Bonus Content - Alekto POV II

Hey all!

You voted to see something from Chapter Seven as the RO POV content this month, and so I bring you... Alekto and axe-wielding Persephone in the middle of a fight haha. It is nice to be able to write a bit more of what's up in Alekto's head, as we all know she's not the most expressive person as a rule.

I hope you enjoy it!

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Alekto’s breath hisses between her teeth when the abominable creature launches herself forward. The webbing isn’t aimed for her, but it’s too fast for her to do anything about, particularly when the perverse spider-thing quickly changes direction, headed for herself and Pyri rather than Persephone. Her magic has such a sick feeling to it, as if the distortion in nature that she is is reflected in everything that she does.

The sticky net connects with Persephone, too fast a hit for her to avoid completely, and her limbs are weighed down immediately by the moist lengths of it, coated in viscous, greenish-grey fluid. Alekto can smell the putrescence of it from where she is, but there’s no time to think on it.

She raises her shield, fending off one blow, with a hard strike from her shield. She realizes a moment too late that it was only a diversion, unable to hear the heavy whistles of the other limbs moving through the air, and she can only see them in her periphery when they are too close.

"Leks!" She does hear Pyri’s shout, sees it almost in slow motion as they leap towards her.

No. No! Her warning is dead before it can leave her lips, the fractions of a second not enough to force the words out, when speaking isnow so unnatural an instinct.

She feels the blast of fire go off behind her, the warmth of it washing over her back and repelling whatever attack Pyri spotted that she did not. She’s already turning, trying to prepare for the other, trying to make it in enough time, but—

It's over in an instant. The third limb avoids Pyri's counterattack and stabs into their abdomen. The Daughter giggles, lifting them from the ground with something almost akin to curiosity.

"My, my, you're quite young for a god, too, aren't you, little firebug? But there's something a little off about you… I hope it doesn't spoil your taste."

Their spear falls from insensate fingertips. It's a small mercy that Pyri seems to have slipped out of consciousness.

Seemingly bored by this lack of response, the Daughter flicks her leg, sending them flying into a web-coated wall, where they stick for the moment, limbs jumbled awkwardly where they land and their stomach sluggishly spilling blood.

Pyri. Pyri.

Alekto’s rage isn’t something she consciously succumbs to. It just rises, lifting over her like a wave. She’d been about to drown in it anyway, keeping her head above water when she realized what this thing had done to Megaira and Tisiphone only because it was necessary to save them.

But no such rationale is there to save her now. The wave swallows her, and all that’s left is vengeance. A ripple in her magic spreads outwards, the same wave made manifest, each bit of it hissing and crackling with fury.

She feels, vaguely, a tug against it, something else joining that flow, adding an ingredient that she cannot quite place. It doesn’t matter. Whatever the source is, it isn’t trying to stop her, and right now that is all she cares about.

For the crime of hurting her family, the Daughter of Echidna will pay.

Persephone lands beside her, greataxe gripped firmly in large, strong hands.

She’s in plenty of time to handle the next incoming blow, fending it off with that weapon, if only just. Her riposte is a little off, but that is of no consequence. It is effective enough as a distraction, and Alekto uses it as one, throwing her shoulder into a shield bash. The force is substantial, jarring her body and forcing the Daughter to draw the injured leg away, snarling some kind of obscenities, no doubt.

And Persphone’s right there, building on the momentum and swinging into a joint on a different leg. The creature reels back, her defense lapsing with a whole-body flinch.

Alekto sees the window of greater opportunity for what it is and takes advantage, leaping to stab upwards into the underside of the creature's carapace. It's not a large wound, but it does come with the feeling of crunching something, piercing the defense with her blade. A gout of hot, greenish-black blood spills down onto her, running in slow rivulets down skin and armor and hair alike, to mix with the ichor already there.

It’s disgusting. Absolutely fetid, and if she spared even a moment to think about it she might be sick. But the rage thrumming through her veins will allow her no such quarter. She simply quickly smears some away from her nose and mouth, keeping her airways clear, and shoots a brief nod over her shoulder.

Even fury recognizes allies, at times. Persephone is a worthy ally, for this.

They fall back into a pattern of sorts, clearing the way for more decisive strikes on the part of the other. Persephone sticks mostly to distraction tactics, Alekto delivering the heavier blows that require careful placement.

It's when the Daughter grows almost accustomed to this pattern that it changes. Alekto charges forward with a shield bash, connecting with a leg and pushing hard enough that the creature lurches to the side.

She doesn’t have to say anything. Persephone already knows.

The reach and heft of the other goddess’s weapon don't make it especially ideal for this kind of fast targeting and hitting on the run, but at the moment, that sort of thing doesn’t seem to matter to her, either. She’s able to find a spot and commit to the strike, swinging hard enough that she cleaves right through one of the creature's eight legs, rendering it about two thirds of its former length and useless. There’s another gush of blood, and she backs off carefully. Good. A solid hit, one that brings them closer to the end.

And then everything goes wrong.

Magic—a barely visible shockwave of it—erupts from all over the Daughter's body. No gestures, no incantation, nothing but raw intent.

Alekto is quick to vacate her former location, only to realize a moment later that she has miscalculated. The brunt of the attack isn’t aimed for her at all, it’s—

Her body moves of its own accord, changing direction hard enough to pull something in her left leg. But she gets there, interposing herself and her shield between Persephone and the blast. She turns her head, shouting at as much volume as she can muster, loud enough that she can feel it in her throat with sharp clarity.

“Move!”

Persephone hurls herself to the side, rolling a few times over the webbed ground without getting too tangled. Alekto feels the metal of her shield straining, feels a scratch the Daughter had earlier placed on it deepen into a crack, and even though she angles it against the blast, trying to save it, she feels it splinter and give way, and the force of the blast hurls her backwards.

She hits the wall, shoulder first, and then falls to the ground with a heavy impact, nearly completely insensate.

One thing she does perceive, though, is that even as she involuntarily releases her own power, too dazed to concentrate enough on it, something else tugs at it. Pulls it towards them. Seizes control of that roiling instinct and the terrible strength that comes with it. Submerges themself beneath the wave of it, to become her companion in the drowning.

Persephone.

Alekto can’t see much, but she can perceive the others as vague blurs, moving shadows outlined against the walls of a cave, still lit by an unconscious Pyri’s flames. Their sizes and shapes are distorted things, flickering at the edges and bending in the unsteady light.

Persephone looms at once larger than she should, and then she charges.

The Daughter prepares to meet her, shifting and stabbing her two frontmost legs towards her, but before they hit their mark she leaps, drag pulling at her hair and clothes as she arcs through the air, shadow compacting as she torques her body so that, when she lands against the ceiling, it's feet first—hitting the charred remnants of webs and springing back off them to launch herself down towards the creature’s humanoid half with enough speed that it dimly registers to Alekto to be impressed by her improvement.

Mostly, though, the Erinys is terrified, holding onto consciousness, she thinks, only by the desperate strength of that anxiety. Persephone must survive. She must. There is no other outcome that would be even remotely acceptable.

But her grip on her axe does not err. She follows through, and slams the flat of the blade into the side of the Daughter's head. Merciful even in the grip of a Fury’s power.

Her arms wrench a little with the impact, but she is undeterred, landing on the spider's abdomen before jumping clear as the creature’s body falls.

Alekto, forcing herself to stand, takes several unsteady steps forward, vision clearing. And, in some way, Persephone is a vision. An avenging goddess in her own right, face and clothes spattered with greenish blood that she will certainly regret shedding come tomorrow. But it is what she did not do that changes the tenor of the image from something tragic into something inescapably beautiful.

I owe her my life, Alekto realizes. It is a heavy weight to bear, but she will accept it gladly, because it means neither of them must bear the weight of another’s death.

The young goddess sways unsteadily, even as Alekto’s footsteps gain surety.

"Persephone?" She signs, a bit clumsily, as well, the gesture Spring had chosen to represent her name. An opening of fingers, like the blooming petals of a flower.

But there is no response. Persephone’s knees buckle.

Alekto doesn’t know how she does it, but she makes it in just enough time to stop her from hitting the floor. “Persephone!”

There is no response.