Hurt me with the truth | Stony demigod AU

Tony

Tw: demonic possession, sickness mention

Tony's nightmares were getting worse.

Tonight, he stood in a large, empty field. It was dark out, the blackness heavy on his shoulders. He couldn't see the shape of his hand in front of his eyes, couldn't see the ground he was standing on or the sky above him. It was as if the light was being sucked out of the air.

We meet at last, Anthony Stark.

Tony swore, hit by a wave of nausea so intense he fell to his knees, clamping his hand over his mouth. His ears were ringing, and Tony thought he could taste fear in his mouth, like bitter metal, overwhelming his senses. Once his head had stopped spinning, he pushed himself upright, whirling to see who had spoken, but all he saw was more darkness.

What's wrong, Anthony? Scared of a little darkness?

A number of sarcastic comments went through his head, but they evaporated in his mouth as a white-hot bolt of pain shot through Tony's skull, forcing him to his hands and knees once again.

He felt ill and weak, as if the voice were sucking out his spirit and using its energy to speak. Tony doubled over a second time, fighting the urge to be sick all over the grass.

A sound split the air, freezing him in his humiliating position on the ground. It was a high, wailing ululation, a sound of pure and mindless evil. It seemed to go on and on like a singing note plucked from a violin, growing higher and thinner and sharper until it abruptly cut off.

It was only when the sound came again, louder this time, that Tony realised it had been a laugh. It rang out like a siren, and a picture formed in his mind: an ordinary human woman, beautiful in the same way a marble statue was beautiful- lovely to the eyes, but cold, unnatural and certainly not human, staring back at him with pure, empty black eyes-

"What do you want?" Tony forced the image away. The dead and the lost did not come back. He had nothing to fear from them. Then why was he so afraid?

His hand crept, involuntarily, to the sheathed sword that hung at his side, only to realise that it wasn't there. Not that it would be much use, either way. How could you attack someone who simply wasn't there?

I'm afraid your weapons won't work on me, little demigod.

"What do you want?" Tony repeated, attempting to crush the panic down.

I come to you with a warning. Stay at your camp, half-blood. Like others, you will be offered a chance to leave, one of those glorious quests you demigods yearn for. Opportunities to show your valience in shallow hopes that the Olympians will notice you. But be warned, young half-blood. If you disregard my warning and embark on this quest, I will unleash horrors you have only been told stories about upon you and each of your brethren. While you pathetic half-bloods are tearing each other apart, I shall march upon Olympus and take my revenge!

For a moment, as bright as daylight, Tony could see the scenery around him- the webs of dark red veins that ran along the ground he was kneeling on, the sickeningly blood-red shade of the clouds above his head, the way the air seemed to ripple with heat- Tartarus.

Eyes like pools of blood, sunk deep into dark folds, regarded Tony with silent amusement. Then something in those bottomless depths flickered. A great cloud of vapour swept across Tony's eyes, like a wave crashing over the surface of the ocean. The last thing he saw was a flash of blinding red before it was swallowed up by the darkness.

"Tony?"

A voice spoke out of the darkness, soft, sympathetic, as familiar to him as pain. Tony blinked his eyes open and saw only darkness for a few heart-wrenching seconds. He was faintly aware he was lying curled on bedsheets, not the cracked ground he'd been kneeling on, but the blackness he saw unnerved him.