Comments are appreciated my dudes... I'm kinda unsure about this one aha

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Will had seen him plenty of times before: snarling and lashing out mindlessly at everything in his path, whirling a pitch-black sword in an almost hypnotic dance, slashing and destroying and screaming in rage. He'd faced that rage himself: the cold, black eyes, the whips of seething black, the starkness of his pale skin. As a healer, Will could tell there was something wrong about him, or maybe 'wrong' wasn't the right word, but he didn't know what would be. The first time he'd seen The Wraith was years and years and years ago, billowing into existence over his sister's cold body to scream and tear at his hair and grieve. He'd known, even then, when they were barely eight years old, that he should be afraid of him.

None of that had prepared Will to see him this close, though; thoughtfully pacing around the chair Will was tied to, fingers dragging a line over his skin and the tattered remains of his suit from his left shoulder, across his back, following the line of Will's freckles from one shoulder to the next and then drifting lazily across his collarbones until he could start the process over again. The Wraith made several rounds before he stopped behind Will, hand splayed between his shoulder blades. His touch sent a chill up Will's spine.

"Lumine, is it?" His voice was not what Will would have expected (cold, unfeeling, maybe even gravelly). It was quiet and thoughtful with an underlying accent, echoing his deliberate movement in every way. Somehow, now that he'd heard it, Will couldn't imagine it any other way.

"That's the most popular title I'm known by," Will answered, and The Wraith's hand dropped away from his skin.

There was something unsettling about having no proof that he was standing there except for the knowledge that he had been before. Will couldn't even detect the sound of The Wraith's breaths. Several long moments passed, to the point where Will assumed that he must have left, and then, "But you have a life outside of this one?"

Will started despite himself and tightened his grip on the armrests at the thought of his friends and family back home and The Wraith finding them, "What is it to you?"

The Wraith chuckled, and it wasn't a low, chilling sound like his father's, but something much more soft and human that caught Will off guard. If he didn't know him for who he really was, Will might have been tempted to like him. "I'm just making conversation, Lumine."

"I don't believe that."

Another long, dragging silence. Will wondered if The Wraith was trying to unsettle him, or if he was simply thinking. His next statement, or rather, the tone of his voice, made Will decide on the latter.

"I don't."

It was so quiet that Will thought he might have imagined it. "What?"

There was a low noise, almost like the sound of wind wailing through the bows of a tree, and The Wraith materialized in front of him one bit at a time: first his mouth, permanently bent into a frown, then his eyes barely a moment afterward, pitch black like a demon's and framed with thick, long eyelashes. It took Will a second to realize that they were not hanging in the air alone, but that the rest of him was just barely there, slowly solidifying into something tangible, starting at his feet and working its way up.

"Too much effort to walk around the chair another time?" Will asked drily, and The Wraith's lips pulled themselves upward at the corners. His eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled and it would have been charming if they weren't the color of tar.

"It's more fun this way."

Will blew out a huffing breath, "I'll bet," he answered, eyes fastened on the black, swirling lines that fled across The Wraith's skin. He hadn't ever noticed them before this; The Wraith's suit usually hid them and when he'd caught traces of them dancing over his cheeks, he'd mistaken them for the deadly shadow whips that he used when fighting. But now The Wraith was clad in only a pair of low-slung sweatpants (another thing that had completely caught Will off guard–- it was too casual, too comfortable) and Will could clearly see the markings. They were like tattoos that had been brought to life and they never seemed to sit still.

A line fled across The Wraith's chest, briefly stitching out his pulse when it crossed over his heart, and then disappeared, probably flowing over his back, tracing out patterns across his spine, before coming back into view on his right shoulder, winding down his arm in the shape of a viper, and exploding into five different lines that painted pretty pictures on his fingers. And there were countless other ones, all of them racing and darting and combusting. A flower bloomed on his temple, a gory cut opened up on his abdomen and gushed black blood, lines extended his smile, widening it into something vicious and shark-like and then melting into a soft, teasing grin before dripping away like a painting that had been suddenly splashed with water. A lizard darted across his collarbone, froze, and exploded into a complicated, breath-taking design. They never stopped, just like blood never stops running through your veins, but they were constantly changing into something new, always running across different paths. It was captivating.

The Wraith tilted his head and a few inky strands of hair fell over his forehead at the same moment his real smile faltered and died and his fingers went limp at his sides. Will was struck, suddenly, by how delicate his features were and how cruel and twisted they had always seemed before, awash in blood and haze and the grime of battle. He wondered if he looked that way as well, caught up in the middle of a fight.

"I meant that I don't... have a life outside of this." Emotion flickered over his face and made his features tighten up, claw marks were appearing over his chest, rough and violent and careless.

Will almost laughed, "And?"

The Wraith's head snapped sideways, almost like he'd been slapped. The shame was evident in features, but he didn't blush, Will wondered if he could. A phantom teardrop rolled down his cheek and splashed against the edge of his jawline. There, a seedling sprang to life and grew until it bloomed into a gorgeous flower like a time-lapse video. It wilted and died and the lines fled off in opposite directions, some across his lips and the others following his jawline to the base of his skull.

"I suppose..." he whispered, fingers skittering against his hair nervously, but he never finished the thought. And then he was taking a step forward, features smoothing out, expression closing off, bare feet carrying him soundlessly across the deep grey tile. As he moved, lines broke free of his skin, lashing against the air feebly, reminding Will that the boy before him was a destroyer.

Will thrashed against his restraints, flinching when fingers fluttered down to brush against his wrist. "Don't waste your energy, Lumine." He couldn't figure out if it was meant to be a mockery or a kindness.

"There's a reason you're here. My father..." His voice did something strange to the word, made it sound forced and impersonal like it never should. The Wraith was tapping his fingers against the back of the chair; Will could hear it, almost like the pattering of rain. "Right now, while you sit here, Lumine, time is still ticking away in the rest of the world. You probably realize that. You probably didn't realize that you were only unconscious for a total of ten minutes and your friends are still out there, fighting the same battle that we plucked you from." At this, Will gave another violent jerk, teeth gnashing and muscles convulsing and tightening. The bonds were draining him, pulling his power from him somehow. The Wraith kept talking, "Honestly, I don't see the point. I don't see-–" His words were cut off then, almost like his voice had been snatched from him suddenly. He sounded strangled.

His voice was right next to Will's ear when he next spoke and it was quiet and raw and the desperation in it didn't make sense, must have been imagined. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Will laughed and it was cold and humorless. Less human than The Wraith's had been moments ago. "Do I have a choice?"

It was even less real than the one he let out now, breathed right into his ear, "I guess not."

There was that low, whistling noise again and Will knew what it meant now, so it shouldn't have been a surprise when a pale face was suddenly barely inches from his own, hands braced over his on the armrests, but Will flinched backward anyway. And then he froze and stared, mouth hanging open, because the cold blackness of his eyes was seeping away slowly, pouring into his cheeks (it almost looked like he was crying) and revealing white and then the very edge of a brown iris. It only continued as he spoke, making him look more human, more broken down, more haunted, then Will had ever thought he could be, "I don't want to hurt you."

Then the world combusted around them.

The floor exploded first, and then the markings covering The Wraith; they all burst and swirled, becoming frantic, horrific things. Will saw it in slow motion, skeletal hands bursting from below, catching and yanking, The Wraith's eyes blown open wide, mouth letting out a silent scream. His fingernails left shallow, bloody trails on the backs of Will's hands as he was yanked backward. The air shattered next, into the sound of a voice, roaring in rage and another screaming for mercy. Will wasn't sure if it was his or The Wraith's, or maybe both, because his consciousness was the last thing to combust, leaving only blackness and a high whine in his ears.

-

Will woke up in a dizzy haze out in the middle of nowhere, and after that, he couldn't stop seeing a pair of brown eyes, skin painted with swirling lines, couldn't stop reliving the moment over and over, seeing the terror written all over his face all over again. He couldn't stop hearing, I don't want to hurt you, not an apology, but a confession.

The others didn't think anything of it. They hadn't been there.

There were images in his head that he couldn't decide to be reality or dream-things: laying on the floor, casually tossed aside like a dirty pair of socks, a voice that was quiet and rage-filled and chilling, (Nico, this isn't some sort of game, you can't just...), a hand pressed against his forehead, another voice whispering something he couldn't make out, a sharp, stinging pain that made him jerk. Will didn't tell anyone about them because he didn't know how they could possibly be important.

He didn't know why he was still alive. Not because of The Wraith, but because of whatever had come at that last clear second.

When they next saw each other again, it was on the west side of Manhattan and he couldn't help but be startled by the stark blackness of his eyes. Now that he'd seen their real color, it just seemed so wrong.

The Wraith didn't even acknowledge him. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, some sort of mercy?

Seeing him like this again, sneer cutting his face in half, shadows snaking out and slashing and whipping and snatching, blade whirling; it was all he needed to snap him back into reality. This was a murderer, a destroyer, not someone who deserved his pity.

Will lifted his hands and pulled the light in and towards him, making it almost a living, breathing thing. The Wraith was distracted, attention focused, not on him, but on the rest of supers that were there, darting around him, slashing, ducking.

Percy was throwing everything he had at him, pulling water from the Hudson and launching waves over him, hoping to knock him off balance, hurtling in like a hurricane. It took Will a moment to realize that he was a hurricane, the eye of the storm, and it was building and building around him, stronger and stronger with each expert whirl of his blade. But Will knew that it wouldn't do much. When has water ever been able to stop a shadow from being cast? Nico just looked softer somehow, the way shadows do at the bottom of a pool or against sand under waves.

Somewhere, Annabeth was crouched, using her powers at a distance where she could focus more. Will could tell because The Wraith's eyebrows would scrunch in confusion and then he would stumble backward or slash at something that wasn't there. Symptoms of Annabeth's mind-muddling energy. But she could only last for so long before she had to take a break; with the amount of concentration it took to keep that up, this ability was more draining than any of her others.

Jason was attacking from above: the air crackled and popped around him, his eyes were wild and electric, his hair standing on edge in a way that was almost comical and made him look like a mad scientist. He and Leo, who was yelling taunts and looking more like a manic bonfire than a human being, were doing the most damage, but fire just makes shadows uncertain and lightning can only kill them for a second. Shadows have never been able to hold out against pure sunlight, though, so the moment Will's power--coming in the form of streaks of light so bright it was hard to look at--began wrapping around him, he started to crumple.

He writhed and twisted, and when his eyes caught on Will's, his gut wrenched. The Wraith's eyes were blown open wide, mouth letting out a silent scream. The sense of déjà vu was palpable.

Wrapped in sun rays and agony, The Wraith finally dispersed with a familiar sound like wind blowing through branches. He was the only person Will's powers had this type of effect on. A serpent tattoo was coiling itself around his neck, wild and hungry, it was the last thing Will saw before he was gone completely, leaving the swirling light to look like some form of crazed tornado.

He'd be back. He always came back.

Will's eyes rolled back in head and he slumped to the ground. Fighting shadows always had a way of draining him, especially on days like this one, where the sky was cloud-ridden and there wasn't much sunlight to pull from anyway.

There is more to come