The Captive Titan [ManxMan]

Chapter Thirty-five: And Don't Turn to Dust - Part Three

"Have it your way, then."

The sensation of ice sliding down my back makes me shiver as I take in the fact that Mount Othrys has disappeared. Instead, I am back - back? - in a space void of all but two gods, glowing blue chains, and...and...

It takes me a moment to realize who I am seeing, as there is simple no way it is him, but Atlas is somehow here, too - free of Tartarus by some miracle, though perhaps it is not a miracle at all. After all, we are both bound in chains, suspended in the air by nothing in particular besides the chains that stretch on endlessly, and I cannot remember how we both got here. Despite this, though, he does not look nearly as confused as I feel; he just looks angry, tugging at the chains to no avail.

And that won't change because the Oneiroi have control here.

Atlas growls something lowly at the two unchained gods, and I just barely stop myself from flinching when the god closest to me drops his hand from my face, which I was not even aware of until now, to snap, "We have control here."

"This isn't your dream," Atlas snaps back, and then he looks at me directly. "It's yours."

The other god, who is standing a little further away from me, snorts. "Not anymore."

"It never ceased to be," Atlas counters, responding to the god's taunt but still not looking away from me, and though I have no idea what he is talking about, it seems to spark some memory at least, as my breath catches.

This is wrong.

My eyes narrow as I stare back at Atlas for a moment before looking between the two Greek gods - two Oneiroi - and I frown.

This is wrong, but Atlas might be right.

Epiales' eyes narrow as well when he notices where my attention is at. "Enough of this," he decides, and before I can even think to do anything, his hand rises again, brushing over my-

-

The ground sinks ever so slightly under my feet, soft from recent rain and fertile dirt, and the air is fresh and crisp. It is the perfect day for a hunt, for few animals would not be out, foraging for food, after the long rainstorm that just took place. For days, the skies raged, and like the animals of the forest, I seldom left the safety and comfort of my shelter - Gwyn's cabin. However, now he has let me out to hunt, and I will not let him down.

Yet, the further I walk into the forest, the darker everything seems to get. The trees, which were not all that dense at the start and should not be this dense so close to the cabin, start blocking out the sun's light, and their trunks begin to look more and more twisted. Gnarled roots jutting out of the ground, eerie hollows, and dry, cracked bark. The further I walk, the sicker the forest seems to become, and with it grows my unease. And then a weird noise - like the groan of a dying beast - echoes through the trees, coming from somewhere behind me.

Like an arrow, I take off.

Gwyn used to tell me to never run from what I cannot see, for while some beasts are not likely to give chase, there are a fair number that definitely will. However, though the words echo in my head, I cannot make myself stop because with each step I take, I feel like I am only losing ground, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that whatever is chasing me will kill me if I stop. It might just be the glamor of a Fae or the trickery of a sprung trap, but I am not going to stop to find out, for I will surely die if I do.

So, I jump over roots, duck under branches, slip through narrowing gaps between trees, and do everything I possibly can to make it impossible for the creature to follow me. Nothing seems to be stopping it, though, as its pained groans only grow louder until it feels like the thing is breathing down my back and its claws are mere inches from my neck. All it needs to do is-