Third Person: Curse

Annabeth had reached her terror limit. She'd been assaulted by chauvinist ghosts, she'd broken her ankle, she'd been chased across a chasm by an army of spiders, and now she was left in severe pain, her ankle wrapped in boards and Bubble Wrap, carrying no weapon except her dagger with Curse little help facing Arachne - a monstrous half-spider who wanted to kill her and make a commemorative tapestry about it. In the last few hours, Annabeth had shivered, sweated, whimpered, and blinked back so many tears that her body simply gave up on being scared. Her mind said something like, 'Okay, sorry. I can't be any more terrified than I already am.'

So instead, Annabeth started to think.

The monstrous creature picked her way down from the top of the web-covered statue. She moved from strand to strand, hissing with pleasure, her four eyes glittering in the dark. Either she was not in a hurry, or she was slow. Annabeth hoped she was slow. Not that it mattered. Annabeth was in no condition to run, and she didn't like her chances in combat. Arachne probably had other horrible powers - a poisonous bite, or web-slinging abilities like an Ancient Greek Spider-Man. No, combat was definitely not the answer.

That left trickery and brains. Not that it wasn't an uncommon method that they had been forced to use in the past on numerous occasions. In fact, it seemed to play a role in most of the battles they'd fought. In the old legends, Arachne had gotten into trouble because of pride. She'd bragged about her tapestries being better than Athena's, which had led to Mount Olympus's first reality TV punishment program: So You Think You Can Weave Better Than a Goddess? Arachne had lost in a big way. Annabeth knew something about being prideful. It was her fatal flaw as well. She often had to remind herself that she couldn't do everything alone. She wasn't always the best person for every job. Sometimes she got tunnel vision and forgot about what other people needed, even Percy. And she could get easily distracted talking about her favorite projects. But could she use that weakness against the spider?

"Help shall come," Curse assured her. "You must stall. Pride is easy to exploit. Her work is clearly her weakness. A child of Athena, her greatest enemy, speaking well of her. That will be too much for her to ignore."

Annabeth tried to keep her expression calm, which wasn't easy with a broken ankle. She limped towards the nearest tapestry - a cityscape of Ancient Rome.

"Marvelous," She said. "Tell me about this tapestry."

Arachne's lips curled over her mandibles. "Why do you care? You're about to die."

"Well, yes," Annabeth said. "But the way you captured the light is amazing. Did you use real golden thread for the sunbeams?"

The weaving truly was stunning. Annabeth didn't have to pretend to be impressed.

Arachne allowed herself a smug smile. "No, child. Not gold. I blended the colors, contrasting bright yellow with darker hues. That's what gives it a three-dimensional effect."

"Beautiful."

Annabeth's mind split into two different levels: one carrying on the conversation, the other madly grasping for a scheme to survive. Nothing came to her. Arachne had been beaten only once - by Athena herself, and that had taken godly magic and incredible skill in a weaving contest.

"So…did you see this scene yourself?"

Arachne hissed, her mouth foaming in a not-very-attractive way. "You are trying to delay your death. It won't work."

"The only one here capable of defeating her is herself," Curse informed her. "Why does she hate Athena? What is her goal? What does she want the most? And how can you, at the least, pretend to offer it to her?"

"No, no," Annabeth insisted to Arachne. "It just seems a shame that these beautiful tapestries can't be seen by everyone. They belong in a museum, or…"

"Or what?" Arachne asked.

A crazy idea sprang fully formed from Annabeth's mind, like her mom jumping out of Zeus's noggin. But could she make it work?

"Nothing," Annabeth said, sighing wistfully. "It's a silly thought. Too bad."

Arachne scuttled down the statue until she was perched atop the goddess's shield. Even from that distance, Annabeth could smell the spider's stink, like an entire bakery full of pastries left to go bad for a month.

"What?" The spider pressed. "What silly thought?"

Annabeth had to force herself not to back away. Broken ankle or no, every nerve in her body pulsed with fear, telling her to get away from the huge spider hovering over her.

"Act as though there is nothing left to lose," Curse advised. "Relax your muscles. Your fear response is a means of self-preservation. Lose your concentration on surviving and focus more on your need to impress her."

Annabeth tried to take a deep breath without letting her fear show. She tried to take Curses' advice, forgetting about the fear and focusing on her plan.

"Oh…it's just that I was put in charge of redesigning Mount Olympus. You know, after the Titan War. I've completed most of the work, but we need a lot of quality public art. The throne room of the gods, for instance…I was thinking your work would be perfect to display there. The Olympians could finally see how talented you are. As I said, it was a silly thought."

Arachne's hairy abdomen quivered. Her four eyes glimmered as if she had a separate thought behind each and was trying to weave them into a coherent web.

"You're redesigning Mount Olympus," She repeated. "My work…in the throne room."

"Well, other places too," Annabeth said. "The main pavilion could use several of these. That one with the Greek landscape - the Nine Muses would love that. And I'm sure the other gods would be fighting over your work as well. They'd compete to have your tapestries in their palaces. I guess, aside from Athena, none of the gods has ever seen what you can do?"

Arachne snapped her mandibles. "Hardly. In the old days, Athena tore up all my best work. My tapestries depicted the gods in rather unflattering ways, you see. Your mother didn't appreciate that."

"Rather hypocritical, since the gods make fun of each other all the time. I think the trick would be to pit one god against another. Ares, for instance, would love a tapestry making fun of my mother. He's always resented Athena."

Arachne's head tilted at an unnatural angle. "You would work against your own mother?"

"I'm just telling you what Ares would like. And Zeus would love something that made fun of Poseidon. Oh, I'm sure if the Olympians saw your work, they'd realize how amazing you are, and I'd have to broker a bidding war. As for working against my mother, why shouldn't I? She sent me here to die, didn't she? The last time I saw her in New York, she basically disowned me."

Annabeth told her the story. She shared her bitterness and sorrow, and it must've sounded genuine, as the spider didn't pounce. Annabeth had to admit that some of it was true, how annoying it was that her mother just sent her here where many other of her previous kinsman had died, how she had just spat in Annabeth's face about her showing sympathy for Romans meant that she was no daughter of hers. It was times like these where it was a win-win in letting out her true feelings and having them genuine enough to convince the enemy.

"This is Athena's nature," Arachne hissed. "She casts aside even her own daughter. The goddess would never allow my tapestries to be shown in the palaces of the gods. She was always jealous of me."

"But imagine if you could get your revenge at long last."

"By killing you!"

"I suppose." Annabeth scratched her head. "Or…by letting me be your agent. I could get your work into Mount Olympus. I could arrange an exhibition for the gods. By the time my mother found out, it would be too late. The Olympians would finally see that your work is better."

"Then you admit it!" Arachne cried. "A daughter of Athena admits I am better! Oh, this is sweet to my ears."

Annabeth remembered what Veon had told her back at Camp Half-Blood when someone had made a comment about how Nico and Veon were so different, both being sons of Hades, but one being a lot more friendly than the other.

"Nico and I aren't that much different," Veon had said. "Nico sees himself as a scary guy, he feels as though he's unwanted by others, and that he doesn't fit in. In turn, that thought process is what makes him into the scary guy that he is. He fits the personality that he believes everyone sees him as, and then that ends up being what the world sees him as. It's a paradox, all right. Me? I see myself as the kind of guy who's scary and dark, sure. But I realized a while ago that there are others in the same position as me, and that I'm not alone. I take pride in who I am. If others don't like it, that's their problem. It's all in the eye of the beholder, I guess you could say. We all want to believe that we're appreciated or seen as something specific, but we don't realize that all we have to do to feel that way is just let ourselves see us that way. Anyone else is just bonus."

"All these legends paint you as some kind of monster that lost the contest because she was worse than Athena. You're not some monster, not unless you believe that. However you see yourself, that's how the world's going to see you. It's easy to see that you're clearly the best weaver, but no one else has been able to see the truth behind all those rumors and gossip that my mother spread, no one's ever seen your side of the story, at least no one besides me. I'd love for others to see it, especially the gods, and I'll be the first to say that you're better than my own mother. Sadly, a lot of good it does you. If I die down here, you go on living in the dark. Gaea destroys the gods and they never realize you were the better weaver."

The spider hissed. Annabeth was afraid her mother might suddenly appear and curse her with some terrible affliction. The first lesson of every child of Athena learned: Mom was the best at everything and you should never, ever suggest otherwise. But nothing happened. Maybe Athena understood that Annabeth was only saying these things to save her life. Or maybe Athena was in such bad shape, split between her Greek and Roman personalities, that she wasn't even paying attention. If Athena could come down here for her statue that she'd spent centuries searching for, all problems would be solved. So obviously that wasn't the case.

"This will not do," Arachne grumbled. "I cannot allow it."

"Well…"

Annabeth shifted, trying to keep her weight off her throbbing ankle. A new crack appeared in the floor, and she hobbled back.

"Careful!" Arachne snapped. "The foundations of this shrine had been eaten away over the centuries!"

Annabeth's heartbeat faltered. "Eaten away?"

"You have no idea how much hatred boils beneath us. The spiteful thoughts of so many monsters trying to reach the Athena Parthenos and destroy it. My webbing is the only thing holding the room together, girl! One false step, and you'll fall all the way to Tartarus - and believe me, unlike the Doors of Death, this would be a one-way trip, a very hard fall! I will not have you dying before you tell me your plan for my artwork."

Annabeth's mouth tasted like rust. All the way to Tartarus? She tried to stay focused, but it wasn't easy as she listened to the floor creak and crack, spilling rubble into the void below.

"Right, the plan," Annabeth said. "Um…as I said, I'd love to take your tapestries to Olympus and hang them everywhere. You could rub your craftsmanship in Athena's nose for all eternity. But the only way I could do that…no. It's too difficult. You might as well go ahead and kill me."

"No!" Arachne cried. "That is unacceptable. It no longer brings me any pleasure to contemplate. I must have my work on Mount Olympus! What must I do?"

Annabeth shook her head. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. Just push me into Tartarus or something."

"I refuse!"

"Don't be ridiculous. Kill me."

"I do not take orders from you! Tell me what I must do! Or…or-"

"Or you'll kill me?"

"Yes! No!" The spider pressed her front legs against her head. "I must show my work on Mount Olympus."

Annabeth tried to contain her excitement. Her plan might actually work…but she still had to convince Arachne to do something impossible. She remembered some good advice Frank Zhang had given her: Keep it simple.

"I suppose I could pull a few strings," She conceded.

"I excel at pulling strings!" Said Arachne. "I'm a spider!"

"Yes, but to get your work shown on Mount Olympus, we'd need a proper audition. I'd have to pitch the idea, submit a proposal, put together a portfolio. Hmm…do you have any headshots?"

"Headshots?"

"Glossy black-and-white…oh, nevermind. The audition piece is the most important thing. These tapestries are excellent. But the gods would require something really special - something that shows off your talent in the extreme."

Arachne snarled. "Are you suggesting that these are not my best work? Are you challenging me to a contest?"

"Oh, no!" Annabeth laughed. "Against me? Gosh, no. You are much too good. It would only be a contest against yourself, to see if you really have what it takes to show your work on Mount Olympus."

"Of course I do!"

"Well, I certainly think so. But the audition, you know…it's a formality. I'm afraid it would be very difficult. Are you sure you don't just want to kill me?"

"Stop saying that!" Arachne screeched. "What must I make?"

"I'll show you."

Annabeth unslung her backpack. She took out Daedalus's laptop and opened it, the delta logo glowing in the dark.

"What is that?" Arachne asked. "Some sort of loom?"

"In a way," Annabeth said. "It's for weaving ideas. It holds a diagram of the artwork you would build."

Her fingers trembled on the keyboard. Arachne lowered herself to peer directly over Annabeth's shoulder. Annabeth couldn't help thinking how easily those needlelike teeth could sink into her neck. She opened her 3-D imaging program. Her last design was still up - the key to Annabeth's plan, inspired by the most unlikely muse ever: Frank Zhang. Annabeth did some quick calculations. She increased the dimensions of the model, then showed Arachne how it could be created - strands of the material woven into strips, then braided into a long cylinder. Giant's Bane stands gold and pale; won through pain from a woven jail. The others had discussed that there were two ways the second half of that line could be interpreted - Annabeth would have to escape some kind of woven jail, or she'd have to make one. Or, more accurately, Arachne would have to make one. At the very least, she knew she was on the right track.

The golden light from the screen illuminated the spider's face. "You want me to make that? But this is nothing! So small and simple!"

"The actual size would be much bigger," Annabeth cautioned. "You see these measurements? Naturally it must be large enough to impress the gods. The simplest things can actually be quite complex if you look closely enough. While at first glance, this seems like a very simple design, it is actually quite hard to perfect. It may look very basic, but the structure has incredible properties. Your spider silk would be the perfect material - soft and flexible, yet hard as steel."

"I see…" Arachne frowned. "But this isn't even a tapestry."

"That's why it's a challenge. It's outside your comfort zone. A piece like this - an abstract sculpture - is what the gods are looking for. It would stand in the entry hall of the Olympian throne room for every visitor to see. You would be famous forever!"

Arachne made a discontented hum in her throat. Annabeth could tell she wasn't going for the idea. Her hands started to feel cold and sweaty.

"This would take a great deal of web," The spider complained. "More than I could make in a year."

Annabeth had been hoping for that. She'd calculated the mass and size accordingly. "You'd need to unravel the state," She explained. "Reuse the silk."

Arachne seemed about to object, but Annabeth waved at the Athena Parthenos like it was nothing. "What's more important - covering that old statue or proving your artwork is the best? Of course, you'd have to be incredibly careful. You'd need to leave enough webbing to hold the room together. And if you think it's too difficult-"

"I didn't say that!"

"Okay. It's just…Athena said that creating this braided structure, especially in less than a day, would be impossible for any weaver, even her. So if you don't think you can-"

"Athena said that?"

"Well, yeah."

"Ridiculous! I can do it!"

"Great! But you'd need to start right away, before the Olympians chose another artist for their installations."

Arachne growled. "If you are tricking me, girl-"

"You'll have me right here as a hostage," Annabeth reminded her. "It's not like I can go anywhere. Once this sculpture is complete, you'll agree that it's the most amazing piece you've ever done. If not, I will gladly die."

Arachne hesitated. Her barbed legs were so close, she could've impaled Annabeth with a quick swipe.

"Fine," The spider said. "One last challenge - against myself!"

Arachne climbed her web and began to unravel the Athena Parthenos.

Annabeth lost track of time. She could feel the ambrosia she'd eaten earlier starting to repair her leg, but it still hurt so badly that the pain throbbed right up to her neck. All along the walls, small spiders scuttled in the darkness, as if awaiting their mistress's orders. Thousands of them rustled behind the tapestries, making the woven scenes move like the wind. She had this bad feeling that there was more hidden in the darkness that she couldn't see, more than just mere spiders to worry about. But Arachne was busy with her project, and so she wasn't giving a command to attack yet.

Annabeth sat on the crumbling floor and tried to preserve her strength. While Arachne wasn't watching, she attempted to get some sort of signal on Daedalus's laptop to contact her friends, but of course she had no luck. Curse promised that help was coming, but with her weakened state, Annabeth worried that if she was trying to put out a signal, it wasn't going to be enough, or at the very least, it was going to take a long time for the others to pick up. That left her nothing to do but watch in amazement and horror as Arachne worked, her eight legs moving with hypnotic speed, slowly unraveling the silk strands around the statue.

With its golden clothes and its luminous ivory face, the Athena Parthenos was even scarier than Arachne. It gazed down sternly as if to say Bring me tasty snacks or else. Annabeth could imagine being an Ancient Greek, walking into the Parthenon and seeing this massive goddess with her shield, spear, and python, her free hand holding out Nike, the winged spirits of victory. It would've been enough to put a kink in the chiton of any mortal. More than that, the statue radiated power. As Athena was unwrapped, the air around her grew warmer, her ivory skin glowed with life. All across the room, the smaller spiders became agitated and began retreating back into the hallway. Annabeth guessed that Arachne's webs had somehow masked and dampened the statue's magic. Now that it was free, the Athena Parthenos filled the chamber with magical energy. Centuries of mortal prayers and burnt offerings had been made in its presence. It was infused with the power of Athena.

Arachne didn't seem to notice. She kept muttering to herself, counting out yards of silk and calculating the number of strands her project would require. Whenever she hesitated, Annabeth called out encouragement and reminded her how wonderful her tapestries would look on Mount Olympus. The statue grew so warm and bright that Annabeth could see more details of the shrine - the Roman masonry that had probably once been gleaming white, the dark bones of Arachne's past victims and meals hanging in the web, and the massive cables of silk that connected the floor to the ceiling. Annabeth now saw just how fragile the marble tiles were under her feet. They were covered in a fine layer of webbing, like mesh holding together a shattered mirror. Whenever the Athena Parthenos shifted even slightly, more cracks spread and widened along the floor. In some places, there were holes as big as manhole covers. Annabeth almost wished it were dark again. Even if her plan succeeded and she defeated Arachne, she wasn't sure how she could make it out of this chamber alive.

And she thought these thoughts before she noticed the two humanoid figures sitting on some of the webbing. One was a woman and the other a man, each sitting upon the webbing on either side of the room and both staring down at her with blank and black stares. They almost seemed to be sitting in a casual way, not necessarily waiting to pounce at a moment's notice, but their faces were too stoic and blank to seem as though they were doing this for a sadistic or pleasurable intent. It reminded Annabeth of how Zy would sit up in the trees back at Camp Half-Blood, just watching the camp as the day went by, lost in thought and enjoying the silence of being left alone. But these two each had black sclera, accentuating the colors of their eyes in a very dark way, and their porcelain-like skin was cracked, completing the living-dead blank and emotionless faces that had their unblinking gazes upon Annabeth.

They looked to only be statues, completely unmoving, but they were very unnerving. It was like one of those clocks with cat eyes that seemed to be staring at you constantly, unblinking. It was only when the two of their head turned to look towards each other in sync that she realized they were alive, and nearly jumped out of her skin again. Being scared over a long period of time got old, and Annabeth's body seemed used to it at that point, but that surprise got her like no jumpscare had since she'd gotten there.

Annabeth realized that they didn't want to attack her, and they didn't seem to want anything, and they weren't overeager to strike. Only Arachne's command would make them attack, but if Annabeth succeeded in trapping Arachne, she'd still be able to shout out commands, and that would be that. Still, Annabeth's chances of surviving were low anyway. At the very least, she might be able to trap Arachne and hope that her friends would come for the statue.

"So much silk," Arachne muttered. "I could make twenty tapestries-"

"Keep going!" Annabeth called up. "You're doing a wonderful job."

The spider kept working. After what seemed like forever, a mountain of glistening silk was piled at the feet of the statue. The walls of the chamber were still covered in webs, the support cables holding the room together hadn't been disturbed, but the Athena Parthenos was free.

Please, wake up, Annabeth begged the statue. Mother, help me.

Nothing happened, but the cracks seemed to be spreading across the floor more rapidly. According to Arachne, the malicious thoughts of monsters had eaten away at the shrine's foundations for centuries. If that was true, now that it was free the Athena Parthenos might be attracting even more attention from the monsters in Tartarus. The woman sitting up in the webbing put her finger to her lips in a silencing way, and the cracks seemed to die down. Annabeth could only assume that meant she had some ability to control the monsters in Tartarus. And that she wanted to keep the statue, Arachne, and maybe even Annabeth from falling below. But that could change at any moment - especially if she realized Annabeth had a plan in mind. Neither of them looked like they had much of a brain, but they were definitely there for a reason, and considering they both kept their gazes upon Annabeth, it gave the impression that they were waiting for Annabeth to do something, good or bad, and they would act upon it.

"The design," Annabeth said. "You should hurry."

She lifted the computer screen for Arachne to see, but the spider snapped, "I've memorized it, child. I have an artist's eye for detail."

"Of course you do. But we should hurry."

"Why?"

"Because we must introduce your work to the world as soon as possible," Curse advised.

Annabeth recited the line, and Arachne merely replied, "Hmm. Very well."

Arachne began to weave. It was slow work, turning silk strands into long strips of cloth. The chamber rumbled, the cracks at Annabeth's feet becoming wider. Just because the monsters of Tartarus were quieted, it didn't make the structural integrity of the room any more stable. If Arachne noticed, she didn't seem to care. Annabeth considered trying to push the spider into the pit somehow, but she dismissed the idea. There wasn't a big enough hole, and besides, if the floor gave way, Arachne could probably hand from her silk and escape, while Annabeth and the ancient statue would tumble into Tartarus.

Slowly, Arachne finished the long strips of silk and braided them together. Her skill was flawless, and Annabeth couldn't help being impressed. She felt another flicker of doubt about her own mother. What if Arachne was a better weaver than Athena? But Arachne's skill wasn't the point. She had been punished for being prideful and rude. No matter how amazing you were, you couldn't go around insulting the gods. Sure, they had their own flaws, and Annabeth knew them much better than most, but the Olympians were a reminder that there was always someone better than you, so you shouldn't get a big head. Still…being turned into a monstrous immortal spider seemed like a pretty harsh punishment for bragging. Then again, it wasn't as though Annabeth couldn't understand how angry you could get when someone was bragging about their own skill being better than your own.

Arachne worked more quickly, bringing the strands together, and soon, the structure was done. At the feet of the statue lay a braided cylinder of silk strips, five feet in diameter and ten feet long. The surface glistened like abalone shell, but it didn't seem beautiful to Annabeth. It was just functional: a trap. It would only be beautiful if it worked.

Arachne turned to her with a hungry smile. "Done! Now, my reward! Prove to me that you can deliver on your promises."

Annabeth studied the trap. She frowned and walked around it, inspecting the weaving from every angle. Then, careful of her bad ankle, she got down on her hands and knees and crawled inside. She'd done the measurements in her head. If she'd gotten them wrong, her plan was doomed. But she slipped through the silken tunnel without touching the sides. The webbing was sticky, but not impossibly so. She crawled out the other end and shook her head.

"There's a flaw," She said.

"What?!" Arachne cried. "Impossible! I followed your instructions-"

"Inside," Annabeth said. "Crawl in and see for yourself. It's right in the middle - a flaw in the weaving."

Arachne foamed at the mouth. Annabeth was afraid she'd pushed too hard, and the spider would snap her up. She'd be just another set of bones in the cobwebs.

"Don't worry, it's small. You can probably fix it. But I don't want to show the gods anything but your best work. Look, go inside and check. If you can fix it, then we'll show it to the Olympians. You'll be the most famous artist of all time. They'll probably fire the Nine Muses and hire you to oversee all the arts. The goddess Arachne…yes, I wouldn't be surprised."

"The goddess…" Arachne's breathing turned shallow. "Yes, yes. I will fix this flaw." She poked her head into the tunnel. "Where is it?"

"Right in the middle," Annabeth urged. "Go ahead. It might be a bit snug for you."

"I'm fine!" She snapped, and wriggled in.

As Annabeth had hoped, the spider's abdomen fit, but only barely. As she pushed her way in, the braided strips of silk expanded to accommodate her. Arachne got all the way up to her spinnerets.

"I see no flaw!" She announced.

"Really?" Annabeth asked. "Well, that's odd. Come out and I'll take another look."

Moment of truth. Arachne wriggled, trying to back up. The woven tunnel contracted around her and held her fast. She tried to wriggle forward, but the trap was already stuck to her abdomen. She couldn't get through that way either. Annabeth had been afraid the spider's barbed legs might puncture the silk, but Arachne's legs were pressed so tightly against her body she could barely move them.

"What…what is this?" She called. "I am stuck!"

"Ah," Annabeth said. "I forgot to tell you. This piece of art is called Chinese Handcuffs. At least, it's a larger variation on that idea. I call it Chinese Spidercuffs."

"Treachery!"

Arachne thrashed and rolled and squirmed, but the trap held her tight.

"It was a matter of survival," Annabeth corrected. "You were going to kill me either way, whether I helped you or not, yes?"

"Well of course! You're a child of Athena." The trap went still. "I mean…no, of course not! I respect my promises."

"Uh-huh." Annabeth stepped back as the braided cylinder began to thrash again. "Normally these traps are made from woven bamboo, but spider silk is even better. It will hold you fast, and it's much too strong to break - even for you."

"Gahhhh!"

Arachne rolled and wriggled, but Annabeth moved out of the way. Even with her broken ankle, she could manage to avoid a giant silk finger trap.

"I will destroy you!" Arachne promised. "I mean…no, I'll be very nice to you if you let me out."

"I'd save my energy if I were you." Annabeth took a deep breath, relaxing for the first time in hours. "I'm going to call my friends."

"You…you're going to call them about my artwork?" Arachne asked hopefully.

Annabeth scanned the room. There had to be a way to send an Iris-message to the Argo II. She had some water left in her bottle, but how to create enough light and mist to make a rainbow in a dark cavern? As it turns out, that wasn't necessary, as Curse suddenly jumped from Annabeth's shoulder, growing in size once more and taking her form again.

She looked up to the ceiling of the cavern, her eyes and mouth opened wide in a trance. "They come! My mistress draws near!"

Arachne began to roll around again. "You're calling your friends to kill me!" She shrieked. "I will not die! Not like this!"

"Calm down," Annabeth said. "We'll let you live. We just want the statue."

"The statue?"

"Yes." Annabeth should've left it at that, but her fear was turning to anger and resentment. "The artwork that I'll display most prominently on Mount Olympus? It won't be yours. The Athena Parthenos belongs there - right in the central park of the gods."

"No! No, that's horrible!"

"Oh, it won't happen right away," Annabeth said. "First we'll take the statue to Greece. A prophecy told us it has the power to help defeat the giants. After that…well, we can't simply restore it to the Parthenon. That would raise too many questions. It'll be safer on Mount Olympus. It will unite the children of Athena and bring peace to the Romans and Greeks. Thanks for keeping it safe all these centuries. You've done Athena a great service."

Arachne screamed and flailed. A strand of silk shot from the monster's spinnerets and attached itself to a tapestry on the far wall. Arachne contracted her abdomen and blindly ripped away the weaving. She continued to roll, shooting silk randomly, pulling over brazier of magic fire and ripping tiles out of the floor. The chamber shook, and tapestries began to burn.

"Stop that!" Annabeth tried to hobble out of the way of the spider's silk. "You'll bring down the whole cavern and kill us both!"

"Better than seeing you win!" Arachne cried. "My children! Help me!"

Oh, great. Annabeth had hoped the statue's magic aura would keep away the little spiders, but Arachne continued shrieking, imploring them to help. Annabeth considered killing the spider woman to shut her up. It would be easy to use her knife now. But she hesitated to kill any monster when it was so helpless, even Arachne. Besides, if she stabbed through the braided silk, the trap might unravel. It was possible Arachne could break free before Annabeth could finish her off. All these thoughts came too late. Spiders began swarming into the chamber. The statue of Athena glowed brighter. The spiders clearly didn't want to approach, but they edged forward as if gathering their courage. Their mother was screaming for help. Eventually they would pour in, overwhelming Annabeth. Curse began spitting her fire at the spiders, and though she seemed to be renewed, it was evident that she wasn't going to be able to protect Annabeth from all sides forever.

Suddenly, the man that Annabeth had seen sitting above on the webbing jumped down to the ground, snatching up the webbing Arachne had shot out. His hands began to glow with an orange aura, which then spread down the webbing and caused Arachne to shout in pain.

"Stop that," He said monotonously, as though he didn't care, but he was reciting lines he had been told. "You'll bring down the whole cavern and kill us both."

Annabeth realized that he was reciting what she had said previously. She put together that he and the woman seemed to be empty shells, explaining their blank faces, frozen and unmoving positions, as though they were statues themselves.

The woman hopped nimbly from the spider webbing to the top of the Athena statue, before pulling a grenade from her bag and smashing it. Instantly, a gas started spreading from the statue - much more than that grenade should've been capable of, and it took over the entire cavern within seconds. It wasn't long before the gas began to disperse, but when it did, spiders began dropping dead from the cavern walls, and any that lived were retreating at full speed. As if a swarm of living spiders was bad enough a swarm of dead ones was even worse. Annabeth was on the verge of throwing up.

"What are you…?" Arachne began. "Why do you oppose me?! Send that child down to Tartarus and release me!"

"Stop that," He recited again. "You'll bring down the whole cavern and kill us both."

"Gaea has betrayed me?!"

"Stop that. You'll bring down the whole cavern and kill us both."

"Aargh! Curse that goddess!"

"You're…you're helping me?" Annabeth asked.

"You're helping me," He repeated.

"Why?"

"We shall follow our orders," The woman said, jumping down to join him. "'Do not allow her to reach Tartarus. Do not allow him to escape Tartarus.'"

"Who?"

"'Do not allow her to reach Tartarus. Do not allow him to escape Tartarus.'"

"Great, you can't speak either."

Somehow Arachne twisted in her prison, pointing her abdomen the sound of Annabeth's voice. A strand of silk hit her in the chest like a heavyweight's glove Annabeth fell, her leg flaring with pain. She slashed wildly at the webbing with her dagger as Arachne pulled her towards her snapping spinnerets. The man slashed at the webbing with a bow, slicing through the strand with ease and allowing Annabeth to crawl away, but the little spiders were returning. The woman pulled out another grenade, pulling the pin with her teeth and releasing it once more.

Annabeth didn't know what angle these two had. Arachne had cursed Gaea, meaning that these two had been sent by the earth goddess, but why would Gaea send them to help her? Maybe it was Gaea's pride, wanting Annabeth in particular of all demigods as the female of the two demigods she needed. But to have a female prevented from reaching Tartarus, but also a male needed to reach Tartarus?

As she pondered this thought, the chamber suddenly groaned, and the cavern ceiling exploded in a blast of fiery light.