"Well, well. Look. At. You." The being before her drawled, each word deliberate, each pause suffocating. "My epithet and title. Wasn't expecting that out of you, Miss Jackson."
He stepped closer, closing the last foot of space between them, until Sally felt completely trapped.
"I doubt Poseidon—" she gasped, hope flaring in her chest. Poseidon would be here any mome—
"Poseidon can't hear us." His interruption was cold, merciless. "I put a ward up."
The hope in her gut crashed back into the pit of her stomach.
"Anyway," he continued smoothly, "as I was saying—I doubt Poseidon told you my epithet. So, tell me. Where did you hear it? Hm?"
She could only stare at him, wide-eyed, panic etched across her face. But her silence betrayed her, because his grin only widened.
"You didn't hear it. You read it. Didn't you? You were preparing for me?" He laughed, low and amused, as if her terror entertained him.
Before she could blink, his arm slammed against the door beside her head, his mouth lowering until his lips brushed her ear.
"Tell me, darling…" His whisper coiled like smoke, "…do you feel prepared?"
Her knees buckled. "No," she breathed, turning her face away from his dreadful gaze.
A shiver tore through her when she felt his chuckle vibrate against her skin.
"Good."
His free hand lifted, fingers snapping—and the world shifted.
In an instant, Sally was no longer pinned at her front door, but sitting at her dining table. She wore a dress—silken, elegant, far too fine for her modest closet. He sat to her right, his overcoat and jacket gone, his crimson eyes fixed on her with disturbing amusement.
"So," he drawled, "tell me. What else did you read about me?"
Still dazed, still terrified, she only stared at him.
He scowled, rolling his eyes. Another snap of his fingers, and a glass of water appeared before her. Only then did she realize how parched her throat was—her tongue heavy, her lips dry.
"Drink it."
She hesitated… then obeyed. The water slid down, cooling her throat, easing the tremor in her chest. A fog of calm settled over her, far too sudden, far too heavy.
"Better?" he asked.
She nodded faintly.
"Good. Now—I want you to tell me everything you know about me. And don't worry about names. They won't hear a thing. No one will." His voice was oddly enchanting, tugging at her will, muffling the terror screaming in her mind.
Her lips parted against her will. Words spilled out.
"You are Perses Alastor, youngest son of Typhon and Echidna. At first, you were known as the Drakontauros by Hesiod—a half-dragon, half-bull beast, with the lower body of a bull and the upper body of a dragon. Three heads: two dragon, one bull. One dragon head spat fire, the other spat poison. The bull's head between them. But Apollodorus claimed differently—said you were bipedal, man-shaped, legs of a bull, head of a dragon, with bat wings on your back."
She tried to stop—but her tongue wouldn't obey.
"Your myth begins after Queen Niobe's children slaughter. She climbed Mount Sipylus, found you sleeping. She begged you for vengeance against Artemis and Apollo. You agreed, but turned her to stone with your gaze for waking you. You went after Apollo first, but when he heard you were coming, he hid in Helios' chariot. So you burned and poisoned his cities, sacked seven of his greatest temples. After him, you hunted Artemis. Caught her in her bath—or while she slept in the woods, disguising herself as a wolf. You… ended her maidenhood, and she bore seven children."
The words turned bitter on her tongue. She glared, but he only smirked.
"Then Lady Styx came to you. Commended your work. Declared you King of Monsters, for violating a goddess without being a god. Made you her Enforcer— like your brother Kerberos being Hades' Guardian. When oaths are broken, you send monsters to families of oathbreakers. You drag them to the Styx to suffer forever. That's how you earned the name Alastor: avenging spirit. Sometimes Perses Alastor—the avenging destroyer."
The torrent stopped. Sally gasped, horrified by what had just poured from her lips.
"Bravo!" Alastor clapped, a bright, sharp smile splitting his face, canines gleaming. "Though, what you know is a little outdated."
Something in Sally snapped. "What? You didn't rape Artemis? And what the fuck was that? Mind control? Was it the water? What the fuck did you do to me?"
He waved a hand, dismissive. "Eh. I did and I didn't. But that's not important. What I did to you is not important either—it was necessary."
Her fists clenched. "And forcing me to tell you everything I knew about you—how was that necessary?"
"Simple." His grin sharpened. "Because it lets me tell you this."
He leaned forward, his voice dropping.
"The myths were right. I was born a monster. But after I did what I did, and became Lady Styx's Enforcer… I also became something else. A daemon."
"A… Damon?" she asked, thrown.
"Daemon," he corrected. "A spirit. There are many of us. Nike, Eris—spirits who rose and became goddesses. Countless others with niches of their own. And I just so happen to be the Spirit of Vengeance."
Sally couldn't stop herself. "Like Ghost Rider?"
His deadpan stare almost made her laugh, despite everything.
"...Yes," he said flatly, "like Ghost Rider. Except unlike that fictional little rider, I do things differently."
He leaned closer, his gaze pinning her to her seat.
"I don't just punish the innocent for their family's broken promises. I don't just drag souls to Styx. I make deals. Deals that can save, protect—" he slowed, savoring the word, "—and guide people away from the Styx's river, even if they are bound by oathbreakers' sins."
His eyes flickered toward Percy's room. Sally paled.
When he turned back to her, his smile was pure malice.
"So, Sally Jackson…" His voice dropped to a silken whisper.
"Do you want to make a deal with the Devil?"
_______________________________________
Should have been written in one chapter, but last chapter was written at midnight so cut me some slack lol.