LEGIONS IN LEGENDS [PJO X HP]

THIRTY-ONE: THE LIAR AND THE FOOLS

ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MANOR, Luke and Percy were recalling more... happy memories compared to Hermione and Draco. As they ventured deeper into the large home, the air around them began to turn more casual, and Harry wondered how often people were brought back to life if they could adjust so quickly.

"This place reminds me of the Oracle. Gives me the same creepy vibes," Percy said, shuddering. He looked to Luke and saw that his expression remained vacant.

"What's the Oracle?" Harry butted in. He found that he could barely understand most of the stuff they conversed about, and he wished Hermione was there to translate for him.

"Delphi? Oh, she gives prophecies for our quests and stuff. She used to reside in this old corpse body, but now Rachel's taken the position. Rachel's great."

The Boy Who Lived perked up at the mention of prophecies. It wasn't the greatest thing to be involved in, but at least it was something he could relate to. "I was in a prophecy once."

"Same. Multiple times, actually," Percy said, as if it was no big deal. He thought about something for a moment and added, "Luke has been, too."

Upon the sound of his name, the Son of Hermes cleared his throat. "Yeah. Don't really want to talk about that, though."

"Why not?"

When he seemed to struggle with his words, the green-eyed demigod answered for him, "He was kinda the villain of the first prophecy. And then, he was the hero of the last one. But being the hero meant he had to... you know, die."

"Naturally." Harry nodded his head. Somehow all this supernatural shit was normal to them. He scratched the back of his neck, painfully aware that he had made the atmosphere a tinge more awkward. "Well, we're all alive now, so that's good."

Luke blinked. "Yeah. Yeah, that's great..."

"Is something wrong?" Percy furrowed his brows. Though it had been some time since they last spoke as friends, he didn't remember Luke to be so quiet. Where was the same guy who dared to dip himself in the River Styx? Where was the hero who killed himself to save his beloved friends? Where was the subtle fierceness that came with his burning hatred for the gods?

"No, no. Everything is fine," he said hurriedly. Before they could further dwell on his hesitance, a terrible snarl emitted from behind. Their hearts began to beat rapidly.

The five Empousai that came to visit them bared their fangs, stalking towards them in slow, menacing steps.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Percy Jackson," one of the Empousai sneered.

"Kelli," Percy responded, his voice harsh. He gripped his sword even tighter, having experienced his own unpleasant encounter with the fake cheerleader. "How is it that no matter how many times I kill you, you're always here? I mean, have you ever heard of personal space?"

"Nonsense," Kelli mused. Her fangs sparkled in the dim lighting of the manor, making her look all the more spooky. While her tone seemed to suggest confidence, he noted that she was regarding him with much more precaution, proving that their last fight had made her learn a lesson or two.

Their last fight had also ended with her death, and Percy wished for the tradition to be kept ongoing.

"If you're gonna keep finding me, Kelli," he hummed, Riptide's blade flashing in his hands, "you're just going to keep dying. Say hi to Cerberus for me, no?"