phantomeus

*One could always tell when a mortal entered the underworld alive.  There was an energy that seemed to fill up the space around Alexandra, a visible electricity every time she touched a spirit.  The crowd began parting, partially because of this and partially because she was armed to the teeth.  One didn't mess with Heroes on a mission, and this one obviously was one. Of course, of all the eyes that were gradually drifting to the young demigod, one was doing so with purpose.  Unseen amongst the crowd, the spy set out a message.  A dark shadow disappeared to return to its master, whispering a

 "So where'd you come from?" Alex asked. She was finally sitting up and pulling on her shoes. Jesse had sat with her the whole time, his legs pulled up to his chest and his eyes wide with curiosity. He reminded her of a lost puppy dog a bit (a lot). Jesse gestured with his head behind her, the direction he had come running from. That wasn't what Alex had meant, but she looked all the same. Behind her was a large expanse of something like a city. She had seen pictures of the large cities in Brazil before, where houses were toppled one over the other and ramshackled together until the end of one house was the start of another. It reminded her

It took them more than a few hours. By the time they reached the base of the lone mountain, Alex was hungry, exhausted, and felt like she had gone years without a shower. Though Jesse didn't look as tired—probably a perk of being dead—his feet looked in rough condition from the trek. She collapsed onto the nearest rock that could serve as a seat, and he followed after. "We could make it to the club tonight," Alex said after catching her breath. She wasn't sure if it was night at all, but it felt like they had been walking an entire day. It was hard to tell here. "Tonight?" Jesse asked, sounding a little incredulous. "Well, i

"Jesse, what did you do." It, too, was a demand rather than a question. About halfway through his story, Alex felt something cold moving throughout her veins. She knew the story, she was familiar with it. Some part of her wished that she hadn't though, or was hoping that maybe she had it mistaken, or that Jesse was telling a different version of it. "The juice," he said apologetically, not looking up. There was a long pause before he continued and whatever debate was going on in his head was visible on his face, etched along the lines of his pained expression. Eventually, he quietly finished, "It was pomegranate." The something cold tur