(Imported from my AO3 account with the same username.
Warning: You don't have to read this if you're in a good mood. I wrote this when I was feeling really terrible and this is my way of releasing that negative energy.
Disclaimer: Nico di Angelo is a character in the Percy Jackson and the Olympians and Hereos of Olympus that both belong to Rick Riordan.)
"It's too late for me, I can't be saved."
His thoughts swam around as he felt his soul slowly disintegrating. He felt his like his physical body was losing itself in the darkness, despite the fact that he hasn't used the full extent of his shadow-travelling powers. This was what Tartarus did to him: it gave him hopelessness to the point that he was beginning to feel worthless, that no one will miss him, that when he is gone, he will return to his true home here in the Underworld where he may probably be in the Fields of Asphodel, along with the thousand other lost souls.
Yes, he thought, I'll be lost forever. No one will miss me. No one will remember me. I am not important. I am not significant.
Falling into Tartarus had also amplified all the grief he had hidden from everyone all those years ever since Bianca died. He could feel a mix of hatred and sadness towards those he have had interacted, the strongest felt for one particular demigod. He couldn't admit his true feelings, as he knows that he will be rejected, and he was sure that he will be ignored. Nico knows that the person he is in love with is in love with someone else. It didn't help either that he was in love with a guy, something he had kept from everyone else, except from his sister. He knew that having such kinds of relationships are unacceptable, even if back then the gods were free to love whoever they please. Times have changed, and he knew that if people had found out, he will be shunned. Bianca was the only one who had accepted him and even protected him before that day when they were taken and brought to their real life. Now that she was gone when she had chosen to be reborn, he was all alone again. Just like he is now when he finally falls into the deepest crevice.
No mortal has ever attempted to go there, for they might not even survive. Nico di Angelo was the first, but this wasn't done out of choice, at least not entirely. He knew that the Doors of Death had two places, and the one located in the Underworld was at Tartarus, of all places. He was hesitant on going further, but no one else can do it, and he has no other choice as he knew this was vital to the prophecy of the Seven. But before he can ever find a way to get through those doors, he was heavily pulled into the abyss without even a chance of preparing himself for the worst. He had left Camp Jupiter once he found out on where the Doors of Death were. At that point, he knew he needed to stop Gaea from using those from further transporting the monsters quicker to the mortal world. He knew he had to do it, even if it would cost him his life. What he did not expect was the horrifying experience he would soon find out; those are which could be defined as the worst of his nightmares coming to reality. He only has himself to hold on, and he is anchored by his own willpower.
He couldn't tell how long it had been since he was pulled by the overwhelming force of the abyss. As he recalled what Hesiod had said, it took nine days to fall into Tartarus. Had it been nine days already? He didn't know; time was hard to tell if you've been falling down a nearly bottomless pit. His eyes remained close as he felt his lids burn with tears he unwillingly shed as he felt like he was already dying. No, he didn't want to be gone, he can't be gone. He needs to stay alive. He knew that what he would face would be much worse. He didn't want to be gone, he wanted to hold on and to stay as alive as possible.
He fell at the rocky black plains where the River Cocytus was a few feet beside him, emitting a strong smell of sulfur that instantly shot up on his nostrils, making him feel sick. He slowly stood up, his legs wobbled as his arms began forming blisters from the sulfuric air. The skies were pitch black with faded clouds that looked like diluted blood. He could see the dust of the sulfur all around and he began coughing, as if he was being choked by the air. The river of lamentation started to glisten and Nico swore he could hear a hundred wailing voices, all of which were shouting in his head as if they were on loudspeaker.
"You can never have love..."
"They will never accept you.."
"You are not good enough for anyone..."
"You are never good enough at all..."
"STOP!"
He shouted in his head, as the voices disappeared. He continued walking away from the River of Lamentation as he proceeded to look for those doors and a way to escape. He knew the consequences of going into the deep abyss. Monsters who had died in the mortal world dissolved to dust and came back centuries later to hunt demigods again to kill them. He was a demigod, and he will have to try his best to stay hidden, or at the very least, be careful on where he should tread lest he would try to have himself killed.
It didn't take long before he saw the River Phelgethon, the River of Healing. Its fire was the only way he could survive until he was able to find the doors. The river was used by the wicked to endure the torments of the Fields of Punishment. He sighed as he scooped the fire with his hand, drinking the flaming liquid. He started to gag as it tasted terrible. He lost his blisters and his cuts as he used the river to guide him to the Doors of Death.
"I have to do this," he had told himself, dying at each step he took as he followed the trail. Despite the river healing his wounds, he felt weak from swallowing the fire that seemed to burn his insides.
"I need to do this. So they can succeed. So he can succeed."
His entire body felt weak, his legs feeling like lead as he felt the force of the dark gravity the pit of Tartarus pulling him down. He was feeling weightless yet heavy at the same time from the vacuum of the pit that took him. It felt like he was going in slow motion, he felt like he was falling in midair. He couldn't drink too much from the river, as his own stomach protested from the taste, and the aftereffect of the fire burning him internally, like it was hell inside his own body.
He continued walking until he had seen a few monsters trailing from a distance. He readied his Stygian sword in case they could sense him. He didn't have the luxury of time to hide, and all he could do is to stay as far away as possible, as his demigod scent might attract them.
However, it didn't take long for him to get noticed, because apparently, the senses of the monsters were stronger in Tartarus than it was on the mortal world, so the moment he began drinking from the River Phlegethon, he became a hotspot. He had done his best to fend off any monster that attacked him, even if it was somehow futile, as their dust would be reformed in another area anyway, but it was better that than to get killed.
He felt exhausted from his fights as he took another drink from the healing river. It gave him enough strength to walk, but the price was that he felt the flames burning him. He had no other choice but to continue...
... All on his own.
"Who will save me..."
That thought had turned into a mantra in his head as he headed further to the end of the river. He did his best to make sure he would avoid any more monsters. He did not know how long he had walked. Days? Hours? It was like the Lotus Hotel all over again; time wasn't definite and for all he knew, time was slower or even faster there. As he could best remember, he had walked around five miles now. He couldn't recall how long the river was, but he was sure he had covered more than half of its length. He knew he was getting close until he stopped in his tracks as he had seen a frail woman weeping over a broken shield of Hercules. She was pale, emaciated, and with chattering teeth, swollen knees, long nails on her fingers, bloody cheeks, and her shoulders thickly covered with dust. She looked up and Nico saw her sunken eyes, and how her stringy gray hair was matted to her head. Her tattered dress was stained with blood from her clawed face.
"W-who are you," Nico asked, his face blanching, "W-what are you?"
"I am Akhlys, goddess of misery and poisons," she moaned in despair, "And you, son of Hades, are the most wonderful thing that has stepped into the pits."
"W-what are you–"
"No one can save you, child!" wailed Akhlys, clawing her cheeks as the blood dripped on her tattered dress, "You are full of so much sadness and despair! You are losing your will to live; there is nothing more I can do to you but to let yourself be drowned in your sorrows."
She continued wailing and scratching her bloodied cheeks as Nico was gritting his teeth in anger as he pulled out his Stygian sword. He didn't want to fight her as she continued wailing over the broken shield, perhaps too distracted over his despair to even fight him, but despite her attention on the broken shield, he could feel her powers enveloping all around the area as he saw himself fading in the air.
His eyes widened as he saw himself disappearing but then realized that this was a trick of the Mist. Her Death Mist. He didn't know if the grayish air would help him, as he used his shadow-travel to cross over, but he realized his mistake as he did not expect that his own abilities would betray him like this.
Not even a child of the Underworld can survive the dark abyss at its worst. It was more than he could mentally handle. He had escaped the monsters as he hid through corners, but after using the shadows to travel further, he was now caught like a robber on a dead-end corner. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He unsheathed his sword as he prepared to fight, then yelled at the top of his lungs for any remaining strength he could muster.
The next thing he knew, he heard the low rumbling of the dark skies and the sulfur in the air filled his lungs. He was close to unconsciousness as he couldn't feel the weight of his body anymore. It was already too much for him, too much for his own frail body to handle. He was unaware of his surroundings after he had collapsed to the ground. There was a sickly rumble of the ground as his vision darkened. He didn't know that he was already picked up by some of Gaea's minions, Otus and Ephitales, and imprisoned him in a jar. For one thing, he will no longer be inhaling the sulfuric air. On the other, he grew weak and the only way he can survive now is to let himself go into a hibernating state, reserving whatever else was left from him and eating pomegranate seeds his father had given as an anchor to his mortal body.
"I have failed... I have failed you..."
He had been broken beyond repair. He has seen everything he has to see, and some he wish he didn't. He was almost driven to insanity at the experience. And he doesn't know what else is to come. He feels himself on the verge of death, unsure if the Fates would be cutting his string this time. It felt ironic, as he was a son of Hades, the King of the Underworld. But he didn't know how long he has now. Five seeds, five days. His very life force was literally hanging by a thread.
"It's too late for me, I can't be saved."
(It's been a while since I've had the time to write. I usually write with themes like this as an outlet whenever I'm trying to cope up with difficult times in my life, and I feel relieved after I've finished it.
I only feel like I've half-assed my work because describing locations isn't really my strong suit but I'll eventually work on that and improve.)