(Credit Rick Riordan for PJ and Heroes of Olympus)

Chapter 4 - Iapetus

(POV: Percy Jackson)

It was just another day in hell—or so I thought. I was dragged out of the black water, my body newly healed but still trembling with exhaustion, and dumped unceremoniously back into my cell. The thick steel door slammed shut behind me, and the two empousai guards cackled as they left.

"Sleep well, hero," one sneered, her fangs glinting in the dim light. "Tomorrow's fight will be a special treat."

I slumped against the wall, too tired to respond. My hands shook as I gripped Riptide, which I'd managed to hold onto despite everything. It was my only anchor, a small piece of the world I was fighting to get back to.

But my fight was almost gone. I could feel it slipping away, like sand through my fingers.

I was ready to give in.

That's when I heard the whisper.

"Percy."

My eyes snapped open, and I scanned the shadows. At first, I thought it was another trick of Tartarus. Kronos loved messing with my head, and I'd fallen for it more times than I cared to admit.

But then I saw him.

"Hello, friend," said a voice I hadn't heard in what felt like a lifetime.

Standing in the corner of my cell was a Titan. He was massive, towering even in the cramped space, with silvery hair and golden eyes that glowed faintly in the darkness. He looked different than the last time I'd seen him—more worn, his once-pristine armor scratched and dented—but there was no mistaking him. It was Iapetus, or as I called him:

"Bob?" I croaked, my voice hoarse.

He smiled, a genuine, warm smile that stood out starkly against the horrors of Tartarus. "Yes. It is me. Bob. I came to help."

Before I could process what was happening, Bob reached out and touched the chains around my wrists. They dissolved into golden dust, and I nearly collapsed as the weight left my arms.

"How did you…?" I started, but he shook his head.

"No time," he said, his voice calm but urgent. "The monsters—they are distracted. Kronos does not see. We must go now."

I staggered to my feet, gripping Riptide like a lifeline. "Why are you helping me?"

Bob tilted his head, as if the answer should've been obvious. "You are my friend. I clean. I help friends."

Something inside me broke—relief, gratitude, hope. I didn't even have the energy to argue.

"Okay," I said, my voice shaky. "Let's get out of here."

Bob nodded and turned toward the cell door. With a wave of his hand, the iron bars crumbled into dust.

"Stay close," he said, his tone serious now. "Tartarus does not like when prisoners leave."

We moved quickly, Bob leading the way with his massive spear—"Little Damned" he called it, which was both terrifying and weirdly comforting.

The halls of Tartarus seemed to shift as we walked, the walls groaning and closing in. Shadows danced around us, whispering threats, but they didn't attack.

"Why aren't they stopping us?" I asked.

Bob glanced back at me. "They fear me. For now."

That wasn't exactly reassuring, but I wasn't in a position to complain.

As we moved deeper into Tartarus, I felt the air grow heavier. The ground pulsed beneath my feet, as if the pit itself was waking up to our escape.

"Where are we going?" I asked, struggling to keep up.

Bob didn't answer right away. When he did, his voice was grim. "To the Doors of Death."

Just as he said it, a deafening roar echoed through the tunnels. I froze, gripping Riptide, as a massive shadow loomed ahead.

It was a drakon—bigger than the one I'd fought in the arena. Its eyes burned with malice, and black ichor dripped from its fangs.

Bob didn't hesitate.

"Go!" he shouted, stepping in front of me. He raised his spear and charged the drakon, his movements fluid and precise.

I wanted to stay and help, but I knew I couldn't. I was barely standing as it was.

"Go, Percy!" Bob roared, his voice echoing through the tunnels. "I will find you again!"

Every instinct told me to stay, to fight alongside him, but I forced myself to run. I didn't look back, even as the sounds of battle faded into the distance.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I had hope. Bob had given me a chance—a slim, desperate chance—but I wasn't going to waste it.

The Doors of Death were out there somewhere, and I was going to find them.

No matter what it took.

Bob caught up with me just as I was starting to think he might not. I'd been wandering through a labyrinth of jagged, obsidian cliffs for what felt like hours. My breaths were ragged, my legs shaking with exhaustion, but I didn't stop. The whispers and shifting shadows of Tartarus kept me moving.

"Percy!" Bob called, his voice echoing through the oppressive darkness.

I turned and saw him jogging toward me, his silvery hair glowing faintly. He looked unharmed, which was more than I could say for myself. His massive spear rested casually on his shoulder, as if he hadn't just fought a drakon to give me a head start.

"Did you…?" I trailed off, unsure if I wanted to know the answer.

Bob nodded, his expression unreadable. "Drakon sleeps. Not forever. But enough."

"Thanks," I muttered, not sure how else to express the tidal wave of gratitude I felt. "You saved me again."

Bob shrugged, smiling faintly. "Friends save each other."

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and reflective. "You know, Percy," he began, his gaze distant, "I wasn't always like this. I wasn't always... the way you see me now."

I glanced at him, unsure how to respond. Bob had changed, I knew that. He was different from the Titan I'd fought in the past. But I'd never really asked about his past—never wanted to dig into a history that was as much a part of the darkness of Tartarus as the walls that surrounded us. But Bob, for some reason, was talking now.

"I was Iapetus once," he continued, his voice heavy with the weight of memories. "I was one of the Titans who fought against the gods. We thought we were the future. We were going to rule the world... but we were wrong."

His words hung in the air between us, and I could see the regret in his eyes. "After the war, after the gods won, they cast me down here. I spent eons in this place, forgotten, broken. And I—" he stopped, his eyes darkening, "—I remembered everything. All the things I did. The things I believed. The things I was."

He paused, and for a long moment, I wasn't sure whether he was speaking to me or to himself. It was strange, hearing a Titan admit such vulnerability. But there was something about the way Bob was talking—about how he seemed to feel the weight of his past, yet still kept moving forward—that made me listen more closely.

"I could have stayed like that," he said, his voice quieter now. "I could have kept going down that path, forgotten and lost, trapped by my past. But I don't want to be that anymore. I want to do better. I am doing better."

The sincerity in his voice made me pause. Bob had been through so much, far more than I could ever comprehend, but here he was, in the depths of Tartarus, trying to be someone different. Trying to atone for his past.

I didn't know what to say, so I just nodded. There wasn't much I could offer in response to such a monumental shift, but I understood. I understood more than I cared to admit. Sometimes, the hardest thing in the world was trying to move on from the past, especially when it felt like it would always follow you. But I could see it now in Bob—he wasn't just trying to survive in Tartarus anymore. He was trying to rise above it.

We walked in silence for a while, Bob leading the way. The terrain shifted constantly—craggy cliffs giving way to endless plains of black sand, rivers of fire carving through the landscape like veins. I couldn't help but feel a mixture of exhaustion and wonder. I'd lost track of how long we'd been walking, the endless darkness swallowing everything around us. Time was a concept I could barely grasp anymore, especially in a place like this.

Bob, however, seemed unaffected. His steps were sure and steady, his massive frame casting a long shadow as we made our way through the cavernous labyrinth. I had gotten used to him by now—this Titan who had been forced into Tartarus for eons and had somehow come out of it... different. He wasn't the same terrifying force I'd fought before. In fact, I was starting to realize that Bob wasn't just a Titan—he was someone who, despite everything he'd been through, was still capable of showing kindness. Something about that was oddly comforting, even in a place like Tartarus.

We rounded a corner, and there, in the middle of a small, open space, was something that stopped me dead in my tracks. A structure, ancient and worn, partially crumbled, but still standing. A shrine.

I blinked, squinting in the darkness. "What is this place?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Bob stopped beside me, his eyes tracing the shrine with a quiet reverence. "It's a shrine to Hermes," he said, his deep voice carrying a strange mix of nostalgia and sadness. "It's been here since before I was imprisoned. Longer, probably. It fell here from the mortal world, or maybe from Olympus itself. Monsters used to steer clear of it, though. Something about it made them uneasy."

I stared at the shrine, the words sinking in. A shrine to Hermes? In the heart of Tartarus? It seemed impossible, yet there it was—a structure of stone and faded carvings, its base marked with old offerings—coins, scraps of food, trinkets that must have come from the mortal world. It almost felt like a piece of the world I'd left behind, something real in a place that twisted everything around it.

"Monsters avoided it?" I asked, still trying to wrap my mind around the strangeness of it all.

Bob nodded slowly, as if remembering something long buried. "I spent eons here, Percy. I remember the monsters talking about it. Some said it was cursed, that it held some kind of power. But whatever it was, they never came close. I think it reminded them of something... something they didn't want to remember."

I couldn't help but shiver. In Tartarus, nothing was ever just a thing—it was always a symbol, always tied to some dark history. But this... this felt different. It felt like it had been untouched by the suffering of this place, like a small refuge amid the chaos.

Bob's voice broke through my thoughts. "I've never told anyone this, but... this shrine, this place—it reminds me of the above world. It's one of the few things in Tartarus that doesn't belong. And every time I come here, I remember..." He trailed off, as if the memories were too much to continue.

I could see the flicker of something deep in Bob's eyes—maybe regret, maybe longing. Maybe something even more human than I expected from a Titan. It made my chest tighten, the thought of someone like him, so far removed from the world I knew, holding on to these small, fragmented memories of the world above.

For a brief moment, I almost felt like I could reach out and touch it—the world I had left behind. I could imagine the sun, the wind, the smells of the ocean and the woods, the laughter of my friends at Camp Half-Blood. It felt like a lifetime ago, yet so close. But in Tartarus, there was no going back. The thought of seeing that world again felt like a dream I wasn't sure I would ever wake up from.

Bob seemed to sense the shift in me, his deep voice bringing me back to reality. "You miss it, don't you?"

I nodded slowly. "More than anything."

For a moment, there was silence. Bob didn't push me, didn't try to make me feel better. He just stood there, next to me, the quiet guardian of this place. And in that silence, I felt something—something like a flicker of hope. Maybe it was the shrine. Maybe it was Bob. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the reminder that even in a place like Tartarus, there were fragments of the world above—of the life I'd lost—that still survived.

"Maybe one day," Bob said, his voice softer now, "you'll get back there. And when you do, you'll know the way."

I swallowed hard, staring at the shrine. It felt like the only thing I could trust in this godforsaken place. A reminder that even in Tartarus, even here, there was still something worth fighting for.

The night fell—or, at least, I assumed it was night. Tartarus didn't exactly follow the rules of time the way the mortal world did. Still, the air shifted, the oppressive weight of the place lifting slightly. Bob and I sat near the shrine of Hermes, taking refuge under the jagged stones that surrounded us.

It felt... strange. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was some semblance of peace. The bloodthirsty roar of Tartarus' creatures was distant, and there was no immediate threat looming over us. Just the soft, comforting glow of the altar and the lingering warmth from the sacrifices.

Bob gestured to the offerings on the shrine, some of which had been left behind by past visitors, others fresh from the hands of those who prayed to Hermes. "We feast," he said simply, as though it was the most normal thing in the world.

I raised an eyebrow. "Feast? How?"

Bob didn't answer right away. He simply placed a coin from the pile of offerings into his mouth. It shimmered briefly before dissolving into something more... tangible, and I watched in awe as he chewed.

"You eat the offerings here," Bob explained. "Tartarus is strange. Things made in the mortal world, if given to the gods or their shrines, can appear in places like this. Food, objects, sometimes even messages."

I glanced at the pile of items—broken vases, bits of gold, a crumpled prayer note. There were no full meals here, but for some reason, it didn't seem to matter. I reached for an old, cracked amphora, taking a sip from it. To my surprise, the liquid inside was sweet, honeyed, like nectar. I blinked in disbelief. It wasn't the finest meal I'd ever had, but it was enough to fill the gnawing emptiness in my stomach.

Bob smiled at me, looking content as he finished chewing the coin. "Good?"

"Good," I muttered, my mouth still full of honey. The sweetness spread through me like a burst of energy. It wasn't like I was going to fill up on feasts here, but it made a difference.

We spent the next few hours eating what we could, picking through the offerings. There wasn't much, but the items that appeared at the shrine were somehow nourishing, each bite a little more filling than the last. A bit of bread here, some fruit there—food wasn't abundant in Tartarus, but for now, it was enough.

As I ate, I realized how desperate I'd become. A part of me had forgotten what it felt like to be full, to eat without fearing it would be my last meal.

After we had eaten, Bob and I sat in silence for a while, resting. The distant sounds of Tartarus' tormenting beasts seemed muffled, as if the shrine itself had a protective aura.

I took a deep breath, my hand instinctively reaching for Riptide. I was still too weak to fight properly, but I needed to be ready—if not for the monsters, then for whatever might come next. And I knew Kronos wouldn't be satisfied until he saw me truly broken.

That's when I noticed something odd. A glimmer of metal in the corner of the shrine. At first, I thought it was another offering, but as I moved closer, I realized it was something else entirely. Armor.

Not just any armor, either. The polished bronze gleamed faintly in the dim light, catching what little glow the shrine offered. It was familiar. Too familiar.

I crouched down and ran my fingers across the surface of the chestplate. It was designed for someone small, but strong—someone like me. My heart skipped. I recognized it now. This was armor from Camp Half-Blood. It wasn't just any armor; it was the Aegis, or at least a copy—the armor that had once belonged to champions of Athena, and now, it was mine.

I picked up the chestplate, feeling its weight in my hands. The moment I touched it, the bronze shimmered, and I realized the armor wasn't just a relic. It was alive, connected to the magic of the gods. I could almost feel Annabeth's presence, like she was guiding me through the motions, like she was right there beside me.

"You need it," Bob said, his voice quiet but insistent. "Tartarus is cruel. Even for heroes."

I didn't hesitate. Slipping the armor on, I felt a wave of strength flood through me. It was more than just the physical protection. It was a mental push—like something had clicked into place inside my mind.

I stood tall, feeling the armor fit perfectly around my body. The weight of it was reassuring.

Not far from the armor, there was another small pile of items—some weapons, others mundane objects, but all of them had an undeniable power to them. I sifted through the collection, looking for anything useful.

I also found a small, neatly folded cloak, the fabric soft and warm. It was more than just clothing—it felt like a form of protection. I didn't know who had left it behind, but I knew it would help keep me hidden.

Lastly, there was a strange, ornate knife—a short blade with runes etched along the edge. It hummed with power, and as I grasped the hilt, I felt an immediate connection to it. Not like Riptide, but something different. Maybe it wasn't as powerful, but it would be useful in close combat.

I wasn't sure what would come next. But at least, for the first time in weeks, I had a fighting chance.

The weight of the armor felt comforting in some ways—like a tangible connection to who I used to be, to the world I fought to protect. But the longer I sat there, the more the exhaustion set in. My mind was a battlefield of thoughts and fears, most of which I couldn't escape.

I glanced over at Bob, who was still sitting by the shrine, his massive form silhouetted against the flickering light. He was calm, almost meditative, while I... I was far from that.

I leaned back against the stone, trying to find a position that didn't make my wounds ache. The river had healed me, but the scars—physical and mental—were still there. I closed my eyes, just for a moment, allowing myself to rest.

But in Tartarus, sleep never came without its price.

The nightmare hit me like a wave, pulling me under before I could even fully register what was happening. I was no longer in the shrine, no longer at Bob's side. Instead, I was standing in the middle of a battlefield—one I knew well, though the details felt distorted, wrong. The sky above was black, swirling with storm clouds, and there was no sun, no light to give any semblance of hope. The ground beneath my feet was cracked and scorched, the remnants of a war that had already begun.

I could hear the sounds of battle all around me—clashing swords, roaring monsters, the screams of gods and mortals alike. But something was different. Something felt... off.

I turned and saw them. The gods. They were scattered across the field, fighting, but not like I remembered. They were slower, weaker, their movements sluggish and uncoordinated. I saw Athena, her usual sharp gaze clouded with confusion as she struggled against an army of monstrous forces, her sword slipping in her grip. Apollo, normally so quick and sure, was fumbling with his bow, arrows flying wide of their mark. Even Ares, the god of war, seemed disoriented, his once unshakable confidence replaced by doubt.

"Percy!" I heard a voice call, and I spun to find Annabeth, bloodied and bruised, fighting alongside the gods. But she was struggling, too. Her face was streaked with dirt and sweat, her movements slower than I had ever seen them. She raised her hand to me, a look of desperation in her eyes. "They're not strong enough, Percy! They can't stop it!"

Before I could answer, the ground beneath us shook violently, as if some immense force was awakening beneath the surface. I turned, my heart pounding, and saw it—Gaia, the earth goddess, rising from the depths of the ground, her form massive and terrifying, like a living mountain. Her skin was like cracked stone, veins of fire running through her as she emerged, her eyes glowing with the rage of the earth itself.

The gods, even together, weren't enough to stop her. I saw them try—each god struggling in their own way—but Gaia was unstoppable. She ripped through their defenses like paper, her powers sweeping across the battlefield with devastating force. I watched as Zeus, the king of the gods, stood tall and defiant, but even he faltered, his power flickering like a dying flame against the overwhelming might of Gaia's rise.

"It's too late," Gaia's voice rumbled from the earth itself. Her laughter was like the sound of rocks grinding together. "Your gods are weak, your heroes broken. The world will fall, and there is nothing you can do to stop it."

I wanted to move, to shout, to do something—anything. But I couldn't. I was frozen, watching helplessly as the gods crumbled before the might of Gaia. The earth was reclaiming everything, and I could do nothing to stop it.

"Percy," a voice whispered from behind me. I turned to see Bob, his face shadowed with regret. "You can't save them. You can't save anyone."

I felt my heart break at his words. "I can't just stand here!" I shouted, the words strangling in my throat. "We can't let her win!"

But Bob only shook his head. "They're already lost. Gaia's rise is inevitable. It's written in the earth. It's always been this way."

I wanted to scream, to defy him, to refuse the fate that loomed before us. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't. The nightmare pressed down on me, a suffocating weight that crushed my chest, leaving me powerless.

And then, as Gaia's laughter filled the air, everything went black.

I jerked awake, gasping for breath, my heart hammering in my chest. The shrine of Hermes was still there, the flickering light casting its calm glow over the space. But the horror of the nightmare lingered, suffocating, just beneath the surface.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the images of the gods faltering, of Gaia's unstoppable rise. I didn't know if the nightmare was a warning, a glimpse of a future I feared, or just the twisted echo of Tartarus trying to break me. All I knew was that I couldn't afford to let it take hold.

I wasn't sure what to do next. But I had to keep moving. For the gods. For my friends. For the world that was still hanging by a thread. Because if I gave up, if I let the nightmare win, then Gaia would be right. The world would fall. And we'd all be buried beneath it.

I looked around, disoriented, trying to piece together where I was. Bob was still sitting at the shrine, his eyes closed as though he hadn't noticed my sudden awakening.

"Nightmares?" Bob's voice was low, almost knowing.

I rubbed my face, trying to push the remnants of the dream away. "Yeah. I… I can't escape them."

Bob didn't say anything at first. He just stared at me, his golden eyes wise and patient. "Tartarus feeds on fear. On doubt. But it does not control you. Only you can control yourself, Percy."

I wasn't sure what to say to that. It felt impossible—like everything was out of my hands. I couldn't control the nightmares, couldn't control Kronos, couldn't control the fear that kept clawing at me.

But Bob was right about one thing. I couldn't let it control me. Not here. Not now.

I took a deep breath, pushing myself to my feet. The nightmares could come, but they wouldn't defeat me. I wasn't going to let them.