"Her ankle!" Hazel shouted from the ladder. "Cut it! Cut it!"
Nico jerked his head towards Annabeth and saw her collapsed on the ground, being dragged backwards as if she was being pulled by a rope. A length of spider silk was wrapped around her ankle, which led all the way back to the pit.
There was no time to second-guess himself. Despite his fatigue, Nico managed to lunge forwards and grab her by the hand. Of course, she didn't slow down at all. If anything, she managed to accelerate towards the gaping chasm leading straight to Taratus, and Nico found himself going there right by her side, body roughly tumbling over debris as he swore to himself.
He tried to gain some sort of footing, but it was too late. They barreled over the edge of the pit, though at the last second, he grabbed at the ledge with one hand, the other still holding onto Annabeth's hand. An immediate rush of pain shot through his arms, spreading through the rest of his battered body like a wave of electricity, seizing his muscles into a sort of paralysis. He gasped as his vision flickered, the world seemingly spinning as the sounds of screams filled his ears. He couldn't tell if they were his own or not.
"No escape," said a voice from below. "I go to Tartarus, and you will come too."
Already, sensation had begun to fled from his hands. He didn't dare look down, for the fear that he might find that he wasn't even holding onto Annabeth anymore. He saw Percy reaching out to him; good old Percy, reliable Percy, heroic Percy, coming to save him. Coming to save the day, good old Percy with Riptide shining so brightly in one hand and his other stretching out to grab him, to save him. To save them.
His hand finally let go. They were falling.
Percy reached down, and for a single, fleeting moment, their fingers touched. He felt the brief, oh so very brief touch, a single measure of warmth that cut through the shock and numbness like a hot knife, sparking that fleeting sense of hope in his brain.
Then it all went dark, and Percy's face vanished into obscurity.
They were falling.
They were falling.
They were falling.
All
The way down
To Tartarus.
With every single passing second that they fell, Nico could feel the temperature around them growing warmer and warmer until finally it wasn't warm but hot, and then not hot but rather a searing flame that enveloped his body, as if he were an asteroid falling into Earth's atmosphere.
He couldn't see her, but he knew that Annabeth was there as well, falling by his side. She had kept mostly silent, other than the occasional sob and whisperings that he couldn't quite make out through the whistling air that assaulted his eardrums. Once, he tried to say something to her. An apology. She didn't respond, and he wasn't sure if she just didn't hear him, or if she was just ignoring him. Either way, he didn't want to press her.
Eventually, Tartarus' presence began to grow stronger, and that was when Nico knew that they were nearing the end. The end that is, of their lives. It wasn't as if either of them had any way of surviving such a fall, so they were practically as good as dead. For some reason, that fact didn't bother him as much as it should have. Perhaps his brain couldn't comprehend such an inevitable fate. Or maybe, maybe, he was relieved. Relieved that he would finally be free from all of this, relieved that he would return home, relieved that the responsibilities of quests and prophecies would forever fade from his grasp. Relieved that if he were to die, then it was meant to be.
The air grew hotter still, until it felt like the very blood under his skin started to boil. A foul scent of rotten eggs filled his nostrils and he began coughing, flecks of spittle flying from his mouth as his macabre thoughts were broken through. A pale red light filled his vision; the first thing he noticed was Annabeth, who was falling below him. She had a faraway look, with her usually sharp eyes clouded in gray uncertainty. She was muttering something to herself, silently.
"Annabeth. Annabeth! We're about to land." He shouted over the whistling air.
She frowned and blinked a couple of times. She looked up at him, and then below her.
While he couldn't quite make it out from such a height, he could sense it. One of the Underworld's rivers, right below them. A shot of adrenaline rushed through his brain as the possibility for survival seemingly presented itself. From what he could tell, it was River Cocytus.
In his peripherals, he saw Annabeth shift a bit. He turned to look and saw her straightening her body, with her arms by her side and toes angled downwards. He mimicked her posture with a silent prayer in his mind to any of the gods that, on the slightest, most miniscule chance, may have been listening.
He closed his eyes and in the next moment, he made impact.
A scream tore itself from his lungs as a harsh, nearly incomprehensible pain filled his body, burning agony that was akin to molten lead being pumped through his veins. It then gave way to coldness, sharp and piercing frost that seeped through his flesh and settled into his bones. He realized, with a dull sort of understanding, that he couldn't feel his legs at all. It was probably the cold getting to him. EIther that, or the river wasn't as deep as he hoped it was, and his leg bones shattered on impact.
"In Tartarus yet again. You escaped once, do you really think you can make it again?"
"Would you even want to escape again?"
"Just give up. It will be easier on everyone, including yourself."
"What's the point of trying? Die, and claim your rightful position in Elysium."
Hundreds, perhaps thousands of disembodied voices filled his mind, pleading with him in utter desperation to give up. Despite everything, a sense of rebellion flashed within him. He was the son of Hades; what power did these forsaken souls have over him? What right, what authority did they have? No, he wouldn't succumb to such pathetic voices, damned spirits they were. His resistance to the river, he supposed, would be one benefit of being the son of Hades.
He swam towards the surface, all the while a cacophony of voices harangued him with malicious intent. When he finally broke through, he swallowed as much air as he could. It was rancid, borderline acidic air that seared his throat, but it wasn't anything he hadn't felt before. Tartarus air or not, it still provided some semblance of relief to his lungs.
There it was. The shore, seemingly hundreds of miles away. He looked around for any sign of Annabeth; a flash of blonde hair, an irregular shape amidst the waters, anything. He tried to call out for her, but his voice wouldn't come. He reluctantly began paddling towards the shore after a while. His legs didn't work at all; he couldn't even lift them up to kick at the water. All he could do was wade forwards, hands pathetically pushing through the water and the cries of its inhabitants.
It didn't take long for him to lose all sensation in his arms as well, though maybe that was for the better. Now he could just focus on getting to the shore. He was moving at a snail's pace, but what did that matter? He felt no pain, no fatigue, nothing at all. Just the knowledge that he needed to get out of the water.
"You're a failure. Why are you trying to escape? Your 'friends' are probably happier that you're gone."
"You never fit in. The people around you are only disturbed by your presence."
"Unwanted. No one cares about you."
"Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up! " A savage cry tore itself from his throat. Frigid tears sprouted from his eyes as the weight of the water began to slow him down. He couldn't give up. Couldn't. If anything, he simply wanted to spite those voices. Ironically, if the river wasn't trying so hard to drag him down, he might have given up on his own by this point.
So slow. So unbearingly slow, and yet he persisted. He didn't realize it at first, but he got to the point where he could reach down with his arms and touch the ground. Thankfully, it didn't take long after that for him to reach the shore.
With numb disbelief, he stopped paddling and instead started crawling, nails raking over layers of fragmented glass. He cringed at the sound, and at the sight of fresh spurts of blood bursting from his hands as he pulled himself onto land. His body was still numb, thank Hades. Still, he didn't doubt that he would be feeling the full effects of everything later on, assuming that he even survived to reach that point.
The voices crowding around inside his head began to die down, gradually fading until finally, there was nothing but blessed silence. With monumental effort, he heaved himself forward one last time before twisting his body around so that he could look at himself. Though his body was mostly obscured by his clothes, he could still make out hints of boils and scabs through the tears in his shirt, as well as the horrible angles that his legs were twisted.
He contemplated his injuries through an objective lens, and found that he was probably going to die here. He only hoped that Annabeth wasn't as injured as he was.
Wherever the hell she is... He thought to himself.
There was a singular pause in time that sent a shiver up his spine, brought on by that sudden overwhelming feeling that something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
Nico sat there on the shore of the beach for a while, with nothing to do but wait. With time, sensation began to slowly but gradually return to his body, starting at his hands. He could feel every individual cut on his palms, which were only further inflamed by the acidic air around him. Several shards of glass were embedded inside of his fingers, some of which were so deep that it might have touched bone.
His arms, while somewhat protected by his jacket, were covered in intermittent spots of bruised purple, which meshed quite nicely with the bright red rashes that had begun to spread across his forearms.
Something that worried him was the fact that he still couldn't feel anything below his waist. He tried a few times to pull up the cuffs of his jeans, but it felt as if he were constantly just one wrong movement away from popping a bone from its socket, so he reluctantly left it alone for now.
Of course, what worried him more was the fact that Annabeth had yet to appear. Nico nearly had a heart attack at one point when he caught a glimpse of her backpack washing up to shore, but there wasn't anyone wearing it. He supposed it had slipped off sometime during the fall, or perhaps it fell into the pit long before the Argo II arrived. Using the tip of his sword, he was able to catch one of the shoulder straps and pull it towards him.
How long has it been since they fell into the water? The deep sense of unsettled foreboding resting in his gut flared as he straightened himself up. neck craned as he scanned the waters of Cocytus with increasing amounts of desperation. Annabeth wasn't dead, surely. Surely not. She was strong, one of the smartest demigods he knew, and hell she was part of the Prophecy of Seven, wasn't she? The Fates wouldn't let her die here.
She's a strong swimmer, I mean she has to be, right? Her boyfriend is Percy freaking Jackson, son of Poseidon. He winced at that thought. Right. Percy. Percy wouldn't ever forgive him if he let Annabeth die in this hellhole. He doubted Percy felt anything but ire for him; he wouldn't want to strain their relationship further. But something like this wouldn't strain their relationship. It would rip it to shreds, and those shreds would be burnt to ashes.
And then, there was that feeling. Foreboding, a hollow deafness in his ears that spread throughout his body and filled him with that overwhelming void of feeling. It was a feeling that he was all too used to. That sense of death. When a soul's flame is snuffed out, a life claimed, Nico could feel it. It wasn an innate instinct that only grew more prevalent as more and more death surrounded him. It didn't take long for him to learn how to differentiate between human and monster souls.
How many humans could have been in Tartarus?
By his estimate, only two. And one of them just died.
"Annabeth." He inched towards Cocytus, hissing as more pieces of glass embedded themselves into his skin, the pain of which he could unfortunately feel in full effect now. "Annabeth. Annabeth! Annabeth, can you hear me? Where are you?!"
His throat began to close up as realization dawned upon him. Dead. By the Gods, Annabeth was dead. She was probably struggling through the waters for all of this time while Nico sat back and waited. Simply waited. What was wrong with him? Was he really so useless that he had done nothing while…
Drowned. Her soul had likely just become another part of the River Cocytus by now.
He tried to feel some sort of sadness, some deep sorrow that would choke him with tears, but it never came. There was only an endless, harrowing feeling of emptiness that had, in no time at all, consumed any sort of grief he could have felt. It was almost unreal. He was alone in Tartarus, yet again. Could have had a companion. A friend. Someone to help pull him through all of this.
Only, he let her die.
Nico let out a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. It was only right, he supposed, that this was how he would die. Alone, in the deepest depths of the Underworld, having just committed one last unforgivable act against the very people who he was closest to. Was there even any point in trying to escape? By his measure, both of his legs were broken, and he's probably lost more than a fair share of blood at this point. Even if he did make it out, he would have to face Percy and the others. He'd have to look at Percy in the face and tell him what he did to Annabeth. His girlfriend.
The thought of Percy sent a quick jolt up his spine. No. If anything, if anything, Percy deserved to know. He deserved to know what happened to Annabeth.
Once everyone heard what happened, he would probably be banished. Not that he wasn't already shunned enough, but this would be the breaking point.
Doesn't matter. He was used to being alone.
He just couldn't forgive himself if he couldn't at least tell him what happened and apologize. The least he could do for Percy.
Percy, Annabeth. Finally, Nico opened his eyes. I'm sorry for everything.
Though the act made him feel somewhat guilty, he knew that it would be foolish to not at least look inside. He grabbed Annabeth's backpack and looked inside: some string, bottles of water, a thin book, a laptop, ambrosia…
He gasped, only to start coughing as the arid air seared his throat. Eyes watering, he desperately grabbed at the squares of ambrosia, which were wrapped in Saran plastic. He tore through the plastic and greedily shoved a piece of ambrosia into his mouth, nearly biting into his trembling fingers in the process. Unsurprisingly, it tasted of nothing.
The pain dulled a bit, allowing Nico to focus a bit more on his surroundings. There was a cliff not too far away from him, the edge of which was dimly lit with flickering red lights. There also seemed to be the remains of a baby-blue car, which had washed ashore. It was pinning a large, thickly-woven mass of spider silk. Probably Arachne's doing and considering that he didn't see any sign of the spider, she was probably still alive. Great.
He looked into the backpack once again and found an orange t-shirt from Camp Half-Blood, probably a spare. He snatched it out, mouthing a silent apology to Annabeth as he cut it into neat, wide strips of cloth with his sword. Then began the long, tedious process of picking out the fragments of glass stuck into his skin and bandaging them.
As his hands worked to cover his bleeding wounds, he thought about what he should do next. The ambrosia was great, but he would probably need more than that to fix his legs. Even after eating the god-food, he found that he still couldn't move them, at least not without producing some serious discomfort.
That's what bothered him the most. There wasn't any pain down there, only discomfort. The horrible knowledge that if he put too much pressure on them, he might not have any hope of walking ever again.
"Phlegethon." He whispered to himself. With the remains of the torn shirt, as well as some of the string for reinforcement, he wrapped his palms the best he could and began dragging himself towards the cliff's edge. It couldn't have been more than fifty yards away, and yet, by the time he reached it, beads of sweat had formed on his forehead, and his breathing was reduced to nothing more than hoarse croaks as his lungs simultaneously cried out for oxygen and rejected the foul air that his labored breaths brought into his body. His arms were shaking so badly that if a monster ambushed him right then and there, he probably wouldn't have been able to unsheathe his sword, even with a thirty second head start.
He took out another square of ambrosia and began to unwrap it as slow waves of agony coursed through his body. Beyond the cliff, he could make out the river. A long, flowing stream of burning flames that lit the obsidian terrain around it in an angry red glow. Even from atop the cliff, he could feel the overbearing heat. It was a familiar sight for him; during his first bout with Tartarus, he had to rely on its healing properties more times than he could count. He knew that if he could just reach it, he would be in a much better spot.
Only, that was better said than done. The cliff face was unreasonably steep, falling flat to the ground at an almost perfect ninety degree angle. He would have to climb down almost a hundred feet just to reach it. He was never much of a climber, and he sure didn't trust himself to perform any better in Tartarus.
With two broken legs. Yeah right, it would be suicide to even try. Nico thought as he spotted a tiny ledge below him that looked like it had just enough space to act as a foothold. Given the choice between dying from exposure to the welcoming environment of Tartarus and a quick fall to his death, Nico thought it wise to choose the latter.
Sighing, he turned around and started lowering himself down the cliff. The inevitable certainty of death loomed in his mind, but it bothered him less than it probably should have. Maybe an instant, relatively painless death was the most he could ask for. In fact, it would probably be best for him to just fall on his head. Break his neck. Wouldn't even feel it.
The idea was tempting, but he still tried the hard way anyway. He held his breath as he gently placed a foot onto the ledge. Experimentally, he began putting more and more of his weight onto his leg, seeing how much it could take.
It didn't take long for a loud crackling sound to fill the air. He cursed under his breath and lifted himself back up. Right, so conventional climbing was out of the picture, unless he wanted to crawl all the way back to the Doors of Death. He unshouldered Annabeth's backpack and took another look inside. Other than the laptop (which couldn't turn on, probably due to the water damage), there was only the book, water bottles, and string left.
He began to wonder whether or not some sort of rope made from string would be feasible when an idea popped into his mind. Turning around, his eyes searched through the dull, glass shores of the beach until he finally found it. The car, and along with it, the remains of a giant spider cocoon.
Maybe there's a chance after all. Nico mused to himself as he began crawling towards the wreckage.