Nico's POV
Only someone guilty runs from a crime scene.
Nico didn't even have the time to see the person or animal that had made the noise, fleeing to his cabin, tripping over gnarly branches that protruded from the soil.
He slammed the door behind him, crouching down on the floor, his chest heaving and cold sweat pouring down his face, the taste of blood still in his mouth.
Their bodies had practically splayed open, internal organs on display and eyes glassy.
He hadn't even heard them scream.
It had felt serene that way.
Nico held his head in his hands, nails carving half-moons in his neck. When he gained the courage to look up at the tall mirror by his cabinet, he didn't recognize the boy in front of him, and part of him liked that.
The boy was grinning, the same grin Sisyphus carried day to day. Blood from the boy's hands had left marks on his neck and cheek and the red liquid ran down his lips.
You're ready.
You finally deserve the title of Ghost King. You deserve to be her son.
"They died."
No, you consumed them.
Snapping out of his stupor, Nico ran to the bathroom, kneeling by the toilet as he retched, his stomach churning. When he opened his eyes, seeing the contents of his regurgitation, he thought he might vomit once again.
Flesh in bits and pieces, still intact, lay in the bowl, the crimson seeping into the water. Nico scrambled to flush the scraps of human meat.
He picked himself off the floor and moved to the small window that looked over the forest, as if the Ares kids would have chased him down. Nico chuckled at the profanity of the situation. Before he could unglue his gaze from the window, though, he saw a familiar figure exiting the brush.
Will...Why don't you listen?
"He can't know. It'll crush him," Nico mumbled to no one.
Why don't you take him out of the equation, too. He's her biggest hindrance.
"No!" Nico shrieked, wiping the blood and bits of flesh from his hands and pulling off his jacket, stuffing everything in his wardrobe, staining nearby clothes.
Shit. I need a shirt. Come on!
A shirt hung over his headboard but, before he could reach it, two sickly faces came face to face with him.
Nico froze. Please let the wardrobe be closed.
"Why are you so bloody," Will demanded.
The blood from his broken stitches masked the rest on his hands.
Thank god for those Harpies.
"Stitches broke."
"Nico. Someone's died," Reyna informed him, her face nearly as pale as Will's.
I know.
At least she didn't seem to know anything. He couldn't fathom what would happen if she knew. Nyx would have him do the same to her that he'd done to the Ares kids.
"It's not safe, so you'll stay in one of the other cabins so you aren't alone."
That's ironic–-invite the monster into a cabin!
"I'll be fine. Can I put on my shirt now?"
"Nico, that wasn't a suggestion," Reyna growled.
"He can stay in the Apollo cabin," Will mediated hesitantly.
Anywhere but there.
"It's settled. Nico, I trust you'll get packed. Chiron has ordered that the older campers scout the camp, but I'd rather have Nico stay in with the others given his circumstances. You, too, Will; there are few healers available at the moment, and you aren't the most... coordinated fighter." Will nodded, looking slightly embarrassed.
When Reyna left and Will stationed himself outside of Nico's cabin, Nico pulled out a backpack beneath his bed and stuffed all his cleaner attire inside, carefully placing the mythomagic statue inside. The sight of it always saddened him, but now it really had turned into a curse. He was tempted to throw it away, but could never follow through.
"I hate you, Bianca. Why didn't you leave sooner," he asked, as if the statue would answer him.
Today, he didn't have tears to spare for her.
He grabbed the bloodied clothing and soaked them in his sink, crimson flowing down the drain no matter how long the clothes soaked. When he was satisfied enough, he scrunched them and hung them in his wardrobe.