Learn Italian With Nicolo di Angelo!

My Friend Percy's Bathtub!

Any comments on the title, or...?

Finally, the surgery doors swung open. Kayla emerged first, her face drawn and pale, her eyes filled with a sadness that mirrored the weight settling in Will's gut like a giant sack of despair. Austin followed, his head hung low, avoiding Will's gaze like a pro.

"We did everything we could," Kayla said, her voice barely a whisper. "But the damage was too extensive. He..." She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. The unspoken words hung heavy in the air, a suffocating weight that pressed down on Will like a giant stone hand.

Will's heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the emptiness that had taken root within him like a particularly nasty weed. Nico was gone. The boy he loved, the boy he'd hurt so deeply, was lost to him forever. And the weight of that loss, the crushing realization of his irrevocable mistake, threatened to consume him whole.

A stifling darkness pressed in on Will as he stood at the banks of the River Styx. Gone were the vibrant colors of Camp Half-Blood, replaced by an oppressive gloom that mirrored the desolate landscape before him. The air hung heavy with the stench of sulfur and decay, a fitting welcome to the Underworld.

His grief, a relentless storm for the past few days, had morphed into a desperate resolve. Nico was gone, his words echoing in Will's head like a cruel chant – a betrayal he couldn't bear. He had to see him again, apologize properly, even if it meant facing the wrath of Hades himself.

Charon, the ferryman of the dead, materialized from the mist, his skeletal frame draped in a tattered black cloak. His hollow eyes rested on Will with an unsettling indifference. "Fare?" he croaked, his voice a gravelly rasp.

Will choked back a sob. He had nothing of value in the mortal world, no gold coins to pay the passage. Charon stared him down. "How'd you die? And I don't need the details, I don't actually care."

Panic surged through Will. He couldn't be turned away. Desperation fueled a reckless lie. "I... Um... My friend Percy's bathtub!" he blurted out, his cheeks burning with shame.

Charon's hollow skull tilted at a quizzical angle. "Bathtub?"

"Yes! A horrible, treacherous ceramic death trap! I slipped... and well... I slipped, and well... it was a really big bathtub!" Will trailed off, the absurdity of his lie hanging heavy in the air.

Charon stared at him for a long, agonizing moment. Will braced himself for rejection, for the ferryman's spectral oar to send him back to the world of the living. Then, to his surprise, a dry rasp that could almost pass for a chuckle escaped from Charon's skeletal form.

"A valiant, if unorthodox, demise," Charon finally said. "Very well, son of Apollo. Get in." He gestured to the rickety boat, its hull groaning under the weight of untold souls.

Relief washed over Will, a fleeting moment of hope amidst the ocean of grief. He climbed into the boat, the icy grip of the Styx chilling him to the bone. As the boat pushed off from the shore, Will cast a final glance back at the fading bank. He had no idea what awaited him in the Underworld, no guarantee of success. But he had to try. He owed it to Nico, to their broken bond, to face the consequences of his actions, even if it meant confronting the King of the Dead himself.

The rickety boat creaked and groaned as Charon propelled them forward with his spectral oar. The River Styx, a churning mass of black water, mirrored the turmoil within Will. Each agonizing dip of the oar felt like a beat of his heavy heart, a constant reminder of the love he'd lost.

The air grew colder, the stench of decay intensifying. On the banks, skeletal figures with hollow eyes watched their journey with morbid curiosity. These were the restless dead, forever trapped in the shallows of the Underworld, unable to find peace.