Shadows Of Gotham

Amora winced as she wiped away some blood from a gash in her arm, but as she Stumbled over another tall mound of redish, blackish dirt. She finally saw it.

The palace was nothing like the castles in mortal fairy tales. It rose from the jagged earth of Tartarus like a jagged wound in the world—obsidian spires stabbing into a blood-red sky, shadowy walls that seemed to pulse with breath, and a silence so dense it pressed against Amora's eardrums like water deep under the sea.

She stood at the edge of the clearing, panting, every muscle trembling from fatigue and the effort it had taken just to survive the journey here. Her hoodie was shredded, her arms scratched from thorned vines and ancient bones littering the paths. Her boots—one missing a sole—squished with every step, soaked from gods-knew-what she had crossed in that last cursed ravine.

But none of that mattered now. She was here.

Somehow.

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides as she forced herself to move forward. The air was heavy with rot and magic, thick with a darkness that didn't feel entirely like her own. It whispered against her skin, skimming her shadow like it knew her. Wanted her.

No. She couldn't think about that now.

Amora crepted up the black stone steps, swallowing hard. The massive doors loomed in front of her, etched with curling patterns that shifted if she stared too long. There was no knocker, no handle—only the oppressive silence and the crushing knowledge that she was small, alone, and had absolutely no plan.

But that didn't stop her.

"I know you're in there!" she yelled, her voice cracking in the stillness. "I know you took her! I want Annabeth back—and you're going to close the Hollow!"

The echoes bounced off the spires like laughter.

She didn't flinch.

"Did you hear me?" she shouted again, shadows stirring around her feet. "I know who you are. Nyx. I don't care how powerful you are—I'm not leaving without Annabeth."

For a long moment, nothing happened.

Then—soft footsteps. Not from within, but behind the great doors. They peeled open without a sound, shadows slipping back like parting curtains. A woman stepped into view, tall and elegant, with skin the color of moonlight and eyes like a starless void.

Nyx.

She didn't look angry. She didn't look anything like Amora expected.

She smiled gently, like they were long-lost friends meeting again after years.

"My dear," Nyx said, voice a midnight breeze, "you made it. And here I thought Hades would keep you locked away forever."

Amora's breath caught in her throat. The woman before her was not the monster she had imagined. Not the cold-hearted manipulator who'd stolen Annabeth and opened a hole to literal hell. Nyx stood with all the grace of a goddess, her hair flowing like ink in water, her eyes unreadable—but not cruel. She looked... proud. accomplished, even.

That only made Amora more suspicious.

"I'm not here for games," Amora said tightly, though her voice came out quieter than before. "You need to let her go. Now."

Nyx tilted her head slightly, like she was studying a puzzle.

"Is that what you think happened?" she said, stepping forward lightly. Her gown shimmered with threads of darkness that caught no light. "That I took your little friend? That I forced her into the Hollow?"