First things first, Percy had to deal with his dislocated shoulder. He remembered a time, many years ago, when Clarisse had accidentally dislocated one of her brother's arms during a wrestling match. Neither of them had wanted to invoke the wrath of Chiron over something so small, and so she had attempted to pop it back in herself.

What was that guy's name again? Alex, maybe? The names of the demigods he'd met throughout his life had begun to blur together, something that definitely wasn't aided by his memory loss and subsequent fall into Tartarus.

Whatever. It didn't really matter.

What did matter was that the job Clarisse had done was so bad, the moment Chiron had seen it he decided to hold a mandatory meeting on how to properly set dislocated limbs - and the first thing he had done was properly reset Alex's shoulder.

Percy had never expected children of Ares to have such incredible vocal ranges. That kid was singing soprano the entire time.

It left quite the vivid imprint on his younger self. And that meant that he had a very clear image in his mind of how to fix it.

Of course, that didn't mean he could actually perform the procedure properly, and as he shoved his arm back into place he realized that he had definitely done something wrong.

Percy bit back a scream as his shoulder popped back in, trying to keep quiet for his own sake. He had his doubts that nothing knew he was down here, but screaming bloody murder wouldn't exactly be the stealthiest move he could make.

Even with the pain, it was still better than having his arm be useless. He could use Riptide in his left hand if he needed to now.

He coughed into his fist, before grimacing at the red specks that now coated his hand.

Not good.

Percy had a bad feeling about what was happening to him. His breathing was becoming labored, the cuts on his arms and sides weren't closing, and the fingers he'd gripped onto the ledge of the pit with were beginning to blister and ache.

Oh yeah, and he was coughing up blood.

Really not good.

Percy wasn't exactly intelligent, but he had enough common sense to understand what was going on.

This place was killing him. If shutting the Doors of Death or being slain by one of Gaea's minions didn't do him in, just being here would.

He turned back towards the black river - the Cocytus, he corrected mentally - as he coughed into his elbow. Black spots danced along the corner of his vision, slowly closing in on him.

Water was water, wasn't it? He could tell that that was what the river was composed of, even if it was depressing or enchanted or whatever the dark magic of Tartarus had done to it. He knelt back down onto the jagged bank, and carefully scooped up a cup of the inky dark water with his hands.

It would be easier to join us. Percy winced as the souls of the river cried again. Succumb.

He ignored them, narrowing his eyes as he drank down the essence of the Cocytus.

Percy sputtered as he tried to force the vile liquid down his throat, coughing violently as though it were trying to worm itself back out to reconnect with its master. Whatever it was doing to him, it wasn't helping his injuries.

He didn't try it a second time.

Percy collapsed against the beach once more, ignoring the way the glass shards cut into his hands. He had been in pretty crappy situations before, but things had never looked this bleak.

Why did everything always just get so much worse for him?

Why couldn't he live a normal life?

Why couldn't he be happy?

Percy wanted to curse. He wanted to curse his father for bringing him into this cruel world, and he wanted to curse Zeus for forcing him to go quest after quest to ensure his loyalty, and then voting on whether or not to kill him anyways. He wanted to curse Ares, Aphrodite, and Athena for hating him and making every aspect of his life as difficult as they could. He wanted to curse Gaea and Kronos and Atlas and every other evil fucked-up ancient entity that had taken someone or something from him.

But he didn't.

He pulled himself to his feet, and brushed off the excess glass in his skin. Around fifty yards inland, the beach suddenly dropped off sharply, and whatever was down there glowed red faintly as though there was fire.

Now Percy was faced with a dilemma. Go downstream along the Cocytus, and die to either Arachne lurking in the darkness or whatever was in the air here slowly poisoning him, go upstream and face the same fate, or go and see what that glowing was at the bottom of the cliff.

He chose the cliff. If it really was fire down there, that could mean any number of things, but a small, likely insane part of his mind held out hope that it meant immortal beings that might take pity on him. Maybe they had medicine, or a way to survive down here on the enemy's home court. Or food. Percy's stomach grumbled at the prospect of eating.

Or maybe they'd just skewer him and laugh as they did it.

He hated his brain sometimes.

As he peeked over the edge of the beach, he was still unsure of what he was expecting, but he wasn't really prepared for yet another river sitting at the bottom of the ravine. A river of fire cut through the jagged obsidian crevasse, the light casting horrible shadows along the cliff faces.

Yeah, he was definitely going to be having nightmares about this place.

Even all the way up here, probably a hundred feet above the river, the heat was killer. To try and climb down to it seemed like suicide, with the only option being a tiny fissure running diagonally down the cliff to the bottom. Any wrong move would certainly mean death with all the sharp outcroppings, ledges, and stalagmites eagerly waiting for their next victim. They'd probably never impaled demigod skin before.

He briefly wondered if he'd be considered a delicacy down here to the monsters. Home-roasted godling probably could have gone for a lot in the pit.

Why was he even thinking about approaching that river again? There wasn't anything about it that screamed safety - he had his doubts that drinking it would yield better results than the Cocytus had.

Oh, right. Percy thought as he coughed into his elbow again, vision briefly spinning as a torrent of blood flew from his mouth. I'm going to die anyway. Might as well exhaust all my options.

His skin was starting to blister and peel from the air down here, and his entire body felt clammy and cold. Tartarus really wanted him dead.

He looked down at the river once more, and then towards the crevasse that ran down to the canyon floor.

Percy pocketed Riptide, and wiped his hands on his filthy, cut-up pants. He hadn't been rock climbing since last summer at camp - he hoped his skills hadn't left him the way his memories had.

–

The ledge was barely wide enough to allow for a toehold. His hands, bloody and scarred, clawed for any crack in the glassy wall. He'd ripped his sleeves off and wrapped them around his palms for padding, but they were already soaked.

He tried not to think about how much blood he was losing. It wouldn't do him any good to start panicking. The only thing worse than being in Tartarus was losing your cool in Tartarus.

It was agony. Every step threatened to make him slip and fall to his death, and whatever this place was doing to his body wasn't helping.

Percy made the mistake of touching his face once he felt something weird on it, before realizing it was just his skin gaining boils.

He nearly lost his grip at that realization. Looking at his arms, he dully realized that he was turning a sickly yellow.

By the time he reached the ground, Percy thought it might have already been too late. With every step, it felt like he was trying to move with the weight of the Sky on his shoulders again. His breath came labored and heavy. His vision swam like he was wearing those drunk-goggles his health teacher had made his class wear to show them the dangers of alcohol.

He wished that alcohol was his biggest worry now.

Percy nearly tripped over his own two feet, barely missing a stalagmite that erupted from the ground a few meters in front of him. His clothes steamed from the heat of the river, and he was beginning to think even his blood would start to boil until there was nothing left of him but skin and bones.

He couldn't take it anymore. Percy crumpled to his knees at the bank of the river, unable to even open his eyes. His breathing came out harsh and raspy, and he was beginning to think that every breath would be his last.

He tried to pull himself closer, but it was no use. His limbs simply refused to obey him.

Percy was going to die down here, alone and forgotten.

His stomach churned. His face fell against the glass shards that made up the riverbank, cutting the side of his head up like a diced onion.

He felt the waters of the river churning right next to him, a mere foot away if he had to guess. They felt kinder than the Cocytus, more willing to answer his call. The waters cried out for him, but not in the same way as the other river had.

Too bad he couldn't move.

He grimaced as he struggled not to pass out, the rumbling in his gut being the only thing keeping him awake. Percy called to the river, trying to wrangle it under his control with nothing but his will. It bucked, but Percy didn't care. It was either this or death, and he was probably going to die anyway. Why not piss off some river goddess as his final act?

With a roar, the river finally came to heel. Percy tried to pull a small strand of the water towards him, towards his slack mouth that felt about as dry as the rest of the Underworld. His body wracked with spasms as the seemingly menial task whittled away at his last dredges of energy, but he was determined not to pass out yet. That would be as good as death at this point.

The river roared in his ears.

One moment, he was limp against the beach.

The next, he was washed away as the entirety of the Phlegethon came at him.

He hadn't felt this hot since those telekhines had doused him in lava underneath Mount St. Helens and he destroyed yet another national monument. He couldn't decide which was worse.

Fire-water went up his nose and down his throat, choking him with another river of the Underworld. Percy liked spicy food as much as the next guy, but this was a step beyond that. When he was eleven, his mother had taken him to a popular mortal restaurant known for their wings. He had foolishly decided on eating as many of their spiciest wings as he could, and was in agony for days after that.

The taste of the river now made that memory feel like it was a trip to an ice cream parlor.

He wondered how he hadn't died on impact. Percy's entire body burned, the water bursting every pore on his skin and burning him severely.

And yet, here he was, still breathing. He crashed back into the bottom of the cliffside, miraculously avoiding being gored by any of the thousands of little edges littering the bottom of the wall.

Percy groaned as he sluggishly pulled himself up, unwilling to open his eyes and risk getting any of this nightmarish liquid in them. He willed himself dry (which actually worked this time, thankfully) and gingerly peeled his eyelids back, unsure of what sight would await him.

The water of the fire river rushed tumultuously down, angrily lapping against its sharp shores. Each droplet that splashed onto land sizzled and evaporated quickly, and Percy could only look on dumbfounded as his wounds began to heal. His skin was sizzling and bright red like a cooked lobster, but it only took a few moments for it to return to its normal whitish-tan hue. His hands, which were cut open and blistery only a few minutes ago, now felt as good as new. His vision was as clear as the lake back at Camp Half-Blood, and if he focused he swore he could hear quiet voices dancing around the edge of his vision. Aside from the horrid taste in his throat, he felt great!

And then he took a breath, and he was reminded of exactly where he was.

The putrid air made him scowl, but the realization that the river's water had saved his life was not lost on him. Someway, somehow, he was alive, and this river of fire was to blame. He returned to the river's unbearably warm banks, where the water was finally beginning to still as it was before.

"Thank you," he whispered to the waters, which rippled quietly along at his voice. He knew something was listening, that much was for sure, but whatever it was seemed content to stay hidden.

He stayed there, knelt at the bank of the river, simply staring at his hazy reflection for a moment. The water was deceptively calm, and the burning pain he felt at drinking it for the second time almost felt lighter than when it had nearly boiled him alive on his first attempt.

Percy sighed, looking despondently out at the void. He had found a way to not immediately die down here, which was good, but he was no further in his goal to shut the Doors of Death, let alone find them. Too many people were counting on him to -

It happened so fast that he should've died.

A heavy thud dragged Percy from his thoughts quickly, but Arachne was quicker. She hurtled at him impossibly quick, barbed legs all aiming for his head or heart, glinting eyes glaring down barbarically at him.

His hand was in his pocket in an instant, but that instant was far too long. By the time he'd grabbed Riptide, Arachne was on top of him, legs shooting out like massive needles to end his brief stint in Hell. The waters of the river began to churn.

Percy flinched back, preparing for the end, but it seemed like the Fates had other plans for him.

The tug in his gut surged forward, and the Phlegethon's waters roared in tandem.

A single tendril of water erupted from the river of fire, piercing Arachne's heart moments before she would have struck his own. A flurry of golden dust blew into his face an instant later, leaving him coughing and waving away the foul powder.

Arachne was dead. The river calmed. He was alone again.

Percy was shaking. He was almost ready to throw up again, but stilled himself. After all, the only thing in his stomach was fire.

His brow furrowed as he looked back towards the river. It was flowing as it was when he first arrived at her shores, and the outside observer would have never known the difference.

But Percy knew. He could feel the water's pulse, as though it were breathing.

Was the spear of water that killed Arachne his own doing?

Or was it more?

He didn't know if he was ready to find out the answer.

Percy's fingers ached, and he numbly realized that he was still gripping Riptide. He pulled the pen out of his pocket, gingerly uncapping it. He always felt safer with his sword by his side.

He stood up on shaky legs, but didn't retreat from the river. It seemed like it was the only thing keeping him alive down here.

Now only one question remained - to go upstream or down?

He wanted to go upstream. It would be harder for something to sneak up on him if it had to come from behind and below, and the river was clearly descending as it flowed along.

But his brain knew better. The higher up he went, the closer he came to the Underworld. The rivers all flowed down here from Hades's realm, he knew, and as badly as he wanted to escape this place, he had a job to do. With any luck, the Doors of Death would be in the depths of Tartarus - which was precisely where he was going.

Joy.

With a huff, he began his trek down into the depths of the pit with the Phlegethon (where was this name coming from? He couldn't remember, but just like with the Cocytus, he knew) on his left, and Riptide on his right.

–

Percy had only traveled a few hundred yards when he began to hear voices. And not like how he had while he was drowning in the Cocytus or kneeling at the base of the Phlegethon, either.

These voices were definitely real, and definitely coming from something alive.

He was starting to falter, but the moment he began to hear the sounds of an argument he was alert as can be. He ducked behind the nearest boulder, tucking himself in as close as he could to the rock. His feet nearly dipped into the Phlegethon, and he was morbidly interested in seeing what would happen.

He had already swam in the Cocytus, how bad could this one be? Would it heal him faster than it could kill him, or would it be an instant death? Would she want to kill him?

Percy almost snorted at his own twisted thoughts, before remembering that he was supposed to be hiding. On the other side of the boulder, in the narrow path between the cliffs and the Phlegethon, voices snarled and hissed at each other, getting louder as they approached from upstream.

They sounded human enough, but literally everything down here was sounding off alarm bells in his mind. They were speaking Greek and speaking quickly, and Percy had to wonder if they had already sensed him. After all, monsters were usually on his tail like white on rice - why wouldn't they have been able to pick up his scent already?

Yet their uneven footsteps approached as slow as can be, and their voices didn't change in tone.

"Soon?" Something asked, their voice raspy and unnerving.

"Oh my gods!" Another voice cried. This one struck a chord with Percy - it sounded really familiar, and that didn't sit right with him at all. "You guys are totally annoying! I told you, it's like three days from here!"

There was a chorus of growling and grumbling. The creatures had briefly stopped, but gave no indication that they had discovered Percy.

It didn't keep him from silently raising Riptide in preparation for a fight. He had been ambushed by monsters before - Arachne's gleaming fangs briefly flashed in his vision - and he didn't intend to be caught unaware down here again.

"I wonder," a third voice began, sounding like they had gargled the rocks at the bottom of a fish tank, "If perhaps you do not know the way, young one."

"Oh, shut your fang hole, Serephone!" The second voice cried. It sounded like a petulant child, almost like how he remembered Draw Tanaka sounding. "When's the last time you escaped to the mortal world? I was there a couple of years ago. I know the way! Besides, I understand what we're facing up there. You don't have a clue!"

"The Earth Mother did not make you boss!" Yet another voice shrieked.

The group erupted in hisses, snarls, and groans. They were clearly fighting each other.

"Enough!" Serephone called. "We will follow for now, but if you do not lead us well, if we find you have lied about the summons of Gaea-"

"I don't lie!" That familiar voice spat, "Believe me, I've got good reason to get into this battle. I have some enemies to devour, and you'll feast on the blood of heroes. Just leave one morsel for me - the one named Percy Jackson."

His blood ran cold.

"Believe me," the girl repeated, "Gaea has called us, and we're going to have so much fun. Before this war is over, mortals and demigods will tremble at the sound of my name - Kelli!"

Ah. That's where he knew that voice.

The empousa who had tried to kill him and Rachel on his first day at Goode. Annabeth killed her in the Labyrinth, if he remembered correctly, sending her to Tartarus… sending her here.

Great. Another thing to add to the list of reasons to not think of her, then.

The empousai shuffled off, seemingly none the wiser to his presence. How was that possible? Surely they would have taken notice. Monsters never shut up about his scent when they found him in the mortal world.

The only explanation that graced his mind was that the presence of other, far more powerful beings down here masked his own scent - a thought that did absolutely nothing to soothe his fragile psyche.

Percy was scared that by the end of this ordeal Mr. D. would seem sane in comparison to him, assuming he made it out alive.

And wasn't that a comforting thought?

Percy risked a glimpse of the monsters as they retreated. Sure enough, they were empousai. With a leg of bronze on the left and one… goat? Donkey? Whatever it was, it was the leg of some kind of barnyard animal on the right, that was for sure.

He would have loved to give them a wide berth, but unfortunately that wasn't an option. They were headed for the Doors of Death, and by the sound of things they had a pretty good idea of where they were located.

It looked like they'd have some company for the foreseeable future.

If he was lucky, they'd be none the wiser.

But since when did he deserve to have luck? He was in Tartarus. Tyche wouldn't reach him here.

No god could.