It was wishful thinking to believe the other children of Nyx wouldn't be hunting for their pound of flesh. The newly increased bounty on my head coupled with my distasteful disposal of Poine had whipped the dark entities into a frenzy. Their attacks became more frequent and aggressive, conveniently forgetting about the fact that Tartarus had requested me to be brought back alive.
Sure, I could regenerate down here, but where was the fun in waiting?
Gold dust and ichor clung to my skin and clothes. It had become more time consuming to clean up between battles than to leave evidence of the slain divine. And if it happened to strike fear into the hearts of those who wished me dead, well, all the more reason to walk around like an omen of death.
Epithymia gleamed in my hand, a beacon of bronze light in the otherwise reddish glow. The weight of my trusted sword gave me the barest amount of comfort, but I'd take it in the given circumstances. If nothing else, it served as a reminder of my mother. She needed me to make it out of here to help her with the bigger upcoming threat.
The thought of reading that cursed book made my temples throb. The language of Chaos was truly a punishment for those trying to learn it. Sadly, my domain of languages only covered those spoken by humans on Earth. The language of Chaos died out with the first generation of primordials, so the task of learning the convoluted tongue fell squarely on my shoulders. God bless Salina's linguistic workbooks.
My train of thought came to an abrupt end as I stopped myself from stumbling into a regeneration bubble. Curled in the membrane bubble was a fully formed Titan in golden armor, his skin the color of polished pennies. His eyes were closed, but he scowled so deeply that he appeared to be on the verge of a bloodcurdling war cry. Even through the blister, I could feel the heat radiating from his body.
Hyperion, I thought with a frown. I hate this guy.
I hadn't given him much thought since the satyrs turned him into a tree in Central Park. Standing here, taking the time to observe his face made my heart ache something fierce. If I were to change his color scheme from gold to silver and give him hair extensions, he would've been almost indistinguishable from Bob. Though the transformation from Iapetus to Bob had been an accident, I'm glad it happened. Bob was such a sweetheart. It made my next decision that much easier.
I swung a Greek fire-tinged Epithymia across the regeneration bubble, which burst in a geyser of hot golden mud. I didn't want to deal with this hothead any earlier than scheduled.
The good news was that meant Small Bob should be around here somewhere. I'd find a way to get him to return to the mortal world with me as a gift for Bob. If Hades had an issue with a skeletal saber-toothed tiger kitten, he could take it up with me. Bob deserved a companion, too. Maybe if he got along with Cerberus, Hades wouldn't mind as much.
Small Bob found me three hours later, appearing like a specter out of the fog. He was a small calico kitten, no bigger than the length of my forearm. He butted his head against my foot and purred loudly. As he purred, the ground vibrated and pebbles danced. Small Bob fixed his yellow, lamp-like eyes on one particular rock to my left and pounced.
I smiled to myself as I bent down and scooped up the kitten. Small Bob was bony under his fur but seemed like a perfectly normal kitten otherwise.
Small Bob nuzzled in my arms for a few seconds before deciding to explore. I held still as the kitten hopped onto my shoulder and made himself comfortable. He purred like an earthmover, rattling my bones. His fur shimmered and revealed his ghostly skeleton for a few seconds. I waited to pet his head until his normal kitten appearance returned.
"Good kitty," I cooed. "Thanks for being my companion, Small Bob."
Now that I had my animal companion like a proper Disney princess, I resumed my habit of singing as I traversed the landscape. The hidden cliffs, mountains, and regeneration bubbles did wonders for the acoustics. If not for the inherent danger of Tartarus, a part of me wondered if anyone would consider recording an album here.
The sheer absurdity of the thought made me laugh. Small Bob didn't appreciate the jostling of my shoulders and smacked my cheek with one of his paws.
Tough crowd.
I managed to circumvent the Forest of Curses, entirely bypassing the arai. Being in Tartarus was already bad enough. I didn't need nor want to experience the pain of those who cursed me with their dying breaths.
As I trekked onward, the temperature plummeted by at least ten degrees. I shivered as goosebumps prickled along the length of my arms. Small Bob pressed himself against the back of my neck and attempted to climb into my shirt.
I reached back to pet Small Bob between the ears, humming softly as we moved forward. The sky somehow grew darker, making Epithymia's glow seem so much brighter. As Epithymia swayed within my grasp, I felt Small Bob's head following the motion. If I found a safe place sometime soon, I'd definitely bring out my laser pointer to see how he'd react to that.
The increased darkness emboldened my hunters. Despite the gravely, crunchy ground, they managed to seemingly appear out of thin air.
They shot arrows, lunged with their spears, threw their knives, and swung their swords. Some growled, others screeched. One child of Nyx, most likely Ker, went so far as to try and bite my left ear off.
How rude.
Small Bob didn't appreciate all the jostling. He jumped to the ground and snarled, the earth rattling beneath him. He grew to his full size and threw himself into the fray, sinking his eight-inch serrated teeth into anyone who got close enough to his gaping maw.
Despite our solid defense, we were forced into backing away due to the sheer number of attackers. The news of the bounty on my head must have spread throughout all of Tartarus at this point since a myriad of monsters and angry spirits were more than happy to try and rip me to shreds.
Things got particularly dicey when the arai arrived.
So many curses! the bat women shrieked. Not enough time!
They were right about one thing. There definitely wasn't enough time to unpack that last sentence.
Before they fully descended upon me, I sent out a sweep of Greek fire and torched those closest to me. The fire also forced some of the arai to back off lest they become barbeque for the hungry monsters below.
I took full advantage of the reprieve and sprinted the other way. Small Bob followed behind and swatted anyone who managed to break through the pack.
The arai descended on me like a swarm of aggravated mosquitos. Their talons raked across my skin. Their beaks tore through chunks of my flesh. All the while, they taunted with the promises of further pain and suffering, sounding overjoyed at the prospect.
Will she bleed out from her neck? mocked one of the arai.
Or die of evisceration?
Maybe from a bullet to the brain!
Or she'll die like Poine, bleeding out before being eaten alive!
Yeah, no.
I choose choice E: None of the above.
Ichor streamed from my wounds, staining the ground gold. My muscles ached at the abuse. Sweat poured down my face and back as I urged myself to run faster, faster, faster.
I would've kept going if not for the high-pitched yelp let out by Small Bob. An arrow had pierced through one of his knees, sending him sprawling to the ground. A pack of telkhines rushed toward Small Bob, weapons drawn, fangs bared.
Within a matter of seconds, the leader of the pack staggered back with an arrow protruding from his forehead like a unicorn's horn. I shot into the crowd as I returned for my companion, shielding him.
"Your attachment makes you weak," hissed Eris, pushing through the crowd. "You deserve to be bound in chains and thrown at the feet of our master!"
"And you deserve to be stuck in the pits of Hell for all eternity. Oh, wait. You already are!"
It definitely wasn't the best idea to provoke the goddess of strife, but it was oh, so worth it.
She growled and turned her attention to Small Bob. An obsidian dagger materialized in her hand as she lashed out. She would've struck his heart if not for my leaping in her path, the blade denting my shield as it made impact.
Note to self: Have Tyson make my next shield in Poseidon's forges.
In the amount of time it took Eris to overcome her shock, I buried a dagger of my own into the meat of her thigh. I made sure to twist hard before pulling it free. Her thigh looked a mangled mess, muscle and blood and sinew visible despite the darkness.
I watched Eris crumple to the ground out of the corner of my eye. Although she'd been taken care of, there were plenty of others trying to press their luck.
I swore as an arai dive bombed us. Its claws raked along my cheek. Ichor gushed forth, trailing onto my lips and dripping off my chin. Couple this newest injury along with the myriad of others I'd collected along the way, and it was no wonder that the sudden warmth of my blood made my head spin. Spots danced in my vision.
I would not die here.
Tartarus wouldn't get his hands on me.
Pushing past any feelings of discomfort or pain, I dropped to my knees, pressed my hands to the ground, and focused.
Shadows coalesced in a dangerous vortex. Something akin to tentacles appeared from the darkness and wrapped around my enemies wherever they could, yanking them into the pitch black nothingness. Some weren't so lucky and got skewered on the spot, erupting into clouds of gold dust, which were then promptly swallowed by the shadows.
My insides boiled, churning violently against this imposed demand. Tartarus could try and dampen my powers all he wanted, but he couldn't defeat my stubbornness or my self-sacrificing tendencies.
Hades's charm burned against my wrist. I'd be amazed if any juice remained in it after the stunt I pulled.
I stopped when the darkness threatened to pull me under.
All of my internal organs felt like they'd been set on fire and then dipped in acid. Breathing was a nigh impossible task, and the blood blocking my nostrils wasn't making it any easier. My muscles and bones fiercely ached. My body incessantly trembled.
I forced my hands to still as I made quick work of removing the arrow from Small Bob's leg and bandaging the wound. He made a sound of relief and craned his neck in an attempt to nuzzle his head against my hand. I crawled closer, and he loudly purred as I scratched between his ears.
"What a fine pair we are," I mumbled, resting my head against his shoulder.
Small Bob purred in agreement.
I allowed myself a five minute breather. Small Bob made a sound of displeasure when I started struggling to my feet, actively trying to keep me down.
"We're not safe here. We have to keep moving," I explained, as if magical saber tooth tigers understood human speech.
Small Bob narrowed his eyes.
"Fine," I sighed. "We'll only go as far as the nearest shelter. Deal?"
Mrow!
"Good man. Let's go."
I willed away the clock behind my eyes. I didn't want to know how pitifully long we'd been wandering in this infernal cesspool.
After I nearly cracked my skull on a forming regeneration bubble when I lost my footing thanks to the solid ground giving way to loose gravel, Small Bob took it upon himself to be my noble steed despite his bum knee.
I promised him all of the beef jerky I had in my bag if we made it to Damasen's alive.
I exchanged Epithymia in favor of my bow, keeping an eye out in case anyone decided to take advantage of our weakened states. I don't think I have it in me to pull that off a second time.
The landscape changed again. We were still going downhill, which should have made traveling easier; but the ground sloped at just the wrong angle – too steep to jog, too treacherous to let our guard down even for a moment. The surface was sometimes loose gravel, sometimes patches of slime.
Small Bob stepped around random bristles sharp enough to impale his foot, and clusters of…well, not rocks exactly. More like warts the size of watermelons. If I had to guess (and I didn't want to) I figured that Small Bob was leading us down the length of Tartarus's large intestine.
The air got thicker and stank of sewage. The darkness maybe wasn't quite as intense, but I still couldn't see farther than a few feet around us in any direction. Unlike Epithymia, my bow did nothing to provide us light.
Small Bob came to a stop once we made it to the bottom of the hill.
Ahead in the gloom, the terrain leveled out into a black swamp. Sulfur-yellow mist hung in the air. Even without sunlight, there were actual plants – clumps of reeds, scrawny leafless trees, even a few sickly-looking flowers blooming in the muck. Mossy trails wound between bubbling tar pits.
Directly in front of us, sunk into the bog, were footprints the size of trash-can lids, with long, pointed toes.
Drakon footprints.
I could've cried right then and there. We were so close!
Small Bob started into the swamp. Feeling his muscles tense, I wrapped my arms around him as he hopped from moss patch to moss patch. My injuries protested at the movement. I told my body to shut up and hung on for dear life.
Finally, the yellow mist parted, revealing a muddy clearing like an island in the mick. The ground was dotted with stunted trees and wart mounds. In the center loomed a large, domed hut made of bones and greenish leather. Smoke rose from a hole in the top. The entrance was covered with curtains of scaly reptile skin, and flanking the entrance, two torches made from colossal femur bones burned bright yellow.
What really caught my attention was the drakon skull. Fifty yards into the clearing, about halfway to the hut, a massive oak tree jutted from the ground at a forty-five-degree angle. The jaws of a drakon skull encircled the trunk as if the oak tree were the dead monster's tongue.
Suddenly, Small Bob arched his back and hissed. I unceremoniously fell into the mud with a resounding PLOP.
Great. That's just what I needed today.
I lifted my head and saw the drakon charging toward us.
Having read the House of Hades, I knew what the drakon supposedly looked like – green and yellow hide, sea green eyes, frills around the neck, a beast the length of a subway train, etc. I also knew that Damasen would be here soon, so I laid my head back in the mud and focused my energy on trying to siphon any water out of my messy prison.
Soon enough I heard the resounding, "ROOOOOAAAR!"
I stood up for good this time and turned as the giant emerged from his hut.
He was about twenty feet tall – typical giant height – with a humanoid upper body, and scaly reptilian legs, like a bipedal dinosaur. He held no weapon. Instead of armor, he wore only a shirt stitched together from sheep hides and green-spotted leather. His skin was cherry red; his beard and hair the color of iron rust, braided with tufts of grass, leaves, and swamp flowers.
He shouted in challenge, but thankfully he wasn't looking at us. I ushered Small Bob toward me as the giant stormed toward the drakon.
They clashed like some sort of weird Christmas combat scene – red versus green. The drakon spewed poison. The giant lunged to one side. He grabbed the oak tree and pulled it from the ground, roots and all. The old skull crumbled to dust as the giant hefted the tree like a baseball bat.
The drakon's tail lashed around the giant's waist, dragging him closer to its gnashing teeth. But as soon as the giant was in range, he shoved the tree straight down the monster's throat.
It looked like something right out of Mortal Kombat. The tree pierced the drakon's gullet and impaled it to the ground. The roots began to move, digging deeper as they touched the earth, anchoring the oak until it looked like it had stood in that spot for centuries. The drakon shook and thrashed, but it was pinned fast.
The giant brought his fist down on the drakon's neck. CRACK. The monster went limp. It began to dissolve, leaving only scraps of bone, meat, hide, and a new drakon skull whose open jaws ringed the oak tree.
The only thing missing was the Minecraft sound effects.
"Good one," I said, genuinely impressed.
Small Bob purred in agreement and started cleaning his paws.
The giant kicked at the drakon's remains, examining them critically. "No good bones," he complained. "I wanted a new walking stick. Hmpf. Some good skin for the outhouse, though." He ripped some soft hide from the drakon's frills and tucked it in his belt.
"So," the giant began, narrowing his eyes. "Who might you be?" Damasen bent over and began ripping chunks of bloody meat from the drakon carcass with his bare hands.
"Andy Collins. And this," I gestured to my right, "is Small Bob."
"Ah, the Titan spawn. I have heard much about you. What is it you seek in this part of the pit?"
"Refuge."
"Refuge?"
"Yes, for Small Bob and me. It would just be one night. We'll be out of your hair by tomorrow morning."
Damasen stood up straight and studied me as if I were another potential source of protein. "Good meat for dinner. Come inside. We will have stew. Then we can discuss payment for your request."
Small Bob served as my crutch as I limped my way to Damasen's hut. Once we reached the door, his entire form shimmered as he returned to the size of a kitten, rubbing himself against my ankles as we crossed the threshold.
The coziness of Damasen's hut was a welcome change of pace compared to the hellfire and brimstone right outside. It was as big as a planetarium and constructed of bones, mud, and drakon skin.
In the center blaze a bonfire made of pitch and bone; yet the smoke was white and odorless, rising through the hole in the middle of the ceiling. The floor was covered with dry marsh grass and gray wool rugs. At one end lay a massive bed of sheepskins and drakon leather. At the other end, freestanding racks were hung with drying plants, cured leather, and what looked like strips of drakon jerky. The whole place smelled of stew, smoke, basil, and thyme.
There was a flock of sheep huddled in a pen at the back of the hut. It reminded me of the sheep on Polyphemus's island, but these seemed a lot less carnivorous.
Small Bob took advantage of the abandoned bed and kneaded the blankets, purring so strongly the bed rattled like a Thousand-Finger Massage.
Damasen plodded to the bonfire. He tossed his drakon meat into a hanging pot that seemed to be made from an old monster skull, then picked up a ladle and begun to stir.
"You are badly injured," Damasen noted, eyeing me up and down.
"Tis but a scratch."
"Hmph." He handed me the ladle. "Stir."
As I tended the stew, Damasen perused his drying racks, plucking various leaves and roots.
He popped a fistful of plant material into his mouth, chewed it up, then spat it into a clump of wool.
"Cup of broth," Damasen ordered.
I ladled some stew juice into a hollow gourd. I handed it to Damasen, who dunked the chewed-up gunk ball and stirred it with his finger. He returned the gourd to my hands.
"Drink."
Drinking something made with someone else's spit wasn't the grossest thing I've ever done. I drained the cup, feeling as the ache seeped out of my bones. I'd have to break into my ambrosia stash for the more serious injuries, but not feeling as if I'd been hit by a train was an absolute win in my books.
"Thank you," I said.
Damasen stared at me mournfully. "Oh, don't thank me. You're still doomed. And I require payment for my services."
"Of course. What did you have in mind?"
"A story." The giant's eyes glittered. "It gets boring in Tartarus. You can tell me your story while we eat, eh?"
Instead of simply telling my life story, I decided to show Damasen as well. I projected my memories like a 3-D hologram between us. He watched the images with rapt attention, drinking in the sights and sounds that the mortal realm had to offer.
Small Bob seemed interested in the bright lights and joined us. As he nuzzled against my side, I made good on my promise and started feeding him his hard-earned beef jerky.
The image faltered when I got to talking about my first time in Tartarus.
I interrupted my story by saying, "Let me just say, I'm sorry about your parents. They're the absolute worst."
At that, Damasen snorted like a bull. "That is putting it lightly. As you can see, I was a disappointment to them. They expected…more from me."
"Same. Yet I somehow am back in this gods forsaken pit like he wanted. Yay."
"Best of luck. At present, it's my father you should worry about. With him opposing you, you have very little chance of survival."
I sighed into my empty cup. "Yeah, I know. Those bounty hunters have nothing on his cruelty." I steeled my resolve and looked Damasen straight in his eyes. "But I will close the Doors of Death, curb stomp your father if he gets in my way, and send your mother back to sleep for the rest of eternity. I won't allow these bloated primordials harm my friends or the billions of innocents on Earth. That I promise."
"Promise? A big thing, a promise."
"Yes, but a necessary one."
Damasen sat back and assessed me. The pensive expression on his face seemed so out of place on a giant's visage that it took my remaining willpower to keep from bursting into a fit of manic giggles.
"You already know that the Doors are located at his heart."
"Yes."
He shook his head. "This is a suicide quest, goddess or not. You are a fool for willingly returning."
I shrugged. "I've been called worse. And it's not like I was going to let my friends go through this. I at least have some experience being here."
"When has helping mortals ever been worth the risk? I helped mortals once, and you see where it got me."
I took a deep breath and summoned an image of my friends aboard the Argo II – karaoke night. I focused on their carefree smiles, their relaxed stances, their tangible joy. After a few seconds, I waved my hand over the image and it shimmered, revealing a Fourth of July celebration with Will, Cleo, and Luke. The next image was of Leah, Pete, Joe, Patrick, Andy, and me at Coney Island standing in front of the illuminated Ferris wheel at night, our arms laden with the prizes won at the various booths, comically large bags of cotton candy, and commemorative popcorn buckets.
"All of these little moments make it all worth it. Even if I suffer, even if I meet a fate worse than death, I will throw myself into this forsaken pit a million times over to preserve their futures." I clenched my fists in my lap. "Break your curse, Damasen. Come with me. Stand up to your parents. This swamp doesn't have to be the end all be all."
Damasen chuckled sourly. "As simple as that. Don't you think I have tried to leave this place? It is impossible. No matter which direction I travel, I end up here again. The swamp is the only thing I know – the only destination I can imagine. No, little goddess. My curse has overtaken me. I have no hope left."
"Then imagine a new destination. Think of the Maeonian fields where you tended your sheep and collected your herbs. Think of the sun and bright blue sky, of stars and the full moon. Isn't it worth it to try?"
Damasen's eyes were like the sockets of the drakon's skull – dark and hollow, devoid of hope.
He flicked a broken bone into the fire a rose to his full height – a massive red warrior in sheepskin and drakon leather, with dried flowers and herbs in his hair. It was here that it became evident how he was the anti-Ares. Ares was a blustery and violent god. Damasen was the best giant, kind and helpful…and for that, he'd been cursed to eternal torment.
"Take some time to tend to your wounds and get some sleep," he said. "I will prepare supplies for your journey. I am sorry, but I cannot do more."
I nodded in understanding. "Thank you for being such a gracious host."
"Thank me by getting out of this place alive."
I woke staring at the shadows dancing across the hut's ceiling. Between the lack of nightmarish dreams and the way this mattress seemed to perfectly contour to my body, I didn't want to get up.
Unfortunately, all good things have to come to an end. I bit back a groan as I sat up, my muscles making their displeasure at any movement known. The ambrosia had done its job of closing my wounds, leaving little in the way of scarring. My cheek lightly throbbed when I brought my hand to my face. The skin and underlying tissues had fully healed, but if I were to guess, I was probably seven shades of black and blue.
Damasen, who probably thought I was still asleep, mumbled to himself as he moved about his hut.
"The sun, the stars." He threw something to the floor with a thump. "Bah. This is a ridiculous idea. I cannot –"
In the distance, the Maeonian drakon roared.
"Good, you're awake," Damasen said, suddenly looming over the bed. "The drakon is returning. I fear its roar will draw the others – my brethren, hunting you. They will be here within minutes."
"Ugh, they never stop," I complained, hopping onto the floor. Small Bob followed and took his perch on my shoulders. "If it wasn't for your siblings trying to end the world, I'd say their persistence is commendable. Also, if they ask, I wasn't here."
Damasen rolled his eyes. "Obviously. I don't want their presence in my swamp any longer than what is necessary. Take this." He tossed me a drakon-leather satchel. "Clothes, food, drink."
"Would I be able to convince you to join me if I told you that your cooperation helps complete the Prophecy of Seven?"
"Girl, I already-"
I grabbed his hand, startling the giant. His brow furrowed. His skin was as rough as sandstone.
"The prophecy says foes bear arms to the Doors of Death. We thought it meant Romans and Greeks, but that's not it. The line refers to us – a demigod turned goddess and a giant. I'll need your help to close the Doors."
The drakon roared outside, closer this time. Damasen gently pulled his hand away.
"No, young one," he murmured. "My curse is here. I cannot escape it."
"Yes, you can," I said. "Don't fight the drakon. Figure out a way to break the cycle! Find another fate."
Damasen shook his head. "Even if I could, I cannot leave this swamp. It is the only destination I can picture."
"Then I'll leave you with another destination to picture." With a few waves of my hand, I projected my memories of the sky on the roof of his hut. As time ticked on the mortal world, the image would reflect the sun's position. Currently, a sunset bathed the sky in a collage of orange, pink, and purple. Damasen stared at the roof in silent awe. "Remember my face, Damasen. When you're ready, come find me. I'll take you to the mortal world with me. I'll bring you to the sun and stars once more."
The ground shook. The drakon was close now, stomping through the marsh, blasting trees and moss with its poison spray. Farther away, I heard the voice of Polybotes, urging his followers forward. "THE TITAN KING'S DAUGHTER! SHE IS CLOSE!"
"Find someone else to obsess over," I grumbled, hoisting Damasen's satchel over my shoulder.
Damasen took something from his belt. In his massive hand, the white shard looked like another toothpick; but when he offered it to me, I recognized it as a sword – a blade of drakon bones, honed to a deadly edge, with a simple leather grip.
"One last gift for the daughter of Kronos," rumbled the giant. "Keep this in memory of me. Now, go! Before it is too late."
I accepted the sword. "I'll be waiting for you."
I ran for the entrance. I didn't look back as I ran into the swamp, but I heard Damasen behind me, shouting his battle cry at the advancing drakon, his voice cracking with despair as he faced his old enemy yet again.