Chapter 37: The Ghosts of Tartarus
The darkness deepened as Percy descended further into Tartarus. The air was so thick it felt like trying to breathe underwater without his ability to do so. Shadows flickered and twisted around him, their whispers gnawing at his mind like cold fingers.
"Percy..." a voice whispered, faint but unmistakable.
He froze, his heart lurching. It wasn't the first time he'd heard voices since arriving here, but this one was different. It was familiar.
"Percy, why did you let me fall?"
His chest tightened. It was Annabeth's voice, but it couldn't be her. She was safe, back in the mortal world, far away from this torment.
"I didn't..." he murmured, shaking his head. "I didn't let you fall!"
The shadows around him coiled tighter, taking shapes now—distorted, ghastly forms of faces he recognized and some he didn't. Luke. Zoe Nightshade. Even Silena Beauregard.
"You failed us," Luke's voice accused, his tone venomous. "You let us die."
"I did what I could," Percy shot back, his voice breaking as he gripped Riptide tighter. "I couldn't save everyone!"
"Excuses," Zoe's voice echoed, cold and biting. "You carry their deaths like trophies."
"Enough!" Percy roared, slashing his sword through the nearest shadow. It dissipated into nothing, but the voices didn't stop.
"You don't belong here, Seaweed Brain." Annabeth's voice again, softer now but no less haunting.
He stopped, his breath ragged. His heart told him it wasn't real, but Tartarus was a master at twisting the truth.
"Leave me alone," Percy whispered, his voice barely audible.
The shadows quieted for a moment, leaving him standing alone in the oppressive silence. But the stillness was worse somehow. He could feel eyes on him, the weight of the Underworld pressing harder.
He forced himself to move forward, each step feeling heavier than the last. The landscape twisted and shifted around him, the ground pulsing like a living thing. He didn't know where he was going exactly—only that he had to keep moving. If he stopped, he might not start again.
Ahead, a faint glow caught his eye. It was different from the flickering flames that lined the chasms and cliffs. This light was steady, golden, and warm. It reminded him of sunlight.
"Sunlight in Tartarus?" he muttered. "That's not ominous at all."
As he approached, he realized the glow was coming from a massive, cracked obelisk jutting out of the ground. Its surface was covered in ancient runes that pulsed faintly with golden light.
"What the—"
Before he could finish, the ground trembled violently, and the obelisk flared to life. A figure stepped out from the light, its form shifting and crackling like static.
"Percy Jackson," the figure said, its voice echoing like a thousand voices speaking at once.
Percy raised Riptide, his instincts screaming at him to prepare for a fight. "Who are you?"
"I am a fragment of what was lost," the figure replied cryptically. "A piece of the past, trapped here in the depths of Tartarus."
"Great, more riddles," Percy muttered, keeping his sword at the ready. "What do you want?"
The figure's form flickered, its voice lowering to something more human. "Not what I want. What you seek. You've come here for answers, haven't you?"
Percy hesitated. "How do you know that?"
"Tartarus knows all who enter its depths. It knows your heart, your fears, your regrets." The figure stepped closer, its golden light illuminating Percy's face. "And it knows your purpose."
"Then you know I don't have time for games," Percy snapped. "If you have something to say, say it."
The figure tilted its head. "The threat to Olympus is greater than you realize. The enemy you seek has already begun to sow chaos, twisting the threads of fate itself."
"Who is it?" Percy demanded, stepping closer.
The figure hesitated, its light dimming slightly. "You must tread carefully, Son of Poseidon. The answers you seek will come at a cost. The truth always does."
Percy gritted his teeth. "I'm not leaving without answers."
The figure extended a hand, and the golden light brightened again, forming into an image—a swirling vortex of shadows and fire. At its center was a figure, cloaked in darkness, their features obscured.
"They are a force of entropy," the figure said. "A being born of chaos itself. They seek to unmake what the gods have built, to unravel the balance of the world."
Percy stared at the image, a sinking feeling growing in his chest. "How do I stop them?"
The figure's light flickered again, its form growing fainter. "To stop them, you must confront your own darkness. The path ahead will test you in ways you cannot yet imagine."
Before Percy could ask more, the figure began to dissolve, its voice echoing one last warning: "Beware the price of victory, Percy Jackson. Not all who enter Tartarus leave whole."
The light vanished, leaving Percy alone in the darkness once more. He tightened his grip on Riptide, his jaw set.
He turned and continued down the path, the shadows pressing in closer than ever.
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Until next time