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Chapter Text

ANNABETH HAD SEEN SOME STRANGE THINGS BEFORE, but she’d never seen it rain cars.

As the roof of the cavern collapsed, sunlight blinded her. She got the briefest glimpse of the Argo II hovering above. It must have used its ballistae to blast a hole straight through the ground. Chunks of asphalt as big as garage doors tumbled down, along with six or seven Italian cars. 

One would’ve crushed the Athena Parthenos, but the statue’s glowing aura acted like a force field, and the car bounced off. Unfortunately, it fell straight toward Annabeth. She jumped to one side, twisting her bad foot. A wave of agony almost made her pass out, but she flipped on her back in time to see a bright red Fiat 500 slam into Arachne’s silk trap, punching through the cavern floor and disappearing with the Chinese Spidercuffs. 

As Arachne fell, she screamed like a freight train on a collision course; but her wailing rapidly faded. All around Annabeth, more chunks of debris slammed through the floor, riddling it with holes.The Athena Parthenos remained undamaged, though the marble under its pedestal was a starburst of fractures. 

Annabeth was covered in cobwebs. She trailed strands of leftover spider silk from her arms and legs like the strings of a marionette, but somehow, amazingly, none of the debris had hit her.

She wanted to believe that the statue had protected her, though she suspected it might’ve been nothing but luck. The army of spiders had disappeared. Either they had fled back into the darkness, or they’d fallen into the chasm. 

As daylight flooded the cavern, Arachne’s tapestries along the walls crumbled to dust, which Annabeth could hardly bear to watch. Then she heard Percy’s voice from above: “Annabeth!” 

“Here!” she sobbed. All the terror seemed to leave her in one massive yelp. As the Argo II descended, she saw Percy leaning over the rail. His smile was better than any tapestry she’d ever seen.

The room kept shaking, but Annabeth managed to stand. The floor at her feet seemed stable for the moment. Her backpack was missing, along with Daedalus’s laptop. But Annabeth didn’t care. 

She was alive.

She edged closer to the gaping hole made by the Fiat 500. Jagged rock walls plunged into the darkness as far as Annabeth could see. A few small ledges jutted out here and there, but Annabeth saw nothing on them—just strands of spider silk dripping over the sides like Christmas tinsel. Annabeth wondered if Arachne had told the truth about the chasm. Had the spider fallen all the way to Tartarus?

She tried to feel satisfied with that idea, but it made her sad. Arachne had made some beautiful things. She’d already suffered for eons. Now her last tapestries had crumbled.

After all that, falling into Tartarus seemed like too harsh an end. Annabeth was dimly aware of the Argo II hovering to a stop about forty feet from the floor. It lowered a rope ladder. 

Annabeth stood in a daze, staring into the darkness. Then suddenly Percy was next to her, lacing his fingers in hers. He turned her gently away from the pit and wrapped his arms around her. She buried her face in his chest and broke down in tears.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You're okay” Their friends gathered around them. Nico di Angelo was there, but Annabeth’s thoughts were so fuzzy, this didn’t seem surprising to her. It seemed only right that he would be with them.

“Your leg.” Piper knelt next to her and examined the Bubble Wrap cast. “Oh, Annabeth, what happened?”

She started to explain. Talking was difficult, but as she went along, her words came more easily. Percy didn’t let go of her hand, which also made her feel more confident. 

When she finished, her friends’ faces were slack with amazement. “Gods of Olympus,” Jason said. “You did all that alone. With a broken ankle.”

“Well…some of it with a broken ankle.”

Percy grinned. “You made Arachne weave her own trap? I knew you were good, but Holy Hera—Annabeth, you did it. Generations of Athena kids tried and failed. You found the Athena Parthenos!” 

Everyone gazed at the statue. “What do we do with her?” Frank asked. “She’s huge.”

“We’ll have to take her with us to Greece,” Annabeth said. “The statue is powerful. Something about it will help us stop the giants.”

“The giants’ bane stands gold and pale,” Hazel quoted. “Won with pain from a woven jail.” She looked at Annabeth with admiration. “It was Arachne’s jail. You tricked her into weaving it.” 

With a lot of pain, Annabeth thought. 

Leo raised his hands. He made a finger picture frame around the Athena Parthenos like he was taking measurements. “Well, it might take some rearranging, but I think we can fit her through the bay doors in the stable. If she sticks out the end, I might have to wrap a flag around her feet or something.”

Annabeth shuddered. She imagined the Athena Parthenos jutting from their trireme with a sign across her pedestal that read: WIDE LOAD. Then she thought about the other lines of the prophecy: The twins snuff out the angel’s breath, who holds the keys to endless death.

“What about you guys?” she asked. “What happened with the giants?”

Percy told her about rescuing Nico, the appearance of Bacchus, and the fight with the twins in the Colosseum. Nico didn’t say much. 

The poor guy looked like he’d been wandering through a wasteland for six weeks. Percy explained what Nico had found out about the Doors of Death, and how they had to be closed on both sides. 

Even with sunlight streaming in from above, Percy’s news made the cavern seem dark again.

“So the mortal side is in Epirus,” she said. “At least that’s somewhere we can reach.”

Nico grimaced. “But the other side is the problem. Tartarus.”

The word seemed to echo through the chamber. The pit behind them exhaled a cold blast of air. That’s when Annabeth knew with certainty. The chasm did go straight to the Underworld.

Percy must have felt it too. He guided her around him so she was a little farther from the edge. Her arms and legs trailed spider silk like a bridal train. She almost pulled out her dagger to cut it away, but before she could, Percy said, “Bacchus mentioned something about my voyage being harder than I expected. Not sure why—”

The chamber groaned. The Athena Parthenos tilted to one side. Its head caught on one of Arachne’s support cables, but the marble foundation under the pedestal was crumbling.

Nausea swelled in Annabeth’s chest. If the statue fell into the chasm, all her work would be for nothing. Their quest would fail. 

“Secure it!” Annabeth cried. Her friends understood immediately.

“Zhang!” Leo cried. “Get me to the helm, quick! The coach is up there alone.”

Frank transformed into a giant eagle, and the two of them soared toward the ship.

Jason wrapped his arm around Piper. He turned to Percy. “Back for you guys in a sec.” He summoned the wind and shot into the air.

“This floor won’t last!” Hazel warned. “The rest of us should get to the ladder.”

Plumes of dust and cobwebs blasted from holes in the floor. The spider’s silk support cables trembled like massive guitar strings and began to snap. Hazel lunged for the bottom of the rope ladder and gestured for Nico to follow, but Nico was in no condition to sprint.

Percy gripped Annabeth’s hand tighter. “It’ll be fine,” he muttered. Looking up, she saw grappling lines shoot from the Argo II and wrap around the statue. One lassoed Athena’s neck like a noose. Leo shouted orders from the helm as Jason and Frank flew frantically from line to line, trying to secure them.

Nico had just reached the ladder when a sharp pain shot up Annabeth’s bad ankle. She staggered with a pained gasp.

“What is it?” Percy asked. She tried to stagger toward the ladder. Why was she moving backward instead? Her legs swept out from under her and she fell on her face. 

“Her ankle!” Hazel shouted from the ladder. “Cut it! Cut it!” Annabeth’s mind was woolly from the pain. Cut her ankle? 

Thankfully, Percy realized what Hazel meant. Percy lunged. He grabbed her arm, his other hand drawing Riptide. The momentum carried him along as well, dragging them backward. 

“Help them!” Hazel yelled.

Annabeth glimpsed Nico hobbling in their direction, Hazel trying to disentangle her cavalry sword from the rope ladder. Their other friends were still focused on the statue, and Hazel’s cry was lost in the general shouting and the rumbling of the cavern.

Annabeth sobbed as she hit the edge of the pit. Her legs went over the side. Too late, she realized what was happening: she was tangled in the spider silk. She should have cut it away immediately. She had thought it was just loose line, but with the entire floor covered in cobwebs, she hadn’t noticed that one of the strands was wrapped around her foot—and the other end went straight into the pit. It was attached to something heavy down in the darkness, something that was pulling her in.

“No,” Percy muttered. He swung Riptide around her, reaching down into the pit. It was no use, he couldn't reach the line while holding onto her. He tried to throw Riptide, aiming at the string- but it went wide.

The glow of the bronze blade was swallowed quickly by the abyss, and Riptide was gone.

Percy tugged, pulling her arm, holding her half in and half out of the chasm. Nico reached them where Percy was holding them at a stalemate. Annabeth suddenly remembered her first quest, with Percy and Grover, when they had encountered Procrustes, the stretcher. 

She and Grover had been tricked into laying on one of the titan’s waterbeds and almost stretched to death. She felt like the same thing was happening again.

Percy's grip on her arm was firm, but so was the spider silk on her hurt ankle. Spikes of white hot pain shot up her leg with every tug, and spots danced in her vision.

Percy and Nico must have been discussing something that was lost to the ringing in her ears, because Nico nodded.

He knelt next to Annabeth, and swung his sword. She could see his arms shake with the effort, but his sword was longer than Percy's.

There was a loud snap that seemed to echo in the cavern. The pressure yanking on Annabeth’s ankle released, and she went up, up, up.

Percy's pull on her arm yanked her back over the edge of the pit, and rolled her right over him.

Suddenly, the roles were reversed. Annabeth had been tossed a few feet away from the edge and Percy had slipped halfway into the pit. He was scrabbling for a hold, his knuckles white with the strain of gripping onto the cracked ground.

Nico, who had hobbled over to help Annabeth up, turned at her scream. “PERCY!” Only his fingers were visible now, holding tight.

No escape, said a voice in the darkness below. I go to Tartarus, and if you will not come too, I'll take this one instead… 

Annabeth wasn’t sure if she actually heard Arachne’s voice or if it was just in her mind. The pit shook. Percy's fingers slipped. Nico let out a hoarse wail, Annabeth sobbed.

They both scrambled to the edge of the pit despite the fact that neither of them were in any condition to help. Annabeth sighed in relief when she saw Percy.

He was about fifteen feet down, barely holding onto a ledge the size of a bookshelf. His legs dangled into the abyss and his hands were shaking with the effort of holding his weight by his fingertips.

Nico leaned over the edge of the chasm, thrusting out his hand, but he was much too far away to help. Hazel was yelling for the others, but even if they heard her over all the chaos, they’d never make it in time. 

The force of the Underworld tugged at Annabeth’s hair and clothes like dark gravity as she leaned over the pit.

“Percy!” She called down. Their eyes met. He looked up at Nico, fifteen feet above. 

“The other side, Nico! I’ll see you there. Understand?”

Nico’s eyes widened. “But—”

“Lead them there! Take care of Annabeth!” Percy shouted. “Promise me!”

“I—I will.”

Below them all, the voice laughed in the darkness. Sacrifices. Beautiful sacrifices to wake the goddess. 

Percy's face was gaunt, scraped and bloody. When he locked eyes with her, she thought he had never looked more handsome. “Be safe!”

Annabeth understood what Percy was going to do a moment before he did it. She lunged forward, trying to throw herself over the edge to him, but Nico caught her around the waist with thin arms and tugged her back. 

She heard Hazel still screaming for help. She saw Percy's face illuminated by a single shaft of sunlight from far, far above—maybe the last sunlight he would ever see. Then Percy let go of his tiny ledge and he vanished into the endless darkness.

Annabeth screamed and fought, shoving at Nico with all her might. But even in his weakened state, Nico was able to drag her, hurt ankle and all, back over to Hazel at the ladder.

Annabeth sobbed, scratching at Nico’s stick thin arms and hurling accusations that she herself didn't even register. But she was hurt, tired, and dehydrated- and everything was fading, 

fadi n g, 

f a d i n g

Chapter Text

NINE DAYS. As he fell, Percy thought about some old Greek poet Annabeth used to ramble about. The one who speculated it would take nine days to fall from Olympus to earth and another nine to fall from earth to Tartarus. He hoped that guy was wrong. 

He’d lost track of how long he had been falling – hours? A day? It felt like an eternity. He had seen nothing but darkness since he had let go of that ledge. Wind whistled in Percy’s ears. The air grew hotter and damper, as if he were plummeting into the throat of a massive dragon. 

His face throbbed with open scratches and his arms ached from the muscles he had strained trying to pull himself out of the pit. 

That cursed monster Arachne. Despite having been trapped in her own webbing, smashed by a car and plunged into Tartarus, the spider lady had got her revenge. Somehow her silk had entangled Annabeth’s leg and dragged Percy over the side of the pit. 

Percy couldn’t imagine that Arachne was still alive, somewhere below them in the darkness. But he almost wanted to meet that monster when he reached the bottom. He wanted to shank her for what she had put Annabeth through.

On the downside, assuming there was a bottom, Percy would probably be splattered into a Percy Pancake on impact, so giant spiders were the least of his worries. He tried desperately to think of a way to save himself. He couldn’t think of any way to reverse or even slow his fall. Annabeth, the daughter of Athena that she was, always had a plan. He didn't have the power to fly- not like Jason, who could control the wind, or Frank, who could turn into a winged animal. 

If Percy reached the bottom at terminal velocity… well, he knew just enough science to know it would be terminal. He was seriously wondering whether he could fashion a parachute out of his shirt- that’s how desperate he was- when something about the surroundings changed. 

The darkness took on a grey-red tinge. Percy realized he could see his hands in front of him, and see his hair whipping in front of his face. The whistling in his ears turned into more of a roar. The air became intolerably hot, permeated with a smell like rotten eggs- that meant sulphur, right?

Suddenly, the chute he’d been falling through opened into a vast cavern. Maybe half a mile below, Percy could see the bottom. 

For a moment he was too stunned to think properly. The entire island of Manhattan could have fit inside this cavern- and he couldn’t even see its full extent. Red clouds hung in the air like vaporized blood. The landscape- at least what he could see of it- was rocky black plains, punctuated by jagged mountains and fiery chasms. 

To Percy’s left, the ground dropped away in a series of cliffs, like colossal steps leading deeper into the abyss. The stench of sulphur made it hard to concentrate, but he focused on the ground directly below them and saw a ribbon of glittering black liquid- a river. Percy could control water- assuming that was water below him. He might be able to cushion his fall somehow. 

Of course there were horrible stories about the rivers of the Underworld. They could take away your memories, or burn your body and soul to ashes. But he decided not to think about that. This was his only chance. The river hurtled towards him. At the last second, Percy yelled defiantly. 

The water erupted in a massive geyser and swallowed him whole.

The impact didn’t kill him- but the pain almost did. The river burned like it was eating at his skin and clothes.

Percy grit his teeth- he knew exactly what river he had fallen into. The burning of the Styx was a pain he'd never forgotten.

The last time he swam in the Styx, Percy had needed to focus on his mortal point to keep himself grounded. But this time felt different.

The water still bit at his skin and tugged at his soul- but the effect was fleeting, brief, like it couldn't get a grip.

There was a sudden sound like a deep exhale, and the murky water cleared. Hovering in front of him was a woman. Her eyes spilled black ink like tears that filled the river, her black hair covered by a white hood and cloak.

Percy shivered, kicking upward. The ghostly figure of the woman smirked.

You have already held my blessing once. The river seemed to whisper to him. Percy's head broke the surface and he gasped for breath- the red air burning. I will not give it again. My waters have no hold on you godling. Begone.

Percy blinked and he was no longer floating in the River Styx. He was standing on the river's bank, his legs trembling. He collapsed, dripping with water the color of ink.

“Thanks Styx.” Percy coughed, studying the still black waters, wondering if the goddess could hear him. “Thanks a lot.” He wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or not.

Percy sat back on the beach, his chest heaving and body aching. The sulphurous air stung his lungs and pricked his skin. 

When he looked at his arms, he saw they were already covered with an angry rash. He tried to sit up and gasped in pain. The beach wasn’t sand. He was sitting on a field of jagged black-glass chips, some of which were now embedded in Percy’s palms. So the air was acid. The water refused him. The ground was broken glass. Everything here was designed to hurt and kill. 

Percy took a rattling breath and wondered if fighting for survival was pointless. He would be dead within the hour. A thought crept unbidden into his head: This place smells like Gabe

Percy barked out a hoarse laugh and closed his eyes. His mother, Annabeth, Nico and the rest of his friends. They were counting on him to come back alive and close the Doors of Death. And that meant he couldn’t give up. 

Percy forced himself to take stock. He dug a hand into his pocket and his heart dropped. Riptide was missing, it hadn't returned from when he threw it down the chasm to try and save Annabeth- the weapon he’d carried since he was twelve years old. The realization almost broke him, but he couldn’t let himself dwell on it. Time to grieve later. 

What else did he have? No food, no water… basically no supplies at all. Yep. Off to a great start. He looked pretty bad overall. 

His hair was plastered across his forehead, his T-shirt ripped to shreds. His fingers were scraped raw from holding on to that ledge before he fell. Most worrisome of all, he was shivering and his teeth chattering, but he didn’t feel cold. Wasn't that a sign of something?

“Hypothermia…” Percy said. That sounded right. He struggled to his feet. 

Above, he saw no sign of the tunnel he’d fallen down. He couldn’t even see the cavern roof- just blood-coloured clouds floating in the hazy grey air. It was like staring through a thin mix of tomato soup and cement. The black-glass beach stretched inland about fifty yards, then dropped off the edge of a cliff. 

From where he stood, Percy couldn’t see what was below, but the edge flickered with red light as if illuminated by huge fires. A distant memory tugged at him- something about Tartarus and fire. Tartarus. Fire. That distant memory came into focus. He gazed inland towards the cliff, illuminated by flames from below. 

It was an absolutely crazy idea. But it might be his only chance. He needed to find the River of Fire.

Chapter Text

WHEN HE REACHED THE LEDGE, Percy was sure he’d signed his death warrant. The cliff dropped more than eighty feet. At the bottom stretched a nightmarish version of the Grand Canyon: a river of fire cutting a path through jagged obsidian spikes, the glowing red current casting horrible shadows across the cliff faces. Even from the top of the canyon, the heat was intense, making Percy's face feel raw and sunburnt. 

Every breath took more effort, as if his chest were filled with styrofoam peanuts. The cuts on his hands bled more rather than less. Each step made him wince, muscles in his chest and arms protesting like they were torn. Assuming he could make it down to the fiery river, which he doubted, his plan seemed certifiably insane. 

‘Uh …’ Percy examined the cliff. He noticed a tiny fissure running diagonally from the edge to the bottom. Percy wondered if it was possible to make it down without dying. Of course if he stayed here he would die anyway. Blisters had started to form on his arms from exposure to the Tartarus air. The whole environment was about as healthy as a nuclear blast zone. 

He made his way down. The ledge was barely wide enough to allow a toehold. His hands clawed for any crack in the glassy rock. Half way down Percy had paused to rip off the sleeves of his T-shirt and use the cloth to wrap his bloody palms, but his fingers were still slippery and weak. 

He kept going, one step at a time. Percy’s eyes stung with sweat. His arms trembled. But, to his amazement, he finally made it to the bottom of the cliff. When he reached the ground, he stumbled. His hands hit the ground and he felt a few cuts reopen. 

His vision was blurry. His throat felt blistered, and his stomach was clenched tighter than a fist. I have to hurry, he thought. 

“Just to the river,” Percy said aloud, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. “We can do this.” 

He staggered over slick glass ledges, around massive boulders, avoiding stalagmites that would’ve impaled him with any slip of the foot. His tattered Camp Half-Blood t-shirt steamed from the heat of the river, but he kept going until he crumpled to his knees at the banks of the river of fire. 

Annabeth’s voice sounded in Percy’s memory, as real as if she were beside him. The river is used to punish the wicked. But also… some legends call it the River of Healing. The Phlegethon keeps the wicked in one piece so that they can endure the torments of the Fields of Punishment. I think it might be the Underworld equivalent of ambrosia and nectar 

Percy winced as cinders sprayed from the river, curling around his face. His muscles trembled. “River of Healing… gods I hope this works.” He mumbled. Then he tipped face first into the river.

On first contact, the fire wasn’t painful. It felt cold, which probably meant it was super hot. Everything turned white, like he’d gone blind.

The Phlegethon burned across Percy’s skin like acid. It was different from the Styx. Where the Styx felt like it was pulling you apart, Percy could feel the Phlegethon knitting him back together. Heat seared on every wound and sore muscle, like IcyHot but a thousand times more intense.

The liquid fire filled Percy's mouth, and he expected it to taste like gasoline. It was so much worse. Once, when his mother had brought home a bag of ghost chilli pepper candies from Sweet on America, Percy’d made the mistake of tasting a ghost chilli pepper gummy. After barely nibbling it, he’d thought his throat was going to implode. 

Drinking from the Phlegethon was like gulping down a ghost chilli smoothie. His sinuses filled with liquid flame. His mouth felt like it was being deep-fried. His eyes boiled in their sockets, and every pore on his face popped. 

Then, suddenly, the pain doubled. Percy could feel the heat of the firey water, and the Icyhot feeling turned to just hot. He supposed this meant that there was nothing left to heal, so the river had just gone to burning.

Percy flailed for a moment before dragging himself out of the river. He wasn't wet, just shaky. Very shaky.

Percy shook on the ground for a few moments. Then, the convulsions passed. He took a ragged breath and managed to sit up. He felt horribly weak and nauseous, but his next breath came more easily. The blisters on his arms had faded and his muscles no longer ached. 

“It worked,” he croaked. “Spicy, yet disgusting.” 

Percy laughed weakly, staring up at the blood-coloured clouds swirling in the grey haze. No way would he have the strength to climb back up that cliff, even if he wanted to. Now there were only two choices: downriver or upriver, skirting the banks of the Phlegethon. 

“The Doors of Death.” Percy said to himself. That was his way out. He’d made Nico promise to lead the Argo II to Epirus, to the mortal side of the Doors of Death. 

I'll see you there, Percy had said. That idea seemed even crazier than swimming in fire. How could he wander through Tartarus and find the Doors of Death? 

Percy had barely been able to stumble a hundred yards in this poisonous place without dying. 

“I have to,” Percy said. He wasnt sure who he was talking to. Himself, maybe. The gods? Whoever might be listening? “Not just for me. For everybody you love. The Doors have to be closed on both sides, or the monsters will just keep coming through. Gaia’s forces will overrun the world.”

Downstream, he decided. If the river comes from the upper levels of the Underworld, it should flow deeper into Tartarus.

Percy had only traveled a few hundred yards when he heard voices. The fiery water of the Phlegethon may have healed him and given him strength, but it hadn’t done anything for his hunger or thirst. The river wasn’t about making you feel good, Percy guessed. It just kept you going so you could experience more excruciating pain. 

His head started to droop with exhaustion. Then he heard them- female voices having some sort of argument- and he was instantly alert. He ducked behind the nearest boulder, wedging himself so close against the riverbank that his shoes almost touched the river’s fire. 

On the other side, on the narrow path between the river and the cliffs, voices snarled, getting louder as they approached from upstream. Percy tried to steady her breathing. The voices sounded vaguely human, but that meant nothing. He assumed anything in Tartarus was an enemy. 

He didn’t know how the monsters could have failed to spot him already. Besides, monsters could smell demigods- especially powerful ones like Percy, son of Poseidon. Percy doubted that hiding behind a boulder would do any good when the monsters caught their scent. 

Still, as the monsters got nearer, their voices didn’t change in tone. Their uneven footsteps – scrape, clunk, scrape, clunk – didn’t get any faster. 

“Soon?” one of them asked in a raspy voice, as if she’d been gargling in the Phlegethon. 

“Oh my gods!” said another voice. This one sounded much younger and much more human, like a teenaged mortal girl getting exasperated with her friends at the mall. For some reason, she sounded familiar to Percy “You guys are totally annoying! I told you, it’s like three days from here.” 

There was a chorus of growling and grumbling. The creatures – maybe six, Percy guessed – had paused just on the other side of the boulder, but still they gave no indication that they’d caught the demigod’s scent. Percy wondered if demigods didn’t smell the same in Tartarus, or if the other scents here were so powerful they masked a demigod’s aura. 

“I wonder,” said a third voice, gravelly and ancient like the first, “if perhaps you do not know the way, young one.”

“Oh, shut your fang hole, Serephone,” said the mall girl. “When’s the last time you escaped to the mortal world? I was there a couple of years ago. I know the way! Besides, I understand what we’re facing up there. You don’t have a clue!” 

“The Earth Mother did not make you boss!” shrieked a fourth voice. More hissing, scuffling and feral screeches – like giant alley cats fighting. 

At last the one called Serephone yelled, “Enough!” The scuffling died down. “We will follow for now,” Serephone said. “But if you do not lead us well, if we find you have lied about the summons of Gaia –” 

“I don’t lie!” snapped the mall girl. “Believe me, I’ve got good reason to get into this battle. I have some enemies to devour, and you’ll feast on the blood of heroes. Just leave one special morsel for me – the one named Percy Jackson. Believe me,” said the mall girl. “Gaia has called us, and we’re going to have so much fun. Before this war is over, mortals and demigods will tremble at the sound of my name – Kelli!”

 Percy almost yelped aloud. Empousai. Vampires. He remembered Kelli. Two years ago, at Percy’s freshman orientation, he and Rachel Dare had been attacked by empousai disguised as cheerleaders. One of them had been Kelli. 

Later, the same empousa had attacked them in Daedalus’s workshop. Annabeth had stabbed her in the back and sent her… here. To Tartarus. The creatures shuffled off, their voices getting fainter. 

Percy crept to the edge of the boulder and risked a glimpse. Sure enough, five women staggered along on mismatched legs- mechanical bronze on the left, shaggy and cloven-hooved on the right. Their hair was made of fire, their skin as white as bone. Most of them wore tattered Ancient Greek dresses, except for the one in the lead, Kelli, who wore a burnt and torn blouse with a short pleated skirt… her cheerleader’s outfit. 

Percy decided to follow them. If they were heading to the Doors of Death- he needed to know the way.

Chapter Text

HE FOLLOWED THE RIVER PHLEGETHON, stumbling over the glassy black terrain, jumping into crevices and hiding behind rocks whenever the vampire girls slowed in front of him. It was tricky to stay far enough back to avoid getting spotted but close enough to keep Kelli and her comrades in view through the dark hazy air. 

The heat from the river baked Percy’s skin. Every breath was like inhaling sulphur-scented fibreglass. When he needed a drink, the best he could do was sip some refreshing liquid fire. 

Physically, Percy felt better after his swim in the fire water, though his clothes looked like he’d been through a hurricane of broken glass. He was thirsty, hungry and scared out of his mind, but he’d shaken off the soul deep cold of the River Styx. And as nasty as the firewater tasted it seemed to keep him going. 

Time was impossible to judge. He trudged along, following the river as it cut through the harsh landscape. Fortunately the empousai weren’t exactly speed walkers. They shuffled on their mismatched bronze and donkey legs, hissing and fighting with each other, apparently in no hurry to reach the Doors of Death. 

Once, the demons sped up in excitement and swarmed something that looked like a beached carcass on the riverbank. Percy couldn’t tell what it was- a fallen monster? An animal of some kind? The empousai attacked it with relish. 

When the demons moved on, Percy reached the spot and found nothing left except a few splintered bones and glistening stains drying in the heat of the river. Percy had no doubt the empousai would devour demigods with the same gusto. 

With slight disgust, and a gut-deep desire for Riptide, Percy grabbed one of the sharper looking bones. He washed it briefly in the liquid fire and clutched it tight before hurrying to keep up with the vampires.

As he walked, Percy thought about the first time he’d fought the empousa Kelli at Goode High School’s freshman orientation, when he and Rachel Elizabeth Dare got trapped in the band hall. At the time, it had seemed like a hopeless situation. Now, he’d give anything to have a problem that simple. At least he’d been in the mortal world then. Here, there was nowhere to run. 

Wow. When he started looking back on the war with Kronos as the good old days – that was sad. He kept hoping things would get better for him, but his life just got more and more dangerous, as if the Three Fates were up there spinning his future with barbed wire instead of thread just to see how much one demigod could tolerate. 

It made Percy want to scream and throw things. It made him want to tie the threads of fate around their necks and hang them all. However, that wasn't really an option. So instead, Percy walked.

After a few more miles, the empousai disappeared over a ridge. When Percy caught up, he found himself at the edge of another massive cliff. The River Phlegethon spilled over the side in jagged tiers of fiery waterfalls. The demon ladies were picking their way down the cliff, jumping from ledge to ledge like mountain goats. 

Percy’s heart crept into his throat. Even if he reached the bottom of the cliff alive, he didn’t have much to look forward to. The landscape below was a bleak ash-grey plain bristling with black trees, like insect hair. The ground was pocked with blisters. Every once in a while, a bubble would swell and burst, disgorging a monster like a larva from an egg. 

Suddenly Percy wasn’t hungry any more. All the newly formed monsters were crawling and hobbling in the same direction- towards a bank of black fog that swallowed the horizon like a storm front. 

The Phlegethon flowed in the same direction until about halfway across the plain, where it met another river of black water- maybe the Styx? The two floods combined in a steaming, boiling cataract and flowed on as one towards the black fog. 

The longer Percy looked into that storm of darkness, the less he wanted to go there. It could be hiding anything- an ocean, a bottomless pit, an army of monsters. But if the Doors of Death were in that direction it was his only chance to get home. He peered over the edge of the cliff. 

“Wish I could fly,” he grumbled. Percy remembered Luke’s winged shoes. “I wonder if they’re still down here somewhere.” He muttered. Those shoes had been cursed to drag their wearer into Tartarus. They’d almost taken his best friend, Grover.

He couldn’t see the empousai below them any more. They’d disappeared behind one of the ridges, but that didn’t matter. It was clear where he needed to go. Like all the maggot monsters crawling over the plains of Tartarus, he should head towards the dark horizon. Percy was just brimming with enthusiasm for that.

Percy considered for a moment. If Annabeth were here, she'd surely stop him from doing what he was about to do. But she's not here. His mind whispered.

Percy looked around again to ensure there were no nearby monsters. Then, he cupped his hands around his mouth, and as loud as his dry throat would allow, he shouted: “MAIA!”

The word, the magic command to activate the flying shoes Percy had been thinking of, rolled over the dark plains. For a moment, Percy was disappointed- even though he really shouldn't have expected that to work.

Then, there came a flap, flap, flap sound from nearby. Percy's heart rose.

He turned in the direction of the sound. It was echoing from around twenty yards away. Among the jagged obsidian boulders rose large spires of obsidian that formed a circle reaching upwards. The glossy black rock was twisted, and looked like something a child might make out of Play-doh: sloppily plopped on the landscape as an afterthought rather than an original feature.

Percy scrambled over to the circle of spikes. They were large, like tree trunks, with enough space for Percy to barely slip through if he wanted to. 

He let out a joyful laugh as a pair of black converse shoes with white wings shot out of the circle. They flapped around his head and bounced off his temple like they were happy to see him too.

“Maia!” Percy said again, and the shoes folded in their wings and settled right in front of him.

Percy sent a quick prayer of thanks to Hermes, though he wasn't sure if Hermes had anything to do with it- or if he could even hear this prayer at all. Then he gleefully stripped off his old shoes- which had been torn nearly to shreds at this point- and pulled on the converse, which were nearly in perfect condition (aside from the fake foot Percy had to fish out of one).

He stood, and the shoe’s wings sprouted and flapped a few times. Not enough to lift him, but enough to make Percy grin.

“How convenient was that?” Percy asked himself. He took a half glance into the circle made by the obsidian spires, where the shoes had been living.

Percy’s grin and stomach dropped as one. In the center of the circle, on a sunken dais, sat a dreadfully familiar coffin.

It was cracked in half and the lid was nowhere to be found, but Percy could still vividly see in his mind's eyes the moment Luke Castellan, eyes gold, had risen from that same coffin. The ground was decorated by shattered chains, celestial bronze links as thick as Percy's arm cracked down the middle.

Percy had no idea if the coffin was the same one, or if this was the original and the one he had seen on Mount Othrys was a replica or vice versa. All he knew was that he wanted nothing to do with it.

“Let's get the fuck outta here…” Percy mumbled, stepping back from the spires. Then he frowned. “And I'm talking to shoes now. Great.”

He turned and continued his trek to the side of the cliff. With the winged shoes, it was easy (after he had crashed twice and gotten the controls down) for Percy to flutter down the cliff and land softly at the bottom. He paused to sit on the bank of the Phlegethon, sipping some fire water as opposed to throwing himself in it this time.

Ahead of him stretched miles of wasteland, bubbling with monstrous larvae and big insect-hair trees. To his right, the Phlegethon split into branches that etched the plain, widening into a delta of smoke and fire. 

To the north, along the main route of the river, the ground was riddled with cave entrances. Here and there, spires of rock jutted up like exclamation points. Under Percy’s hand, the soil felt alarmingly warm and smooth. He tried to grab a handful, then realized that, under a thin layer of dirt and debris, the ground was a single vast membrane… like skin. 

He almost threw up, but forced himself not to. There was nothing in his stomach but fire. 

Percy had started to feel like something was watching him– something vast and malevolent. The feel of skin under his fingers only made him more uneasy, contributing to a forming idea that made his stomach turn. 

He couldn’t zero in on it, because the presence was all around him. Watching was the wrong word, too. That implied eyes, and this thing was simply aware of him, like he might be aware of a fly landing on his nose. 

The ridges above him now looked less like steps and more like rows of massive teeth. The spires of rock looked like broken ribs. And if the ground was skin… Percy forced those thoughts aside. 

Percy stood, wiping skin-soil from his hands. He gazed towards the darkness on the horizon. I'm going to be completely exposed, crossing this plain.

About a hundred yards ahead, a blister burst on the ground. A monster clawed its way out… a glistening telkhine with slick fur, a seal-like body and stunted human limbs. It managed to crawl a few yards before something shot out of the nearest cave, so fast that Percy could only register a dark green reptilian head. 

The monster snatched the squealing telkhine in its jaws and dragged it into the darkness. Reborn in Tartarus for two seconds, only to be eaten. Percy wondered if that telkhine would pop up in some other place in Tartarus, and how long it would take to re-form. 

He swallowed down the sour taste of firewater. He took one last look at the cliffs, but there was no going back. He started walking, trying to avoid the cave entrances, sticking close to the bank of the river. 

He was just skirting one of the spires when a glint of movement caught Percy’s eye – something darting between the rocks to his right. 

A monster following him? Or maybe it was just some random baddie, heading for the Doors of Death. 

Suddenly he remembered why he’d started following this route, and he froze in his tracks. “The empousai.”

Percy scanned a three-sixty, his eyes narrowed. Maybe the demon ladies had been snapped up by that reptile in the cave. 

If the empousai were still ahead of him, they should’ve been visible somewhere on the plains. Unless they were hiding… Too late, Percy hefted the sharp bone he had picked up. 

The empousai emerged from the rocks all around him- five of them forming a ring. A perfect trap. 

Kelli limped forward on her mismatched legs. Her fiery hair burned across her shoulders like a miniature Phlegethon waterfall. Her tattered cheerleader outfit was splattered with rusty-brown stains, and Percy was pretty sure they weren’t ketchup. She fixed him with her glowing red eyes and bared her fangs. 

“Percy Jackson,” she cooed. “How awesome! I, like, don’t even have to return to the mortal world to destroy you!”

Chapter Text

FRANK WOKE UP AS A PYTHON, which puzzled him. Changing into an animal wasn’t confusing. He did that all the time. 

But he had never changed from one animal to another in his sleep before. He was pretty sure he hadn’t dozed off as a snake. Usually, he slept like a dog. He’d discovered that he got through the night much better if he curled up on his bunk in the shape of a bulldog. For whatever reason, his nightmares didn’t bother him as much. The constant screaming in his head almost disappeared. 

He had no idea why he’d become a reticulated python, but it did explain his dream about slowly swallowing a cow. His jaw was still sore. He braced himself and changed back to human form. Immediately, his splitting headache returned, along with the voices. 

Fight them! yelled Mars. Take this ship! Defend Rome! 

The voice of Ares shouted back: Kill the Romans! Blood and death! Large guns! 

His father’s Roman and Greek personalities screamed back and forth in Frank’s mind with the usual soundtrack of battle noises – explosions, assault rifles, roaring jet engines – all throbbing like a subwoofer behind Frank’s eyes. 

He sat up on his berth, dizzy with pain. As he did every morning, he took a deep breath and stared at the lamp on his desk – a tiny flame that burned night and day, fuelled by magic olive oil from the supply room. Fire… Frank’s biggest fear. Keeping an open flame in his room terrified him, but it also helped him focus. The noise in his head faded into the background, allowing him to think. 

He’d got better at this, but for days he’d been almost as incapacitated as Annabeth. As soon as the fighting broke out at Camp Jupiter, the war god’s two voices had started screaming non-stop. 

Ever since, Frank had been stumbling around in a daze, barely able to function. He’d acted like a fool, and he was sure his friends thought he’d lost his marbles. He couldn’t tell them what was wrong. There was nothing they could do and, from listening to them talk, Frank was pretty sure they didn’t have the same problem with their godly parents yelling in their ears. 

Just Frank’s luck, but he had to pull it together. His friends needed him- especially now, with Annabeth... 

Annabeth had been kind to him. Even when he was so distracted he’d acted like a buffoon, Annabeth had been patient and helpful. Not anymore. That wasn't to say she was mean- but it wasn't to say she wasn't mean either.

Ever since that day in Rome, when Jason had flown down to grab the others from Arachne’s cavern, only to find Hazel and Nico holding an unconscious Annabeth, dangling over the void with Percy nowhere to be found.

Well, to say things had been tense would be an understatement. 

Hazel had encountered the goddess Hecate and returned with a farting polecat that followed her around and directions on where to go next. She spent most of her time talking to Nico or meditating.

Leo did his best to navigate according to what Hazel said about their route, but he seemed mostly focused on installing some sphere into the ship, making fortifications, and- more recently- attacking dwarves. He had revealed that he felt responsible for Percy’s fall into Tartarus.

Nico di Angelo seemed to be in the same boat as Leo. He slouched around, shoulders hunched and his face guilty. He only spoke to Hazel.

Jason was truly the only person holding together. He did his best to talk to everyone aboard the Argo II, even Annabeth, who had managed to shout everyone but Piper out of her room.

Speaking of Piper, she spent her days entirely focused on Annabeth. She sat in her room every day, and if you passed by the hall you could often hear Piper whispering gently to a catatonic Annabeth.

Annabeth was the worst of all. As they left Rome, Hazel and Nico had set her up in the medical bay. There was a group discussion while she was unconscious, and before she woke the Argo II had already set flight for Epirus. When the daughter of Athena had awoken and realized they were on the move, she had flown into a rage.

The blonde had stormed up to the top deck, and started spitting vitriol at everyone. Nico and Hazel got the worst of her anger, supposedly for failing to save Percy, but everyone else got some as well. 

She had then locked herself in her cabin for three days straight. After which even Piper, who had told them all to give her space to calm down and grieve, decided that it was time to intervene.

Jason had tried first, knocking on her door and, when there was no answer, letting himself in. Annabeth had screamed him out of the room, throwing anything she could reach. Every other member of the Argo II had received the same reaction, and they had eventually given up.

All except Piper. Every morning, Piper made the trek from her cabin to Annabeth’s, where she would greet the girl. Piper had gotten past the screaming stage, and Annabeth would lay, unmoving and silent in her berth when Piper was in the room. Still, any sight or sound of anyone else and she would fly into a frenzy.

While Ares screamed that Athena’s children couldn’t be trusted and Mars bellowed at him to kill all the Greeks, Frank had grown to respect Annabeth. 

Now that they were without her, Frank was the next best thing the group had to a military strategist. They would need him for the trip ahead. 

He rose and got dressed. Fortunately he’d managed to buy some new clothes in Siena a couple of days ago, replacing the laundry that Leo had sent flying away on Buford the table. (Long story.) 

He tugged on some Levi’s and an army-green T-shirt, then reached for his favourite pullover before remembering he didn’t need it. The weather was too warm. 

More important, he didn’t need the pockets any more to protect the magical piece of firewood that controlled his life span. Hazel was keeping it safe for him. Maybe that should have made him nervous. If the firewood burned, Frank died: end of story. But he trusted Hazel more than he trusted himself. Knowing she was safeguarding his big weakness made him feel better – like he’d fastened his seat belt for a high-speed chase. 

He slung his bow and quiver over his shoulder. Immediately they morphed into a regular backpack. Frank loved that. He never would’ve known about the quiver’s camouflage power if Leo hadn’t figured it out for him. 

Leo! Mars raged. He must die! Throttle him! 

Ares cried. Throttle everyone! Who are we talking about again? The two began shouting at each other again, over the sound of bombs exploding in Frank’s skull. 

He steadied himself against the wall. For days, Frank had listened to those voices demanding Leo Valdez’s death. After all, Leo had started the war with Camp Jupiter by firing a ballista into the Forum. Sure, he’d been possessed at the time, but still Mars demanded vengeance. 

Leo made things harder by constantly teasing Frank, and Ares demanded that Frank retaliate for every insult. Frank kept the voices at bay, but it wasn’t easy. On their trip across the Atlantic, Leo had said something that still stuck in Frank’s mind. 

When they’d learned that Gaia the evil earth goddess had put a bounty on their heads, Leo had wanted to know for how much. I can understand not being as pricey as Jason or Percy, he’d said, but am I worth, like, two or three Franks? 

Just another one of Leo’s stupid jokes, but the comment hit a little too close to home. On the Argo II, Frank definitely felt like the LVP – Least Valuable Player. Sure, he could turn into animals. So what? His biggest claim to helpfulness so far had been changing into a weasel to escape from an underground workshop, and even that had been Leo’s idea. 

Frank was better known for the Giant Goldfish Fiasco in Atlanta and, just yesterday, for turning into a two-hundred-kilo gorilla only to get knocked senseless by a flash-bang grenade. Leo hadn’t made any gorilla jokes at his expense yet. But it was only a matter of time. 

Kill him! Torture him! Then kill him! The two sides of the war god seemed to be kicking and punching each other inside Frank’s head, using his sinuses as a wrestling mat. 

Blood! Guns! Rome! War! 

Quiet down, Frank ordered. Amazingly, the voices obeyed. Okay, then, Frank thought. 

Maybe he could finally get those annoying screaming mini-gods under control. Maybe today would be a good day. That hope was shattered as soon as he climbed above deck. 

Chapter Text

PERCY RECALLED HOW DANGEROUS Kelli had been the last time they’d fought in the Labyrinth. Despite those mismatched legs, she could move fast when she wanted to. She’d dodged his sword strikes and would have eaten his face if Annabeth hadn’t stabbed her from behind. 

Now she had four friends with her. Percy wasn't in good shape for battle, he had no sword, only a jagged bone, and he was hopelessly outnumbered. 

There was nowhere to run. 

No help coming. 

Briefly Percy considered calling for Mrs O’Leary, his hellhound friend who could shadow-travel. Even if she heard him, could she make it into Tartarus? This was where monsters went when they died. Calling her here might kill her, or turn her back to her natural state as a fierce monster.

No… he couldn’t do that to his dog. So, no help. Fighting was a long shot. That left Annabeth’s favourite tactics: trickery, talk, delay. 

“So …” he started, “I guess you’re wondering what I'm doing in Tartarus.”

Kelli snickered. “Not really. I just want to kill you.”

That would’ve been it, but Percy kept going. “Too bad,” he said. “Because you have no idea what’s going on in the mortal world.”

The other empousai circled, watching Kelli for a cue to attack, but the ex-cheerleader only snarled, crouching out of reach of Percy’s bone club. 

“We know enough,” Kelli said. “Gaia has spoken.”

“You’re heading towards a major defeat.” Percy taunted. He sounded so confident, even he was impressed. He glanced at the other empousai, one by one, then pointed accusingly at Kelli. “This one claims she’s leading you to a victory. She’s lying. The last time she was in the mortal world, Kelli was in charge of keeping my Luke Castellan faithful to Kronos. In the end, Luke rejected him. He gave his life to expel Kronos. The Titans lost because Kelli failed. Now Kelli wants to lead you to another disaster.” 

The other empousai muttered and shifted uneasily. “Enough!” Kelli’s fingernails grew into long black talons. She glared at Percy as if imagining him sliced into small pieces. Percy was pretty sure Kelli had had a thing for Luke Castellan. Luke had that effect on people – even donkey-legged vampires – and Percy suddenly wasn’t sure bringing up his name was such a good idea. 

“He lies,” Kelli snapped. “So the Titans lost. Fine! That was part of the plan to wake Gaia! Now the Earth Mother and her giants will destroy the mortal world, and we will totally feast on demigods!”

The other vampires gnashed their teeth in a frenzy of excitement. Percy had been in the middle of a school of sharks when the water was full of blood. That wasn’t nearly as scary as empousai ready to feed. 

He prepared to attack, but how many could he dispatch before they overwhelmed him? It wouldn’t be enough.

“The demigods have united!” He yelled, pulling something from the top of his head. “You’d better think twice before you attack us. Romans and Greeks will fight you together. You don’t stand a chance!” 

The empousai backed up nervously, hissing, “Romani.” Percy guessed they’d had experience with the Twelfth Legion before and it hadn’t worked out well for them. 

“Yeah, Romani.” Percy bared his forearm and showed them the brand he’d got at Camp Jupiter – the SPQR mark, with the trident of Neptune. “You mix Greek and Roman, and you know what you get? You get BAM!”

He stomped his foot, and the empousai scrambled back. One fell off the boulder where she’d been perched. That made Percy feel good, but they recovered quickly and closed in again. 

“Bold talk,” Kelli said, “for a demigod lost in Tartarus. Lower your weapon, Percy Jackson, and I’ll kill you quickly. Believe me, there are worse ways to die down here.”

“Wait!” He tried again. “Aren’t empousai the servants of Hecate?”

Kelli curled her lip. “So?” 

“So Hecate is on our side now,” Percy said. “She has a cabin at Camp Half-Blood. If you fight me, she’ll be angry.”

 One of the other empousai growled. “Is this true, Kelli? Has our mistress made peace with Olympus?”

“Shut up, Serephone!” Kelli screeched. “Gods, you’re annoying!”

“I will not cross the Dark Lady.” 

Percy took the opening. “You’d all be better following Serephone. She’s older and wiser.” 

“Yes!” Serephone shrieked. “Follow me!” 

Kelli struck so fast, Percy didn’t have the chance to raise his sword. Fortunately, she didn’t attack him. Kelli lashed out at Serephone. For half a second, the two demons were a blur of slashing claws and fangs. 

Then it was over. 

Kelli stood triumphant over a pile of dust. From her claws hung the tattered remains of Serephone’s dress. 

“Any more issues?” Kelli snapped at her sisters. “Hecate is the goddess of the Mist! Her ways are mysterious. Who knows which side she truly favours? She is also the goddess of the crossroads, and she expects us to make our own choices. I choose the path that will bring us the most demigod blood! I choose Gaia!” Her friends hissed in approval. 

Percy’s stomach sank. He was out of ideas, now there was nothing left but to fight. 

“For two years I churned in the void,” Kelli said. “Do you know how completely annoying it is to be vaporized, Percy Jackson? Slowly re-forming, fully conscious, in searing pain for months and years as your body regrows, then finally breaking the crust of this hellish place and clawing your way back to daylight? All because some little girl stabbed you in the back?” Her baleful eyes held Percy’s. “I wonder what happens if a demigod is killed in Tartarus. I doubt it’s ever happened before. Let’s find out.”

Percy sprang, slashing the bone in a huge arc. He cut one of the demons in half, but Kelli dodged. The other two empousai launched themselves at Percy. One grabbed his sword arm. Her friend jumped on his back. 

Percy thrashed from side to side, trying to throw off his empousa hitch-hiker. The demon went flying, screaming as she flung right into the Phlegethon. She must not have had any injuries to heal, or perhaps the river of fire worked differently for monsters, because in a moment all that was left of her was a few charred bones.

The second empousa had her claws in his arm, preventing him from using the bone. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kelli lunge, raking her talons across his arm. Percy stumbled. Kelli sank her teeth into his neck. Searing pain coursed through his body. His knees buckled. 

Stay on your feet, he told himself. You have to beat them. Then the other vampire bit his sword arm, and his bone clattered to the ground. That was it. His luck had finally run out. Kelli loomed over him, savouring her moment of triumph. Then a shadow fell across Percy

“Mrrow?” Kelli turned. The other empousa turned. Percy blinked.

Standing a few feet away was a calico kitten with big orange eyes. Suddenly, all Kelli’s attention was solely on the kitten. She hissed like a feral animal.

The kitten did not like that. It started hissing as well. Kelli hissed louder. The kitten leapt at her.

Percy was worried he was going to have to watch the poor little thing die. Then- suddenly, the kitten was a tiger. A full grown, sabertooth tiger. 

Percy gaped. Kelli screamed. The tiger licked blood off his paws.

Percy slowly got to his feet, shocked. A kitten had just appeared, turned into a sabertooth tiger, and killed two empousai in the span of a few seconds.

The sabertooth tiger stood up and stretched. Between one blink of the eye and the next, the calico kitten was back.

The kitten weaved through the bodies of the empousai (apparently monsters didn't dissolve in Tartarus, who knew), and made it's way over to Percy.

“Hey buddy…” Percy said warily. The kitten rubbed up against his ankles, purring so loudly that the rocks nearby rattled.

It looked up at him. “Mew.” 

Percy’s heart melted. “Thanks for the help, man.” He said, crouching down to run his filthy fingers through the kitten's fur. The kitten pressed into his hand, still purring. “You're one of those kitties from the Smithsonian, huh?” He cooed at it. The kitten looked up at him with big orange eyes, and like he was agreeing, suddenly flashed skeletal, like someone had put him behind x-ray machine.

Percy grinned and gathered the kitten up in his arms. The kitten wiggled up and settled on his shoulder's like an oddly shaped scarf.

“We need to name you, huh?” Percy asked. He picked his way through the bodies of the empousai over to the Phlegethon.

He cupped the fire water in one hand and let it drip over the wounds on his arm and neck. The fire burned, but it healed him easily. “What about… Nemo?”

The kitten, who had been making biscuits on his shoulder, hissed. Percy chuckled.

“No you're right- that's kinda basic. Um… what about Leviathan?” Percy asked. “LevI for short? It's kinda like you- you're big and strong but you look all fluffy.”

The kitten had gone back to kneading his shoulder, and purred his agreement. 

“Yeah?” Percy asked, slowly getting to his feet. The newly dubbed Levi the cat rubbed his head along the underside of Percy’s chin. “Sounds good, Levi.”

Percy took a deep breath, already regretting it as poisonus air filled his lungs. Percy’s stomach grumbled, his gut aching.

He was tired- fighting with the empousai had really sapped his energy. Percy wanted nothing more than to curl up right where he was and sleep for a year. 

Well, no- what he really wanted was a fresh meal, a shower, a most of all- a safe place to stay. Preferably with his mom.

Thinking about his mom made Percy’s heart ache almost as much as his stomach. He hadn't seen her in almost a year, and he longed to feel her hugs or taste her cooking again.

Percy’s stomach growled at the thought of his mother’s cooking. Levi meowed and leapt off of Percy’s shoulders. He pranced over to the closest Empousa.

Curious, Percy looked over at Levi. The calico kitten extended his little claws and planted them in the dead empousa’s shoulder. He dipped his maw and bit into the vampire.

Percy recoiled as his new companion began to eagerly strip flesh from a carcass. He wanted to feel disgusted, or frightened as Levi gulped down a bloody chunk of Kelli’s arm, purring like a motor.

Percy knew he should be horrified. After all, these creatures looked like humans, they thought, talked, and felt like humans. But Percy couldn't bring himself to feel revolted. Instead, his stomach growled.

“Gods forgive me…” Percy mumbled. Levi let out a happy mew as Percy crouched next to a second fallen vampire.

It was the one he had cut in half, her body bloody and actually still conected, barely, by the skin of her stomach. Slowly, feeling like a monster, Percy leaned forward.

He grabbed the empousa’s donkey leg and hip, hoping that eating the animal part of the body would assuage his guilt. Some people, mortal people, ate horses and donkeys after all.

Percy braced his weight on the hip joint and yanked.

The first sound was the crack as Percy felt and heard the empousa's hip socket shatter as he pulled her leg free. As Percy kept pulling, the sound and feel changed.

Percy remembered vividly preparing chicken once with his mom. He was about six, and his mom had tasked him with cutting the chicken breasts.

Percy hadn't been able to handle the knife, so he had peeled apart the raw chicken with his little fingers and handed it to his mom to fry. It had sounded gross, wet and stringy- it sounded like, well ligaments tearing.

The sound of tearing a donkey leg from a woman was like ripping raw chicken, but a thousand times worse. He could feel the post-mortem spasms as he pulled the leg free, each muscle tearing as he did.

He almost threw up, but the hunger clawing at his insides pushed him onward. Finally, through the dim red gloom of Tartarus, Percy could see the skin start to strain. 

There was a sound like tearing fabric, then- SQUELCH. Percy jolted back a bit as the leg tore free with a spurt of blood. Percy grimaced as empousa blood splattered his arms and chest, but he released a breath that he hadn't realized he was holding.

Levi rumbled in interest and sat beside Percy, licking eagerly at his bloody arms. Percy grinned down at his kitten. He was sure he looked a little unhinged- but he had food.

Levi seemed happy to go to town, jumping and pawing at the mutilated ligaments and torn arteries that dangled from the torn and mutilated joint. Percy, however, wasn't keen on the idea of biting into the matted fur.

Percy’s eyes fell on the Phlegethon, roaring along with its dancing flames.

-

Crouched on a large, flat piece of obsidian Percy again pulled the donkey leg out of the river of fire to check on it.

Holding it by the hoof, Percy was able to slow roast the meat with the heat of the river. Percy’s stomach growled when, upon pulling the empousa leg close to test it, the scent of roasted meat temporarily overpowered the stench of sulphur.

“It's definitely been cooked enough that we won't get diseases- right?” Percy asked Levi. Levi, who was loafed on the rock next to him, eyed the roasted leg like he might leap onto it.

“Rrrrr” Levi half purred, half meowed. Percy took that as agreement. He wasn't even sure undead sabertooth kitten's could get diseases, and he was even less sure that Levi understood him at all, but Percy needed to talk to someone or he’d go mad.

In fact, Percy thought that finding Levi had given him a reason to keep going. He wasn't sure if he could have plucked up the motivation to keep moving without the little kitten. But Levi was here. And Percy was going to make it through the Doors of Death and back to earth to show Levi the sun and the sky.

Percy’s thoughts were interrupted by the growling of his own stomach. He turned his attention back to his food.

With no available silverware, Percy made do with using the sharp end of his fighting bone to slice open the donkey leg down to the bone.

The meat was hot enough that even next to the Phlegethon cutting it open released wisps of steam into the air. Percy ravenously dug his fingers into the meat, pulling out greasy chunks and shoving them into his mouth.

He ignored the pain in his fingertips as he plunged them back into the hot donkey. He peeled another strip of steaming donkey meat off of the bone and held it out to Levi.

The cat chirped happily and snapped it up with a clack of his little needle teeth. Levi finished by giving Percy’s fingers a few licks.

Percy smiled and set the donkey leg down on the obsidian that reflected the firelight like it was doused in oil. Levi happily started gnawing on the leg, leaving Percy to tear off bites with his fingers.

It didn't take long until Percy was full, uncomfortably so. He had heard something about your stomach shrinking if you didn't eat for a long time, and considering he hadn't eaten since…

…a while, he wasn't surprised. Still, it was disappointing that by the time Levi had also eaten his fill, the leg still had a lot of meat left on the bone. 

Percy had to choose between carrying the food and carrying his makeshift sword/sharp bone. He made sure Levi was done eating before he kicked the roasted leg into the Phlegethon, watching a charred donkey femur bob to the surface after a few moments.

“Alright.” Percy said, standing up. “Ready to keep moving?” He looked down at Levi, who wound twice around his ankles before mewing. “To the Doors then.”

Chapter Text

AFTER ENTERING THE STORM FRONT, they plodded on for what seemed like hours- time was hard here. Percy had a watch, an old model from his mom, but every time he glanced at it, the time was different. He'd walk for what felt like an hour, only to look down and see his watch declaring no time at all had passed. Or he'd be looking at his watch and blink, only to see the numbers jump forward five hours.

He was mostly relying on the very faint light that Levi emitted when he would flash skeletal to avoid obstacles. Percy could only see about five feet in front of him. He could only hope he was still heading toward the center of the storm, to the Doors, and not skirting the outside.

In Tartarus, the fog was made of ink. Rocks loomed out of nowhere. Pits appeared at his feet, and Percy only avoided falling in because Levi would yowl a warning from his arms whenever he got too close to an edge.

Monstrous roars echoed in the gloom, but Percy couldn’t tell where they came from. All he could be certain of was that the terrain was still sloping down. Down seemed to be the only direction allowed in Tartarus.

If Percy backtracked even a step, he felt tired and heavy, as if gravity were increasing to discourage him. Assuming that the entire pit was the body of Tartarus, Percy had a nasty feeling he and Levi were marching straight down his throat. 

He was so preoccupied with that thought she didn’t notice the ledge until it was too late. Percy yelled, “Whoa!” and Levi let out a caterwaul.

Fortunately, it was only a shallow depression. Most of it was filled with a monster blister. He had a soft landing on a warm bouncy surface and was feeling lucky– until he opened his eyes and found himself staring through a glowing gold membrane at another, much larger face. 

He yelped and flailed, toppling sideways off the mound. His heart did a hundred jumping jacks. Levi, who had jumped ship as Percy fell and had been pacing along the edge of the crater, wound his way around Percy’s legs and hissed at the monster blister.

“Gods of Olympus…” Percy mumbled, repulsed. Curled in the membrane bubble in front of him was a fully formed Titan in golden armour, his skin the colour of polished pennies. His eyes were closed, but he scowled so deeply he appeared to be on the verge of a bloodcurdling war cry. Even through the blister, Percy could feel the heat radiating from his body. 

“Hyperion,” Percy told Levi, who had batted a paw experimentally at the bubble. “I hate that guy.” 

During the Battle of Manhattan, Percy had fought this Titan at the Reservoir- water against fire. It had been the first time he had summoned a hurricane. Though he thought Grover turned this guy into a maple tree. Maybe the maple tree died, and he wound up back here? 

Percy remembered how Hyperion had summoned fiery explosions and how many satyrs and nymphs he’d destroyed before he and Grover stopped him. Hyperion looked ready to pop out at any moment and start charbroiling everything in his path. 

Levi hissed at the blister again, which he had scratched at to no avail. Percy grimaced, hefting his sharpened bone.

Percy couldn't climb on top of the blister, the membrane too smooth and taut. So, he would just have to aim well. He carefully lined up the tip of his weapon with the spot where the titan’s face shimmered beneath a layer of skin and liquid.

Percy plunged down. There was a squirting noise and the blister popped.

Instead of a body, the only thing that exploded from the monster blister was golden sludge.

It was boiling hot and gross. Percy wiped titan goo from his eyes to find Levi, tail fluffed out in anger, bristling from behind his legs.

Through the past couple hoursdays minutesseconds howlonghowlonghowlong Percy had come to learn that Levi had a bit on an attitude. The little kitten had a habit of running forward, claws extended to anything that offended him, even rocks and, on occasion, his own reflection.

It was no surprise to Percy when Levi, clearly disgusted by the exploded titan gunk, scrambled his way up to sit on Percy’s shoulder. Percy chuckled slightly, running a finger down Levi’s spine.

The cat meowed and Percy stepped carefully over piles of steaming sludge to get out of the shallow crater. Time to keep walking. 

Percy continued his trek. His feet ached like he had frostbite. Every cut on his body stung. Unfortunately, he had lost sight of the Phlegethon when he entered the fog, so he had no way to heal. At least the air seemed to have lessened in toxicity and his flying shoes offered better protection to his feet than his original shoes.

It took another minutedayhouryear before the landscape changed again. At first, Percy thought that Levi had lit up again. However, a quick glance at his feline friend revealed that it wasn't true. Still, the darkness that had been pressing on his eyes began to lift, black turning to reddish gray.

Ahead in the gloom, the terrain levelled out into a black swamp. Sulphur-yellow mist hung in the air. Even without sunlight, there were actual plants – clumps of reeds, scrawny leafless trees, even a few sickly-looking flowers blooming in the muck. Mossy trails wound between bubbling tar pits. Percy paused, taking in the new landscape.

Directly in front of him, sunk into the bog, were footprints the size of trash can lids, with long, pointed toes. Sadly, Percy was pretty sure he knew what had made them.

He hurried forward, placing a hand on Levi to prevent him from falling off his shoulder, hopping from moss patch to moss patch and praying to Poseidon that he didn’t fall in a sinkhole. 

Levi just purred and snuggled up. Finally the yellow mist parted, revealing a muddy clearing like an island in the muck. The ground was dotted with stunted trees and wart mounds. In the centre loomed a large, domed hut made of bones and greenish leather. Smoke rose from a hole in the top. The entrance was covered with curtains of scaly reptile skin and, flanking the entrance, two torches made from colossal femur bones burned bright yellow. 

What really caught Percy’s attention was the drakon skull. Fifty yards into the clearing, about halfway to the hut, a massive oak tree jutted from the ground at a forty-five-degree angle. The jaws of a drakon skull encircled the trunk, as if the oak tree were the dead monster’s tongue.

At least the drakon is dead. Percy thought. He really should have known better by now. Levi stopped purring and insteas arched his back and hissed. Behind them, a mighty roar echoed through the swamp– a sound Percy had last heard in the Battle of Manhattan. 

He turned and saw the drakon charging towards them. It was honestly ironic. The drakon was easily the most beautiful thing Percy had seen since he had fallen into Tartarus. Its hide was dappled green and yellow, like sunlight through a forest canopy. Its reptilian eyes were the same shade of sea green Percy saw in the mirror. When its frills unfurled around its head, Percy couldn’t help but think what a regal and amazing monster it was that was about to kill him. 

It was easily as long as a subway train. Its massive talons dug into the mud as it pulled itself forward, its tail whipping from side to side. Yeah, there was no way a sharper than average leg bone was going to save him from this. Once again, Percy ached for Riptide.

The drakon hissed, spitting jets of green poison that smoked on the mossy ground and set tar pits on fire, filling the air with the scent of fresh pine and ginger. The monster even smelled good. Like most drakons, it was wingless, longer and more snake-like than a dragon, and it looked hungry. 

The drakon roared as if to accentuate the point, filling the air with more pine-ginger poison, which would have made an excellent car-freshener scent.

“ROOOOAR!” Percy turned as the giant emerged from his hut. He was about twenty feet tall– typical giant height– with a humanoid upper body and scaly reptilian legs, like a bipedal dinosaur. He held no weapon. Instead of armour, he wore only a shirt stitched together from sheep hides and green-spotted leather. His skin was cherry-red; his beard and hair the colour of iron rust, braided with tufts of grass, leaves and swamp flowers. He shouted in challenge, but thankfully he wasn’t looking at Percy. 

The giant stormed towards the drakon. They clashed like some sort of weird Christmas combat scene – the red versus the green. The drakon spewed poison. The giant lunged to one side. He grabbed the oak tree and pulled it from the ground, roots and all. The old skull crumbled to dust as the giant hefted the tree like a baseball bat. The drakon’s tail lashed around the giant’s waist, dragging him closer to its gnashing teeth. But as soon as the giant was in range he shoved the tree straight down the monster’s throat. 

Percy's first thought was an absent wonder of if the drakon could be edible, his stomach had started protesting not too long after he had eaten the empousa leg. His second, more gruesome, thought was if this was what Thalia had looked like as she turned into a pine tree. 

The tree pierced the drakon’s gullet and impaled it on the ground. Blood gushed over the roots as they began to move, digging deeper as they touched the earth, anchoring the oak until it looked like it had stood in that spot for centuries. The drakon shook and thrashed, but it was pinned fast. 

The giant brought his fist down on the drakon’s neck. CRACK. The monster went limp. It began to dissolve, leaving only scraps of bone, meat, hide and a new drakon skull whose open jaws ringed the oak tree. Percy raised an eyebrow. No other monster in Tartarus had dissolved like this one. He wondered why that was.

Percy grunted. “Good one.” He crossed his fingers that this giant was either dumb or friendly. Levi purred in agreement and started cleaning his paws. 

The giant kicked at the drakon’s remains, examining them critically. “No good bones,” he complained. “I wanted a new walking stick. Hmpf. Some good skin for the outhouse, though.” He ripped some soft hide from the dragon’s frills and tucked it in his belt. 

“Uh …” Percy wanted to ask if the giant really used drakon hide for toilet paper, but he decided against it. “Hello. I'm Percy”

The giant glanced over from his work. His eyes narrowed under his bushy red brows. "Damasen.”

Percy watched the giant Damasen, who was now ripping chunks of bloody meat from the drakon carcass with his bare hands. Percy's stomach rumbled. Damasen stood up straight and studied him, as if he were another potential source of protein. 

“Come inside. We will have stew. Then I will tell you about the one who wants to kill you.”

Chapter Text

COSY. Percy never thought he would describe anything in Tartarus that way, but, despite the fact that the giant’s hut was as big as a planetarium and constructed of bones, mud and drakon skin, it definitely felt cosy. 

In the centre blazed a bonfire made of pitch and bone; yet the smoke was white and odourless, rising through the hole in the middle of the ceiling. The floor was covered with dry marsh grass and grey wool rugs. At one end lay a massive bed of sheepskins and drakon leather. At the other end, freestanding racks were hung with drying plants, cured leather and what looked like strips of drakon jerky. 

The whole place smelled of stew, smoke, basil and thyme. The only thing that worried Percy was the flock of sheep huddled in a pen at the back of the hut. He remembered the cave of Polyphemus the Cyclops, who ate demigods and sheep indiscriminately. He wondered if giants had similar tastes. 

Part of him was tempted to run, but Levi had already hopped off Percy and scampered over to the bed.

He kneaded the blankets, purring so strongly the bed rattled like a Thousand Finger Massage. Damasen plodded to the bonfire. He tossed his drakon meat into a hanging pot that seemed to be made from an old monster skull, then picked up a ladle and began to stir. 

Percy, unsure on what to do, hovered beside the giant bed, keeping an eye on Levi as the kitten romped amongst the bedding.

After a few moments of silence, Damasen looked over at him, glowering under his bushy red eyebrows. Percy had met large scary humanoids before, but Damasen unsettled him in a different way. He didn’t seem hostile. He radiated sorrow and bitterness, as if he were so wrapped up in his own misery that he resented Percy for forcing him to focus on anything else. 

The giant turned back to his pot- and soon the smell of roasting meat filled the hut. Percy choked back a sound as his stomach ached with hunger.

There were no words from the giant- hostile or otherwise, as he ladled out stew into bowls made of hollowed bone. The giant passed one to Percy, and gestured for him to sit at the table.

“Thanks.” Percy said gratefully. It took some effort to climb up on the chair, as it was made for something the size of Damasen, not something the size of Percy.

As Percy settled in his chair, Damasen stared at him mournfully. “Oh, don’t thank me. You’re still doomed. And I require payment for my services.” 

Percy’s mouth went dry. “Uh … what sort of payment?”

“A story.” The giant’s eyes glittered as he sat in his own chair across from Percy. “It gets boring in Tartarus. You can tell me your story while we eat, eh?” 

Percy felt a bit uneasy telling a giant about their plans. Still, Damasen was a good host. His drakon-meat stew was excellent (especially compared to firewater and poorly cooked empousa). His hut was warm and comfortable, and for the first time since plunging into Tartarus Percy felt like he could relax. Which was ironic, since he was having dinner with a giant. 

He told Damasen about his life and his quests. Damasen made a rolling gesture with his spoon. “Continue your story, Perseus Jackson.”

He explained about their quest in the Argo II. When he got to the part about stopping Gaia from waking, he faltered. “She’s, um… She's your mom, right?” 

Damasen scraped his bowl. His face was covered with old poison burns, gouges and scar tissue, so it looked like the surface of an asteroid. “Yes,” he said. “And Tartarus is my father.”

He gestured around the hut. “As you can see, I was a disappointment to my parents. They expected… more from me.”

Percy couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that he was sharing soup with a twenty-foot tall lizard-legged man whose parents were Earth and the Pit of Darkness. Olympian gods were hard enough to imagine as parents, but at least they resembled humans. The old primordial gods like Gaia and Tartarus… How could you leave home and ever be independent of your parents, when they literally encompassed the entire world? 

“So…” he said awkwardly, after swallowing his mouthful of stew. “You don’t mind me fighting your mom?”

Damasen snorted like a bull. “Best of luck to you Perseus. At present, it’s my father you should worry about. With him opposing you, you have no chance to survive.” 

“Opposing me how?” he asked. 

“All of this.” Damasen cracked a drakon bone and used a splinter as a toothpick. “All that you see is the body of Tartarus, or at least one manifestation of it. He knows you are here. He tries to thwart your progress at every step. My brethren hunt you. It is remarkable you have lived this long, even with your admittedly impressive cat.” 

“His name is Leviathan.” Percy told Damasen. Levi mewed when he heard his name and leapt onto Percy’s lap. “And who’s hunting us?”

“The defeated ones hunt you. They will be close behind now.” Damasen spat out his toothpick. “I can obscure your path for a while, long enough for you to rest. I have power in this swamp. But eventually they will catch you.”

“I need reach the Doors of Death,” Percy said. He still wasn't sure who was hunting him, Damasen was not very clear, but he decided to move on. “That is the way out.”

“Impossible,” Damasen muttered. “The Doors are too well guarded.” 

Percy sat forward. “But you know where they are?”

“Of course. All of Tartarus flows down to one place: his heart. The Doors of Death are there. But you cannot make it there alive alone.”

“Then come with me,” Percy offered. “Help us.”

“HA!” Percy hated that he flinched. “Perseus.” The giant said. Normally, Percy hated when people used his full name. It was only used by his mom when he was in trouble or when someone wanted to kill him. But from Damasen it felt less like a threat and more like a recognition. 

“I am not your friend.” Damasen said, “I helped mortals once, and you see where it got me.” 

“You helped mortals?” Percy knew a decent amount about Greek legends, but he drew a total blank on the name Damasen. “I don’t understand.” 

“Like all my brethren, I was born to oppose a certain god. My foe was Ares. But Ares was the god of war. And so when I was born –” 

“You were his opposite,” Percy realized. “You were peaceful.” 

“Peaceful for a giant, at least.” Damasen sighed. “I wandered the fields of Maeonia, in the land you now call Turkey. I tended my sheep and collected my herbs. It was a good life. But I would not fight the gods. My mother and father cursed me for that. 

The final insult: one day the Maeonian drakon killed a human shepherd, a friend of mine, so I hunted the creature down and slew it, thrusting a tree straight through its mouth. I used the power of the earth to regrow the tree’s roots, planting the drakon firmly in the ground. I made sure it would terrorize mortals no more. That was a deed Gaia could not forgive.”

Damasen looked ashamed. “Gaia opened the earth, and I was consumed, exiled here in the belly of my father Tartarus, where all the useless flotsam collects – all the bits of creation he does not care for.”

The giant plucked a flower out of his hair and regarded it absently. “They let me live, tending my sheep, collecting my herbs, so I might know the uselessness of the life I chose. Every day- or what passes for day in this place- the Maeonian drakon reforms and attacks me. Killing it is my endless task.”

Percy gazed around the hut, trying to imagine how many eons Damasen had been exiled here- slaying the drakon, collecting its bones and hide and meat, knowing it would attack again the next day. He could barely imagine surviving a week with that repetition. Exiling your own son to that for centuries- that was beyond cruel. 

“Break the curse,” he blurted out. “Come with me.”

Damasen chuckled sourly. “As simple as that. Don’t you think I have tried to leave this place? It is impossible. No matter which direction I travel, I end up here again. The swamp is the only thing I know- the only destination I can imagine. No, Perseus. My curse has overtaken me. I have no hope left.”

“There must be a way.” Percy couldn’t stand the expression on the giant’s face. He knew Tartarus had changed him, chipped him apart in little ways. But here in this little hut, he felt more human than he had since he fell into the pit. 

Damasen pursed his lips. He looked like he was considering something unpleasant. “If you want to survive the Doors, you will have to be hidden… there is a way to hide. The Death Mist.”

The way Damasen said it, Percy wondered if he should know what “death mist” was without further explanation. He internally rolled his eyes. Death Mist, great. Let me just call the death mist Doordash.

“You will die,” Damasen said conversationally. “Painfully. In darkness. She trusts no one and helps no one.” 

“Is there another way?” Percy asked. 

“No,” Damasen said. “The Death Mist … that is the best plan. Unfortunately, it is a terrible plan. I cannot lead you there. You will need another guide, someone willing to show you the way.” 

Percy felt like he was hanging over the pit again, unable to pull himself up, unable to maintain his grip – left with no good options. “But isn’t it worth trying?” he asked. “You could return to the mortal world. You could see the sun again.” 

Damasen’s eyes were like the sockets of the drakon’s skull – dark and hollow, devoid of hope. He flicked a broken bone into the fire and rose to his full height – a massive red warrior in sheepskin and drakon leather, with dried flowers and herbs in his hair. Percy could see how he was the anti-Ares. Ares was the worst god, blustery and violent. Damasen was the best giant, kind and helpful… and for that he’d been cursed to eternal torment. 

“Get some sleep,” the giant said. “I will prepare supplies for your journey. I am sorry, but I cannot do more.”

Percy wanted to argue, but, as soon as he said sleep, his body betrayed him, despite his desire to stay awake, not to be vulnerable in this hostile place. His belly was full. The fire made a pleasant crackling sound. The herbs in the air reminded him of the hills around Camp Half-Blood in the summer, when the satyrs and naiads gathered wild plants in the lazy afternoons. Levi was purring happily in his lap, kneading his thighs.

“Maybe a little sleep,” he agreed. Damasen gave him a small smile. Percy slunk off his chair and over to the bed, curling up and closing his eyes.

When Percy awoke, Damasen loomed over the bed. Percy groaned, sitting up. The faint roar of the drakon sounded from somewhere outside, and Percy barely had time to be surprised that he hadn't had any nightmares.

“There is no time, Perseus. The drakon is returning.” Damasen said. He was already lifting Percy gently by the shoulders and setting him on weary feet. “I fear its roar will draw the others- my brethren, hunting you. They will be here within minutes.”

Percy’s pulse quickened and he suddenly no longer felt sleepy. “What will you tell them when they get here?”

Damasen’s mouth twitched. “What is there to tell? Nothing of significance, as long as you are gone.” He tossed Percy a drakon-leather satchel. “Clothes, food, drink.” 

Percy nodded in thanks before he was struck by a thought so sharp and clear, it was like a blade from the gods themselves. “The Prophecy of Seven,” he said aloud. 

Percy grabbed Damasen’s hand, startling the giant. His brow furrowed. His skin was as rough as sandstone. “You have to come with me,” he argued “The prophecy says foes bear arms to the Doors of Death. I thought it meant Romans and Greeks, but that’s not it. The line means us- a demigod and a giant. I need you to close the Doors!”

The drakon roared outside, closer this time. Damasen gently pulled his hand away. “No, child,” he murmured. “My curse is here. I cannot escape it.”

“Yes, you can,” Percy insisted. Part of him knew the idea was crazy, how could he think he could defy a curse from Tartarus itself? On the other hand, Percy regularly did the impossible. What had his father said once: “The sea does not like to be restrained”? 

“Don’t fight the drakon. Figure out a way to break the cycle! Find another fate.” 

Damasen shook his head. “Even if I could, I cannot leave this swamp. It is the only destination I can picture.”

Percy’s mind raced. “There is another place. Look at me! Remember my face. When you’re ready, come find me. I’ll take you to the mortal world with me. You can see the sunlight and stars.” 

The ground shook. The drakon was close now, stomping through the marsh, blasting trees and moss with its poison spray. 

Further away, Percy heard a voice that sent chills down his spine. He finally understood what Damasen had meant. The defeated ones. My brethren.

The voice of the giant Polybotes echoed through the poisonous, bloody air of the Pit, urging his followers forward. “THE SEA GOD’S SON! HE IS CLOSE!”

Percy said urgently, “that’s our cue to leave.” He gestured to Levi, who had woken much slower than him. His companion stretched like they had all the time in the world and then leapt up onto Percy’s shoulder.

Damasen took something from his belt. In his massive hand, the white shard looked like another toothpick, but when he offered it to Percy he realized it was a trident – a three-tipped spear of dragon bone, honed to a deadly edge, with a simple grip of leather. 

“One last gift for you, Perseus Jackson,” rumbled the giant. “There is drakon poison in its handle- the closest thing I have to water in this accursed swamp. Perhaps your dominion will extend to it- perhaps not. Still, I cannot have you walking to your death unarmed. Try calling for Iaeptus. Now, go! Before it is too late.”

Percy grit his teeth. He took the trident with mumbled thanks. He knew the giant was meant to fight at his side. That was the answer- but Damasen turned away. 

Percy put a hand on Levi to steady him, and ran for the entrance. He didn’t look back as he dashed away into the swamp, but he heard Damasen behind him, shouting his battle cry at the advancing drakon, his voice cracking with despair as he faced his old enemy yet again.