WHITE NOISE , percy jackson [1]

EIGHT

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Milan's list of reasons to be miserable was still growing, evidently. First of all, they had to camp out in the woods, which was something he would never do willingly. Second of all, the clearing was marshy, wet, and it reeked from the garbage left behind there. And third (and arguably most important), Milan knew he looked like a wreck. His hair was frizzy, his nail polish was chipped, and his clothes were dirty. Gods, he didn't know questing could be so miserable.

They'd taken some food and blankets from Medusa's, but that was the extent of their provisions that night. They couldn't just light a fire, because then they'd attract even more deadly monsters. And Milan had his fair share of deadly monsters that day.

They decided to sleep in shifts, and Percy had volunteered for first watch.

Milan was struggling to sleep, though. He noticed the way Annabeth had fallen asleep the instant her head hit the blankets, and he felt some envy there. So, he closed his eyes, hoping and praying that sleep would overtake him.

And it did.

Suddenly, he was back in the Underworld; he could see the vast dark above him, signaling he was underground. But the setting was different from last time. He walked on a shimmering bronze floor, and pillars of obsidian rose all around him. In front of him was a grand door, and when Milan looked down, he could see that his body was silver and translucent. Like a ghost.

Which meant... he had been brought here in his dream for a reason. He took a deep breath, and stepped directly into the door. In front of him was the vast entry hall, with its floor of bronze tiles. The walls were lined with skeletal soldiers from various wars, which was prevalent in the way their uniforms were designed. He saw soldiers from the Revolutionary War, World War II, the Franco-Prussian War, even a uniform of a Serbian soldier in World War I.

He tried not to stare, but he realized the soldiers didn't even see him. Finally, Milan's gaze drifted further into the room, where two thrones were located. They were exactly what Milan would've expected; the larger throne was made of fused human bones (which really didn't look as tacky as it sounded), and it was already occupied.

Hades sat at his throne, a deep scowl set on his face. He was ten feet tall at least, and he was dressed in black silk robes and a crown of braided gold. He radiated power, and as he scowled down at the person in front of him, he seemed even more terrifying. Milan recognized the person, or rather, goddess, in front of Hades already. Her green torch was a dead giveaway: Hecate.

She was locked in a spirited argument with Hades. "Spare him, Lord Hades," she said darkly. "I insist, even if his companion did it, he is innocent."

"And who are you to tell me what I should do?" Hades said back in a deep, oily voice. "Do not forget that you are technically under my domain. If I was a merciless ruler, I would strike him dead and make you watch. But alas, I shall wait. After all, there is no guarantee the little demigods will even make it here alive."

That only made Hecate angrier. "You can not just kill him for something you only suspect him for," she said. "Do you know how deeply that will offend me?"

Hades regarded her with a dark glare. "Do you know how difficult my job is, made only worse by the fact that the all the minor gods in my domain never listen to me? First, you ask me— no, beg me, to spare a hero simply because he is your legacy, then you have the audacity to say you'll be offended if I don't?" He rose from his throne, suddenly towering over her.