âShould have opened the pit for you. Youâre nothing but..but Tartarus.â Â Nico spat, fighting the ladâs hold as more provoking blood curdling words unleashed from his asshole mouth. His voice skimmed over the boyâs head like a bullet. This guy is just nasty, an archetypal evil palavering that Nico couldnât take but to give him a punch in the face. Yes, he tried. Fury ignites within the younger boy as his composure betrayed him upon taking the derision. Thereâs no analogy going on and not even a simple dark correspondence might have engaged between the two; Nico thought that this is more of a nonsense electrical discharge which could hardly last at some point. Â âShut up! Your death wonât even be preferable for Hades.â He retorted exchanging glares.
 As soon as the older boy probed in complete relish, Nico insisted to muster his powers, though something impeded him to release them. Still the ground at his feet cracked a little as grass died and withered away like he was a poison. However, Nicoâs skeletons wouldnât showed up yet, he could hardly wait for them and for the love of death before he could take advances, the guy grabbed him and tossed him into the waters. The son of Hades yelped following a little splash. In hindsight, it was blatantly obvious that the guy was going to attack further, yet it was too late for some defense.
The cold swaddled thoroughly on Nicoâs body, he gagged at the influx of water into his lungs and he hadnât been able to hold his breath long enough from the greedy current below. A surge of panic overtook the boy every time he felt drowning. He used to give remarks against the water just to piss the son of Poseidon, but beyond that, the ghost king solely avoided it since water can truly weak his system. Fortunately, he fell by more than 5 feet in depth, so good thing he didnât crack a bone down the river floor.
Nico cringed, he began to feel some pain going through his chest at the very thought he would meet his father because of this foolish river dragging him down and that demonic asshole guy he stumbled onto. No joke, he was helplessly drowning, but apparently Nico has tremendous strength of willpower, since he was able to survive in Tartarus on his own, he shouldnât just die in the unknown, especially not with water. He tried to swim up.
This time it wasnât too long before his head broke the water and his mouth gasped for air; his hands reached for the boulders, then he struggled climbing on them. Nico turned even paler as his lungs started to burn as he kept moaning in his silence. His eyes darted around until the demon guy came to his view again, still towering the stupid bloody creek. Nico emerged unscathed remaining in silent, though his face was twisted in anger and pain.
âI hate you.â He gritted his teeth trying not to cough.
Beside Nico, a rock started to crack further along the river floor through where the guy was standing at. He wouldnât notice until a skeleton hand emerged from the earth and pulled his foot that would topple him before the ground underneath him spilt in half. It splits enough to eat his body in half. Nico smirked seeing the asshole now stuck in his dirt trap. Despite the exhaustion, he crawled over to him. Nico faced him and overwhelmed lifting his Stygian iron to point it directly at the guyâs face as the tip of his sword practically touching his forehead. âI .. Donât⊠play with demons..â Nico said weakly.
âBut you seemed to want to play with⊠death⊠I have no problem with that.â He tugged a grin panting.
âIâm NicoâŠDi Angelo. The Ghost King of the Underworld.â Nico playfully coos, twisting his sword and cut the skin to draw an âxâ on the cheek.
Threatening toddlers were something the demons could easily tame. The difference in their size was considerable, and Rylo let the boy sputter about calling him something that he hardly even recognized. Though he was unaware of the origin, they were not. The demons didnât feel pity on the words spat at them because the child held nothing above their power. He was an Upperworld teenager, and nothing more.
The piteous argument drawled on to the point where the male felt only chagrin for his encounter with the child. Their meek, deranged ordeal was nothing to guffaw about, primarily because it led to nowhere. The end of the argument was the boy screeching about Hades, and yet all Rylo could exchange with him was a mild chuckle. Hades was not real, this ill mannered child must have been improperly informed. Thus making it seem that he knew of Ryloâs previous homeâthe Underworld.
Perhaps the child had not seen his move coming, but since they were both in the watersâtogetherâRylo left his attention to remain on the drenched delusion that bobbed up and down against the waves. The boy held little to no value to him, and their encounter in general made him feel slightly inferior. It had nothing to do with the fact that he felt challenged by the boyâs nature or aura, but rather that the child was convinced he was more powerful than Rylo was. It did not, however, strike him as a sworn enemy, he knew the boy stood no chance against himâthe vesselâyet he stood even less of a chance against the demons that would likely take over if Rylo were to falter in his abilities to dominate.
The struggling boy had made his way back to the land, but he appeared more simply as a drowning rat than someone with any sense of superiority. The demon knew this boyâs dysfunction wasnât something he could help, but he held no emotions for what heâd done even while he was chastised with an:
The words alone did nothing to the stone that rested in the cavity between his two lungs, as it beat upon impact of each word. They were useless, to him, and thus the entirely of their encounter had become as such just as well. Rylo crossed his arms, with his dark eyes directly displaced to the dripping rat across the way. A nearly unseeable shrug went through his shoulders, and yet words were not jumping into his throat. He felt no need to do anything about the strong distaste that the boy had, simply because there was nothing that would dilute it, and he had no intentions of doing so.
However, the power that this child had was some sort of a dark, black magic. Rylo didnât believe much in witches and sorcery, but when the ground beneath him morphed and held him in place, he decided to rethink his initial beliefs.
âI donât play with callous children, yet here you are, making a pitiful attempt at playing God. Clever, one might say.â Whether the boy was allergic to water or to the crocodileâs feces that floated about, Rylo chose not to differentiate. Absurdities sprung from the boyâs lips about playing with Death, and the demonâs only response was to let out a mild chuckle at the thought. Ryloâs limbs felt heavy, they were losing space, and when the Devil felt summoned, he chose to appear. The maleâs dark eyes went from their usual luster to a crimson black, flooding out the whites. A niche from the boyâs weapon dripped blood down the demonâs face, a smirk ignited across his teeth. So the boy claimed to be a ghostâperhaps they came from the same place where Rylo was still the first in command. No distinct representation of emotion leaked from the older maleâs features. As if breaking rubber bands, Rylo stepped away from the boyâs pathetic trap, towering over him once more. A drop of his own blood trampled down his cheek to land on Nicoâs head. âYouâre playing with fire, dear boy. If you value your life, you wonât continue this endeavor.â
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