THE DESCENT I
"The gates of Hell are open night and day; smooth the descent and easy is the way; but to return, and view the cheerful skies, in this, the task and mighty labor lies."
Percy woke up with a flash of crimson lightning, and the roaring thunder after it.
His body hurt, his cheek digging painfully into a sharp rock. After hoisting himself up, he realized that he hadn't been dreaming after all. He sat on the rocks next to a dark river, one that reeked of depression and reflected the blood red sky above it. All around him stretched an endless expanse of glassy desert.
Tartarus– the deepest part of the underworld. Even the gods wouldn't come here. And yet, here he was. He'd survived the fall. He remembered it had taken hours, maybe days, to reach the bottom. He'd fallen straight into the river… What was its name again? The underworld had five rivers, and he knew Annebeth knew them, but he couldn't remember this one.
He got to his feet –he was miraculously unharmed apart from some light bruising– and took a look around. There was this thick red mist that hung over the area, as if the Pit didn't want him to see more than six feet in front of him.
Percy tried to dry himself with his power and to his relief, it worked. He'd been scared that his powers wouldn't work in Tartarus, but they did, surprisingly.
Another lightning strike painted the sky red. He briefly wondered how there could be clouds if he was underground, but discarded the thought. He had more important things to worry about; like the fact that he was unarmed.
Riptide hadn't returned to his pocket. He'd dropped it on the surface, when he cut the string around Annabeth's ankle. It didn't seem to be coming back anytime soon either.
It had been hours, maybe days since he'd fallen through the crater. Or was it minutes? He'd lost all perception of time during the fall; not knowing whether it was day or night, morning or evening.
Percy dared to take a few steps away from the river, into the red desert. There wasn't a sign of life. No monsters in sight, despite the fact that he was very much in their territory. He didn't dare take this for granted though.
Keeping his mind alert, he began his trek away from the river. Usually, he'd stay near a source of water in a situation like this, but that river was peculiar. It poisoned his mind with depressing thoughts. If he hadn't been the son of Poseidon, the river might have bested him already.
So he left it behind in favor of walking towards the forest he could see in the distance. It was a long walk, and said forest would undoubtedly harbor more bad than good, but he supposed it was something.
The trees were a mix of sickly blue and blood red. That was all he could see from there, and that alone didn't bode well already.
It had barely been ten minutes when Percy heard something. Several somethings, actually. Footsteps.
The footsteps of running creatures, no less, beating against the ground like a drum. In the distance to his right, he saw the large dust cloud that was being kicked up by their stampede.
He scrambled to duck behind a rock before he could be seen. Percy was pretty far away, but he wasn't taking any chances. If he was captured by a group of that size… he shuddered.
The herd ran across the desert, hellhounds, dracanae, undead warriors and others he couldn't even recognize. They didn't run in tandem, bumping into each other, clawing and punching like they were in a hurry to get somewhere first. They didn't notice him at all. Percy chalked it up to the distance.
They stormed past him, racing into the fog far to his left, yet one monster stayed.
It was a man, or at least it used to be. His skin was pale and his flesh rotten. Cuts and gashes littered his body, and part of his jaw was missing. He reminded Percy of the zombies you'd see in those movies, as disgusting as it was.
The monster wore ancient Greek armor, though Percy couldn't decipher from what region. But the real prize was in the monster's hand; he clutched a bronze xiphos that looked worse for wear, but usable.
He snatched a shard of glassy rock from the desert floor, gripping it tightly in his fist, and began to creep up on it from its blind side. The monster made no sign that it heard him. Percy doubted it would've posed a real threat even if he took it head on, but he didn't need the monster raising some sort of alarm.
In one swift motion, he stabbed the rock into the monster's skull. It turned to ash before it could even hit the ground. The armor went with it, but luckily the sword was left behind. He picked it up.
It was scratched and chipped, but it was good enough.
Briefly, he sent a prayer to whoever would hear him, that the monster's soul would find some sort of peace. Percy held no sympathy for monsters, but this one in particular had probably been a Greek soldier at one point, so he felt an obligation to.
He didn't know if there was any god who could hear him here, anyway.
Resting the sword on his shoulder, Percy began walking towards the forest once again, away from the horde. He sincerely hoped he wouldn't have to bump into them again, he doubted it. He'd have to go looking for them eventually, whenever he regained his bearings.
Whatever that horde was in a hurry to find, if it was valuable to the creatures of the Pit, then it was likely to be valuable to him too. Hell, maybe they were running to the Doors of Death and he just didn't know it.
No, that was wishful thinking.
A blast of wind hit him in the face. His lips were dry. That'd be another problem; water. Food too, later, but mainly water. Finding the location of the Doors would be useless if he starved before reaching them.
He scoffed. Gaea would get a kick out of that. But hey, at least then she couldn't use him for whatever summoning ritual she had planned.
It took him an hour to reach the forest, and by that time the humidity had doubled. He could feel the sweat on his brow now, dripping down his nose. The trees were… nasty. They had sharp branches and holes with smoking acidic sap pouring out of them. Every plant in sight had thorns. Nothing seemed edible.
It was a stark reminder that he was, in fact, in hell.
Deeper in the forest, where the vegetation was thicker, Percy found something strange. A stream of liquid fire, a creek, cutting through the landscape. The dirt around it was scorched and smoking.
He knelt down, letting his hand hover over the liquid. It was hot, sure, but not like a fire. The heat prickled his skin like needles. It just didn't feel like a burn. Percy reached out with his power, giving the liquid a tug. A miniscule drop rose up from the stream.
He let it drop onto his palm.
It stung, sure, but when it evaporated, no burn mark was left behind. No lingering pain either. It was as if he'd never touched it at all.
He mentally slapped himself after that. That was a dumb idea. If it had been acid or actual fire, his hand would be in a world of pain right now. He needed to think, damn it.
But this creek though… he remembered the underworld having a river of fire… the Phlegethon? That was the second of the five rivers he'd found, so it was safe to assume that all of them lead down to Tartarus somehow.
If he could find the Styx…
The faint sound of a twig snapping behind him caused him to freeze for a brief moment, before he whirled around, lashing out with his sword.
He caught the hellhound in the face, turning it to dust with one swipe. Percy leapt backwards, over the stream and waved his hand. A wall of liquid fire rose up, before crashing into the treeline beyond it.
The trees burned as a smokescreen was created, obscuring him from vision, yet Percy stayed alert. They were pack animals, if there was one, there was bound to be more of them. Had the horde changed course for some reason?
As expected, another hellhound came leaping through the smoke, over the river. Percy evaded a swipe of its claws by stepping back.
The monster's pelt was littered with burns and some patches of hair were still on fire. It was panting like, well, a wounded animal. The hound took a step forward, and Percy matched it with a step to the side.
It seemed there were only two of them, including the one he'd already killed. That was lucky. He couldn't let any of them get away, lest they somehow inform other monsters of the fact that he was in the Pit. He didn't need a manhunt on his hands.
So he killed the second one with a swift downwards stroke of his sword, cleaving right through the dazed monster's skull. It turned to golden dust, leaving behind nothing but a heap of pelts.
Percy sighed, sheathing his sword by looping it through a belt loop in his jeans. He picked up the pelt of black fur. It was surprisingly soft, yet extremely sturdy. He decided to keep it, slinging it around his shoulders like a cloak.
Spoils of war. The first of many he'd collect down here, he assumed.
He kicked up some of the golden dust, spreading it –a futile attempt at masking his own scent– before he turned and hightailed it out of there. Jogging through the deadly forest, he kept hearing alarming noises belonging to even stranger creatures.
It made sense that the forest, surrounding the only viable source of water he'd discovered, would be infested with dozens of monsters as well. A flock of stymphalian birds flew overhead, with one of them noticing him.
It took him ten minutes to kill the damn thing, with how many times it dove at him, refusing to stay within arms length for more than a few seconds.
After that, he stumbled onto a pack of three dracanae. That was the harder fight, since one of them had a bow, but eventually all three of them fell.
He even asked the last one where the Doors were, but they refused to tell him.
"Doors? The Doors of Death, here?" the monster had cackled.
He hadn't gotten much else out of it, only the knowledge that the Doors were not here. Not even close, in fact. Of course, he'd take every word out of a monster's mouth with a grain of salt.
Another hour after the dracanae encounter, Percy entered a circular clearing about half a mile away from the Phlegethon.
In the middle of said clearing lay a car. Yes, a car. A red Fiat 500, dented and scratched with its hood ripped right off, laying on its side with the door wide open.
Judging by the craters in the dirt, it had fallen from the sky and bounced around the clearing until it finally rolled to this exact spot.
Sword in hand, Percy crept up to the car, in case something else had found it before him. That didn't seem to be the case though, as it was void of life. He quietly slipped into the car via the top, avoiding the shard of class from the broken windshield.
He found an old leather wallet on the dash, which held the ID of someone named Marcus. He tossed it into the glove compartment. Whoever this Marcus fellow was, he was probably pretty bummed about losing his car to a gaping hole in the earth.
As he searched the rest of the car, Percy caught a glimpse of something familiar on the back seat.
"Bingo," he whispered.
He pulled the backpack onto his lap; it was made of sturdy black material and still in good shape, surprisingly. Inside, he found a laptop and charger, a brown sweatshirt and a notepad. The laptop was dead, sadly, but he decided to keep it anyway. You never know.
Zipping it closed again, he swung it over his shoulders, under the newly acquired hellhound skin. He could use it as a makeshift scabbard for his sword too.
Percy was debating using the car as a temporary shelter, when he heard a peculiar noise coming from the forest. More specifically; close to the car. The sound of something scraping against the ground.
It stopped for a moment, before resuming, closer this time. Then he felt something make an impact with the car. Percy grunted as it rolled over, causing him to slam into the roof.
"Fuck-" He scrambled out of the hole left behind by the missing door, away from the unidentified creature, rolling onto the dirt outside.
Only to barely dodge a long, deathly sharp claw that would've torn right through his neck. Percy leapt back, putting enough distance between him and the thing. He pulled his sword free, looking up to face the beast.
His blood ran cold.
It was a giant spider with a woman's face. Despite that, it still had the black, beady eyes and the large tusks protruding from its mouth. It hissed at him, scurrying around, circling him. Percy realized he knew this spider, as it could really only be one creature.
"Perseus Jackson," Arachne hissed, "I hoped you'd die when the ceiling collapsed on your little troop of insects."
He huffed. "I think you'll find that we're not so easily killed," he said. "And you? You've been surviving no doubt, crawling around in the shadows like a roach-"
"Mind your tongue, boy!" she cried. "If that girl hadn't tricked me… Oh, but it doesn't matter. The earth mother will still get her wish. In fact, your friends are sailing towards their own demise as we speak."
"Is that what you think?" Percy asked. "You're allied with Gaea then?"
"An enemy of Athena is my dearest friend, what can I say?" she hissed. "And you, unfortunate creature… by saving her, you've saved the Fates the effort of snipping your string."
"The Doors-"
"The Doors of Death are not here, you fool!" She cackled, a horrible high pitched noise, like chalk on a whiteboard. "A hundred floors stand between you and your precious earth. Where we are now… not even the gods themselves know of this place. But it does not matter, I shall relieve you of your misery."
Arachne sliced at him again. He managed to parry the attack– his sword sliced into her side like a knife through butter. She screeched bloody murder.
"Where are they then?" he demanded. "Tell me!"
The monster screamed once more, snapping her grotesque tusks at him. Unfortunately he was too close. Percy managed to stop her by jamming his blade into her jaw, sideways. For a moment he thought it worked, until she bit down.
And his only weapon splintered under her massively strong bite.
He winced as one of the bronze shards sliced his cheek. Percy rolled sideways, finding the precious gap in her guard while Arachne was busy spitting out shards of metal. He stabbed the remainder of his sword into her abdomen, twisting it.
Arachne screamed. He ripped the blade out, and a fountain of blood followed. The spider stumbled, and she would've crushed if he hadn't pushed her away. She collapsed, her legs curling inwards.
Then she evaporated.
Percy's breaths were heavy, despite the short duration of the fight. He looked down at the handle of his sword– for a moment, he thought he was toast. Now his only weapon, his ticket to the surface, was gone.
He shoved it back against his backpack with a sigh.
What had she been talking about anyway? A hundred floors? Like levels? Like a fucking apartment building?
It would make sense, considering elevators and insanely high buildings seemed to be a recurring theme amongst the divine world. The Empire State building being Olympus, for example.
As if on queue, a rumble shook the ground like a light earthquake. Percy's hand shot to his sword again, but froze midway when something began to burst through the floor where Arachne had been.
Was she still alive? Was she being resurrected?
His worries were settled slightly, as it wasn't a living thing at all. It was a structure of stone, a door with runic carvings, that rose up from the ground until it stood at a height of about eight feet.
Percy couldn't read the carvings, but he knew that this door was important. Did this door lead to a different floor? Is that how Tartarus worked? But why did they appear? And how long did they stay?
The door clicked. It opened slowly, revealing the trippiest thing he'd ever seen. It led to an entirely different landscape; snowy mountains and thick pine forests. The sky was murky blue, but there was no fog.
He tossed a look over his shoulder, glancing at the cursed forest behind him. "Nothing better to do, I suppose," he muttered.
He hesitantly stuck his hand through the opening, confirming the fact that it wasn't an illusion. Percy took a deep breath.
Sword in hand, he stepped into the light.
It was, in many ways, like stepping into a new world. The sky was different, his surroundings were strange, but he was still undoubtedly in the pit. Everything seemed just a little off.
The trees had sharp edges, the pine needles especially. The sky was too blue in a way, without a cloud in sight.
He took a few steps in the snow, his feet sinking immediately. The cold wind bit into his skin, ignoring his clothes entirely. He pulled his hellhound pelt around his shoulder, holding it tight.
Somehow, he preferred the hot climate over this one.
Percy then remembered that he'd found a sweatshirt in the car, and he even brought it with him. Thanking every god he could think of, he quickly dug into the backpack before worming his way into the sweater. It wasn't much, but it was better than his camp shirt.
When he turned, the door had already been swallowed by the ground, not even leaving a dent in the snow.
"No going back now," he muttered.
His surroundings weren't promising; he was standing halfway up a hill, with a mountain range towering over him. To his left, there was a deep valley with a frozen lake at the bottom.
A strange howl echoed throughout the valley– Percy jumped, turning to find the root of the noise, but he couldn't see a thing.
Wolves, he thought. Hellhounds, maybe.
He took a breath, steadying his racing heart. He'd need to find shelter from the snow first, or he'd freeze. A source of food and water too. Then he'd start digging around for information. Percy needed to figure out how this floor system worked, or if it even existed at all. When he knew more of how it functioned, he could choose a course of action.
But there was really only one goal– the Doors of Death. He'd already been through too much to give up now. He'd make it back, gods or no gods, help or no help. For Annabeth, for Camp, and for himself.
Finally, I've started rewriting this story again. Here, Tartarus is a structure of one hundred floors, all of them being different in shape and form, but every single one is meant to kill demigods like Percy himself.
It is a full rewrite of Tartarus, so beware, the entire thing deviates from canon very drastically. Leave any tips or feedback in the reviews :D