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There was something in that split moment, stuck between death and revival, where even through his newly cleared vision (because his head was always the first thing to be repaired) he couldn't see where his wounds laid. The red waters that pulled him back and forth seamlessly blending in with the crimson of his blood.
Blood. Same as the Styx. Sometimes he feels like he's breathing her in, and she's seeping into his blood vessels, replacing all the ichor that's supposed to be there and turning him into something indistinguishable from the souls Charon ferries down.
Though, he supposes if the Goddess was actually bleeding into his every pore, filling his body with actual divinity, he wouldn't so carelessly spill her gift on every tile he steps on within the Underworld.
When his head hits the stone steps of the House, Zagreus can feel his father's gaze piercing through him, the judgement inescapable, and he feels something akin to sorrow for the shades lingering in those halls. The title of prince seems like nothing short of mockery, and whenever he walks between them, dashing to the front or simply through, he can't help but think he's supposed to be one of them.
Transparent and small, ultimately quiet and nothing above a chore. Looking up at Gods, those you've worshipped or not, and realising how little you've meant, how little you still mean...
Zagreus tracks blood onto the new carpet, ignoring the towels that are immediately to his right. It takes him a second, maybe a second too long, to blink away the red, have it leave his hair, and for the metallic smell to hit his nostrils (He doesn't think he'll ever find it pleasant outside of high adrenaline moments) before he realises that he's actually standing in line.
He huffs a laugh, tasting copper, and takes a sharp left into the west hall. Achilles stands poised, spear in hand more out of requirement rather than want, watching as Lord Hades passes judgement on each soul that comes to the front, pleading their case and trying to ensure a calm, non-torture including afterlife for themselves.
The word "Elysium" seems to come out of the mouth of every other one. Though, hearing the God of the dead approve that request was so utterly rare, and it was even rarer for him to change his tone of voice at it.
Watching the colours dance in Achilles' eyes always managed to captivate Zagreus. Despite this heavy aura around him, the melancholy that clung and never really seemed to let go, or even loosen its grip, Achilles was alive.
Clashing metal with him, watching his pupils dialate the more the fight goes on, the flame that seems to keep his spirit going, that makes him ethereal in a way Zagreus imagines all humans are. One chance to live a life, as they think, and ensuring that it counts-
The Styx forbids him from it, he thinks for a split second. He goes rebirth to rebirth instead of day (or night) to day. He's learned to appreciate painless ends instead of painless breaths, and the more blood is drained out of him, the more he learns to resent the Goddess, instead of appreciating her.
Achilles makes eye contact with him, an understanding smile on his face as he beckons him closer, only then does Zagreus realise he's stopped in the middle of the hallway, doing nothing but staring. He glances to his left briefly, for the first time ever he's happy Thanatos wasn't there.
He looks away from the river.
"A bad run? You came back quickly." It's a lie, both of them know it, but it's a good coax to get Zagreus to speak, if at least to defend himself.
"I made it all the way up to the satyrs, that wasn't the issue, but I..." What does he say? Something similar in weight to Bouldy is stuck on top of his chest, and his ribs feel like they'll crack, no, shatter under the pressure any second now.
Achilles lowers his weapon, reaching a hand out to place on Zagreus' shoulder. He doesn't feel as cold as the shades that Zagreus passes on his runs, nor as warm as Zagreus himself, but he's somewhere in the middle where it feels refreshing, not harsh.
He's more God-like than Zagreus will ever be. He sometimes catches traces of Thetis hidden amongst Achilles' many traits. And many other times, he catches himself wondering what he did to deserve the title of God, and what Achilles hadn't to deserve the position of a mortal.
"What would your domain be?"
Achilles looks towards the side for a few seconds, and Zagreus realises he actually spoke, but before he could say anything else, his mentor turns around and says: "War, I suppose. Mayhaps there was some luck in my life, that prevented me from becoming what I had sworn to stop, but instead found unwanted thrill in."
"You overthrew a whole war." Zagreus counters, staring at the discarded spear. "It made you lose everything. Why would you rule over it?"
"Oh, lad, prince, I don't really think it's a choice." His facial expression softens and he pulls Zagreus in a sort of half hug. "Just as your father didn't choose this realm to govern over, and just as Lord Hypnos didn't choose to embody sleep, so too do I think that none of the Gods had a choice." He looks down at Zagreus, before looking away again. "Neither do you."
"But why war? Your whole life was spent trying to bring it to a stop. You did bring it to a stop!"
"And it cost me everything." Achilles pulls him into a proper hug this time. "Lad, it consumed me. If I found any thrill in it, it was the fighting and sense of invincibility. It took away Patroclus from me, and it ended in a death that I couldn't even justify as a worthy end. If I was a God, my domain would be war, because I didn't allow my life to be anything else."
Zagreus raises his arm up, a motion almost seeming like he'll hug back, but instead he only stared at the veins and arteries barely visible beneath his skin. Something he's obsessed with...
"I think you were right about me."
"Why does it upset you?"
"Because you aren't right in a way I wish you were."
He slumps in Achilles' embrace, tilting his head back towards the Styx. The rushing of her waters feels like a taunt, and Zagreus wants to grab his sword, slash his stomach, and spill all of her blood back to her. He clutches at Achilles' cape instead, forcing those thoughts to leave him alone.
Zagreus might be obsessed with life, but the only thing consuming him is pure stagnation.
God of blood... is it because the only thing he knows how to do is spill it?