Yes, I know, I'm terrible, I haven't updated in over a month, I'm sorry! But school is time-consuming, finals are in a few weeks and—well, you know how it is. Hopefully the next update will be faster?

Oh, and I figured that since this story is such an AU now, using HoH spoilers would just be confusing and leave people wondering which parts of that book are "canon" in this story and which parts aren't, so . . . No spoilers. I've thought of a way to write this story without them, so I shall.

Thank you so so so much for continuing to read and review this story! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

Part X

Reyna wasn't sure how long she rode up in that helicopter, surrounded by complete darkness, but by the time it zoomed up the final stretch, tugged against the pull of Tartarus, rocketed up a sloping tunnel, and careened out into the open, she had never been so happy to find herself in the Fields of Asphodel. She climbed out of the copter and was just about to push it back towards the entrance to Tartarus when she thought of something. What would keep the helicopter from splintering into a million pieces when it hit the groun—?

Oh. Reyna noticed a large red button on the side of the helicopter, boldly labeled in Sharpie: PRESS THIS TO SEND BACK TO TARTARUS W/O CRASHING IT. THANKS REY.

She shook her head, realizing that this was just more proof that he had known he would be left behind. Then she pressed the button and watched as the helicopter zoomed back down the tunnel. At least he wouldn't be left behind for very much longer.

Sighing at Leo's stupid heroism, Reyna turned and tried to decide what to do next—but as soon as she got her first view of the Underworld, all thoughts of planning flew out of her head.

Despite her many travels and quests, Reyna had never actually been to the Underworld. She had heard a few stories from Percy, Annabeth, and the Lares, of course, and after her extensive studying of mythology, both Greek and Roman, she thought she knew what to expect. But it was hard to prepare for anything like Pluto's realm. It was just so . . . vast.

Billions of souls wandered the Fields of Asphodel, muttering incoherently and walking through each other without seeming to care one way or the other. Reyna could see Elysium and the Isles of the Blest way off in the distance, and Pluto's—or was it Hades's? Reyna wasn't sure anymore—palace a few miles to the right. But those seemed like distant, unreal landmarks when confronted with so many hopeless, aimless dead. It was depressing.

The only highlight was that the Fields of Punishment were just another one of those distant, unreal landmarks. Sure, she could hear the screams even from where she stood, but if she pretended they were just the shrieks of the Furies, she was able to avoid thinking about them. Of course, none of this mattered. Reyna wasn't supposed to be focused on anything in the Underworld. She was supposed to be looking for a way out of it.

A way out . . .

She paused, thinking. She knew from the stories she'd heard that she could pay off Charon and get to his exit to the outside world that way, but that exit was in Los Angeles, on the other side of the country from where she needed to be. However, if she was remembering correctly, there were other entrances to the mortal world as well—smaller entrances carved out by various Greek or Roman heroes. Heroes . . . like Orpheus. Of course! She recalled the story Percy had told about the Battle of Manhattan—about how before he started fighting, he had traveled to the Underworld in order to bathe in the Styx and receive the curse of Achilles. More importantly, to get to the Underworld, he had used Orpheus's entrance, which could be opened with music . . . and was located in New York.

That was it. That entrance was the only way she could make it to her Romans in time.

The only question was, where in Mars's name could she find it?

She hesitated. Who should she ask for directions? Pluto was probably far too busy to bother with her, and even if he wasn't, she doubted he would be forthcoming. Thanatos was the god of death himself, but with everything going on, Reyna figured he was probably working around the clock, keeping souls under lock and key—and she wasn't sure she wanted to meet him anyways, after the stories Percy had told. Mercury was the god who was in charge of leading souls to the Underworld, but he wasn't always on duty, and Reyna had no idea how to find him if he was. Hecate was often associated with the underworld and was the goddess of crossroads, meaning that she might be able to help Reyna figure out the right path . . . But Reyna also knew that bargaining with a goddess that wavered between light and darkness was dangerous at best, and besides, the goddess of magic wasn't known for giving straight answers. Then who could she ask . . . ?

It didn't take much thought for the answer to come to her—or lack of one. There wasn't anyone she could ask. They were all either too unreliable, too busy, too shifty, or too all of the above for Reyna to risk wasting time and energy looking for them. Only one person was going to get her to the entrance Orpheus had created thousands of years ago, and that was herself.

Of course, Reyna realized, that's all I really need. After leading Camp Jupiter solo for nearly a year, she was used to taking charge and making decisions on her own. If she could be responsible for an entire culture, she could be responsible for her own safety. Besides, Orpheus had navigated his way down to the Underworld all by himself, with only the possibility of bringing his wife back to motivate him. If he could manage that, Reyna could easily figure out a way to retrace his steps and find the surface, especially since she had a much stronger motivation—the certainty of saving hundreds of her legionnaire and, in turn, all of Western civilization.

With that thought, Reyna flicked back her braid and started running through the endless souls towards the judgment gates. It was time for her to move. She had a long way to travel, and less than half a day to get there.

It was after midnight, but nobody was in the mood to go to bed. The demigods sat in a circle on the deck of the Argo II, staring gloomily at the floor in silence. Nobody had bothered to eat dinner either, but surprisingly, not even Percy's stomach was growling. They had convinced Coach Hedge to go scouting for supplies—he had been stomping around the deck and threatening to kill Octavian if he tried anything, which hadn't exactly been helping matters—and Annabeth was running around somewhere near the engine room, trying to catalogue exactly what they needed to repair, but everyone else was there. They didn't want to be—they had offered to help Annabeth multiple times, but she had refused, saying they would only make an even bigger mess of things—but there was nowhere else for them to go.

Frank grabbed a pebble that had found its way on deck and tossed it from hand to hand, scowling. "I hate this," he said. "We can't do anything without this ship. I hate feeling useless while our camps are about to attack each other."

"While your camp is about to attack ours," Piper corrected. She didn't put malice in her words, though, only a reluctant stating of the facts. She knew, along with everyone else, that it wasn't Camp Jupiter's fault—or even Octavian's, as much as they'd like to blame it on him. If Camp Half-Blood had believed that Percy had been killed at a Roman's hand, they would have attacked their camp too—especially if they had already been (supposedly) responsible for destroying half of their home. No, Piper knew exactly who to blame for this disaster, and it wasn't Octavian. It was Gaea.

"There has to be something we can do," Hazel said feebly. "I can't believe that . . ."

Nico shook his head. "There isn't, Hazel," he told her gently. "Not as long as we're stuck here."

"And judging by how long it's taking Annabeth to find all the damages," Jason added, "I think we'll be stuck here a while."

Percy had kept silent during this exchange, tapping Riptide against his thigh and frowning, but at Jason's words, he suddenly jumped to his feet. "Stuck?" he grumbled. "Stuck?! We're worse than freakingstuck, Grace. We're marooned on this freaking island, with absolutely no way out, and an extremely small chance that we'll be able to do repairs without our resident mechanic—who is still trapped inTartarus, at the mercy of Gaea, in case anyone forgot—while our friends die across the ocean and Gaea gets stronger and Western civilization falls apart and we—freaking—FAIL!" While he spoke, Percy's pen-tapping got more and more frantic until, at the word fail, he seemed to get so frustrated that he cracked. He swung his arm back, and for a second, Piper was terrified that he was going to punch Jason across the jaw. Instead, to vent his anger, Percy wound up and chucked his pen off the side of the ship. It flipped through the air until Piper lost sight of it. She figured it landed in the ocean somewhere, but she never actually heard the plunk of it hitting the water.

Everyone stared at the son of Poseidon. He was supposed to be the glue of the group—the person who held Greeks and Romans together and kept them all grounded—but he looked more strung-out than the rest of them combined. And although Piper knew Riptide would return to Percy's pocket eventually, throwing it away like that was still a pretty rash move.

Slowly, Percy realized what he had done. His scowl lessened slightly, and he exhaled and anxiously ran a hand through his already-messy hair. "Sorry, guys," he muttered, "but . . ." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Both of those camps are my homes, and I can't just sit here while they kill each other for no reason. I can't . . ." While he fished for words, Percy bounced from one foot to another. "I just . . . I have to do something." Percy nodded, like he'd made a decision. "I have to do something," he repeated. "I'm going for a swim. Yell if you need me." Before any of them could protest, the son of Poseidon ran to the railing, clambered onto the rope ladder, and started climbing down to the beach.

For a moment, the rest of them stared after him in shock. Then Hazel shook her head, as if coming to her senses. "But . . . it's dark," she said, to no one in particular. Then she turned and said it to everyone in particular. "It's dark. Jupiter's thunderbolt, what is he thinking?" She jumped up and ran to the railing. "Percy! Come ba—" She cut off abruptly, hesitated for a moment, and then turned and frowned at her friends. "He's already gone."

Sighing, Frank got up and walked over to her. "I'll make sure he doesn't do anything stupid," he promised her. "Don't worry." He hesitated for a moment, and then gave Hazel a quick hug before turning into an eagle and flying away. Piper thought she could just see him morph into a dolphin mid-air, and then dive into the ocean.

A minute after Frank disappeared, Hazel was still staring off after them, a worried crease between her eyebrows, so Piper got up and steered her back to the remainder of their group. "It'll be fine," she said. "Frank will take care of Percy, and Percy will take care of Frank. I'm sure they'll be back soon."

"I . . . I guess," Hazel said.

Just then, they heard a crash coming from belowdecks. They all turned to face the stairs, and before long, Annabeth appeared, blowing strands of hair out of her face and dangling a clipboard from one hand. For an instant, Piper thought she looked overworked, exhausted, thoroughly annoyed by the state of the ship, and maybe a little worried and scared, but the daughter of Athena quickly hid her emotions behind a hard mask.

"We have a lot of work to do," Annabeth started out by saying, her gray eyes more stormy than ever. "I have an incredibly long list of repairs—some of which I don't even know if I can do. . . . But to hopefully make it go a little faster, I assigned jobs to all of you. Percy, if you could—" She faltered, just seeming to realize that Percy wasn't there. She turned to the others, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. "Where did he go?"

Jason opened his mouth, but Piper quickly spoke over him. The last thing Annabeth needed to hear was that her boyfriend, in so many words, threw a temper tantrum and ran off. A very justified temper tantrum, maybe, but after seeing how hard Annabeth was working, Piper figured a white lie was the best way to go. After all, knowing Percy couldn't deal with the current catastrophe might make Annabeth realize that she couldn't handle it either. And that wouldn't be good for anyone.

"He, uh, went looking for supplies," Piper said. "Frank went with him."

"Oh." All the air seemed to deflate out of Annabeth, and she sat down hard next to Piper, a weird look in her eyes.

"You okay?" Piper asked her, frowning.

Annabeth sighed. "Yeah, I'm fine," she claimed. "It's just . . . well, we can't really get started without Percy—I need him to drain some areas of seawater that leaked in during my emergency air-sea-beach crash-landing before we can begin fixing things, which means . . . Oh, Styx." She massaged her temples, and Piper thought she had never seen her friend so upset—so hopeless. Not even while Percy had been missing. Piper understood why. Worrying that her boyfriend was dead was bad enough, but Annabeth had at least held onto hope that he was safe at the Roman camp. This situation, though . . . Alltheir friends were in mortal danger. And being behind camp borders wasn't going to protect them this time.

Hazel frowned. "Oh, Styx, what?"

"I was hoping I could hold off on this as long as possible," Annabeth began, "but I should have known better." She pushed back a few stray hairs. "It's a good thing New York is six hours behind us. It's just barely seven o'clock there. I'll Iris-message Chiron and let him know our situation. That way . . ." Annabeth took a deep, steadying breath. "That way they know we won't be able to help them. They can have all night to prepare for the coming battle."

She shrugged helplessly, and Piper finally recognized the expression on Annabeth's face. In fact . . . She saw it on all their faces. Honestly, it was no surprise she had had trouble placing it. If there was one thing all her friends were good at, it was having hope in the darkest situations—holding onto that deep-rooted faith that things would work out in the end.

But the look on Annabeth's face wasn't hope.

It was defeat.

Reyna refused to accept defeat, despite a few minor obstacles that were in her way. For example . . .

Was she running out of time before Camp Jupiter would attack? Yup.

Did she have an endless stretch of riverbank to search before she found Orpheus's entrance? Yeah.

Was she totally clueless as to what Orpheus's entrance might look like, once she did find it? Maybe . . .

Was she going to completely wing it once she got to the door to the mortal world and had to do something musical to escape? Oh, definitely.

Would she need to improvise some form of super-fast transportation once she did get to the surface, in order to get to Camp Half-Blood in time? Of course.

Before she even reached any of those obstacles, was a massive, three-headed, shadowy dog blocking her way? It wouldn't be the Underworld without him.

Like she said.

Minor obstacles.

Reyna crouched behind a convenient stalagmite—trying not to think about how much it reminded her of Tartarus—and scouted out possible detours that would get her around Cerberus. But there weren't any. The security gates that the dead filed through stretched out as far as Reyna could see in either direction, with sheer rock walls rising up in the distance. No, there was no detour that wouldn't take half-a-day to find, let alone follow. Reyna twirled the ends of her braid—one of the few nervous habits that she couldn't break, no matter how hard she tried—and assessed her options.

Option 1: Walk through the gates the wrong way and hope nobody noticed.

Definitely dangerous, and possibly suicidal. Better options had to exist.

Option 2: Detour.

Oops, no, that was out already.

Option 3: Fly over everything.

Nope. She'd already sent the helicopter back to Tartarus.

Option 4: Go to Pluto's palace and beg for aid.

Ha. She'd already ruled him out as a possible benefactor. Besides, traveling to the palace would be half an hour's hike in the wrong direction.

Option 5 . . . Aw, Styx, who was she kidding? Honestly, there had never been more than one option to begin with.

Reyna shook her head and started forward.

For the first eight minutes, Reyna thought it actually might not be that bad. The dead didn't notice her, even if she accidentally passed through them. The security guards were too busy scrutinizing the spirits walking in to look up and see the living girl sneaking out. Even Cerberus was too busy nuzzling something at his feet to pay her any attention. Reyna crouch-ran all the way to the nearest turnstile without being seen. She waited until the guard was preoccupied with staring down a terrified soul—she felt horrible for the guy, but he was a good distraction—before jumping the gate. Nobody even looked her way. Reyna was about to smile triumphantly—

And then the alarms blared.

The guard whipped around. "A living being has crossed the turnstiles!" he yelled. "Illegal! Illegal! Where are you? If you want to get into the Underworld so badly, I'll make it easy for you! I'll kill you first!"

First Reyna cursed Pluto for installing a life-detector—at least, she guessed that was what it was—inside his gates. Then she thanked all the other gods for the one unexpected advantage she had. The guard was convinced that she had been trying to sneak into the Fields of Asphodel, so he was scanning the throngs of souls milling around aimlessly, apparently unaffected by the deafening alarms. He wasn't paying any attention to the line of ghosts waiting in front of him. . . . So if Reyna just blended in well enough . . .

And then, of course, Cerberus spotted her. Just out of the corner of the left eye in his left head, but it was enough. Slowly, all three of his heads swiveled around to stare at her. Reyna did her best to merge into the mass of shadowy souls, but she knew the guard dog wasn't fooled. She took a step back, preparing to make a run for it—and felt something digging into her leg . . . something that wasn't the recorder safely tucked into her left front pocket. No, this was stored in her right. Careful not to make any sudden moves, she reached into her jeans and drew out a screwdriver. A message was scribbled on it: Figured you might need this. After all, even you can't defeat an army barehanded, right?

For a second, Reyna thought she was going to cry. Leo must have slipped the screwdriver into her pocket when he hugged her, too awkward to give it to her directly. The gesture was so . . . so . . . so Leo, it hurt. But the fate of the world was resting on her shoulders at the moment—not to mention the fate of all of her friends—so Reyna shoved her emotions into the massive box that she kept locked somewhere behind her heart, where she could effectively avoid them as much as possible, and focused on the task at hand. Sure, it was pretty daunting, but not impossible. Especially since she had a screwdriver now.

"Are you certain?" Malcolm asked Annabeth over the IM, his eyebrows creased. "There's no last-ditch negotiation tactic we could try to get the Romans to change their minds?"

Annabeth had made the first call a few hours ago, and the counselors had accepted the news better than she had expected. Chiron didn't even look surprised. His expression had been a strange mix of disappointment, pain, and something else Annabeth couldn't put a name to. She only hoped he wasn't disappointed in her.

The Iris-message hadn't lasted long, since they had needed to start preparing for battle in earnest, but now Malcolm was back. He had begun with a simple strategy question, but their discussion had almost immediately turned to parley again. He was holding out hope, and as much as Annabeth hated to see her little brother in this situation, she knew hope wouldn't get him anywhere. It was too late for that.

"I'm sorry, Malcolm," Annabeth said, working hard to keep tears out of her gray eyes. "The Romans won't be swayed. Gaea made sure of that."

Her brother looked at her with wide gray eyes so similar to Annabeth's, but a thousand times more innocent—at least in her opinion. He was her little brother, and if he got hurt tomorrow, Annabeth didn't know if she would be able to handle it. It would be like getting her heart frozen, bulldozed, shattered, and stomped on, all at once.

But then, as Annabeth watched, Malcolm's expression began to harden. He focused on her, stopping his eyes from darting away and betraying his fear, and kept his mouth in a hard line, so that it wouldn't twitch and show that he was holding back tears. Annabeth wished she could hug him. He was trying so hard to be strong.

"All—all right," he said finally, his voice brittle. "It was worth a try." He moved his hand as if to swipe through the IM, and then hesitated. "Annabeth," he said, "if something happens to me—"

"Stop," Annabeth said forcefully. "You're going to be fine. You're all going to be fine." Okay, so maybe she was doing her best to hold onto hope too.

"Yeah," Malcolm said, glancing away for a split-second before refocusing his gaze on his sister. "Yeah, of course we are. But still, I want you to know—just because it might be . . . a while . . . before I get to talk to you again . . ." He took a deep breath. "I lived in an orphanage for so long, feeling totally alone in a world of strangers with no blood relation to me. I was an outcast. And then suddenly I was whisked away to a weird camp for my protection, and I found out I had family after all, and . . ." He offered up the thinnest of smiles. Annabeth couldn't find the strength to return even that. "Well, you made me feel included in a world I was sure I didn't belong in. You helped me recover from the hardest times of my life, and then helped me survive times that were even harder. Without you, I don't know what I'd be—probably still the scared kid who spent his days reading books and staring at walls because he knew he wouldn't see any monsters there. Thanks to you, though, I've become brave enough that I can handle whatever tomorrow brings." Somehow, even through everything, his smile widened.

"And however strong I am, I know you're about five hundred and nineteen times stronger," he added. "So maybe I don't know if I'm going to be okay tomorrow. If any of us here in New York are going to end up okay tomorrow. But if there's anything I know, it's that you'll be fine. You'll survive, and you'll come out even better than you are now. Gaea can never win as long as you're around because I know you'll never stop fighting." His small smile turned into a full-out grin. "So thank you, Annabeth, for strength and courage and kindness and all the other things you taught me through example. I love you."

Annabeth gulped. "Thank you," she whispered, "for showing me that not all family is bad. I didn't know that . . . for a long time. Until you came along." She blinked several times, and then managed a tiny smile of her own. If this was the last time Malcolm was going to see her in this life, she wasn't going to let him remember her as weepy and emotional. She would live up to his expectations, no matter what. "I love you too."

They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, and then Malcolm disconnected the IM. Annabeth was grateful. She couldn't hold the tears back any longer.

Reyna eyed Cerberus warily, wondering if he was going to bark and give her away. Instead, he did something even more astonishing. He tilted his middle head to the side, stuck his tongue out, and started wagging his tail, like he was asking, Play time? Somehow, this was worse than what she had been expecting. Reyna had been prepared to fight Cerberus and take him down, all in the name of peace for Rome, but seeing him blinking at her with surprisingly warm eyes, hopeful and expectant, broke down her resolve. He didn't want to hurt her. He wanted her company. Oh, gods.

Reyna looked down at the screwdriver in her hands, then up at him. One of the stories Annabeth had told her, half a lifetime ago in New Rome, flashed into her head. We were in the Underworld, she had said, Percy and I, trying to get through the gates. Cerberus was about to attack us, but then we realized he wanted to play. Percy threw a stick and didn't get a reaction, but I . . . The daughter of Athena had smiled slightly, reminiscing. I used a red rubber ball left over from Waterland and played fetch. Her eyes had sparkled in amusement. He liked my ball much more than any stick. I added it to my list of "Times I was Smarter than Percy Jackson". Of course, by the time I was fourteen, I had given up on that list. She had laughed. It was too long.

Reyna frowned at the memory, half-nostalgic and half-disappointed. So the screwdriver was out. It was too much like a stick. She scanned the ground, hoping for something red-rubber-ball-like, but there was nothing. Eventually, her gaze landed on her scuffed-up sneakers, worn and dirty and covered in teeth marks from her automaton dogs—Her eyes widened. Her dogs liked playing with her shoes. Without skipping a beat, she shoved the screwdriver back into her pocket, stood on one leg, and pulled off her left sneaker.

By now, the guard had finished scanning the Fields of Asphodel and had turned back to the line, muttering under his breath about glitches in new technology. He looked to the next unfortunate spirit and noticed something strange about the dead girl a few people down. For some reason, her clothes seemed brighter than the other dead, her hair seemed shinier, and she was taking off her shoe—Wait. Spirits couldn't take off their shoes. They didn't have bright clothing. There was only one explanation. The dead girl wasn't dead. His teeth spread in a snarl. "Living!" he shouted. "That girl with the braid is living! Get her!"

Reyna cursed under her breath and straightened, shoe in hand. "Hey!" she yelled, looking at the three-headed dog blocking her path to freedom. "You want to play fetch, don't you? Here, fetch this!" She leaned back, grateful for years of throwing toys with her dogs, and hurled her sneaker as far as it could go.

All three of Cerberus's mouths gaped open as the sneaker sailed past them, their slimy tongues hanging out in joy. The sneaker landed somewhere in the distance. The stoic, terrifying guard dog sprinted after it.

Reyna took off behind him. She had an Underworld gate to find.