This is the first strike she truly feels. The first one that makes her feel sluggish instead of powerful. The first one that makes her crumple, and not immediately rise with a fresh howl. Bella's head strains as if it wants to split in half. Her vision strains through bursts of high-noise static and bleeding, misaligned colors. The room slurs together and she just manages to make out the sound of a dull thud before all she notices are the grasses growing out of the floor.

Yes. She is a broken camera. And this time there are no hands to lovingly put her back together.

The smell of dirt and cigar smoke is everywhere. The stench of blood lingers inside of both, but there is no call to react to it. No surge of disgust, no fiery energy driving her to spill more of it. It is simply there. They gave her these senses to notice everything; it is not up to her that she does. There is... no more point to having feelings about it. Thoughts hurt too much to have, so she discards them as quickly as she can.

Her body strains for something she can focus on that might be able to push her to her feet again. There is more to do, her blood whispers even as it pours out of dozens of oozing wounds, you must stand up. You must. But the acrid haze that drew her here had always been a trap. The bite of honey and the twisting of her ear had never been motherly advice. And the smell of ozone, the sensation of the thunderbolt remained a source of fantastic, ultimate terror because chief among all the tools of the universe it wanted her dead the most.

No sunlight shines down to force her eyes open. The forms of meditation fall uselessly from her tired mind. If she fell asleep now, it would be forever. But even the sound of the shovel does not whisper her lullaby. The salty air wafts without care from the bowels of the ship, too consumed with its own troubles to even notice her. The fluttering of peacock feathers is nowhere to be heard. No ringed hand lifts her chin to point her through these impossible Games. 

And now, a new sound comes rolling over the room, audible over her own useless snarling and the pounding of someone scrabbling through the vents. It is the sound of pen on paper. The tip strikes the page with the fury of a thrown spear. Every letter is dotted or crossed with unnecessary, violent force. As if... conflicted. But no more than that. Moonlight does not light the way. The names do not settle on her skin. They go on the paper, that smooth and creamy paper, stacked in pristine piles (they must be) on a flawless wooden desk. The pen clicks shut, with finality. There is no salvation here.

The room goes dark. The smells trail into indistinction. Sounds snuff out like candles in the night. Even pain flickers out into numb nothingness, except for one thing. The stubborn rush of her blood. The frenzied heart pumping it, harder, harder, harder still. Her body is furious. Her clawed hands twitch, and dig through the dirt. Cracking plates of bone fuse into new armor as she pushes herself off the ground. Blue-black hair falls across her face in messy, matted sheets. Her spine pops as she whips it back, rising to full height in the same motion. 

"If..."

Her voice is a hoarse croak. She coughs. Sputters. Pulls the poisons up her throat and spits them on the flowers. Her hand rises to her mouth and she flicks her lips with the tip of her thumb. Bella snorts. It is a proud, and angry noise.

"If the gods have rejected my prayers, so be it. If even everything I am isn't enough to please just one of them... that's fine. I always knew. I was nothing in their eyes."

Her voice is sharp and prideful. She swings it as a whip. Her muscles strain, and carry her heavy feet forward one step, two, then three. With a boom, the Thunderbolt fires off again on lethal reflex to the return of the threat. Bella pivots on her feet and punches the bolt out of the sky. Her hand smolders and twitches uncontrollably. The arm it's attached to falls limp at her side. And still she steps forward.

"Did you hear me? I said so be it! So what?! So [i]what!?[/i] If I have to fight all of Olympus, that's what I'll do! We're not done here, Mynx!"

The heat rises in her body until it cauterizes her wounds. Shards of armor splinter off every joint and fall to the ground as she moves. In this singular moment, even the moonlight shrinks from her. She is free to speak, to pound her chest, to stomp her feet until the ship itself rattles with her fury. Bella curls downward and slams her claws into the ground, driving up great sprays of mud. Her mismatched eyes burn with the heat of stars. All this power, she uses... to reach her hand through the air. Toward Mynx. She strains her fingers with longing.

"If no god will answer my prayers, then I! I will pray to No One! I will cross this fucking rift for no one's sake. I will finish whatever mission is left to me on the other side, with no wish on my lips except an end to this curse that's plagued them all their lives. I will do. [i]Whatever[/i] it takes. 

"But give her back! Even if she kills me, make her do it as herself! GIVE ME BACK! MY SISTER!"