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In Manhattan, the bases of the buildings were still splattered in that undeniable stench of monster blood, but no one else but her could pick it up. She stuck a foot out to avoid a puddle of something that looked suspiciously like merman guts, and then walked along the sidewalk. Some of the mortals were still asleep in various positions in various places, despite how uncomfortable everything looked. She'd had to push a man to the floor to make space for herself on a bench. She hadn't felt particularly bad about it. She looked up at the Empire State Building, in the distance, against a perpetually dark sky. It was still blue.
"Well, I suppose you're quite late for the action," said the man, crossing his legs in something close to distaste. "Ugh. That smell isn't coming out anytime soon. I'll have to relocate yet again."
The words came out as a whine, but the woman did not react. She clicked her nails together and looked at the ground. The man raised his eyebrows at her, expecting a response. None came.
The woman sighed. "It's a shame," she began, and then finally looked at him. He shrunk away. "It wasn't supposed to go this way."
The man coughed, a very human gesture, even though he was not a man at all. He glared at the ground. "Yes, well. You do have a plan, don't you?"
The woman smiled. She raised her hands in a gesture that looked similar to a palm tree waving. The man flinched back involuntarily. The woman was not facing him, but she had eyes everywhere. And she saw. And she grinned.
She did not hit him. Instead, she let her hand fall.
The man gasped. Perhaps it was the fact that he had only been immortal for a few hundred years, or perhaps it was because he was an artist, but he still retained some humanity. The woman, however, did not.
"You see him?" she asked, her long finger pointing at a dead boy whose body was leaning against the corner of the building. Her face did not waver. She talked about demigods as if they were pawns. "He was the first to die. Apollo's boy failed to save him. The Ghost King had to take that soul and pluck it out himself."
The man gulped. "They are children," he defended. "They cannot save everyone."
The woman rolled her eyes. She turned to look at another body, laying just feet away from them. It was a girl. Ares', if the woman had to say. Her hair was red.
