for Neoptolemus, and concluded that we'd leave for it on Friday. I'd call in sick for a week – if it went on for more than that, I'd summon a mistform of myself to go.

The reason for delaying our departure for a week had three main reasons. First, Nico needed rest, after bleeding out half the blood in his body. Second, we needed to gather some resources, and the people we'd take. Lastly, I didn't want to miss out on seeing Connor.

We'd established that Nico would rest until Wednesday, for three days, after which he'd rally someone to come with us.

"Are you sure?" he'd said, looking at me seriously. "I don't want you to get hurt… Your life just got back to normal, and I honestly don't want to be the one to ruin that for–"

I'd grabbed his face with my hands, cupping his cold skin in my palms. I quoted him.

"If you go against them by yourself, you'll die. I don't want you to die, capiche?"

He'd nodded.

It was Wednesday. I'd planned out the day meticulously (Yeah, I did a little note on the fridge and I'm proud of it, alright?). I'd go grocery shopping in the morning, have lunch with Nico, do the math homework I'd been avoiding, and then get ready for my meeting with Connor.

As I started my day, I kept on thinking about the son of Hades who'd invited me to this funny little mission – that we had a roughly 15% chance of getting out of alive – who laid in the guest bedroom of my house.

I'd come to view Di Angelo like a brother, like a younger version of Ethan. The suggestion that Connor had come up with, hinting the possibility of there being anything other than platonic or fraternal love between me and him, absolutely made me want to throw up.

First things first, I wasn't about to groom a thirteen year old kid. Second, and again, he's like a brother. Incest isn't cool unless you're 100% a god. Lastly, I had a huge, gigantic, almost certain hunch, that this self-invited roommate of mine, was gay.

We didn't talk much about his potential love interests, because, well, what was the point? I did remember this one girl that Ethan liked, though. A daughter of Nike who was all about acting like she didn't like him and was only hanging out with him out of obligation, when she was simply drawn to him for whatever dimwitted reasons someone might be drawn to Ethan for.

Her name was something like… Natty? Nathaly, Nathalia, Natalie, something along those lines. No one dared to actually call her Natty, though. That was reserved to her closest. Gods forbid me being one of them, she was kinda insufferable.

Nathalia (or something like that) Boyle. An average name for someone who was anything but average, or so she claimed. The girl Ethan had fallen for had the most suffocating superiority complex. But she made Ethan happy – gods know how she did that with that bitchass personality –, and that was enough for me.

***

"Where the fuck were you?" I asked, kicking Ethan on his shin. He'd came crawling up to the third floor of the abandoned building that was our base, where Kronos had given me my separate bedroom.

"Ow, fuck. Jeez, Erica. You're gonna wake everyone if you're that loud." he whispered, squirming away from me to evade my punches.

Ethan had been sent some minor quest, more for the sake of prophecy than for any actual purpose. He'd gone off to kill some old river god that'd be an inconvenience for us alive, according to Mistress Hecate. And the thing that was supposed to have taken three days at most took over two weeks. He was supposed to come back with the pearl the deity guarded, so why the fuck did he have some chick behind him?

"You've probably woken half the camp with your stench, dumbass!" I snarled, lifting my hand to pimp-slap him. Instead of dodging, he caught my hand. "You've been gone for sixteen days. I was scared you'd died."

"There was a… situation." he mumbled, carefully letting go of my hand. "A 'hi, how have you been?' would be nice, though."

My hands reached for his head, holding it down and making him bend his neck.

"Hi, Ethan, big bro!" I exclaimed, as I brought up my knee to meet his face passionately. I kneed him once with each word. "How! Have! You! Been?"

His groans were muffled by my knee, but I still heard his curses at me. By the sixth time, he grabbed my neck and threw his head up, hitting my face with the back of his head. A jolt of pain ran through my nose, and I felt my blood spill on his hair. Ow.

"Bitch." I growled, and, after wiping my nose, threw a straight right at his face.

He ducked, dodging my punch, and jabbed at my gut. I hated it when he threw punches at my abdomen, it made me sore for days afterwards. He was still faster than me, still stronger than me. Annoying fucker. Taking the opportunity of his head down low, I swiftly bashed my elbow against his temple, which would make him dizzy, as we'd been taught.

"Temple? That's low." he yelped, as he tried to stand up and gain some distance from me. He almost slipped, wobbling around at a loss for balance. "You're fighting with the dirty tricks."

I would hardly call that 'dirty'. Employing the tactics our teachers had taught us. Temples to stun, throat to disorientate, chin to hurt, liver to knock out. I wasn't stabbing his eyes or castrating him – which I totally should've been doing, taking into account how he made me dead worried those weeks prior – and he should be praising my fairness for that already.

We both knew that overall, we were equally good. Our knowledge was identical, having been taught together, but my handicap was in strength and his was in skill. When we fought, the winner might not show till the last moment, or not show at all. Most our fights ended in ties.

"Yeah, well… It's more fun that way." was the sentence I settled with.

I went for a left hook to the base of his neck, but he deflected my attack with his attack. Before I'd reached his neck, his knuckles met my chin. The strong uppercut threw me off, iron-tasting blood filling my mouth.

Annoyed, I crouched and lunged at him with a hiss, throwing him to the floor and sitting on his stomach. As he groaned, raising his arms to try and choke me, I threw a series of quick punches to his face. Before I put in the final punch, I felt his hands a bit over my hips, gripping my back, and with a little impulse he was able to flip us over, hitting my head against the floor. Fucking bitch.

My vision was blurry, but clear enough to see his arm raising for a punch. I squirmed up my head to dodge it, while I crossed my arm with his, twisting so he'd be forced to choose between turning his back to me or breaking his elbow. He chose to turn. I did a leg lock I'd learnt with some korean kid who did jiu-jitsu.

"What's that?" he asked in a groan.

"Something you can't pull." I snarled in return, and I reached for the dagger that had fallen onto the floor sometime during our fight. "Fold."

Just as I leaned my blade to his throat, he shouted: "Knife!" while raising his arm up. The girl threw him a knife, like he asked, and soon the edge was pressed against my chest.

"I hate you." I growled, without loosening my grip.

"Okay, baby sis. You're just being edgy." he reciprocated, pushing the tip of the knife closer to my skin.

That pun was… disgusting. It killed my faith in humanity, threatening to turn my stomach and making me throw up the lunch I'd eaten at four o'clock – yeah, I have a messed eating schedule. I frowned, moaning in despair and disgust. I was at an absolute lost of words.

With that, we both let go, laughing. I jumped to my feet, extending a hand to help him up. He took it with a chuckle, pulling himself up.

I loved sparring with him. We had the habit of fighting when one of us was mad, because it was much more fun than the controlled fights our teachers had us do and showcase to the younger demigods.

Krios, for example, didn't like the smell of the unfit mortal version of ichor, so whenever we fought in his lessons, we weren't allowed to draw blood from each other. Iapetus didn't like "tricks", so stuff like biting each others' nose off or kicking shins was prohibited. With Koios, we'd get a scolding whenever one of us used force over tactic, him loving farsight and whatever. Hyperion was pretty much the only one who enjoyed watching us trying to maul each other apart, but he was busy most of times and we barely got any time practicing with him.

But fighting with him like that was… absolutely liberating. While I spat out a mouthful of blood onto the dusty floor, I shook his hand and nodded with a grin. He passed the knife back to the girl, while stretching open his mouth to make sure his jaw wasn't dislocated.

"Good game." I said, chuckling, to which he nodded. I tipped my chin to the blonde with lustrous hair to her hips with him. "Who's the audience?"

"Oh, Natty– I mean, Nathalia Boyle." he presented, while he tiredly sat down on my mattress. "She's… someone I met after the Battle of the Labyrinth."

Nathalia Boyle. I'd heard about her before. Apparently she used to be one of Luke's roomies back at Camp Half-Blood, a stubborn daughter of Nike. Upset she wasn't getting the recognition she wanted and thought she deserved, she simply didn't go back one day.

Castellan liked her attitude, and mentioned once or twice over meals that he wouldn't mind if she joined our cause and swore allegiance to the Titan. It was only a quick thought, but still thinking about how Luke was half-dead and the body of Kronos gorged a chill down my throat.

"Right, good to know you had a pretty girlfriend while I was being tortured for information by the campers." I scoffed it off, lighting a match and leaning it to an oil lamp.

"I'm not his girlfriend." snarled the girl, who'd been leaning against the windowsill the entire time.

"Yeah, she's not that pretty, either." muttered Ethan, which was what I thought was a joke, but 'Natty I Mean Nathalia Boyle' didn't find it very funny.

But holy shit, was he joking. Under the dim yellowish light, I could see her features, although shes still stood in the dark. The golden rays coming from the modest lamp seemed to adorn the shape of her face, giving it just the right depth.

Her face was perfect. Sharp light green eyes, snobbish nose, thinly curved lips. Even the resting bitch face was naturally gorgeous on her. Holy Aphrodite had blessed that chick. Tartarus knows how my brother had pulled her.

"You're good looking." I said, raising my eyebrows in honesty. "Do you wanna sleep by the windowsill, or are you planning to get any closer to us?"

She impatiently rolled her eyes and walked towards us, her arms crossed before her chest. Her paces were right, too. Even in a situation like that one they just said that she was confident that she would win. No idea what she'd win, but it just seemed like she would win.

"You were right, Nakamura. Your sister does fight well." she said, sitting down on a stool across the bed. Her eyes pointed to me for the next line. "We should spar as well, one of these days."

At the time, I hadn't seen why not. But still, she struck me as someone I'd want to fight with armor on. Regardless, I nodded.

"If you plan to stick around, sure." I offered, shrugging. I passed a small pack of cookies to Ethan, who tried to rip open the package without making that infernal plastic sound.

"Yeah, I don't know about choosing sides yet." she said, checking her nails. "I'll pick sides when I know they'll win."

I frowned at Ethan, curious on where he'd gotten the brainpower for someone like her. Of course, I understood her, but Ethan was another story.

I was totally the type to do anything… not to survive by myself, but for like, my loved ones – such as my retarded brother – and shit. And Ethan disagreed with me enough for that, always mumbling some nonsense about justice and fairness and devotion and loyalty and cause – which of course was very honorable, and very Nemesis-y.

So he'd gone and gotten together with someone who seemed to have a mentality opposite to his? Did he suddenly believe in 'opposites attract' or something?

"So far, what's more promising?" I asked, lifting a brow.

She pursed her lips together as if she was thinking, tilting her head to her right.

"Hmmm… It was the Titan Army. Luke's rebellion, I respect it." she answered, slowly dragging her words just long enough to make me want to strangle myself. "But if you were really tortured by Camp Half-Blood, that shows some grit. I didn't know Chiron had grown guts since I last saw him."

Ethan glared at her disappointedly as the sentence came to an end, and she stared back, as if in protest. Weird dynamic they had there. From their stance, I was sure that her poking his limits wasn't a first-timer. But still, the edge she tiptoed on was dangerous. My brother got extremely touchy when I was the subject – specially in instances where his older brother complex kicked in and made him think that he failed to 'protect' me.

"Watch it, Boyle. Don't go over the line." he gnarled, clenching his fist.

"Come at me, Patchy." laughed the daughter of Nike, provocatively doing a come-hither.

"I'm serious this time." Ethan insisted, his one eye irradiating spiteful tension.

Nathalia shifted uncomfortably, then tried to mask it, to give off that she didn't care what he thought of. I watched as her larynx bobbed nervously, and her eyes thought of whether or not she should apologize for, according to my brother's standards, crossing the line. Before she needed to get out of her comfort zone and make everything feel weird by showing any sort of sentiment, I chimed in.

"No need for you lovebirds to fight because of me." I giggled, before turning serious and looking at Ethan. "And, Ethan, I need to talk to you… erm, outside?"

He nodded as I held the door open for him.

When we'd gotten back inside the room, the window was open and the girl was gone.

She returned the next morning after with all her things, and pledged her allegiance to Kronos.

***

Actually, I had no fucking idea where she despawned to. Days before the Battle of Manhattan, she'd simply disappeared, leaving behind a note and Ethan, absolutely wrecked. Said she went off to pursue immortality, and that we were on a losing side. At that time, I hadn't believed she was right.

And that was the last anyone had heard of her. She hadn't allied to the campers, or died, or went off to anywhere I was aware of. It was as if she'd dissipated into thin air.

I wondered if she knew that Ethan had died days after she abandoned him. Perhaps if she didn't, I should try to reach out to her? Even though she'd left, breaking my brother apart, I had a feeling it'd been hard for her too. She cared for almost nothing except herself, but it seemed like Ethan was an exception.

Eh, I'd worry about that later. I had more to think of in a time like this. Gods knew why I was thinking about my dead brother's ex-girlfriend while I was looking for bird food in a supermarket.

When I asked Alastor what he sustained himself on, he answered human souls and sacrifices, but I was at a scarcity for both of those things. I hoped he wouldn't be too unhappy with some grain. I strolled down the Walmart, whistling a tune I'd heard in the radio way too much lately.

I had worn something simple, a plain loose white t-shirt over some black jeans. The floor clacked crisply against the sole and heels of my favorite heeled boots. The black hair I was gifted with upon birth was tied in a random unthought ponytail.

My arms were hunched over a shopping cart, half empty. Its ill wheels screeched miserably as I dragged it across the ground.

Life was good.

I mean, that if you didn't consider how we were once again going to meet our deaths by the face. Honestly, I needed it to continue sane. I needed to do something good, that wasn't for the plans of gods or Titans. Saving Patroclus would do it, hopefully.

Inside, I'd thrown a bird cage, duct tape, biscuits, bandages, small tools and such that would be needed for the trip. As the sack of seeds fell on top of the rest of the things, the cart shook.

I tossed a strand of my hair that hung before my eyes back, as I reached for a pack of bandages on a top shelf.

I clashed against the shopping cart as my body was pushed forward by someone who'd gone against me.

"Oh!" she gasped, as I turned back to see who it was.

It was Rachel. Her fiery hair gave her identity away almost as much as her piercing jade gaze did, the soulful eyes staring into me. Before I could greet her, she spoke.

"Eris, you're here." she stated, as her lips opened into a smile. "I didn't think I'd find you yet."

The name she'd called me whiplashed a tinge of discomfort down my spine. Eris meant chaos and strife in ancient greek, and it was also the name that Kronos had given to me.

"Rachel, hi. It's Erica, by the way."

She frowned, as if I was the one wrong about my own name. Her eyes glowed differently for a second, the Oracle going through her briefly. Then, she shrugged and smiled as if she understood.

"My bad, hah. I misremembered it." she excused herself, before pointing at my neck. "You're… that thing… You've dropped it before, and I picked it up."

It took a while of staring at her in confusion before I realized she meant to say the shard of Kronos' scythe I'd tied to a silver string and worn around my neck. The shard of the old blade often scratched my skin, resulting in an absurd amount of surface wounds across my chest, but it helped me remember my origins.

The shard had been one of the two gifts he gave me that truly made me an impact on me. It stood alongside the dagger I still carried around.

When I first saw it, its outright beauty had stunned me.

The blade was about two palms long, three fingers broad, made with Cocytus Steel. It curved elegantly, as if it knew how deadly it was. Mortal silver formed the grip, sceneries of apocalypse carved into the metal. The crossguard was Stygian Iron, adorned with thin Acheroni Brass chains, that hung quietly, shimmering in its deadly gold under against the tired grayish reflections of the crystal formed in the underwater caves of the Lethe that sat on the pommel nut.

To complete it, the scabbard was hellhound leather, bands and rings of Phlegethon Platinum. In the metal lining, a funerary blessing in ancient greek was inscribed, whispers that Kronos had taught me when I'd asked. The knife held the very essence of hell itself in its materials, a weapon that had taken hundreds of years to be forged and completed. When I set my eyes on it, he'd seen my admiration, and seconds after, it was mine.

I shrugged, attempting to mask my thoughts.

"It's just pretty. Were you looking for me or something?" I asked, as I nudged the cart in order to prevent blocking other people.

"Let's talk outside." she muttered, her relaxed expression gone momentarily. Her tone was regal and serious, even worried.

"Oh, I just need to pay for–" I started, but impatiently she flicked her wrist at a man behind her, a bodyguard.

"Mr. Locke will take care of your groceries, don't worry. I can pay for it." she stated, holding my hand and leading me out of the store before I could answer.

So she was rich, apparently. Her steps were hurried and her dirty sneakers seemed more elegant than anything I'd ever put on my skin. We were outside under the sunny sky in no time. The street wasn't as rushed as it usually was, and the breeze strolled casually, only enough to mess with her hair slightly.

As we stood on the sidewalk, her eyes swiped the street, and her glance set down on a specific black car with tinted windows.

"My dad sent someone else to watch me, ugh." she complained, rolling her eyes and sighing when she faced me again. "Sorry, let me just get rid of that."

Without any hesitation, her hands held my face by my cheeks and pulled me in, meeting my mouth with hers. The sheer surprise was enough to freeze me completely, leaving me breathless and paralyzed as her chapped lips moved on mine.

As she pulled away, heat rose to my face, and I stepped away from her. She chuckled, scratching her hair. Her freckled skin turned pink, and I stared at her, shocked enough to stay silent.

"Sorry about that, yeah, I know you're straight." she glanced at the same car, but now it pulled away from the street, leaving. "They leave me alone it they know that I'm sneaking out to meet with a girlfriend or boyfriend."

"Oh." was all I mustered.

"Uh, you can slap me if you want to?" she offered, turning her cheek over. I shook my head, declining. She shrugged.

"It's fine." I mumbled, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "At least it worked, right? What did you need me for?"

"I saw visions of you, Eris– Erica, I mean." she explained, reaching out for a crumpled note in her pocket. "What you're going to do with Nico… It's dangerous."

She unfolded the yellowish paper, scribbled on with fast, uncareful handwriting that I couldn't decipher. It was scrapped over, as if she'd changed her mind about what to leave on the sheet more than once.

I tried to reach for it, her fast hand slapped mine off.

"Nuh uh. My notes are mine." she censored, sticking her tongue out at me.

I sighed, and she looked into my eyes gravely.

"I only saw glimpses, Erica, but I know… You're better off if you don't go." she warned, with an exhale. "It'll… affect how the rest of your youth goes."

"Do you know about the ones guarding the crypt?"

She put a finger on her nose bridge, squinting her eyes closed as if she had a headache.

"I feel like… something is stopping me from seeing it more clearly, you know?" she glanced at me expectantly, before sighing. "Of course you don't, you haven't been possessed by the spirit of a millenia year old prophet."

I had to laugh at her exasperation, as I put my hands on my hips and saw a relaxed grin form from her lips. It quietened, and she was serious again.

"It's more serious than you think." she said. "I sense a presence there… It's older than the demigods, and it smells like… Tartarus, Erica."

"Nico said there was a death deity there, something with a K." I guessed, shrugging. I'd dealt with Tartarus before. My ex-boyfriend was a resident of it.

"No. Death gods smell like Hades, like pomegranates. This is different."

"Then Nico stands no chance without me." I concluded.

She nodded.

"Then I'll go. Is there actually anything useful I should know?" I asked, and she nodded once more.

"Nico will take two with him. You can't trust both." she mumbled, as she took another look at her paper. "And your boyfriend… you should take him with you."

"I don't have a boyfriend."

"Oh? Tall skinny boy, black hair and blue eyes." she asked, shrugging. "I just assumed you two were dating because–"

"Connor Stoll? Absolutely not." I scoffed. It was too dangerous for him, and his presence there would endanger himself. "He's dumb and he's weak."

"He has quick feet, you'll need that." she retorted, raising her brows.

"He'll break his quick feet if he goes." I insisted.

"He's not a child, Erica, he can take care of himself. He'll manage." she continued, refusing to budge.

"He has the brain of a child. It'll slow us down." I didn't budge either.

"I've been with him, he's not stupid. He can be a good strategist."

"He's a dead weight to us. One more mouth to feed, one more life to watch over."

"One more life to watch over you."

"I don't need anyone else to watch over–"

"Erica." she grabbed my shoulders. The look in her eyes was determined, fierce. "You'll all die if you don't take him with you."

I swallowed hard, and I knew what she said was true. Weight engulfed me, as her promise echoed in my eardrums.

"What?"

"You heard me. You'll both die. You and Nico." she repeated, this time articulating every syllable heavily. "And… the rest of us. It'll bring upon us a war we aren't ready for yet."

"I'm not taking Connor."

"He'll be okay, Erica. Him being there is essential for slowing down something… for everyone else." she said.

"I don't care." I spat out dryly. I would not risk his life for this.

"I know you like him, but–" she tried sounding comforting.

"I don't like him!" I interrupted, and she didn't answer, staring at me instead.

We looked at each other in silence for a bit, her letting the weight of my own words dawn upon myself.

It was stupid to say that I liked him, but perhaps I did feel something for the guy? Ugh, I was letting her get to me. The point had nothing to do to whether I liked him or not, at all. I wouldn't risk his life. I barely knew him, I couldn't just ask him to possibly get killed with me.

"I'm not taking Connor with us." I said, and went into the supermarket to pick up my groceries.

They'd been bagged already, and her bodyguard held them formally. I took the pack from his hands, before reaching for my wallet.

"How much do I owe you?" I asked him. He shook his head.

"Nothing."

"Thanks, then." I shrugged, and walked away. It was worthless arguing over paying my fucking groceries with someone who'd just spewed some serious prophetic bullshit about a quest and told me about some crush even I didn't know existed.

If she wanted to pay for that shit, so be it. It wouldn't hurt me that much. I offered him a friendly smile and a short nod, and he returned it.

I bumped against Rachel in the exit, but she only smiled at me.

"I'll see you around, Rachel." I muttered in goodbye.

"Yeah, we'll see each other somewhere." she nodded in agreement. "You look good today, by the way."

"I know." I answered, smirking at her as I walked past. "I always do."