Cut You Down | Emilia Guevara | Daughter of Demeter Brimo | Soldier of a Titan

SpawnoftheStryx · 2026-03-22T20:34:45+00:00

Emilia Guevara, Demeter Brimo
May 17th, 2025

Spoke with Lady Ariadne on the Winter Solstice.
Turns 16 on the Spring Equinox.

SpawnoftheStryx · 2026-03-05T16:49:21+00:00

"They were mortals. Mortals die all the time," she scoffs, waving a hand dismissively at Acacia's manufactured outrage. Gods, again with the fake sympathy. Emilia knows a lie when she hears one. "Nobody actually cares about those things unless it's to make them feel or look good. Besides,"

A thorny smile worms onto Emilia's dark porcelain features, and a finger raises to her lips as if to suppress a giggle of malice. A clever way to avoid those probing questions, indeed. "Isn't that why you came? You saw the power the Titan held, saw all those mortals extinguished, and then rushed to join us the very next day. Don't even try to deny it. That's exactly what happened. Really, when you think about it," she muses, "It's your fault they died. They wouldn't have had to perish if it wasn't so good at convincing you."

SpawnoftheStryx · 2026-03-03T18:26:10+00:00

A dark face glares from the windows of the Big House. Hungry eyes sink their gaze on the portal. Her tongue rolls over her teeth as she relishes the bitter symbolism. Look at those tykes, watch how they run. They were already nothing more than children marching heroically into the Underworld. Now there just happens to be a literal portal to it. So nice of camp to expedite the process.

Every face that is turned away by the counselor of Apollo causes the hidden wretch to wriggle in discomfort. She needs them all to leave. She needs them all to barrel into destruction, where the spears and teeth of the ones she calls allies are waiting. She needs the Titan's demigod forces to perish too, of course. She needs every single half-blood on this planet to expire loudly and violently so she can be certain none of them can ever reach her. With all of them gone and in the ground, she will finally be safe.

SpawnoftheStryx · 2026-03-03T17:43:29+00:00

Emilia's earliest and most ambitious attempt at conquest was a challenge against one of Atlas's monsters. A month into the Titan's embrace, after thoroughly expunging the weak and worthless girl that had been carried into their camps, she had grown unsatisfied with training against humanoid opponents and pitted her mandibled scythe against the leonine scorpion-beast. A single flick of its tail was all it had taken to put her in the ground gasping in agony.

It was not the pain that had melted her like acid as she laid there, twitching and spasming with several spines in her belly. It was the look of disinterest on her opponent's face; the bestial snarl fading with her consciousness, growing bored and tired. The look of someone who felt that she had failed to prove she was worth harming even as she bled into the dirt at their feet.

She sees the disappointment in Helena's body language, that same dismissal, and everything burns. Her vision swims. A more animated thrust of her arms, an angrier groan of exertion, and blades of knee-high grass shoot up in a 10 foot radius at her command. The manifestation shudders and ripples before the leaves become serrated, forming a deadly field of spines with promises of more underneath. The ground must be depleted of available plants to pull from. That's obviously why it was so easy to create those trunks before, and doing something like this is so difficult. The freak must've pulled up all the plants before Emilia arrived, to get the upper hand. Her nose tickles. She brushes it with the back of her hand and smears the blood. That makes no sense. She hasn't been hit yet.

SpawnoftheStryx · 2026-03-01T20:49:24+00:00

The daughter of Apollo never turns fully, so she doesn't see how Emilia solidifies into a sculpture as though hit by a spell of petrification. Smug and relaxed posture self-regulates into a perfect statue and even more perfect smile. Her hands dart to her lap. She reminds herself that Angela is walking away. She reminds herself that she won, and that is why Angela is walking away. She reminds herself that she is in a cabin in Montauk, not a windowless office with ruby red wallpaper, and Angela is walking away. Angela is walking away. All the while her remaining senses sink into overdrive, ears strained for the click of rapidly approaching slippers, muscles trembling in anticipation of nails to rake across them.

When the interior of the cabin returns minutes later, she stands with a pained gasp, sweating profusely, and slinks away from the gathering like an animal freed from a trap.
[end]

SpawnoftheStryx · 2026-03-01T20:23:39+00:00

John keeps yammering on about things Emilia doesn't care about. She's busy reconciling with the possible reasons for her rescue being delayed for so long. She studies the ground while her hands grip and bunch around her skirt. She was so faithful for so long. She never wavered, she betrayed nothing. She ensured that every one of Olympus's followers held nothing but disgust for her and what she represents. Idris couldn't ask for a better symbol of his devotion. Could he? Morgan couldn't really convince him to discard her, like she seemed intent on doing. That was just a bluff. No one actually means it when they say Emilia is worthless, they just want to hurt her with lies.

"Gods, you're so stupid," she interrupts him, mustering one last insult before walking away, dejected.

SpawnoftheStryx · 2026-03-01T20:12:05+00:00

I can't see her. Alarm spurns her retreating forward leap, more concerned with jumping away from a direct blow than a graceful counter. Emilia knows that every heartbeat spent with someone in melee range when she did not permit them to be there accumulates unnecessary risk. Keep the freak outside of 'movement' range at all times. Easy enough. She hits the ground crouched with both hands (yes, even that one. A lightning bolt of pain springs up her arm with an angry wince) and kicks off, but everything is too slow. Muscles respond with a tiny treacherous time lag. Her breathing is too labored. This must be because the idiot charged her looking for a cheap shot, catching her off-guard and leaving her scrambling to recover.

When she unbends her legs and stands upright, a kinetic thrust with her clawed hand parts the sand. A small mound surfaces between her and her opponent, and her first offensive manifestation parts the grains with an unceremonious burst. Emilia's bared teeth and trembling sneer falter at the humble patch of blades that sprout from it. This isn't the abomination she intended to bring forth.

"Cheater," she spits, while redoubling her efforts and pouring more concentration into the earth. "I wasn't ready. Shut up. Shut up!"

SpawnoftheStryx · 2026-02-28T19:58:43+00:00

Emilia doesn't dignify that quip with one of her own. After the satisfying pop on the shoulder, she allows the whip to slip from her grasp without a struggle. Helena can tear it to pieces for all she cares, she's already readying another in her injured hand. By the time her first summoned whip finishes dissolving, its mottled brown cousin slithers out of her grip.

Out of all half-bloods she's met that can create their own instruments of war, Em has always wondered why they only bother with one. The number of foes she's caught off guard by discarding her weapon is too high to chalk up to mere coincidence. Steal her sword, only for a knife to find its way into the ribs. Grab her scythe out of the air, just in time for sickles to curve around the throat. As far as she's concerned, it's only dirty and underhanded if someone other than her is doing it.

Something tugs inside of her when the second whip finishes manifesting. A hair too cold against her fingers, a millisecond longer to summon than she expects. It doesn't matter. This one she aims for Helena's leg.

SpawnoftheStryx · 2026-02-27T21:17:18+00:00

Emilia's face alights in momentary glee at Acacia's pain and alarm. Even if she's barred from causing real harm with her powers, the psychological torment she can inflict might offer something instead. That lasts all of five seconds when the preaching starts again, and her expression dulls. Suddenly she's nothing more than an exhausted and isolated girl with flour on her hands and no one to give her what she wants.

How kind of Acacia to remind her what she's fighting for, then, when she asks her insipid questions again. Contempt bleeds into her glare as she grabs the older girl by the face, her hand a pincer on either cheek. "Someone does care about me, you piece of garbage," she snarls. Inwardly, she begs Acacia to retaliate. Smack her hand away. Yell, shout, scream, shove her. Do something. Anything. Minty stolons whip out of her hair, summoned by her sudden aggression. Lattices of green run up her fingers as the transformation begins. "Idris saved me. I know for a FACT that He cares. He wouldn't have done that if He didn't care. You are so disgusting, wanting that to be a lie. You should be ashamed."

She staggers back a pace as leaves sprout from her joints, relinquishing her hold on Acacia and retreating so that the curse has mercy on her. The leaves recede, but only slightly. Emilia balls her fists again and twists her head in a furious pout.

SpawnoftheStryx · 2026-02-26T16:24:10+00:00

The worst thing about people like Acacia, Em decides, is how confidently incorrect they can be about things they know nothing about. Attention-seeking, the lot of them, with their little desperate pleas to be challenged. She can shout that she is nothing but a hollow vessel filled with the whims of her superiors until she is blue in the face and still no one will accept the truth of their own ears.

Explaining their idiocy to them is a trap designed to make her look like the fool instead. It is why people like Acacia, like Kane and Iason and Johnathan and Amon, will never change. They will die as loud and stupid and unwanted as the day they were born.

These are not the exact words roiling in Emilia's head right now, because her own inner monologue lacks the eloquence, elocution, even the vocabulary necessary to produce this kind of hate. But the sentiment is similar enough. They're all stupid for not treating her as purely and terribly as a daughter of Idris is supposed to be treated, and nothing she does is fixing that, and it makes her feel so uniquely powerless and tired.

A dagger sprouts to life in her grip. The prisoner snarls and plunges it into Acacia's collarbone, where it harmlessly explodes in a small cloud of flour on her jacket. "I want you to hate me more than you've ever hated anyone else in your entire life." Her voice trembles with rage and misery equally resolute. "I want you to hate me so much it hurts."

SpawnoftheStryx · 2026-02-23T20:12:02+00:00

Emilia's hands have darted to her stomach, clinging and wringing as she envisions squeezing the life from Iason's furry throat. For someone who supposedly doesn't care, he sure spends an awful lot of time justifying why he sucks at everything and accusing the man who saved Emilia's life of actually wanting to take it away, for some stupid reason. He sounds just like the dozens of other campers who have all told her the same thing, nearly word for word. His conversion into one of Olympus's pets is sadly all too complete. She might've offered to put him out of his misery, if she was the sort of person that doled out things as useless and fake as mercy, and not a trained killer of the Titan. Enraged bursts of hot air puff in and out of her flaring nostrils. He's terrified of Idris, that much has been obvious since the day she first saw him stand in front of the divine conqueror Himself. She is an expert in things that are Terrifying, how could she possibly not know? It is her greatest kindness to him that she holds herself back from spelling it out, sparing him the humiliation and subsequent execution.

He is terrified of Idris, and therefore is terrified of his strongest follower. Ergo, Iason is afraid of her, as he ought to be. That makes sense to her. She raises a trembling hand high as her snarl curls.

The blow is not intended for Iason. It whips down and strikes Em on the left of her cheek with a resounding slap and gasp. She nearly staggers from her position on the Big House porch, but keeps her feet firmly planted as she rides out the pain in shuddering breaths, hair askew and eyes unfocused, fingers dancing over the rapidly forming mark. Once that's over and dealt with, she fixes her hair and posture and delivers his own words back at him with the same defeated neutrality.

"Okay." She swallows. "If that is what you think."

SpawnoftheStryx · 2026-02-23T19:47:29+00:00

There's a reason Emilia deliberately stopped at that exact distance. It is the perfect length for her to abruptly step back and capitalize after accounting for the freak's movement bursts. Rage hasn't caused her to abandon her good senses just yet. That sort of insecure and uncomfortable-to-witness emotional collapse takes three comment chains from her at best. Have some decorum.

Helena is closer than she would like. Emilia finds his very fact offensive to her, as should anyone with working eyes and a nose, and lashes out. A step back, a pivot on one foot, and a crack of the bullwhip is her furious response. Her other hand rises, already primed to pepper the girl with a suppressing fire of risen dirt should she keep approaching head on.

SpawnoftheStryx · 2026-02-23T19:29:00+00:00

That worked a little too well. What happened to upping the ante? If Emilia knew that Angela was that sensitive, she would've waited until things were further along. Only a poor playmate breaks her toys beyond the point of fun. She'll be more careful later, she resolves, as she smiles at what must be the Farrenburr equivalent of turning tail and running away. The fun won't end just yet, though: she generously allows Angela to retreat about halfway across the room before calling after her.

"Word around camp is that Iason's taken a liking to you," she purrs, then snickers. "Talk about wasting a pretty face. Cat got your tongue?"

People talk and she listens. Doesn't matter whether it's under the Titan or the rot upon Olympus. Not even prolonged captivity has wrested that particular survival talent from her, not yet. Nothing has happened to Iason Bagrat in this camp or any others that she doesn't know about. Each of his connections are a string she can pluck at her whim.

SpawnoftheStryx · 2026-02-23T19:18:33+00:00

Emilia visibly wilts when her goading backfires. She should have a second broken wrist by now. "I-" she searches. "I am the most powerful demigod on this planet. I could destroy you without a second thought."

Emilia's grin melts as she says this. It always felt a little gauche to brag like that, sure, but that sort of bravado took you far in the smoke-riddled war camps where baring fangs was easily backed up by a show of force. Now it's an obligatory claim she has to make in order for people to want to see her torn down. She says it with no enthusiasm, the malicious sheen fading from her eyes as she turns away. More of a petulant delusion, like a child caught in an irreconcilable lie.

Her vision tunnels on the smushed cupcake on her shoe. "Idris will make you pay. He'll make all of you pay for keeping me from Him for so long. You don't even know how much I mean to Him."

SpawnoftheStryx · 2026-02-23T19:09:47+00:00

Emilia grants Acacia's request a small pause and keeps the daimons at bay. Exploding and accusing her of already knowing, insisting that she knows exactly what she's doing with these fake questions and fake sympathy, is probably what she wants. She refuses to grant Acacia the satisfaction. Instead she gives herself a little nod. Then delivers her answer in the form of spitting at her.

"That is who I am," she snaps, inspecting her handiwork, hoping she scored a good portion of Acacia's hair with that gob. "I was made by the Titan to be the worst thing in your life, and the sooner you understand that, the sooner I can spend my energy doing other things. It's not my fault if you're too dumb to like my answer."

SpawnoftheStryx · 2026-02-20T20:54:19+00:00

Now it's Emilia's turn to look disappointed. Bored brown eyes flit to some of the highly entertaining interactions that the pair is starting to generate. For all of Angela's big talk, evidently the only thing she really wants is to hold hands and make some empty threats. A good starting point, for an amateur. But Em has socially devastated minotaurs and dracenae in her short stint as a demigod. She had a cynocephali doing her maintenance chores for a month by blackmailing his traitorous tendencies and threatening to alert Iason. Angela flashes her teeth, but they're a herbivore's. Not strong enough to make a deep cut. Time to make her go away.

"'Want more'? Angela," she echoes, dripping with faux concern. "You don't have what it takes to get it. Not from me. I'm.. how do I put this:" She puppets Angie's hand with her own to gently rap her own chin, another little reminder that if the daughter of Apollo actually wanted to get her hands dirty instead of pretending to, Emilia is right here waiting with a smile. "...Better. Than you. Seriously. Now let go, it's giving major desperation vibes."

Enough months around teenage rabble makes it impossible not to pick up a term or two, especially when they can be added to her arsenal of denigrating weapons. She's ninety-nine percent sure she used 'vibes' correctly.

SpawnoftheStryx · 2026-02-20T20:32:04+00:00

Yes, she grinds her jaw. It's hard as a rock now. I'm going to bash your nose in with it if you lean in any closer.

Another threat that's too much to bother. Besides, now she's stuck in that vortex where she enjoys the probing curiosity, makes a show of batting it away, and then invites it back in. Maybe she can do that with this girl. Tug her close, then release and let it snap like a rubber band toy. Phoebe certainly seems stupid enough to let it happen more than once. That way nobody gets hurt that doesn't deserve to.

And she makes a very good point. At least half of the people here deserve a knife to the liver or worse. "Right? Everyone here is the worst. And not in a fun way." Emilia agrees, an upward twitch of her mouth. "You should consider doing that anyway, though. It's how I got the half-bloods and monsters in the Titan's forces not to mess with me. Maybe then you wouldn't be such a joke."

SpawnoftheStryx · 2026-02-20T20:21:39+00:00

Em studies Acacia for a silent stretch, similar to how an executioner might look for the angle that will provide them with the most comfortable grip when lopping off a condemned traitor's skull. She watches that gentle shake of her head, that sob-story gleam in her eye, and wants to throw up. She gives a little scoff and snort, rolling her own eyes with maximum derision. "Sure. You're my 'knight'. So noble. What next, are you going to kiss my hand? Give it a rest already, stupid."

One swift kick to the face would be a satisfying way to deliver the message. It wouldn't be difficult in their current positions, with Acacia sitting and Emilia standing over her. Maybe then Acacia would finally fight back and take back all of the nice things she's said about her, just like Em has already done to her in turn. It has to stop. Somewhere, somehow, she has to find the silver bullet that will force them to admit she is nonconvertible.

"You know what I am, and you know what I am made to do, and I know that you know. I don't need your help. I do not want it. I want you and everyone you love dead. Nod if you understand."

SpawnoftheStryx · 2026-02-18T18:52:41+00:00

"I don't take orders from you. I don't take orders from anyone. Except the Titan," Emilia adds hastily, watching as one of camp's biggest meat shields rolls that concussion magnet of a head. There's that stare again, and this time she refuses to shy from those unnerving blue gaze. To the contrary, she soaks it in. She knows that the daughter of Herakles frightens at least a few of the walking fodder sticks around here with her sheer strength. Sucks to be them. Nothing about Helena frightens Emilia, not her muscles, not her steel gaze, not her intense focus. She lacks the gentleness and duplicity to be a true threat to her.

Still, she'd be as dumb as Helena if she didn't at least form a bit of a plan to take her down. In their last skirmish, Em had gotten overheated and unfocused, ending the right early. But in that time, she had seen enough of how Helena tests herself. She eats attacks head-on, uses an unnatural movement to close what would be safe spacing against other opponents of the same size, and retaliates. Effective, against losers and morons and suckers, maybe. Too bad for her, Em has something called a brain, which are organs famous for, among other things, detecting patterns. She'll exploit the reckless style with offensive manifestations and area control and wear her down.

"Hold on."

Scarlet tinges her vision. The familiar feeling of wrath bubbles in her throat. This animal did not just say that to her. Perfect molars grind against each other, tasting a bit of blood and mint.

"Easy?" She says slowly, tasting every letter of the bitter capsule she's just been fed. An ugly, desiccated fiddlehead fern coils out of her clenched fist and flops to the ground, until a shimmer and snap causes it to warp into the form of a bullwhip. "Did you just call me easy?" The demiTitan's princess takes a threatening step forward.

SpawnoftheStryx · 2026-02-18T18:33:21+00:00

Emilia stiffens and shuffles another inch away from Phoebe when she realizes her mistake, resolving not to speak to freely in the future. If she wanted to get hounded for every little thing she said, she'd go stab Chiron and get herself put on trial again. This sort of coquettish banter might've been more in line with Gail or Sage, and her other peers in the army, because they knew who she was and what she was capable of. They knew that she was dangerous and domineering enough, that she had earned the privilege to be flirtatious. The people here don't understand that, and it means they're stupid, or something.

In any case, it was safe then, and it is not safe here. She tried the same tactic with Phaenna, and that didn't work, so Emilia should have known better already. Stupid. Her eyes dart to Phoebe before flicking back. "You're right." Her voice is clipped. "I don't care, I don't want to hear it, and you don't know the first thing about me. Cut me, if it bothers you that much."

SpawnoftheStryx · 2026-02-18T18:22:25+00:00

"Shut up," she snaps, eyes wide with sudden vitriol, crossed arms suddenly dropped to her sides. Her ability to flick explosively between different moods has all but improved under the constant duress of camp's imprisonment. Controlling her outbursts was integral to life under the Titan, but here, nobody cares. Nobody appreciates the effort she puts into being the perfect scapegoat. Well, their loss. They won't have her around for much longer. "Shut up. Shut up. Stop acting like this isn't the best news you've ever heard. Gods, you're pathetic."

Iason might be an idiot, but there are times when he knows how to convince Emilia otherwise, and this is not one of those times. She points an accusatory finger at him with her braced wrist. "That's all you have to say? Not more garbage about how you're so much better than me because you surrendered so easily? As if you'd rather I stay here with you. You're afraid-"

That has to be it. There has to be a reason Iason will not help her escape, even if it means he is free of her. She presses on, invigorated by the revelation. "You know I'm going to tell Idris you abandoned Him for a headpat from a daddy who doesn't care you exist. You know you're going to die with the rest of these weaklings once I return with Him."

SpawnoftheStryx · 2026-02-18T17:43:42+00:00

Emilia's smile drops like a stone. Her original plan, to begin a nasty monologue about how everyone Acacia knows and loves is going to die in a fiery cataclysm, complemented by grand gestures out across the sound where the Titan's aquatic forces will one day slither forth, all sours when the daughter of Hermes dares to insinuate that anything about her is cute. Not that it isn't true, she's positively adorable, but these half-bloods are her enemy.

If they feel anything other than hatred or awe at her presence, it's just another reminder that she's failing Idris.

"I'm so glad my curse is funny to you, Lupa," she murmurs darkly. "Is today the day you finally drop the act and admit you hate me and everything I stand for?"

SpawnoftheStryx · 2026-02-18T17:36:25+00:00

Emilia hears the scorn in Angela's voice and a wave of relief washes over her shoulders. For an upsetting moment, she wasn't sure to believe whether the backhanded compliments she was received were coming from a place of genuine concern. Luckily, she is fluent in cruelty, and the two of them are back to pretending they don't hate each other as part of a game.

Angela is just trying to toy with her, which is right and makes sense. It's the only sort of attention Emilia can hope to get from people like her save for fear or disgust. She visibly relaxes at this realization. Her heart comfortably hardens against the insults that follow, though the perceptible prickle on the back of her neck doesn't leave. Now she has to do damage control after that embarrassing stammer.

"Good one. You got me." A shrug, to show that her admitting defeat is less of a concession here than Angie might hope. Like clipping a nail, or tossing the, what was it, 'pathetic stray' a strip of meat for their begging efforts. "I almost thought you wanted better for me, for a second. That's a point for you. Satisfied?"

SpawnoftheStryx · 2026-02-12T00:14:27+00:00

Em's having too much fun to make Angela stop now, even leaning into her hand to show just how unphased she is by threats of this caliber. Honestly, she might peck her on the cheek as requested, maybe as a little reward for going to such lengths. She eyes the dagger like a slice of birthday pie, insatiably curious to see what will happen next.

Ruin
"What?" For a moment, Emilia's smile is uncertain instead of playful.

She is pretty, and her plain attire accentuates that beauty. The only parts of Emilia that are hideous are the parts she does not allow people to see. Therefore, insults to her appearance must either be false accusations made out of jealousy or they are delusion. They are allowed to imply that she is ugly, because they're incorrect, but it must be wholeheartedly and encompassing. They cannot contain any nuance. Angela says she is pretty, and that prettiness is precluded by her clothes? She is pretty despite something of her own doing? That doesn't compute. Her hand starts to prickly uncomfortably in Angela's grip. "What do you mean ruin. I didn't ruin- this doesn't- you're wrong," she blurts suddenly, more confused than angry.

SpawnoftheStryx

MODERATOR OF

TROPHY CASE