From Camp Half-Blood to Gotham (Nico x Batfam)

Can't a Guy Catch a Break? (65)

Tartarus pressed in on all sides, a suffocating abyss, the air thick and rancid with the stench of decay. The sky above oozed like an open wound, red and festering, while the ground churned beneath Nico's feet, alive with malice, pulling him down with every step. Every breath was like swallowing ash. His lungs burned. His legs screamed with exhaustion, but he couldn't stop. The darkness behind him was closing in, growing thicker, and colder. It breathed on his neck, and no matter how fast he ran, it was always there.

Leo was beside him, his face fading in and out of focus like he was behind a fog. His pace faltered, slowing. Nico didn't understand at first and didn't see what was happening until it was too late. The burns were back. The entire left side of Leo's body looked like it was melting, skin bubbling and peeling away in sickening clumps, exposing raw muscle beneath. The smell hit Nico like a punch to the gut, charred flesh, and blood, the stench curling into his nostrils, turning his stomach. Leo let out a ragged gasp, his voice thick with pain, but kept running, kept trying. His skin flaked in strips the size of playing cards, falling to the ground like dead leaves, leaving a trail of red and burnt tissue in their wake.

Nico couldn't do anything. His hands hung uselessly at his sides, trembling. His feet kept moving forward, but his mind was stuck, frozen, horrified by what he was seeing. Leo's knee gave out next. The old injury shattered his leg with a wet, sickening crack. Leo went down hard, collapsing onto the jagged rocks with a scream that made Nico's chest seize.

Nico stopped. He didn't want to, but his legs locked, his muscles frozen in terror and confusion. He stared as Leo tried to crawl forward, his hands clawing desperately at the ground. His fingers, broken and bent at unnatural angles, scraped across the rocks, leaving streaks of blood. He was coughing, spitting red into the dirt, his body shaking violently.

Nico screamed inside his own head, begging for his legs to move, but his body wouldn't listen. He was standing there, watching Leo fall apart, piece by piece, and he couldn't do anything. His chest tightened, breath catching painfully in his throat, his heart hammering in his ribs. I'm useless. I'm useless. I'm useless.

Behind them- footsteps. No, not footsteps. A march. Hundreds of them. Nico turned, and his blood ran cold. Deathstroke. Hundreds of him. Thousands. They were everywhere. The masks, black and orange, shining like they were mocking him, reflected the blood-red sky, their white, soulless eyes locked onto him, onto Leo. They were closing in, their footsteps pounding like war drums, like the earth itself was marching against him.

Nico's knees buckled. His vision blurred. Leo was screaming again, louder this time, the sound ripping through the air like a physical blow. Nico's hands were shaking, useless, his sword heavy at his side, limp and forgotten. He couldn't even make himself draw it. His fingers twitched, but his muscles refused to respond. I'm so stupid. Why can't I do anything?

A Deathstroke reached Leo first. Its hands grabbed his ankle, and with a harsh jerk, yanked him toward the earth. The ground opened beneath him, a gaping, hungry maw swallowing him whole. Leo thrashed, screaming, his broken fingers digging into the dirt, his body convulsing as more Deathstrokes piled on, their hands ripping at him, tearing him apart. Blood. So much blood. It spilled from his mouth, bubbling up like a fountain, staining his chin, his neck, the rocks beneath him.

Nico wanted to run to him. He wanted to scream, to fight, to do anything, but he just stood there. His feet were glued to the ground, his body paralyzed. His mind screamed at him, every nerve in his body on fire, but he couldn't move. He couldn't even breathe right. Leo was dying, because of him, because he was too weak, too slow, too useless.

Leo's eyes locked onto Nico's, wide and terrified, pleading. His mouth moved, forming words, begging, but all that came out was more blood. His fingers, broken and twisted, reached for Nico, clawing at the ground, trying to hold on. Nico didn't move. He just stared, his heart pounding in his ears, his breath ragged and shallow.