Chapter Text
Michael had absolutely no idea what was going on, which wasn’t saying much, since he usually didn’t. But something about the scenario he found himself in made him think this was a bit different.
The first thing he was really aware of was the sound of rushing water. He was standing in front of a fountain, and that one girl - Nancy, he had her in his notebook as “girl that bullies Grover a lot” - was lying in it as if she’d been pushed. Judging from where he was standing and how everyone was staring at him, it wasn’t very hard to figure out who’d pushed her.
A familiar teacher ran up to her, apologizing profusely. What was the teacher’s name? ‘Her name’s Ms. Dodds. Don’t trust her.’ A voice spoke in his mind, something he attributed to his thoughts. Almost like she could hear his thoughts as well as he could, Ms. Dodds looked up at that exact moment and glared at him. He caught himself almost apologizing for nothing. It was a bad habit of his.
Ms. Dodds stood and looked at him with something like satisfaction, as if he’d just done something she’d been waiting for. “Come with me, Mr. Jackson.”
Michael faltered. “Uh… ok.” He blinked and Ms. Dodds was gone. He looked around and there she was, up on the steps of the museum, waiting for him. God, he hated when that happened. With nothing else to do, he shook his head to clear the blurriness and went to follow her up the stairs.
He had a bad feeling about the leather-clad old woman, but he had a bad feeling about just about everyone, so he figured this wasn’t very different. Somehow, this eighty-something lady was already at the other end of the museum. Michael sighed and jogged towards her. She wasn’t looking at him, but had apparently heard him approach. “Did you really think you could get away with it?”
Michael shook his head, a lie already formed that he was really hoping was true. “No, ma’am, Nancy was just being a jerk to Grover and-“
“Insolent child.” Ms. Dodds turned to look at him, and her eyes were all black, with irises such a deep red Michael was certain they were glowing. “Give it to me, Perseus Jackson!”
The woman shifted forms. Where Ms. Dodds once was now stood a creature Michael could only describe as demonic. It stood 6 feet tall, but that was the most human thing about it. Its skin was leathery and baggy, with folds and scars all over it. Out of its back stretched something like bat wings, each about as long as it was tall. Its mouth had fangs at least an inch long. It didn’t have hands and its arms weren’t human, they were bony lengths maybe 4 and a half feet long, ending in something like if the arm of a claw machine had fingernails growing all over it.
Michael stumbled back and shouted things that might’ve been words if he’d had more time to think. The thing lunged at him and he barely had time to dodge out of the way. His senses were going nuts, every sound in a mile radius was converging on his eardrums solely to give him a headache. His Latin teacher rolled in on his wheelchair and shouted something, something that might’ve included his legal name. He glanced over and a pen was flying at him. Out of no conscious effort of his own, he reached out and caught the pen. Except it wasn’t a pen anymore, it was a sword. The bat thing dove at him again and he moved entirely on instinct. He stabbed it.
He felt the blade go into the creature’s skin, heard it cutting its organs. He looked at his hands still gripping the sword with such intensity that his knuckles were white. He stared at his fists as his eyes unfocused and reality became a blur. Nothing existed beyond what he was looking at, and that barely existed, either. He was breathing hard. He dropped the blade and it fell to the floor with a crash, somehow not in the creature’s body anymore. His breathing got harder as he lowered himself to the floor without wanting to. Soon every breath sounded like a gasp, and with tears leaking out of his face, Michael screamed.