After a MONTH of not updating, of always procrastinating, I have finally made it. I've experienced rough times while writing this chapter; heck, I'd even thought about quitting writing. But somehow, I made it 'til the end. This chapter's worth 4, 283 words. It's not much, but it's all I can give, for the meantime.
After wrestling for 15 minutes with the stupid charger, I almost gave up. It's like trying to save someone whom you know is already gone. It's like trying to revive a dead heart. Our laptop won't start until we charge it, and even the charger won't obey me. So I spent a quarter of an hour tinkering with it until I finally threw it away, out of frustration and hope that the shock would be enough to "restart" it. And it worked. (yipee!)
I'm dedicating this to BOTH Night_Beauty and Emilythegreatest, because somehow they gave me the needed encouragement to write on. And, here is the chapter you have been waiting for.
Enjoy; it's the first chapter in this story that's in Percy's POV.
Even before he felt a body thump to the ground beside him, Percy already knew something was wrong, but he couldn't quite comprehend what was going on. His back was on fire, and he couldn't move a muscle.
He had caught sight of himself on a sort-of-a-mirror thing that was gross and coated with monster slime, so he wasn't entirely sure that he was right. But he had seen a black-haired someone with green eyes and a hideous-looking cut on his cheek on it, and he was pretty sure no one else besides him and the monsters were there. He looked...terrible, and the cut was bleeding profusely. But Percy didn't know what else to do, except maybe wait for it to bleed away enough blood so that he could die? The pain of the whip had been nothing, compared to the terrible loss and numb feeling that wasn't enough to numb the pain left on him by Annabeth's words.
Ex-boyfriend. Even now, Percy couldn't make himself accept that. Ex-boyfriend to Annabeth Chase, and now hated by her. But he had been staring at Annabeth's eyes while she broke up with him, and he noticed that they were glassy and unfocused, but she was mad, which was strange. And the glassy look of her eyes made him think of eidolons, though that did not stop him from being terribly hurt at Annabeth's words.
But now there was a limp figure in the monster's hands, which had ceased bringing the whip down on him. He only caught sight of the dirt-stained and messy blonde hair of the figure, and then he began to yell her name.
"Shut up!" the monster growled. "Shut up, or she'll be worse than she is."
Percy didn't care; ex-boyfriend or not, he was still going to protect her. He yelled for her until his throat hurt, until one of the monster's goons wrapped a piece of cloth around his mouth. Now his voice came out muffled, and within minutes, he was choking.
"Loosen the cloth," the chief monster growled at one of his servants. And Percy felt the cloth around his face loosen a bit, and he realized something. He had a plan. But it wasn't foolproof.
Percy scooted towards the monster as far as he could go, and then falling to the floor into what seemed like a dead faint. The beastly creature whom he took as the servant quickly secured the cords binding him on the legs, and he lay still. At last, finished, the servant went away.
Now was the time to execute Part Two of his insane, reckless plan. He gave a muffled shout of pain, and rolled on his back, gasping for breath, keeping his eyes open. The pain from the whips was faded now, faded
The unnamed monster was drawing closer to him. He had to try to break his bonds. But he realized now that his plan was failing spectacularly. But how could he escape? And the answer came to him in a sudden, remarkable strike of inspiration.
Loosen the cloth. Did that mean that the monster was under orders not to kill Percy or Annabeth? Now was time for Plan Two.
Percy had seen people in television act dead. He hoped his minimal viewing of dramas and people dying would help in this insane, almost-suicidal plan he was hoping to undertake.
"You there, are you alive?" The monster was talking to him. Though Percy was pretty sure he'd be able to talk, he didn't. All he did was pretend to be in pain more, praying silently to the gods (wherever they were) to help him, even once.
Percy lay still while the monster hovered over him, apparently deciding what to do with him. And what he had been waiting for happened; the monster loosened the cloth around his mouth, and snapped the chains on his legs. Thinking that he was too incapacitated, and he nearly was.
The moment he had been waiting for had come; the monster turned away from him. It was now or never.
Percy got up, wincing, but he had no time to check his injuries, which were, no doubt, probably going to leave scars, and he needed time to execute his plan carefully. He crept as silently as he could towards the monster, spying the hilt of a sword in its hand. And he gathered his strength and kicked out, towards the monster's head, feeling a savage sort of satisfaction. The sword he had spotted on its hand was suddenly on the ground at his feet, and he bent to retrieve it just as the monster rolled into its back and lunged for it, too, but his demigod reflexes and training kicked in, and he snatched it out of the monster's reach. Fortunately he was faster than the monster, but his luck was always guaranteed not to last very long. The monster's hand clamped down on his ankle, pulling it, and he stumbled and fell, his head hitting the ground with a sickening sound.
For a moment everything was black and white; even the ugly face of the monster looked stupid, and he could barely hear its voice saying, "Think you could defeat me, demigod? I am Mother's own creation, born of the seven seas and as powerful as the sun. You cannot look at me without blinding yourself, and Mother has truly given me everything I need – there is no reason for her to hold back what she knows I will need – and I need your death!"
Confusion filled Percy, and he answered the monster just as angrily as it had addressed him. "Well, whoever your mother was, she seems to be stupider than you. I can't look at you because your ugliness makes my eyes wanna rip themselves to pieces, but of course they can't, and they won't. Wait," he said suddenly, as the realization hit him. "Your mom – does she go by the name Gaea? 'Cause that woman – oh, she's bad. Not that," he amended, "you are clever enough to realize it without securing a headache later."
The monster roared, and charged at him. He rolled to the side instinctively, but the monster was suddenly quicker than him, quicker than it had been just mere minutes ago. "You do not understand! Magic and Mother herself created me; I am barely a boy – a young one, you monstrous demigod!" And he was on him, squeezing Percy's neck and holding him back as he choked.
"Monstrous? You calling me monstrous, you monster?" he choked out. His face was feeling hotter, with all the blood rushing to it. He instinctively kicked out, and he heard his sneaker connect with the monster's face, making it fall, and he took the sword he was carrying. It felt oddly and reassuringly light, like he'd carried it into battle before, which was highly unlikely. He struck the head, and it rolled away, landing barely an inch from his sneakered feet.
After that, he couldn't really remember anything. The adrenaline and heightened sense of reality had left him, and he only remembered a few things; unlocking Annabeth's cage (to which she might have been unceremoniously thrown into) and hoisting her onto his back, but eventually he supported her. He remembered only her dead weight, how she was pressing into his wounds, which he had, prior to carrying her, when fighting the monster, largely ignored. Now the pain returned in full measure; he staggered and nearly fell. Monsters were now surrounding them. He swung his sword at them, and though he was now too weak to even bat a mosquito away, if there were any in Tartarus, the tip of the blade hit the monsters' body anyways, and they disintegrated. When all the monsters were dead, he'd started running, trying really hard to ignore the pain in his back from carrying Annabeth and having her press on his wounds, and the pain that was building in his whole body; head, chest, arms and legs, everywhere. He staggered again, and this time, he fell against the ground, feeling his body give up, his lids closed, but before they did, his eyes caught sight of the blade. It was a strange bronze color, and, in the darkness, it seemed to glow. The sense of familiarity he'd felt earlier was because he had held it before. And he even had a name for it.
Anaklusmos. Riptide. He only had time to think the name twice, and then darkness enveloped around him and his head hit the ground as he fainted.
Percy jerked back his hand from a patch of sunlight, his hand steaming and crumbling into ashes. He was yelling at the top of his lungs, almost blind with pain. His hand had crumbled to ashes, and what remained of his lower arm was bleeding heavily. He heard laughter, and turned to see Annabeth laughing at him like he had just done something funny, instead of having had his hand disintegrate. "Silly," she said, still laughing, "a little bit of sunlight won't hurt you." She seemed not to have noticed his earlier screams.
He looked at himself, at a mirror that had suddenly popped into existence, and saw, instead of the wild-haired boy he'd come to expect, a pale white being with crimson eyes , incredibly strong looking, even when unmoving, and as he inched his hand toward the sunlight, he stared at it. It had regenerated, repaired itself. And he knew what he was.
Vampire. He opened his mouth, and immediately saw the gleaming, razor-sharp teeth that greeted him. He doubled over; feeling nauseated, and found himself staring at what appeared to be Annabeth, except that she just wasn't, couldn't be. She was dead, obviously, her throat torn and mangled. Her blond hair appeared to be streaked with what looked like her blood. As Percy lifted her, still feeling only a horrible kind of emptiness, Annabeth opened her eyes, and they were red as his. Only as she opened her mouth when she smiled did he realize what it meant.
The first thing Percy was aware of was his dreams. They wove in and out, like creatures he couldn't quite name. Some were morbidly terrifying; others were simply delightful. He felt disconnected from his body, feeling empty and hollow. He wanted it to stop. The feeling was much worse than being in pain, in some unexplainable ways. But then he heard Annabeth's voice, and he wasn't sure if he were dreaming. But it sounded so real, and so close.
"Percy," said Annabeth, "wake up."
Eventually the dreams subsided, but Percy was so tired that he wanted to sink into oblivion and to never resurface again, but there was someone squeezing his hand; he could feel it now, and it was whispering his name. Percy, Percy, Percy. Please. And there was hope and despair together in the last word; there was joy and yet sadness in it; there was Life and Death huddled together in it. But the only thing unopposed was Love. He tried to reach into himself, tried to bring himself back, but ultimately, failed, and he gave up, sinking into despair, becoming even sadder, and feeling that he was about to die, if not now, soon.
His eyes opened and took on his unfamiliar surroundings. Then he caught sight of blond hair and gray eyes staring at him worriedly.
"Annabeth?" His voice was barely a whisper. He reached out, but his arms were like lead. He couldn't, though he wanted to. "Annabeth, is that you?"
She didn't reply, but instead extended her arms to him and hugged him fiercely. He knew she was crying. "I – I thought you would never wake up – there wasn't any ambrosia left – I – I –"
Percy smiled faintly. Even that simple act made him feel tired. He looked around and bumped his forehead, not too hard, though, on the rock he was propped against. He groaned, placing a hand on top of his forehead, but found that there were hands on it already, slim, long and familiar hands.
"Are you hurt?" asked Annabeth frantically. "Are you okay?" she asked again, her hands fluttering around him, probably looking for the ambrosia and nectar that might not be there. He sighed, which made her look even more panicked. "What – what, are you hurt?" she asked again, her gray eyes level with his green ones.
"No," he breathed. "No." He placed a hand to his head and felt something on top of it. Probably bandages. Then he remembered why.
"Are – are you still mad at me?" he coughed out. Annabeth looked mortified as she answered. "It wasn't me, Percy – it was probably an eidolon. We only made them promise to lay off the ship's inhabitants, and you three. Oh, know – I bet it realized it could control me. I'm so sorry, Percy!" she cried, burying her face in his shirt.
"Don't fret," said Percy, patting her on the shoulder awkwardly yet lovingly, and he was surprised at how his voice sounded. All those trash about how voices reflected their speaker's personality was stupid. He wasn't actually feeling calm; in fact, he was feeling panicky and tired. But at least Annabeth wouldn't worry so much. "I knew it wasn't really you. I could tell," he half-lied, half-told the truth.
The truth was, he'd noticed the strange cloudiness and unfocused look in her eyes, but nonetheless, he'd been stung. Knowing she wasn't completely herself wasn't actually enough to shield him from the pain. Annabeth looked at him with great gray eyes, shiny with tears despite herself. "You sure?"
"Yeah," he mumbled. "Where are we, actually?"
"Miles away. I woke up with a great deal of pain and found you lying with a pool of blood on the ground. It was very terrifying. I found my backpack, which was weird, since it had been thrown away by the stupid monster, and it seemed to have magically reappeared. When I looked into it I found a note saying Take care, and ambrosia and nectar. I was so scared, Percy," she whispered, "so scared that you were dead, or nearly were. So I bandaged your wounds and tried to make you ingest the ambrosia, but before I got you to take in a decent amount you began to choke and cough, so I had to abandon the attempt. And then I tried to make you sip the nectar, but it was no use. Plus, you were burning up. And you are, 'til now." Fear was clearly in her voice, though she tried to keep it out of it. "I was afraid, because I knew you were weak, and I had to get some more ambrosia and nectar into your system, but I knew any more ambrosia and nectar and you'd burn up." Her eyes were really shining now. "I had no choice, Percy. I watched over you as best as I could, and when I noticed that your head was bleeding again, I changed the bandages. I waited for you to wake up."
"How long has it been?"
"Two days."
"Two days?"
"It's a rough estimate; I've been trying to count the hours, and I think it might have just been the 40th hour since I started counting. And I was unconscious for a few hours. We're just lucky nothing decided to attack us while we were unconscious, or else we'd be dead. Percy, what are you looking at?" she asked worriedly. It was true. Percy had been looking at the ground for a while now. "What's this?" he asked.
"A rock." She looked at him like she was afraid he had some brain damage. "Why, what's wrong?"
"Are there even rocks in Tartarus? I haven't seen volcanoes."
A smile lit her face slightly, showing relief. "Go to sleep now. You need it." He tried to protest, but she waved off all his protests. "Even your eyes are agreeing with me," she said, smiling slightly.
"What?" he asked, confused.
"Go to sleep, Percy." And she planted a kiss on his forehead, securing his obedience. "Sweet dreams," she added hastily, as his eyes began to close and he drifted into unconsciousness.
He dreamt of sweet things the color of Annabeth's hair; sweet things that his hands wanted to touch, and no matter how much he tried to reach them, they always seemed to just be out of his reach. He tried and tried, and finally he did succeed, but the moment he touched the things, they changed into hideous-looking plants that extended and grabbed his arms; one branch throttled him and he fought against it, fighting for breath. And while he was battling for his life, he heard a voice he wished he would never hear again.
How is my little hero doing? Remember, all is not what they seem.
And black spots danced in his vision. With the plant choking him, there was no more hope. Just as his eyes began to close, he felt his shoulder being shaken and he was then whisked away into the world of the Living.
Annabeth was shaking his shoulders. She had a wild look in her eyes, a sort of desperate look that might mean what Percy thought it was. "PERCY!" she screamed. "WAKE UP!" She was so intent on waking him up; she didn't notice that he already was awake.
"Annabeth," he mumbled. The sound of his voice surprised him; it was so calm, quite the opposite of what he felt inside. "Annabeth," he said more loudly, though he thought he detected a faint weakness to his voice. "What's wrong?"
She looked up, her eyes wet from crying. "I- I had a nightmare that you were dead, and when I woke up you looked as if you weren't breathing –"
"You FELL asleep?" he asked incredulously. It wasn't like Annabeth to slack off in her duties. In some ways, she was probably the exact opposite of Percy, who really, really liked to wait until the last moment to do his duties. If there were such a thing as a lazy Greek in the dictionary, Percy thought, it would have his name and face on it, if the dictionary had illustrations, though he secretly knew that nobody would be able to draw him right because of his perpetually messy black hair that was longer than it had been eight months ago, obviously.
Annabeth raised a hand and gestured with her finger to remain quiet; her eyes were suddenly very gray and terrified, not at all like she had looked a moment, when she'd looked as if she'd wanted to answer him sarcastically or something; she probably was so relieved to find out that he was alive, which was cooler than being dead. And now she was looking at Percy with eyes that were wild and wide at the same time. "Listen," she whispered. "Listen. What do you hear?"
Percy listened. He heard the sound of snake heads hissing and metallic objects – weapons, probably – hitting the ceiling and ground. Whoever it was sounded very close.
He locked eyes with Annabeth, hoping that it was enough to have her understand. She nodded, looking frightened. "Whatever they are, we fight and take flight," she murmured softly. "Whatever comes from Tartarus can't be good at all, so we'll risk so many monsters looking for us if we flee, meaning we'll have more enemies to deal with." As if we haven't got enough of them, her eyes seemed to say. Her eyes had never left Percy's.
"So we must stay here and kill as many monster leaders as possible, because it's possible that most of the goons left won't track us down, or if they will, it'll take them time. Leaders are supposed to be the ones tracking us down, right?" She didn't wait for his answer. "So kill the leaders, and you cripple the others. But –" A cackle interrupted Annabeth. He turned, and so did Annabeth. One look was all it needed.
They were surrounded.
Percy had faced death many times. But facing it in Tartarus, where the dead (monsters) came back to life, was totally different.
He drew his sword, Riptide. The blade's name was really Anaklusmos, but Percy never really introduced it as his weapon's name. It was too complicated and was too little understood by most (simple-minded) monsters. Besides, Riptide sounded way better than Anaklusmos. At least Riptide applied to him, since he was a son of Poseidon and all, people would naturally think he could rip tides. The only time Annabeth tried to explain it to him, all the facts and trivia she came up with left him with a raging headache all afternoon, though that was probably because of the heat of the summer.
Behind him, Annabeth drew her blade, too. Somehow she had gotten it back, and Percy couldn't really remember how, and he didn't really feel like it was the right moment to ask her now. She looked brave and dangerous, just like an Amazon or a Hunter of Artemis. She looked…wow.
The monsters really had tiny brains to begin with, because they charged forward without taking notice of the shiny and sharp, potentially lethal blades that had sprung into existence and were being held by the two demigods they were attacking. And they didn't know that the blades had the added ability to kill them when they touched them.
Slash, stab, parry, roll, defend. That was what normal demigods did, everyday, but instead of monsters to defeat, they had dummies. Or campers, but their opponents usually left the training center whole and unharmed. (usually)
Percy caught sight of blond hair, and he was momentarily distracted by Annabeth's hair, the way it swung and looked amazing while she was fighting those monsters, and a hellhound almost managed to kill him. He stabbed it, killing it, but not before its claws had buried themselves into his shoulder. He swore and turned to face the others.
He saw no one. Annabeth and he had dispatched all the monsters, and all of them were dust. He looked at Annabeth and saw fear and relief in her eyes.
"Let's go," she said. "The monsters will reform sooner or later, and it's best that we run before they catch us!"
"Do you have any idea where the Doors of Death are?" he asked, breathless. "'Cause I don't think we're, like, planning to go anywhere. There's always something that keeps our minds away from our goal, like monsters are chasing us, and evil spirits are possessing us, etc. etc….?" He left the question hanging.
Annabeth, who might have found reason to laugh or frown at him, merely gazed at him with a renewed spark of curiosity. He knew that look. It was her Wise-Girl-Don't-Disturb-Me look that meant she was thinking about something very important.
"Wait," she said slowly, "I think you're right. I think we were close to our goal."
"Gaea thinks so. And you can't exactly trust her opinions."
"Shhh, don't say her name. Names have power."
"Yeah, I think Grover said that to me, like, four, five years ago? Oh, never mind," he said, for Annabeth had looked at him in mild indignation. "Alright, alright, I'll shut up."
"But you have a point. I mean, you have a good point. The thing is, we must have been close to our goal, because why else would Gaea try to confuse us?"
"I don't know," he answered truthfully, "I've never tried to figure out why she does things as she does them. I'd rather ask you, and I can find an answer to it headache-free."
"Don't be sarcastic, Percy," she muttered absentmindedly. "What day is it?"
Percy raised his eyebrows good-naturedly and smiled a bit. "No calendars," he announced. "Probably been two, three days since we came here."
And he realized how stupid he sounded, as if they were in a luxurious, 5-star hotel instead of a 0-star, freaky place full of ghosts, beasts, monsters, and a supernatural grandmother who wanted you to give her your blood in exchange for the chance to see the world fall. Yipee!
But Annabeth didn't seem to mind that much. On the contrary, her face looked more serious than ever. "I know that you were out for maybe two days, give or take a day. And it was nearing sunset when we…fell inside this…place. So two days ago it was Sunday?" she asked hopelessly.
Percy was perplexed. Here was the wisest child of Athena ever, asking him for an answer to a question she couldn't solve herself. What chance did he have?
"Gaea's messing with our minds again," he said, as casually as a guy with an injured shoulder could manage. "I think we should do our best to, you know, get out of this…place. Probably…." He raised his hands to shoulder level and winced.
Annabeth, whose mind before this was probably in Annabeth-land, abruptly looked at him. "You're hurt. Aren't you?"
"No," he muttered. "And besides, it'll heal by itself. A day, two, tops."
"Drink nectar," she suggested. "Or try to ingest some ambrosia."
"No, Annabeth," he said. "I'm already feeling feverish. Any more ambrosia or nectar and I'm going to literally burn away. I think I've probably ingested more ambrosia and nectar than any other demigod in this world, at least within a couple of days," he groaned.
This was true. His skin was feeling hot, his eyes dry and very…warm too. He was running a not-too-slight temperature.
Annabeth felt his forehead. "Oh, gods, Percy. What am I going to do about this?"
Someone's voice sounded through the darkness. You might want to rephrase that, dearest. What are you going to do about me?
Tons of work to do! It's a miracle I've managed to update!
I've put off my English homework just to work on this. Last night, I finished like, 2 and a half pages (in Word) and then I was satisfied with this. I hope you are, too.
