A/N: hey guys here my new Shadow series, give it a like and review I always appreciate your guy's comments. Also shout out to Nerds4506 who literally reads every chapter and tells me to make it better. Anyways without further ado, Shadow of Tartarus...

Hero bound by Crooked Gold,

Unleash the wrath of Heaven's own,

With Blade reforged and Will be tempered,

Shall Being of Torment's soul be rendered,

Beware the Hero bound by Ethereal Silver,

Lest He rise through Heaven's Gilder

Annabeth sat at the edge of the pier, her feet dangling over the edge. She stared out at the canoe lake wondering. Why them? Rachel had spouted another Great Prophecy the night prior at the campsite. Couldn't they have more than a few months of rest? How much more would the Fates demand of her? She had lost her friends, her love, what must she lose this time? Her thoughts were broken as a girl sat next to her. "How are you?" Piper asked in concern. Everyone took the news hard, no one harder than the leader of Camp Half-Blood.

Annabeth blinked back tears as her head dropped, hiding her face behind her long curls. "I-I don't know Piper," she answered honestly, looking to her friend. "We just finished our second war. Why can't we just live in peace? Why can't-" Annabeth forced down a sob, her head falling again. "Why can't he be here with me?"

The daughter of Aphrodite wrapped her arms around her friend, hugging her tightly. Tears fell upon her camp shirt as she rubbed Annabeth's back. "It's okay. You're okay," Piper consoled her friend. "Just let it all out."

Several minutes passed before the tears stopped falling. Annabeth broke the hug, wiping her eyes with her hands. "Sorry."

"You don't need to apologize," Piper asserted. She looked out over the canoe lake. Several canoe's floated across the lake's surface. "Do you think he's..."

Annabeth sniffed hard. "I don't know. And I don't know which would be worse. To die down there and have his soul trapped, or to keep living in that hellscape."

"Is there any chance he could escape?" Piper wondered aloud.

"Maybe," Annabeth speculated. "He could find the Doors of Death again, though someone would have to hold down the button. Monsters seem to always find ways to escape so he theoretically could as well. I guess there is nothing I can do but hope." Annabeth felt the words were hollow though. When was the last time the Fates gave her a break?

Piper couldn't think of a real response to that. She couldn't imagine the pain that Annabeth was going through. The love of your life sacrificing himself to save you from eternal damnation? No one was prepared to deal with that. For the first time in a long time, Piper prayed. She didn't know who she was praying to, but only one thought ran through her mind. Please, let Percy find peace.

Percy shoved his hands into the River Phlegethon the fires, the flames cold to the touch. He pulled his cupped hands from the river and quickly downed the liquid fire in his hands. The flames burned his throat to the point it was cold, but went down, nonetheless. Percy coughed as the liquid settles in his stomach, his cuts and bruises slowly healing. Even the deep bite marks in his side healed quickly. A pack of hellhounds had gotten the jump on him, one of whom managed to take a bite into him. It didn't survive much longer. It never got easier drinking from the river of fire, but Percy had learned to deal with it. The demigod stood, wiping his hands on his hide skirt. Yes, he wore a skirt now. No, he was not proud of it. When his original clothes failed him, he was forced to use the tools he had on hand. which included some drakon hide from Damasen's hut and a hellhound tooth to secure it. It held together surprisingly well. He hadn't made a shirt; however, the skirt covered his modesty and really there wasn't much of a need to have one. He had managed to make sandals however, again with drakon hide. They worked pretty well at protecting his feet from the sharp rocks beneath his feet. Percy ripped his sword from the ground, wiping it through the air. His drakon bone spear strapped across his back. The long, thick bone was nearly half a foot taller than him and as thick as his wrist. The blade was once the knife of an empousa that Percy had killed which he had embedded into the tip of the bone and secures with strands of drakon skin. He had even sharpened the end of the shaft to give him more options. Percy left the edge of the river in the hopes of finding a place to sleep. It was a long way back to Damasen's hut and not a trip he wanted to take without a few hours of sleep. As Percy wondered the rock fields of Tartarus, passing by massive, jutting rocks of some mystery stone, he thought about his time spent down in the Pit.

He didn't know how long it had been. Long enough for him to grow up, and then some. He was sure he was aging, just not at the pace he should have been. Time was...difficult to keep track of here. There were no days, no nights, no tracking of the seasons. Just the endless red glow of the Pit. Many monsters tracked him down over the years, either to try to prove their own strength against him or for a meal. Many tried. None succeeded. Surprisingly, no deities attempted to confront him. He wondered if his enemies were merely still reforming. Eventually, however, he became bored with trying to live out a meager life in Damasen's hut, and so he began hunting. To his surprise, he found little in the way of deities. There were some he had found, but they were at best friendly and at worst indifferent.

A shifting of rocks drew Percy from his thoughts. He turned towards the sound, brandishing his weapon. He listened intently for any threats. Another shift of rocks sounded to his left. He faced the noise, finding nothing but towering rocks. There was a small creak, like someone pulling a drawstring. Percy's eyes widened as he launched himself to the ground. A snap sounded as he flew, a trio of spikes flew overhead. They struck a massive stone, crumbling it to pieces. Percy quickly rose and turned to find an old friend come out of hiding. "Thorn, how ya doing? You're looking...fluffed?" Percy attempted a joke.

The lion beast scowled at the demigod; his fur bristled. "Perseus Jackson," the manticore growled. "Tartarus has placed a bounty-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Percy interrupted the monster, flicking his sword around in boredom. "You're like the...tenth, I think, monster to come to collect." He reached down and picked up one of the pieces of the destroyed rock. "So, if you want, we could get this over with and I'll continue on my way."

The manticore's scorpion tail flicked back and forth in irritation. "You mock me half-breed. I will take great joy in killing you." His tail snapped again, sending a new trio of blades at Percy. Percy swiped the spikes out of the air, his celestial bronze sword slicing through them with ease. Thorn's eyes widened in surprise before narrowing with a growl. He lunged at the demigod; his claws extended to rend him to pieces. Percy dove past the manticore, rolling through the rocky terrain. He winced as the rocks pricked at his skin. Thorn hit the rough ground and turned to Percy with a growl. "Hold still, demigod," Thorn roared. "I will gut you-." Percy threw the rock still in his grasp and lodged it into the manticores throat. The lion monster choked on the rock and began retching to remove it. Percy quickly dashed forward, slicing through the manticore's foreleg and scorpion tail in one fluid motion. Thorn collapsed face first into the rocky ground with a muffled howl of pain, the rock popping free of his throat. "A thousand curses upon you half-breed. May Tartarus burn the flesh from your body for a thousand years once Prometheus defeats you!"

Percy paused when he heard that. Prometheus? He hadn't seen that wheezily excuse for a titan since Manhattan. Percy grasped the mane of the monster and hoisted his head up, making sure to remain on the side with the missing leg. "What was that about Prometheus?"

Thorn seemed to have realized he said something he shouldn't have. "I will say nothing more to you, you insignificant-." Percy rolled his eyes and began smashing the manticore's face into the rough ground, silencing his attempts at insults.

After repeating the process several more times, Percy decided to try again. "Want to run that by me again?"

Blood ran down the manticore's face. Some small rocks remained imbedded in his skin. "Prometheus was also tasked with capturing you. He seemed to have known I'd fail. He mentioned luring you into a trap."

Percy pressed Thorns chin into the ground, the beast whining as the rocky ground dug into his chin. "Why would Prometheus think I would walk into a trap?"

"He said he was going to have bait, someone you would be honor bound to save," Thorn groaned in pain. "He knew you would not be able to resist saving someone in need." He laughed a sad, painful laugh. "You can't help being a hero and it will be the death of you."

Percy looked down at the beast in confusion, ignoring the ramblings of the deranged beast. "Who?" Percy growled, pressing his full weight into Thorn's neck.

"I-I don't know," Thorn claimed, his back legs kicking out, trying to gain footing. "He didn't tell me. Just that he would enjoy capturing them."

Percy growled in dissatisfaction. "Where?"

"The Dark Lands, near the Deeper Abyss," Thorn quickly answered. "He said there was a cave, that lead to an ancient place that even Tartarus has forgotten of."

Percy hummed as he looked out in the direction of the Dark Lands. It would take time to reach there. Days at best and a week at worst. He assumed Prometheus wouldn't be worried about time. "I appreciate your cooperation," said Percy, hefting Riptide. "Don't take too long to reform. I enjoyed the exercise." He stabbed down into the manticore's neck and twisted. Thorn died soundlessly, slowly dissolving into dust. He left behind two spikes on the ground in the remnants of golden dust. Percy picked them up with disinterest before shrugging and tossing them aside. He didn't really have a way to safely carry them anyways. He didn't even have pockets for Riptide, tucking the pen into the waist band of his skirt. He wondered who had been captured. He supposed it didn't matter. If Prometheus thought them worth using against him, then they must have been someone he knew. Percy groaned. Why couldn't he just leave it be? Percy knew the answer to that, even if he didn't want to admit it. He had the distinct impression that if he went to the Dark Lands, everything would change.