Percy missed Annabeth's invisibility cap. He missed a lot of things about her, but at that moment, while he quietly hid behind stray rocks, trying to analyze a way through the monsters, he knew he very desperately craved that Yankees cap. But it wasn't exactly like he could pin the blame on her.
Percy, at the very least, could've asked Hades for his Helm of Darkness, though Hades would probably think Percy was being cheeky, and would toss him into the Fields of Punishment.
Still, the point Percy was trying to make was that…he would be noticed if he sneaked in, and it become startling more obvious the more he thought about it.
"Do you need some help, Perseus Jackson?" It was starting to nag at Percy's brain…that whatever this voice was doing was…unnatural. Powerful. Godly, even. Percy didn't linger long on the thought though.
"No," Percy muttered softly.
He stared at the monsters and that glinting adamant. It was both so close and so far.
"I think you need help," the voice told him, and his tone was firm.
Percy flicked his gaze at the sky, stuck his tongue, then stared again at the monsters buzzing with excitement. "No," he said again, harder.
"I can stop the monsters for you."
It surely was meant as a statement of a reassurance, of arrogance, but that was an edge to it. Percy knew immediately that this creepy voice wasn't lying because somehow...somehow...he was strong enough. It had to be a Titan or a god, that Percy was sure of, and Percy was unsure if he should take the voice's help or not. The being was walking a thin line between friend and enemy, and Percy wasn't sure where he'd trip up.
"Don't bluff," Percy blurted. "And even if I did need help, I wouldn't ask the likes of you."
There was a chuckle, then, "Suit yourself, Jackson. Try not to get killed." Then just as Percy was going to say something witty, the voice fled. Like a coward.
Percy stared again. I wish I had that damn cap. I wish I had Annabeth again.
He breathed through gritted teeth, and he forced himself up. Hell, Percy might not have been the sneakiest, quietest person on the block, but he was fiercely determined, and if push came to shove, Percy could fight off the monsters. He'd been privy to worse battles, after all, where he'd fought tooth and nail against hundreds of vicious, biting monsters. A horde of distracted monsters? "Piece of fucking cake."
(They were famous last words.)
Then Percy, silent as snowfall, silent as a panther inching for attack, silent as a thief with eyes on a grand exhibit, silent as silence itself, walked over.
A thousand pairs of mismatched eyes flicked over to him immediately.
Percy thought Tartarus's thick, sulfur-y smell would cover up Percy's natural demigod scent. As the monsters eyed him up like he was meat, licking their lips and growling, he realized that nothing would hide a demigod from a group of hungry monsters.
Percy whipped Riptide out, his eyebrows drawn in anger.
"Move in silence, only speak when it's time to say checkmate."
- Lorenzo Senni
If fighting monsters wasn't so stress-inducing, Percy would call it a hobby.
Now that he thought about it, he might even enjoy it. It was a kind of exposure therapy, and killing them made Percy wild, a tangle of anger and determination.
But this time, it was so utterly unexpected and hopelessly inconvenient; Percy had a goal, and they were getting in his way. He swung Riptide about, ducking and biting where monsters lunged over him.
Percy was weak. He was in his enemy's most natural territory, so when he fell to his back, a collection of claws and fangs latching and grazing down his skin and CHB shirt, he slashed even more. He was like a machine now, existing only on pure adrenaline. Stress and agony tore through his head, making Percy let out a guttural roar. He took six of the monsters down, before another fifteen replaced them, and Percy was kicking, flailing, uselessly swinging his limbs to get away.
The monsters inched closer, vicious and biting.
"Do you need help now, Perseus Jackson?"
"No!" Percy yelled, and it came out as little more but a pathetic pant.
Call it ego, a hero complex, or stupidity, Percy was not letting some faceless being take the glory out of his victory.
He fought like a wild animal. Like a feral beast who'd been uncaged. Monsters fell into dust, but more monsters clustered around him. For every slice, every death, another savage, ruthless creature easily replaced them.
It was like playing whack-a-mole with death.
Percy felt blood rush out, and it was like fire.
Percy was starting to lose grip on Riptide, the blade's hilt slipping from his hands, dozens of monsters viciously pummeling him. Everything stung, and red, red blood was everywhere. Percy had no idea that his body held so much blood until now. It was a massacre...even if Percy was the only one bleeding.
In a last ditch attempt to save himself, he scrunched his nose, trying to summon the River Phlegethon. Not so much as a drop of its fiery depths aided him. Percy was stuck, and pain rippled everywhere.
He hated his mortality. He hated how he was so, so weak. Fragile like glass. Breakable.
Percy wanted to be invincible, but as another monster knocked his jaw, spreading blood, he knew these thoughts were futile. Everything ached...and Percy knew his mortal body could not stand any more of this. He would...
Then there was a feminine, sweet voice, and it said, "You're gonna, like, kill him. Everyone off!"
The monsters all moved away from Percy's bloodied form. Some were reluctant, but for the most part, Percy was free from the monsters. Percy's hands were clammy on the dirty ground, and Percy threw up on the spot: a mixture of vomit and blood. He felt so weak...he was weak, at that moment. He'd been beaten by mere monsters, the same monsters he ate for breakfast in the mortal world. His standard, normal, weak monsters overpowered him, and he'd been saved by—
"That's right! Chop-chop!" A girl. No, not a girl, an empousa.
Percy groaned, and he wished the monsters would just get back to fighting him. Whatever Kelli wanted to do to him was worse than being tortured, but he couldn't do much, bleeding out. He spat again, a few drops of clearer liquid. He wondered if spit could heal his wounds, but he doubted it. Even if his spit could heal him, at the moment, Percy was about as powerful as a baby lamb.
Kelli eyed his bruised, bloody body with disgust, and she pinched her nose. "Ew," she muttered. Then Kelli's dark eyes flung back to the crowd of monsters, and she said, "Mother Earth wants him in prim, perfect condition." She did a wide gesture at Percy, rolling her eyes. "What do you, like, not get?"
Percy snorted, standing shakily. The monsters stared with fire in their gazes, ready to attack, ready for an attack. He held Riptide strong in his hands, even though his torturous body was quaking.
"Though I do think we could have some fun, you know," Kelli said, staring at Percy like he was a prized pig. Percy outright growled.
He slammed his blade into the heart of a nymph-like monster, then tucked Riptide into the crook of Kelli's neck. Kelli smiled, a slithery sort of smile, and she said, "Go on, Jackson." Percy was just about to slam Riptide through Kelli's neck—after all, he didn't need to be told twice—but then, Kelli purred, "Be the coward, Jackson. Killing without a proper fight? So typical."
Percy flinched.
Kelli smirked and prodded, "The hero of Olympus killing the poor, defenseless maiden."
Percy didn't outright drop the sword, but his hand wavered a bit. He steadied it, and he kept it there.
"Who is Mother Earth?" he said, and his voice was quiet.
"Why? Are you interested in joining?"
"Answer the question," Percy said, pushing the sword deeper. Not enough to draw gold, but it was definitely an intimidating move.
"What a hero," Kelli said, ignoring Percy's statement completely. She batted her eyes. "Annabeth would be so proud."
That was the last straw.
His vision blurred in anger, and Percy couldn't see straight. For a mere second, he was tempted to kill Kelli where she stood, but that would cement her point. It would just make Percy look more...more...
Percy's chest also constricted at the mention of Annabeth so casually. If...if Kelli herself could see Percy's inhumane brutality, then that truly meant something, didn't it? What was wrong with Percy?
His hand fell limply down.
Kelli glowed in victory, and Percy scowled. "You know, Jackson, you've got spirit. I'll give you that. But if you do want to kill me, these monsters'll kill you. They aren't as talkative as I am."
Not talkative? What a way to put it: The monsters would kill Percy on the spot.
Percy eyed Kelli, his gaze weary, but he knew he was surrounded. He wasn't cowering. He was...thinking.
What if Bob never came back? Was Percy on his own then? How was he going to overpower dozens of monsters in his weak state? Unless the River Phlegethon got an epiphany any time soon...Percy was on his own.
"They'll kill me." Percy nodded up at the bright-eyed, eager monsters. "You obviously have some kind of authority. What are you going to do to me?"
"Safekeep you for Gaea." Kelli pursed her lips at Percy's injuries. "She mentioned you should be unharmed, but it doesn't really matter anymore, does it? I suppose I could let the monsters hurt you some more."
Percy's eyes were slits.
Kelli tilted her head at the empty white ring and nodded at it, and her ruddy-red eyes sparkled with interest. "Unless you'd prefer a more heroic fight?"
"And I'm guessing you'll let me walk free after?"
The empousa shrugged slightly. "Like, it doesn't even matter, Jackson. You're in Tartarus, and you won't escape." Percy cringed at this, his fists clenching tightly, his mouth curling into an ugly snarl.
"Then I want that metal." Percy gestured at the glinting, silver block, his eyes bright.
"I don't think you're in a position to make decisions—"
Percy slammed the blunter side of his blade onto Kelli's neck. "Funny story," he spat.
Even if she was already in Tartarus, considering the golden ash on the floor, Percy was willing to place bets that the monsters suffered, then regenerated into Tartarus. It wouldn't be as cruel as death, but
"Fine," she said. "Win, and you go free...and get the metal, too."
"On the River Styx."
"I swear on the River Styx."
Thunder sounded, and even in hell, even in the place where morals went to die, the vow was made, sealed, and bound. Percy wasn't sure what swearing on the River Styx meant for a monster, especially considering Kelli's already-dead state, but it couldn't be good—could it? Percy counted on his chances. He'd played games with luck since he was a child—he could play some more.
Their conversation didn't sink in for thirty seconds, before Percy realized he was going to fight a monster, while he himself was half-dead. Annabeth wasn't here to tend to his scratches, and Solace wasn't here to restore his vigor and muscle. Percy felt a lot like a stick-figure, standing on thin legs and waving around thin arms. He was incapable of fighting. Weak.
And here Percy was, making deals with an empousa. He felt so foolish.
If push came to shove, he supposed he could use the voice. That was his trump card, though. Percy was resolute in his independence and strength; he didn't want someone else to fight his own battles. Speaking of the fight... "Who am I fighting?" he asked.
Kelli leaned in, smiled, and said, "An old friend."
"But these words people threw around—humans, monsters, heroes, villains—to him it was all just a matter of semantics. Someone could call themselves a hero and still walk around killing dozens. Someone else could be labeled a villain for trying to stop them. Plenty of humans were monstrous, and plenty of monsters knew how to play at being human."
- V.E. Schwab, Vicious
Reyna would call this the "eye of the storm," but that would imply there was peace at the moment. Of course there was order in Camp Jupiter, as there had always been under her charge, but there was also an underlining panic. She saw it in her fellow praetor and the Senate's eyes. She saw it in the citizens of New Rome, who clutched their young close by, and in the elderly's worried eyes, who balked and hid from clear slight.
Everyone knew one fundamental truth: Their Roman militia was strong, but the Titans were stronger.
Reyna was a powerful, impressive leader, this she knew, but she was also smart enough to know that the Titans were winning. By a landslide. This brief peace they had was weird...strange...unknown. Reyna wasn't worried, but a furrow edged itself onto her forehead every time they went over military plans.
She tried to approach war like it was a game of chess, but her patience was thinning. Her strength also waned as time wore on, and she felt herself grow more and more irritated at each loss. At each time they'd been beaten. This is Rome, Reyna thought. Her soldiers had trained for years...and somehow, the Titans could easily overpower them. It was nauseating.
Octavian was also starting to become a more and more relevant problem.
"She can't fend for you!" the blond demigod would proclaim, holding out a tortured teddy-bear with fluff oozing out of its head. "Listen to the words of Apollo, and answer his plea! Your precious praetor can't win against the Titans!"
It boiled her blood: how much control the religious figure had. Octavian could shimmy out in his prophet robes, read out of an old, brown-paged book, and suddenly, the masses would believe him.
They threw Reyna and her military prowess under the bus, just for Octavian's pretty words.
In-fighting was also becoming the new normal. There were a million different perspectives in Camp Jupiter of retreat, of fight, of wait, being thrown around; the unity of Camp Jupiter was forgotten along the way.
Maybe, Reyna thought acerbically, Saturn isn't attacking us because he knows we'll tear ourselves apart from the inside.
It was a depressing thought. She couldn't allow another one of her homes to crumble.
Reyna rubbed circles over her brow, smoothing the wrinkles there.
"Are you okay?" It was Hylla, her sister, who sat down next to her. She set a warm cup of something on the table.
The foyer was empty, but Reyna could hear Octavian talking mutiny not far away. She made another disgruntled sigh; Octavian would be the death of them.
Reyna gave her sister a passable smile. "Only tired," she said, just as Octavian yelled another, For Rome!
Truly, Reyna was grateful for Hylla's presence. They were sisters, and they hadn't been close these past years, with Hylla in the Amazons and Reyna running a Roman camp. Funny how war was the only thing bringing them together. Aside from the ferocious Amazons, Camp Jupiter had also gathered a leaderless group of the Hunters of Artemis. Reyna wished she was more grateful they were here, but it'd be nicer to have the actual goddess on their side.
The hunters' upstart, snarky lieutenant—one Thalia Grace—wasn't exactly helping Reyna out. Grace was very prone to arguments, and she liked fighting Reyna at every turn. The only thing that calmed Thalia was Jason, but Jason wasn't at camp at the moment. He was trying to make alliances with demigods outside of Camp Jupiter.
However, where credit was due, Thalia brought Camp Jupiter one good thing. A prophecy, one of a sixteen-year-old hero, born from the winds of either Jupiter, Neptune, or Pluto.
And as soon as she'd heard it, Reyna knew the prophecy was in Jason's cards. Jason was sixteen, bright-eyed, and brave. So beautifully, tragically brave. But there was Hazel to account for. And that son of Pluto.
Hylla sighed and said, "It must be destiny. Rome falling again."
Reyna's eyes were as dark and hard as obsidian. "It will not fall."
"There are only so many lies you can tell yourself," Hylla told her. "We cannot fight off Kronos's army."
"Then what?"
Hylla offered Reyna a sloppy smile, which made Reyna's skin prickle. If Hylla, her own flesh and blood, knew the war was futile, did that make everything Reyna was going to sacrifice pointless?
It hurt her chest, just thinking about their slim chances. Slim? a part of her brain wondered. You don't even have a chance, Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano.
"If we surrender..." Hylla's voice was lilting and soft.
Reyna stood up, and her eyes were hard, flaring in rage. Hylla's umber-dark eyes widened.
This was Hylla, not an imposter, not a traitor. This was Reyna's sister, who carried Reyna's scars and held her respect. It wasn't like this was Octavian, blurting out travesty after travesty, using his status to buy votes from the Senate; Hylla was her sister, and this felt like a betrayal.
"Oh, don't look at me like that!" Hylla said with exasperation. "I'm not saying we should join him."
"It sounds exactly like that."
"No!" Hylla reached out and held Reyna by her wrist, her grip firm but not uncomfortable. Her voice was tight, but there was honesty in it, so Reyna only stood there, staring off at the distance. "Reyna, Reyna...you know that's not what I mean. I can't...I can't lose you."
Reyna's heart stuttered in her chest, her demeanor softening a bit, but her eyes were still weary.
"We don't have any gods backing us up," Hylla said. " We don't have anyone backing us up. The Amazons are suffering loss after loss all over the country, too. I've told them to surrender if the fighting gets too difficult." She let a breath out. "We worked with Circe, so—"
"Working for Kronos is different from working with Circe," Reyna gritted out.
"There is nothing left for us here."
"For you." Reyna's tone was blank, monotonous, not tinged with anger or sadness. "I am the leader here. This is my home."
Hylla let go of Reyna's wrist lightly. "Reyna..."
"I may go out in death," Reyna said stiffly, "or I can bring Jupiter a victory for the ages."
A third option sprung through her head, and it tasted like a tantalizing, forbidden fruit. It was a caress; it was a sweet whisper. The echo of surrender, surrender, surrender.
Reyna couldn't surrender, and if Hylla could even stomach joining Kronos, that was worse than sisterly betrayal. It was treason.
Before she could say something, a girl with short inky hair sped into the foyer, gasping when she reached Reyna. Reyna's impassive eyes skimmed over Thalia's silver circlet, her startled blue eyes, and myriad of freckles. Grace let out another frantic pant.
"Yes, Lieutenant Grace?" Reyna asked, giving Thalia another quick once-over.
"We're being attacked," Thalia said, her electric-blue eyes fearful. "We're...being...attacked."
Reyna heard it the first time, and she felt her heart lodge into her stomach, slackening. Reyna was frozen there for a millisecond, and worry played funeral bells in her mind. Reyna hadn't rallied the troops for the day, they hadn't had lunch yet, they hadn't done anything yet— This couldn't be happening; Reyna needed more time, more practice, more of a warning...more, more, more.
Then Reyna's eyes met Hylla's, and finally, she realized.
Apparently, as Percy learned, the game was less like sumo-wrestling than he thought. Which was just...brilliant.
Kelli's red eyes glinted with malice and joy. She recited the rules like they were her favorite song lyrics, her tone light and chirpy like a happy bird. "The rules are..." Kelli managed to drag the word "are" into oblivion. Percy felt himself swallow, standing there in the ring. "...you must get your opponent out of the circle by any means! No forfeiting! Death is, like, allowed!" She burst into sadistic giggles.
Percy took Riptide out, and it glinted in Tartarus like a bronze beacon of protection, of companionship, of the freedom of a clean slice—
"Uh-uh-uh," Kelli sing-songed. She stuck her hand out, waiting.
Percy stared for a bit, his eyes squinting. A mixture of confusion and annoyance curdled in his gut.
"The sword," she said, and she gestured at her hand.
"I'm not going to fight without a sword," Percy replied. "That's unfair," he felt the need to clarify.
The empousa hissed angrily, her eyes flashing with menacing rage. "None of us have a sword, Jackson. You'll play by our rules, or you won't play at all."
Percy tried to weigh his options. He really did want that adamant, and fighting seemed like a convenient way to get it. Without a sword though, Percy didn't know how long he would last. Percy couldn't exactly summon a hurricane at the moment, and Percy didn't know how much his bare fists would do against a monster. However, as he thought deeper about Kelli's terms, he realized he didn't have to kill the monster. He just needed to trick it into stepping out of the circle. A monster's intelligence was limited, so Percy knew he could accomplish the task.
Percy looked down at his jeans. They had pockets. He wouldn't lose Riptide, even if Kelli tried to steal it from him forever.
He inclined his head up, almost cockily, lidding Riptide. Percy gave the simple ballpoint pen to Kelli, who only set it in her front pocket, smirking.
She looked at the crowd of monsters, and Percy saw Kelli point and say, "You! Go on! Kill Jackson, will you?"
See, Percy wasn't nervous, but when Kelli had said "old friend," he'd expected an easy Minotaur for Percy to bull-fight out of the ring. Maybe he expected Kelli or Tammi to step in, trying to seduce him into stepping out. Or some angry forgettable monster Percy had easily slaughtered.
Percy did not expect to see the monster that stepped out from the crowd, steps smooth and assured, gashes dragging canyons over his body.
Somehow, where a monster was supposed to be, a boy stepped out.
The Titan's palace was colder than ice, carved out of onyx, obsidian, and gold. It rested on top of Mount Olympus, and it was a solid representation of Kronos's victory over the gods.
He'd refashioned the heavenly place to fit his and his siblings' needs.
He held a wine glass in his hands, twirling it. He drank deeply, enjoying the taste that rubbed the back of his throat raw. Kronos had a high tolerance to his grandson Dionysus's creations, so he indulged.
Kronos knew his victory was secure. He'd played his cards right, and he'd taken every necessary precaution to win. He was missing a few things in his success, but Kronos could ignore them for the time being. Let it be known, Kronos was not a picky deity; he'd been fed scraps as a child, and he could appreciate every part of life, not just the finer.
However, although he'd conquered Olympus, Kronos hadn't won yet, not quite yet. Three problems played in his head.
Firstly, he wished to find his wife, Rhea. Whether that be for vengeance, for how Rhea easily let the gods keep him in Tartarus for eternity, or for reconciliation. Kronos did not enjoy having loose ends to deal with, and he did miss Rhea's kind, warm presence.
Secondly, he wanted to raise his mother from the ground. Kronos knew this was a risky move...Gaea loved her giant children, possibly more than Kronos and his siblings, and Kronos was not going to let his half-brothers take a slice of the mortal world. This victory was Kronos's own, and although he'd let his Titan brethren different parts of earth, it was only because they'd aided him. The giants...he would not allow them to steal his victory.
Thirdly, being stuck in this one human form was starting to...drag. Luke Castellan was a clever, charming boy with impressive looks for a child of Hermes, but the boy was no Titan or god. Kronos did not like looking like a measly demigod, and although the boy's body held the curse of Achilles, he was still vulnerable.
A weak spot was a weak spot, no matter how hidden it was.
They were small problems, of course, but Kronos was the most powerful man, god, Titan, deity, in the world. Everything should go his way, and he would acknowledge his problems...as soon as he dealt with the demigod camps—
Kronos was snapped out of his musings with a scream from below.
From below Olympus, all the way down from the Empire State Building. From below this mortal world, from below Elysium, Asphodel, and the Fields of Punishment.
From Tartarus itself.
Kronos allowed himself a smirk, crossing his ankle over his knee, and he cleared his throat. Percy Jackson really was too predictable.
A/N: Hi! I'm back. Things are slow in Tartarus, but I promise it'll pick up speed soon. I'd love to hear your guys' reactions, so that'd be really appreciated. I've never had this many follows/favorites/reviews before, so it's a bit insane haha. Tell me what you think/want to happen!
