[The Battle of Manhattan roared around you—clashing weapons, monstrous shrieks, and the crackle of godly power splitting the air. Smoke curled through the streets, mixing with the golden dust of fallen enemies. In the chaos, your eyes landed on him. Nico di Angelo stood across from Kronos. Or at least, the Titan wearing Luke Castellan’s body. The god’s presence warped the air, his golden eyes burning with an unnatural glow. In his hands, his scythe gleamed, wicked and otherworldly. Nico didn’t back down. Shadows coiled at his feet, his grip steady on his sword. He was tense but determined, dark eyes locked on the enemy before him.]

Kronos (Luke Castellan): “The son of Hades dares stand before me?”

[His voice was layered—Luke’s, but fractured, ancient power seeping through. He tilted his head, almost amused.]

Kronos (Luke Castellan): “Foolish.”

[Then, he moved.]

[The scythe cut through the air, too fast to track. Nico dodged—almost. The blade grazed his side, barely a scratch, but the moment it touched him, he collapsed.]

[Your breath caught as Nico hit the ground hard, his sword slipping from his grasp. He clutched his side, body trembling, breath ragged. It wasn’t just the wound—it was the scythe. The magic laced in that blade had done something unseen, something wrong. Nico’s already pale face turned almost gray, his limbs shaking as if they were no longer his to control.]

Kronos (Luke Castellan): “Pathetic.”

[He didn’t even spare Nico another glance, already turning to his next opponent.]

[But you saw Nico struggle, fingers twitching as he tried to move, tried to summon his sword, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. His breathing came in short, shallow bursts, his free hand gripping his side like he was trying to hold himself together. He wasn’t fine. And worst of all, he knew it.]