...
She didn't fight it. She closed her eyes and eased into whatever hostile force was attacking her- letting the torrent of venomous waves take her into their depths, either to drown her or to lead her to glory.
In her last moments of consciousness, she decided it didn't matter. If she died, she did so justly. If she lived, then there was still a chance to do some good with her life, to be useful to someone worth being useful to. But, in her final wink of life, she said one final prayer despite herself...
'Please...Don't let it be too late.'
...
The waves consumed her, entrapping all of herself in a whirlpool of freezing malice, one that pulled her deeper into an abyss so cold that it froze her joints and removed her of her senses. In that numbness, all she felt was that sinking, sucking feeling: that the heat was being sapped from her body, and that her body was being pulled farther and farther away from... something.
There were many names for it.
Freedom. Clarity. Sobriety. Wakefulness. Reality. Truth, and all the things therein.
The coldness reached through her, all the way to her heart, and, with every other part of her body totally numbed, she felt each pulse, each beat, and watched in horror as these pulses became slower and farther apart...
'Please...Don't let it be too late.'
She forced her heart to beat, rising all her emotions, all that was left of her to pump her heart anew, circulating what remained of the warmth there.
Heat pushed back the ice in her veins, reclaiming her body piece by piece, inch by inch, muscle by muscle and bone by frozen bone.
She coughed, her last gasps of air bubbling into the water- her eyes flew open, and there, far above her, was not light per se, but rather darkness of a lighter hue than that around her. Her lungs screamed for it, her heart longed for it, and she struggled for it. She grabbed at the water around her, forcing herself to climb higher and higher, swimming upwards towards the surface.
Her lungs wanted desperately to breathe, but each time she assured herself, 'Wait just a little longer... please, it's not much farther. Just a little more...'
She fought off the whirlpool, she fought off the cold, she climbed up and up, and without a thought as to whether or not she could.
It didn't matter if she could or not: she had to try.
She broke into open air and took a deep breath of rancid, acidic air. Even knowing it was coming, the only reason she wasn't left reeling was because she was so desperate and starved for it that she didn't care. But, even in her shock, fear, and relief, it was still plain to her that, compared to the last time she had been entrapped in the venomous storm, the winds were far stronger, the rain was heavier, harder, and colder, the air was far more rancid and burning, and the waves were much higher and more violent.
She felt the water sink out from under her, and a rising wave blocked the whole horizon in front of her.
She dived back under, dodging the brunt of the wave and letting the churning waters bring her back to the surface.
She took another breath, still somehow managing to be disappointed by the horrid atmosphere despite having no reason to expect anything else. Still- riding the wave to its height allowed her to catch a glimpse of the distant island: far but- hopefully- not too far away.
So she kicked and pushed, dodging and diving over, under and around the ever-changing minefield, never sure whether she preferred the torrent of rain so cold and heavy that it may as well have been hail, or the all-encompassing clamminess of the violent underwater. The main issue was that the water, rather than pushing her forward as it had, seemed fully intent to pull her back, to keep her there in its cold clutches and doom her to a watery grave.
This and the temperature that constricted her muscles left her sore and weak, and each time her legs complained she reassured herself, 'Wait just a little longer... please, it's not much farther. Just a little more...'
Eventually, despite the sea's best efforts, she managed to crawl out of the shallows, dragging herself on hands and knees across the sand and gravel, collapsing onto damp land where rocks dug into her naked chest, where rain came like knives to assault all her sensitive skin and where freezing gales sent shivers to the deepest part of her being.
"No..." Her thoughts escaped her mouth without her noticing or caring, "I can't stop now..."
Her shaking arms pushed off the sand and rocks, her legs and bare feet doing their best on the other end of her, but just as the sea had tried to drag her, now the torrential winds tried to push her down, and the rain pressed her deeper into the wet sand. She felt that if she tried to rise to her feet, she would only be dashed back like a leaf in the wind, so she stayed low to the earth, slithering across the rocks with movements both hurried and stuttered; her mind forcing the limbs to move, and the limbs rebelling against their commands.
But she did make progress, and as her arms began to reach upwards to start her pained climb up that dastardly hill to the tomb lying beyond it, her hand found a hold amongst the gravel. Her first thought was that it was a river stone, but she saw that the slate-gray shape was carved into a mask with ivory lips and black marks like tentacles that came down from the forehead. It had an aura to it, a darkness about it, but, although there were shadows there, they were pale in comparison to those around her.
She held it out in front of her face, staring through the eyes.
"May as well..."
With nothing to lose, she took that leap of faith placing it across her face, finding that it fit her perfectly despite being recognizably for someone else entirely.
It was then she noticed the clothes across her back- that the rain was no longer cutting into her sensitive skin. It was then she noticed the air, though still acrid, was not so overwhelming as before. The oppressive winds were nothing but a small breeze, and all her perceptions were different in a way she couldn't describe.
She stood up, no longer being quite so frantic, and examined her surroundings. Beyond what she already knew of the place, there was nothing notable except for this: on either side of her, dug into the earth and already being eaten by the rising tide, were two stone doors, lying prone in the sand, shattered and cracked like so much porcelain.
She then turned her attention to herself, and found that she was draped in a cloak that wrapped around her like a shadow from her chest to her ankles. What was concerning was that although it covered her chest, her 'chest' was nowhere to be nowhere to be found, and when her hands rose to grasp at where it ought to be, she found there the muscular and worn hands of a man, rather than her own dainty and pale fingers.
Panic touched the edge of her mind, but, before it took hold, it was redirected to a cold yet comforting weight across her back. She reached for it, pulled it from its holster, and found in her hands a silver shield that gleamed like a reflective pool, so shiny and smooth that she could make out her own face among the raindrops that splattered against it- a slate mask with a mop of auburn hair.
"Damn it."
It was his voice too. She supposed that if she saw him again, she'd have to thank him for this favor... which is why she hoped she wouldn't see him again. She didn't want him to have that satisfaction.
But she did finally find the words to describe this alien feeling. It was as if she had changed out her skin like any other piece of clothing, and was still adjusting to the new sensations. Even so, she had little interest in exploring the male experience in any case, and especially not when there was so much to be done, and so little time to do it. But she knew this feeling, of changing clothes, was as deep as the transformation went. If she had never held the Golden Sword before, she might've hesitated to speak with such certainty, but when she held the sword, her consciousness and Chrysaor's mixed and collided before becoming indistinguishable. There was no such feeling now: she was fully herself, and this body was nothing but a cloak over her.
A cloak that came with a sword and a shield. With one in each hand, she used the fresh and powerful muscles of his legs to march effortlessly up the hill and, with only a moment of hesitation, into the cave where she knew she would find the origin of the burning smog...
-
She walked deeper into the underground. It was a strange mix of raw, exposed stone and ancient carvings. Pillars rose to support carved ceilings before eroding again into an apparently natural tunnel. The smoke which rose out of it was like a fog within, and was so thick that she had to temper her pace to keep herself from walking into those half-destroyed structures.
She was grateful for the mask now more than ever. She had no doubt that she couldn't have made it this far without it, especially since her working theory was that the rough stone wasn't natural at all, but places where the acid in the air had eaten away at the final remnants of civilization...
These clouds became thicker deeper within and pushed against her as a wind. But, as she continued, it began to curl around her rather than past her, and she soon found why. In front of her the smog wasn't a wind, but a rising mist, seemingly cast out by something just beyond- so she pressed on.
Having adjusted to the deep fog, the light from above, however dim it was, still burned her eyes. Her gaze drawn upwards towards the source, she felt rain pour down over her mask through a hole opened to the sky. The rain came down from above, cutting through the thick venomous cloud and creating this clearing, though calling it a sanctuary was too much of a compliment- just another crisis over another, a prison as much as anything else. And when her gaze fell back, she found it's prisoner.
It was a woman curled up in a fetal position, naked, her back to Monica, and her long, pinkish, magenta hair curled out onto the floor. She was thin, even skeletal, and shivered under the onslaught from above.
She rushed over, kneeling down to examine her, but when she saw the torso she found something missing where something ought to have been, and as her eyes moved down and across to examine closer, she found something there where it ought to have been missing...
"Chrysaor...!"
Her hands, barely hovering over his body, flew back in shock, scared to touch him, not for his health, but as a matter of decency.
He shuddered awake, seemingly unaware that anyone had been there, and his wide eyes locked on her immediately, "...Perseus!"
His arms flung onto her shoulders, gripping hard with a wide grin.
"Thank the gods you're here! Now there's a chance-!"
His body seemed frail, and her arms instinctively moved to support him, and together they stood, each bracing on one another. Once they were both steady on their feet, he pulled away and began to frantically search the surroundings.
"Perseus- Gorgon is here, somewhere. She can't be far. I think she was hoping to starve me and then attack me when I was weakened, but, with you here, she'll have no choice but to show herself."
"Chrysaor..."
She felt sick.
"Huh? What's wrong, Percy? You've done it once before, right? Besides, I might be able to help- maybe- so we can do this... right? Percy?"
The color and energy that had exploded outwards at her arrival began to simmer under the rain, sensing something wrong.
With the sword and shield of Perseus, and the strength of his tempered body, surely she could defeat the viscous Gorgon. She knew the stories. She knew how to use his shield, and had full faith in her borrowed strength to deal the killing blow. But...
Her sword fell out of her hand and clattered to the floor. This had already gone too far.
"...Perseus?"
She reached up and removed the mask.
Immediately the weight of that glassy shield disappeared, as did the cover of the cloak over her shoulders. Once more she stood naked in the rain with a colorless face. The slick water pushed the smooth slate mask from her hand, and it shattered on the rocks by her feet.
"Monica!"
He rushed forward and grabbed her by her shoulders- a new kind of fire in his eyes, "Why are you here!?"
It was a strange feeling. She was bare, with nothing but air and rain between them, and yet he looked directly into her eyes, piercing into the depths of her, and seeing her for who she was. It didn't matter if they were naked.
She choked back her fears, "I'm... I'm here to help."
"Here to-" He flinched back, letting her go and killing whatever harsh words had touched his tongue, continuing with more sympathy, "You need to go. It's too dangerous. Please."
"No."
Her response was barely more than a whisper, but was enough to make her resolution clear.
He took a deep breath, "Why not?"
His eyes were still sharp- he was scared.
"Because..."
She didn't know.
"Because... because you shouldn't have to go through this alone. It's just you and me, you know? If not me then who? We both know you can't do this by yourself."
He bit his lip, "And you can help? How, Monica? This is far beyond what you're capable of-"
"I know!"
The mask lay shattered at her feet.
"I know I can't fight. I know I can't hold her back. But I know that you can-"
"Monica-"
"That's why I'm here, Chrysaor," She took a step towards him, hardly an inch between their faces. "Because so long as I'm here-"
She stopped, questioning herself, but every part of her being told her it was true.
"-So long as I'm here, you can't afford to fail."
He scoffed, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means that you're too willing to die. You're too willing to give yourself up. But you won't let me die. You won't let me get hurt. So long as I'm here you have no choice but to fight- no choice but to win."
He allowed his hand to drift onto her bare back, resting on her shoulder blade. He looked into her eyes with an expression sad yet stern, earnest yet cold.
"You need to run. I'll catch up-"
Tears mixed with rain, "-No. No you won't."
"If you know that then go. Save yourself."
"Would you really rather die alone, Chrysaor? Am I not good enough?"
Now his own tears began to gather, "Of course not, I just want to protect you."
She wrapped her arms under his, pulling herself into him, "Then do it. Protect me. Keep me safe."
"Monica," He returned with a gentle hug, welcoming hers but still keeping it loose enough for her to pull away, "You're being selfish."
"And you're not being selfish enough. I'm going to give you what you want whether you like it or not. I'm not going to let you be alone, I promise I won't, so protect me. Promise me you will. Unless you would really rather be without me..."
-
Shadows moved beyond the fog, though neither seemed to notice.
-
He leaned into her, "There really isn't anything I can say?"
"No, there is. You can tell me you hate me. You can tell me you'd rather die. You can tell me that you're better off without me around."
"You know I can't."
She smiled despite herself, "Yeah. I do."
-
Rocks and smoke shifted beyond their sanctuary, and it became clear that the shadows were not shapes of themselves, but many pieces of a much larger danger.
-
"Do you even know what you're saying? I don't want to hear later that you didn't know what you were getting into, or that it was more than you bargained for."
Her smile only grew, "I wouldn't have made the promise if I wasn't ready to keep it."
His eyes looked deep into hers' and never so much as glanced anywhere else.
"So be it."
He smiled himself, a soft and sad smile, and pulled her into a true, tight embrace, but when she leaned further into his chest, it melted away into blue ether which flew around her, rushing over and around each corner of her body.
His voice seemed to echo around her, "You've made your vow, now I make mine.
"You will become my flesh, and hold my heart in your hands,
"So I will be your shelter, so the winds of change will pass you by,
"I'll be the clothes on your back, so the cold will never cut you,"
Ether caressed her body, forming into a tight cloth that covered everything below her neck.
"I'll be the hair on your head, so the rain never reaches your eyes,"
The hair on her head seemed to grow and curl around her, already changing hue.
"I'll be your armor, so that evil may never harm you."
Greater plumes of energy gathered and hardened across her, leaving no vulnerability.
"I will be your shield, to hold the hordes at bay,"
Golden light streamed from her arm, its shape both heavy and weightless.
"And I will be your sword, to cut them down."
In her other hand, another light surged forth into open air.
"Past the vast sea of wisdom, bound by the chains of hope and sorrow,
"Two become one making one, and the songbirds called them:
"...Geryon."
The energy began to clear, revealing a shape within, but still encircled it with such speed and force that not one raindrop could get through.
The serpent beyond the fog realized its mistake and rushed to correct it. Its inky maw emerged from the green smoke. Rather than eyes it had a red mark like an eye tattooed on the top of its triangular head, and a similar malicious glow burned from within as it brought down its fangs from above.
He didn't hesitate.
White light flooded out from the sword like seafoam as what remained of the blue ether gathered around it, flying out with his swing to cut the serpent perfectly down the middle, and the rest of the world with it-
....