Nico's Story - featuring Reyna and Coach Hedge

The pain was sharp and fierce.
The arrow bit into Nico's hip like a rabid animal, burying itself in the flesh just above his leg. Pain blossomed there, igniting like a match and spreading like a wildfire. A shrill scream sounded, and it must have come from his mouth, though he didn't remember it leaving his lips. The world seemed to explode, bursting into flames around him as he crumpled to the earth. The mindfulness flooded from him, and suddenly there was only the pain, and his frantic hands clutching at his side; and his eyes shifting in panic from the metal rod protruding from his skin to the blood pooling around him.
The blood, dark and red, blooming around his body like a waking flower. The agony blazing in him, beating down furiously on his heart, melting his brain, tingling in his fingers and toes.
The panic radiated through him. He bucked and flailed, writhing in his pool of blood and anguish, consciousness fading like the last streak of sunlight in a day. The armies surrounding him became unimportant–tiny inconveniences next to the dragon of fire snaking through his stomach. Nico hardly noted the series of reactions–the gasps that whispered to him, the screams and cries that echoed like the unfortunate souls of the Underworld. The way Octavian stared, his face ashen; Clarisse averting her eyes and pursing her lips. Reyna was at his side, pulling the shaft free from his body, tearing a portion of her cape and placing it to the gushing wound.
And all the while Nico screamed, bucked, clutched at his injury. He didn't look in any particular direction, only capturing blurry images of the world around him. But he caught a glimpse of the arrow–the blood-coated, sharpened arrow–and noticed something: it wasn't made of Celestial bronze. It wasn't even metal at all. Instead, it was dirt. It was made of the same soil Nico lay bleeding on right now.
With that discovery, Nico's vision faded, his mind shut down, and his soul flew–except it wasn't flying. It was falling. Falling and falling into dark, vast emptiness.
*
Nico's eyes fluttered open to white. He was lying–lying down on something soft and warm. His arms were crossed over his chest, fists closed at his heart. There was something in his chest–a feeling, like an orb of light floating and spreading brightness throughout him. It was a good feeling, an uplifting feeling. It was nice.
Nico smiled. He must be dead. He must be on his way down to the Underworld, to Elysium maybe, to peace. Peace would be very much awesome.
Then he shifted, arched his back slightly to get more comfortable for the trip. And he felt something, something that didn't belong after death–pain. An acute pain, sparking in his left side. The world slowly came into view, and Nico saw he was in the infirmary again, in bed, staring at the blank ceiling. Dang, he thought. It was good while it lasted.
He propped himself up. Of course, bad idea–the agony twisted sharply, forcing a shriek through Nico's lips. It slithered into his stomach, churning his gut, prickling his organs. Not a pleasurable feeling.
He groaned and lowered himself flat onto the mattress, and the pain slowly dissipated. He stared at the ceiling again, waiting, wondering–what happened after he collapsed? Well, that was easy: they brought him here and went back to business. But were they fighting? Battling one another at the very moment? Negotiating? Maybe–just maybe–Nico's sacrifice had changed their minds? Unlikely. He was still a loser. But the thought of more blood being shed, ripe and red, spilling onto Gaea's skin to help her wake... It was enough to send a fresh wave of nausea rippling through him.
He sat up, concentrating his weak energy on neutralizing the fire inside him. Again, he was the only patient, which was enough to lift his spirits–no patients means no injured. Not yet, at least.
Nico gazed at the window, though that told him nothing. Neither armies were in view, only the empty volleyball field and deserted dinner pavilion. It was a pretty depressing sight; normally the camp was so alive, so full of movement. Now it seemed abandoned.
An image flashed through his mind, quick as lightning: the camp reduced to ashes, bodies strewn, smoke rising. Nico winced and fought it back, forced it into the deepest part of his mind, to deal with later. He had bigger problems right now than nightmares.
With great reluctance, he lifted his shirt and tugged at the bandage wrapped snugly around his waist. He had to see the wound, survey it for himself, see the damage–as disturbing as it might be. He unwrapped it carefully, making sure not to rip the fabric, unfolding the material and setting it aside.
One glance at the injury and Nico had to force down bile.
It wasn't worse nor better than he'd expected–it was just what he'd predicted it'd be. But that didn't reduce the gruesomeness of it.
A gaping hole tore through his abdomen, ending in a disgusting mess of broken tissue and muscle. The skin closest to the wound was a ring of congealed blood. The flesh around that was purple, blue and black–and the wound was swollen and throbbing. Just as Nico had anticipated. But he hadn't really prepared himself for the gore.
Frantically grabbing the plastic bin at his tableside, he retched over it, gagging up stomach acid and bits of food. Then, breathing heavily, he set the bin down and proceeded to rewrap the bandages. He kept his eyes averted and tried to ignore the obvious fact that no one had bothered to clean the wound.
Then he stood up.
It was quite a challenge–his limbs were like lead and agony gnawed at his gut with every movement. But eventually, Nico got to his feet, and trudged to the door.
Outside was just as eerie as before. Ashes of the bonfires crunched beneath his shoes as he walked, chilling him to the bone even in the summer heat. There was litter–Dixie cups once brimming with nectar, half-chewed tinfoil wrappers forgotten by satyrs–scattered across the ground. As ominous as this all felt, there was no noise–no metal clashing, no pain-stricken screams, no cries of war. They weren't battling. Not yet, at least.
As relieved as that made Nico, it also pushed him into a jog. Despite the temporary peace, despite the anguish it brought him to run, the tension was bound to break. The rope was bound to snap. Sooner or later, bodies would fall and weapons would find blood.
He had to get there before it happened. So he moved as quickly as the fiery snake resting in his stomach would let him. Past the empty strawberry fields, toward Thalia's tree, beyond the Big House and the cabins and the pavilion.
And there were the two camps, Half-Blood atop one hill, Jupiter in the valley below, just as before. Reyna and Rachel argued with Octavian, just as before. Warriors clutching their weapons, awaiting orders, just as before. All just as before, as if Nico had never been fatally wounded.
The thought made his heart clench... But then he noticed something. It wasn't just as before. Not exactly. Reyna was pale-faced, body stiff and fists balled, eyes red-rimmed and misty. She wasn't angry or vengeful, nor grief-stricken or miserable. She looked simply disappointed, her lips moving smoothly, her eyes locked and determined. Octavian stood before her, same as before, his twig-like body wrapped in a toga, sword at his side, ready to be wielded. Except his eyes were no longer full of hate, and his mouth wasn't twisted into a sneer. Instead–and what a surprise this was–he seemed to be mourning; sad and regretful. Yet he was still arguing. What a godly sap.
Rachel looked worried. Clarrise, curious. Dakota–well, he was still as frigid as an icicle. The other campers seemed the same, except for a few wondering eyes and sympathetic frowns. Other than that–same positions, same arguments, same situation. So Nico's heroics didn't really make a difference. The thought dropped his heart to his feet.
Interrupting didn't seem that wise, but there was no time to reconsider.
"Hey!" he called out, and all eyes turned to him. It was a look he'd seen before, every time he was shoved or taunted: pity. And he despised it.
Not like he could do anything about it, though. People will pity others. It's not the best feeling–to feel so weak and vulnerable–but it's human nature, instincts. Like sneezing, or whatever. So he started down the hill at a limp, wincing at every shock the contact to the ground sent up his leg. They watched him as he went, staring at him with their pity and curiosity and worry. Nico felt like he was a mouse that scientists had tested on–like they were waiting to see what awful things happened to him. Gods, it tempted him to raise the dead and give the campers a dozen skeletal-smacks.
"Nico," Reyna said, stepping forward and resting her hand on Nico's shoulder. There was relief in her voice, though she was trying to hide it. "You shouldn't be out of the infirmary. You should be resting."
"I should, but I won't. I refuse to nap while lives are at stake."
Reyna frowned, but a smile twinkled in her eyes. It was a nice thing to see–a strong leader, but not so arrogant as to pretend not have emotions.
"You're wounded. You can't–"
"Yes, I can. My injury doesn't make a difference on whether or not I can help." He turned to face both camps. "You can't battle! Killing one another won't help anyone but Gaea!"
"Nico is right," Reyna inputted. "We must form an alliance. It may be the only way to defeat the Earth Mother and her children."
Octavian cut in. "The Graecus's sacrifice was foolish and not well thought-out. But it was noble. And for that, I bow to him–dislike it as I do. The rest of his kind is yet to prove their trustworthiness."
Nico was about to comment that he didn't have much time to think it out while the arrow was already flying, but Octavian's half-bow changed his mind. Besides, they had bigger problems than whether his sacrifice was smart or not.
"There's no time to prove trustworthiness. We have to think–and act–fast. Gaea isn't an idiot. She obviously made that eidolon fire an arrow as a test. And another test is probably on its way. If we aren't ready for it, it could knock us over and trample us into demigod dust. Like it or not, we have to trust each other. We don't have a choice."
"I agree with Nico," said Reyna without hesitation, stepping up beside Nico. "Gaea will strike soon, with full force. Today might not be that day, but nonetheless, we have to be prepared for it. We have to work together, use each other's abilities to our advantage, cover up one's weaknesses with another's strengths."
Reluctance settled over the camp. Everything was suspended, as if time was drawing in a breath. Preparing for something. Readying for action. The campers stood with jaws clenched, eyes uncertain, indecisive. Nico waited for an answer, for them to make up their minds. But he realized soon that they weren't thinking an answer; they were waiting.
He looked at Reyna, and saw the same wariness in her expression as the rest of the demigods. Lips pressed into a line. Muscles taut. Eyes glittering with anticipation. The same look she'd worn before every battle they'd been in–expectance.
Nico glanced around, searching for whatever had stilled everyone. But all around, there were only the rolling hills and towering trees. Nothing out the ordinary, aside from the hesitation in the air and the chill in Nico's bones. Like the feeling you get right before something is thrown at you. Watching the object being drawn back and propelled toward you.
Then, like a bolt of lightning, time exhaled. The suspense shattered like rock crashing through glass as the earth rocked beneath them.
Everyone stumbled to the right. Campers crashed into one another. Ranks clashed; skin collided with dirt. Nico tumbled into Reyna, sending them both kissing the ground. The recovery was quick, and soon enough, both camps stood side-by-side, weapons raised, shields brought forth. Another tremor galloped through the underground, though smaller compared to the first. Feet wobbled, but no one lost their balance.
The world careened; the ground shifted and lurched, the skies spun wildly like a dreidel. Hills bucked like angry bulls. People toppled and pitched. Everything reeled from control.
Once the earthquake settled, the soil between the Greeks and Romans cracked and split. A crevice hissed open, growing steadily into a crater, sinking deep below everything above and into nothingness. Smokey mist rose from the tear. A blood-red glow illuminated the bottom–somewhere far, far down. And something was climbing up. A large, fairly terrifying silhouette, working its way upward, unhurried.
Nico stepped backward, gripping his sword fiercely and suddenly regretting disregarding another set of armor earlier.
Without turning, he said in as calm a tone as he could muster, "Prepare to attack." There was no reply, but around him, campers lifted their weapons and stood in battle stance. When did everyone start listening to him, he wondered. Well, that's easy: since he became the armor-less chump standing feet away from the spooky hole.
There was another pause as positions were assumed and the creature climbed. Then something–a shadow shrouded in dark fog–pulled itself out from the ravine, standing huge and fearsome before the demigods. Its energy was strong and terror-bringing–obviously a giant–but which one, Nico couldn't tell. Well, at least not until the thing announced it.
"Fear me!" it bellowed. "I am the despair of travelers and thieves! The scourge of trade, the woe of trickery! I am Hippolytus, bane of Hermes and soon-to-be destroyer of Olympus!"

Notes

Okay. :/
I hope you enjoyed this particularly late chapter. *sigh*
Here's the thing, dudes: I need feedback. It's not even a matter of "wanting to know what you think" anymore. Well, sort of. But not completely.
I need feedback (AKA comments) to feel motivated enough to continue. I need to know what people are enjoying and what I should cut out. I NEED to know these things from my readers, or I won't know what people think of it! So help me out, guys -- leave a comment below on what you think of the story so far. I mean, only if you want. I don't want to force you into anything. Ha ha.
Anyway, love ya; see you soon!