The Sun Without Stars Solangelo

The Prey

Will's POV

"Stupid f*cking sword!" Will hissed at the inanimate object, nearly persuaded to throw the useless scrap of metal.

Big boy curse words were reserved for times of distress.

These were times of profound distress.

Goodbye, Will.

"Don't you dare say goodbye, di Angelo!" he shouted, as if Nico would be able to hear him from such a far distance. His (ex-boyfriend? Soulmate? Friend with strange romantic tension?) would be staying whether he liked it or whether Will had to tie them together for the rest of their lives and death.

To his surprise, as Nico completely disappeared from view, no further did he sink into the murk; however, he was still faced with tearing himself out of it, making use of the stygian iron sword Nico had laid down in front of him.

Will had been slicing at the shadows for nearly ten minutes, beads of sweat rolling down his body along with the sprinkling rain as he continuously swung, only for them to reform.

All Will knew for sure was that Nico was fighting a losing battle if he'd truly gone to fight Apollo. He was sure that Nico was aware that a fight against an immortal was a death sentence.

You still handed me your sword knowing that.

You don't plan to survive this, do you?

Will now aggressively tore at the dense liquid clinging to his skin with his nails, holding back tears.

 "Come back... please... I can live in the underworld forever, as long as you're there... it doesn't matter....it really doesn't...." Will begged, without an audience to hear his pleas.

It doesn't matter that you chose Nyx over me.

It doesn't matter if you hate me.

It doesn't matter if you're my monster.

All that matters is that I'm yours.

With newfound vigor, Will clenched the sword in his hand, raising it above his head and piercing it into the ground, using it to drag himself out of the night's grip, rather than cutting himself free piece by piece.

Will's muscles strained under the pressure, but he continued to heave his legs from the inky swamp. Clamping his eyes shut, he gave the last of his energy to haul out his midsection, parts of his shirt and the hem of his pants cracking from the snapped thread.

A little further

Just a little further.

"Will?!" The voice came from afar, but the person's footsteps could be heard scurrying over.

"Annabeth? ...Is he okay?" Will demanded, though terrified of how she might respond.

"For now. Help me carry the rope. We can't let Apollo die," she instructed, taking the sword from his grip and cleanly slicing the remaining shadows that clung to his clothes, offering him a hand and heaving him from the sinkhole.

Apollo? 

Die?

THE Apollo?

"What do you mean? Apollo can't die," Will inquired as he chased Annabeth, racing to what looked to be an arena.