The air reeked. Nico wrinkled his nose as the sourness grew stronger. It coated the back of his throat, sparking the slightest headache in his temples.
He’d been following the trail for what felt like hours. He’d first noticed it on a coincidental trip to London–something to do with an upset ghost of a former ruler. Honestly, Nico hadn’t paid much mind when Hades proposed the mission. They both knew that it was just an excuse to get Nico out of the house.
Then he smelt it.
It wasn’t so bad a few miles back, like someone had forgotten to wash their gym clothes for a few weeks. If he hadn’t recognized it he wouldn't have paid any mind, but Nico knew that acrid sweetness. It emanated softly from Leo and Frank: the stench of cheated death.
For it to be this strong… Nico didn’t even want to think about it.
So he followed. This was far more important than some damned ghost. Clearly, whoever it was, they were long overdue for a visit.
The smell had led him to a private property in a small town. The moon hung overhead and its silvery light filtered through the canopy to guide his uphill trek through the trees. Nico cursed as pebbles slid out from underfoot, scuttling down into a thicket below. He glanced up to judge the distance and paused.
A mansion loomed over the arc of the hillside. Its gardens were well cared for despite its rundown appearance. Even from here, he could see the flicker of candlelight in one of the windows.
Found it.
Nico took a minute to gather his strength. Now that he had a clear idea of where he was going, he slunk into the shadow that eclipsed the land and envisioned himself inside that very room.
The world melted away and for a moment Nico was submerged in the darkness. It clawed at him, begging for him to stay. He pushed past with practiced ease and resurfaced on the other end.
The mansion was just as dingy on the inside.
The place looked like it hadn’t been dusted since Nico was born. A handful of men and women gathered around a long table in the center of the room. Its wood was nicked and its paint chipped. The people didn’t look much better and Nico felt like he’d just invaded a congregation of the homeless elder council.
Nico nearly gagged at the overwhelming odor.
Then he noticed the woman.
She whimpered. Chin jutting to the sky, back arched, legs crumpled in a kneeling position against the table. Blonde hair tangled and clothes tangled, she looked miserable. Nico felt sore just looking at her.
A rather deranged looking woman shrieked and brandished a stick in his direction. “Crucio,” she cried.
Nico sharpened. Sidestepping, he lifted his sword to deflect. Red light warped around the blade before seeping into the stygian iron with an imperceptible hiss. “Rude,” he murmured, looking up at the rest of the group.
The others seemed to have the same idea as the woman and lifted their own sticks in Nico’s direction, but a man at the front of the group raised his hand. His face was malformed, pale and snakelike with blood red eyes that peered at him through slits. Some sort of monstrous lineage, perhaps?
Nico didn’t move. “Which one is it?” he asked, gaze flickering from face to face. “Who’s the cheater?”
“Identify yourself,” the man at the head of the table hissed.
“Names hold power,” Nico replied easily, channeling the essence of every unhelpful, vague immortal he’d ever met. Call it a hunch, but something told him that letting this cult of hobos have his name was a bad idea.
The man narrowed his eyes into slits. An arthritic hand slipped down to grasp at his own long pale stick. “What do you seek?”
Nico almost rolled his eyes. Who spoke like that anymore? Even the Gods had adopted modern day slang by now. Outwardly, he maintained his grim expression. “One of you has cheated death. I can smell it.”
At that the man froze. The deranged woman from earlier attempted to grasp his wrist comfortingly, but he wrenched his arm away before she could.
“My lord-” a ratlike man from the far corner of the room began.
“Silence, let me think,” the head honcho spat.
“Not much to think about,” Nico raised a brow, “unless you’re the guy I’m looking for.”
Abruptly, the woman from earlier jabbed her stick in Nico’s direction and a jet of emerald green raced in his direction. He swiped through the light and his blade ate the strange magic greedily.
Annoyance blossomed beneath his skin. Nico melted into the shadows and reemerged behind the woman to pluck the stick from her hand. She startled, jerking around to claw at where he’d just stood.
Their eyes were wide as Nico reappeared at the front of the room, twirling the stick–no, wand. “How about we put these away?”
No one dared attack him and the other two grasped their wands protectively. In the meantime Nico rolled the one he’d taken in his hands.
The carvings were skillfully done and twisted around the shaft in an artful display. After a moment of consideration snapped it in half. The woman cried out as he’d stabbed her instead. Inside, he could see a string of sinewy flesh that pulsed with power.
“I’ll kill you!” the woman screeched and rose to her feet. “I’ll torture you within an inch or your rotten worthless life you mudblood son of a bitch!”
There was a knife in her hand and Nico was certain she would deliver on the threat had the snakelike man at her side not spoken. “Bella,” he said warningly.
“ My lord!” she protested, but he’d already moved on.
“Their identity is unknown,” the leader said slowly. His features remained carefully blank.
Nico had another sneaking suspicion that he was being lied to. He dropped the remains of the wand to the ground and stabbed the earth beside it. The ground rumbled in retaliation, but Nico pushed past their resistance and pulled a wisp to the surface.
She emerged. Her ghostlike form rippled and cracked. Bones sprouted in a spadelike sheet to obscure her features and popped up to form ridges over and under her limbs, criss crossing over her ribs. She knelt at his feet and propped her head against his knees.
“Rise,” he said firmly.
Her bone mask peered up at him in curiosity. “What do you desire, Ghost King?”
“I sense a cheater. Sniff them out.” Nico cast a cautious gaze at the others in the room. They all stood frozen at the newfound presence and the pale man had stood up to stare at him, transfixed.
The apparition hummed. “That’s simple. He sits at the head of the table.” Her voice took on an amused lilt as she pointed a single clawed finger in the direction of the leader.
Why wasn’t Nico surprised?
“But I warn you, he is tangled within the threads of prophecy.”
Nico wrinkled his nose at the revelation. Gods, why couldn’t he have one easy day? He decided he could figure it out later and waved his hand in her direction. “You’re dismissed.”
Instead of sinking back into the hell hole she’d come from, she eased closer and draped a translucent arm over his shoulder. An involuntary chill scuttled through him at her touch. “Why don’t I stay for just a bit more?” she cooed into his ear. “You won’t regret it.”
Foreign desires invaded his mind. Let me stay, they murmured whilst trying to wriggle their way through his thoughts.
Nico tapered them off at the root and pulled his sword from the ground to jab at her abdomen. “Nice try,” he said unamused. He’d leant the hard way that the dead would always try to overstay their welcome. That’d gotten annoying very quickly.
She hissed as the sword sunk in, contorting her already fragile figure until it became loose silvery liquid that slipped into the soil.
Nico finally turned his full attention back on the cult.
Immediately, the rat man threw himself to his knees and let out a pleading squeal. Even the cheater cast aside his arrogance and bowed his head, however slight. “I apologize for their insolence, Lord Death,” he said smoothly.
Nico shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t sure what to do now. Being mistaken for Thanatos was a first. He cleared his throat awkwardly and responded in what he hoped was a confident tone. “Rise.”
At least it didn’t look like they were on the verge of attacking him anymore.
Curiosity licked at the corners of his mind. Nico’s steps were quiet against the wood flooring. He spared a glance at the blonde woman still frozen in the corner. Blood leaked sluggish from a series of cuts littering his skin. Her terrified gaze jumped from him to the rest of the group.
He stopped at the cheater’s side.
The spirit had been right. The smell was most concentrated here. Where he’d once assumed they had some sort of monstrous lineage, he found the twisted remnants of a human soul. If he concentrated he could sense the sticky threads that led off into the distance to the scattered pieces of his humanity.
It was disconcerting. Never before had Nico seen such a malformed human. The stench could've curdled his blood.
“What’s your name?”
The man opened his mouth. Nico fixated on the thin chapped lips as he hesitated. “Voldemort,” he settled. It was clearly an alias. Nico recognized the word mort, meaning death, and he assumed it was like a crude french translation–something to do with death.
“Your soul is torn and rotted.” Nico grimaced. HIs hands itched for his sword. He’d do everyone a favor by ridding the world of such malformality. After a moment of thought, he lifted his sword and pointed at the man’s torso.
Voldemort jerked away on reflex but his expression remained stony. There was something self assured in the way he held his ground despite the glowing metal just inches away.
Cautiously, Nico jabbed the man. It was a shallow movement, nothing that would cause any real harm.
The blade passed through harmlessly and Nico snorted. “Inhumane but mortal. Ironic.” He lowered his sword and turned away. “Well, whatever you’ve done to yourself, it's worked. I admire your dedication.” If his tone of voice said the contrary, they didn’t dare retaliate.
He retreated to the darkest corner of the room. The candlelight flickered and danced, licking at the corners of the shadow.
“I guess this is goodbye.” Nico gave an icy smile and wave.
“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Voldemort gave him a pleasant smile. His ability to keep such a frigid expression without a drop of outward malice was impressive. Nico admired it greatly.
In a final act of pity, Nico caught the blonde woman’s eyes. Her life force was weak. Days of starvation and torture had left her on death’s door so it wasn’t difficult to snag her soul and ease it out.
Her mouth gaped, features twitching and then went limp. Whatever magic that kept her in position stopped her body from crumpling to the floor. The others didn’t even glance in her direction, far too focused on Nico himself.
Don’t feel bad, he reminded himself. She’ll be dead within the hour anyway. You’re sparing her a painful death.
He braced himself and shadow traveled away.
Nico entered his father’s palace with a yawn and a shiver. He stretched and glanced at his father’s empty throne. The obsidian shone glassily in his absence. Hades was probably off somewhere managing some dead or the other.
He pondered the strange men with wands. The monstrous man who’d gone to unimaginable lengths to cheat death, whose life was maintained solely by prophecy and was clearly the bad guy in someone else’s life story. Who proclaimed himself a lord out of a false sense of self importance.
It was best his father and Thanatos didn’t know about this. Nothing could be done.
Nico would check in a decade’s time, he was certain Voldemort would be dead by then.