Chapter Text
“The blade is almost complete,” one said. “It needs another cooling in blood to fuse the metals.”
“Aye,” a second said. “It shall be even sharper than before.”
“What is that?” I whispered.
Annabeth shook her head. “They keep talking about fusing metals. I wonder–”
“They were talking about the greatest Titan weapon, I said. “And they…they said they made my father’s trident.”
“The telekhines betrayed the gods,” Annabeth said. “They were practicing dark magic. I don’t know what, exactly, but Zeus banished them to Tartarus.”
“With Kronos.”
She nodded. “We have to get out –”
No sooner had she said that than the door to the classroom exploded and young telekhines came pouring out. They stumbled over each other, trying to figure out which way to charge.
“Put your cap back on,” I said. “Get out!”
“What?” Annabeth shrieked. “No! I’m not leaving you.”
“I’ve got a plan. I’ll distract them. You can use the metal spider – maybe it’ll lead you back to Hephaestus. You have to tell him what’s going on.”
“But you’ll be killed!”
“I’ll be fine. Besides, we’ve got no choice.”
Annabeth glared at me like she was going to punch me. And then she did something that surprised me even more. She kissed me.
“Be careful, Seaweed Brain.” She put on her hat and vanished.
I probably would’ve sat there for the rest of the day, staring at the lava and trying to remember what my name was, but the sea demons jarred me back to reality.
“There!” one yelled. The entire class of telekhines charged across the bridge toward me. I ran for the middle of the platform, surprising the four elder sea demons so much they dropped the red-hot blade. It was about six feet long and curved like a crescent moon. I’d seen a lot of terrifying things, but this unfinished whatever-it-was scared me worse.
The elder demons got over their surprise quickly. There were four ramps leading off the platform, and before I could dash in any direction, each of them had covered an exit.
The tallest one snarled. “What do we have here? A son of Poseidon?”
“Yes,” another growled. “I can smell the sea in his blood.”
I raised Riptide. My heart was pounding.
“Strike down one of us, demigod,” the third demon said, “and the rest of us shall tear you to shreds. Your father betrayed us. He took our gift and said nothing as we were cast into the pit. We will see him sliced to pieces. He and all the other Olympians.”
I wished I had a plan. I wished I hadn’t been lying to Annabeth. I’d wanted her to get out safely, and I hoped she’d been sensible enough to do it. But now it was dawning on me that this might be the place I would die. No prophecies for me. I would get overrun in the heart of a volcano by a pack of dog-faced sea-lion people. The young telekhines were at the platform now, too, snarling and waiting to see how their four elders would deal with me.
I felt something burning against the side of my leg. The ice whistle in my pocket was getting colder. If I ever needed help, now was the time. But I hesitated. I didn’t trust Quintus’s gift.
Before I could make up my mind, the tallest telekhine said, “Let us see how strong he is. Let us see how long it takes him to burn!”
He scooped some lava out of the nearest furnace. It set his fingers ablaze, but this didn’t seem to bother him at all. The other elder telekhines did the same. The first one threw a glop of molten rock at me and set my pants on fire. Two more splattered across my chest. I dropped my sword in sheer terror and swatted at my clothes. Fire was engulfing me. Strangely, it felt only warm at first, but it was getting hotter by the instant.
“Your father’s nature protects you,” one said. “Makes you hard to burn. But not impossible, youngling. Not impossible.”
They threw more lava at me, and I remember screaming. My whole body was on fire. The pain was worse that anything I’d ever felt. I was being consumed. I crumpled to the metal floor and heard the sea demon children howling in delight.
Then I remembered the voice of the river naiad at the ranch: The water is within me .
I needed the sea. I felt a tugging sensation in my gut, but I had nothing around to help me. Not a faucet or a river. Not even a petrified seashell this time. And besides, the last time I’d unleashed my power at the stables, there'd been that scary moment when it had almost gotten away from me.
I had no choice. I called to the sea. I reached inside myself and remembered the waves and the currents, the endless power of the ocean. And I let it loose in one horrible scream.
Afterward, I could never describe what happened. An explosion, a tidal wave, a whirlwind of power simultaneously catching me up and blasting me downward into the lava. Fire and water collided, superheated steam, and I shot upward from the heart of the volcano in a huge explosion, just one piece of flotsam thrown free by a million pounds of pressure. The last thing I remember before losing consciousness was falling, smoke and fire and water streaming from me.
I woke up feeling like I was still on fire. My skin stung. My throat felt as dry as sand. My muscles felt as if they were melting. But then I noticed something.
I was falling.
The sensation was both terrifying and oddly peaceful. Wind rushed past my face, but there was no light. Only an all-consuming darkness that seemed to stretch on forever.
Time lost meaning. I could have been falling for minutes or hours or days. My body felt weightless, disconnected from reality. Was I dead? Was this what the Underworld felt like?
No. This was something else. Something worse.
Every instinct in my body screamed danger. Even in the darkness, I could sense that wherever I was falling toward wasn't a place meant for living things. The air—if you could call it that—felt wrong, tainted with a malevolence that made it hard to breathe.
And then, finally, I hit the ground. Or what I thought was the ground.
The impact should have killed me instantly, especially with my injuries. But that was only if I actually hit the ground. Instead, I landed in a river of fire. My body lit up with pain. I couldn’t find which was was up and which way was down. I didn’t even attempt to breathe in this river. My breath was running out. Finally, after what felt like hours, but was probably only seconds, my head breached the surface.
I gasped. The pain was beyond anything I'd ever experienced, a white-hot explosion that consumed my entire being.
I screamed, but no sound came out. Or maybe it did, and was simply swallowed by the vastness around me. Thankfully, I was right by the edge of the river and was able to climb out. Even if every movement felt like knives were stabbing into me.
Somehow, impossibly, I was still conscious. Still alive, if you could call this living. I lay broken on the ground, unable to move, barely able to think through the haze of agony.
Gradually, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I began to make out shapes. A blood-red sky stretched overhead, shot through with black lightning that illuminated nothing. The ground beneath me was black glass that seemed to pulse with an internal heat, sharp edges cutting into my already broken body.
In the distance, something howled—a sound so filled with anguish and malice that it made my soul shiver. Other sounds joined it: screeching, wailing, the scraping of claws against stone.
With a sudden, horrible clarity, I knew exactly where I was.
Tartarus. The pit. The darkest part of the Underworld, where the greatest monsters and enemies of the gods were imprisoned.
And now, me.
I tried to move, to at least sit up, but my body wouldn't respond. The crushing weight of the atmosphere pressed down on me, making each breath a struggle. The air itself tasted like acid, burning my lungs with every shallow gasp. But it was getting better slowly, maybe I was adjusting to the air? Even weirder, it almost felt like my burns were healing. But that was impossible, right? I had just bathed in fire, and probably got worse burns that before, how would they heal?
"Help," I croaked, though I knew no one who could hear me would be friendly. "Please..."
As if in answer, something slithered nearby. I couldn't see it clearly, but I felt its presence—ancient, hungry, and utterly devoid of mercy.
"Well, well," came a voice like knives scraping against metal. "What have we here? A demigod, fallen from above? How... delicious."
Terror shot through me, giving me strength I didn't know I had. I managed to roll onto my side, fumbling for Riptide in my pocket. By some miracle, the pen was still there, and my pants, which I was very thankful for. I uncapped it with trembling fingers, and the familiar bronze blade sprang to life, casting a faint golden glow that barely penetrated the oppressive darkness.
The creature—whatever it was—hissed and retreated slightly from the light. I caught a glimpse of scaled skin, multiple eyes, and far too many teeth.
"A son of Poseidon," it said, and I could hear the smile in its voice. "Oh, the others will be so pleased. It's been so long since we've had such a valuable plaything."
My grip tightened on Riptide's hilt. "Stay back," I warned, though my voice was weak and shaking.
The creature laughed—a sound like breaking glass. "Brave little demigod. But bravery means nothing here. In Tartarus, there is only survival... and suffering."
It lunged without warning, a blur of scales and claws. I swung Riptide wildly, more in panic than with any real skill. The blade connected with something solid, and the creature shrieked in pain, recoiling.
"You'll pay for that," it snarled. "They all will, once they know you're here."
Before I could ask who "they" were, the creature slithered away into the darkness, leaving me alone with my fear and pain.
Slowly, agonizingly, I pushed myself to my feet. Every movement sent waves of agony through my broken body, but somehow—perhaps because of the strange nature of Tartarus itself—I was able to stand. My skin seemed to be slowly healing, though the process was excruciating.
I looked around, trying to get my bearings, though there was little to see. In the distance, mountains of jagged rock cut into the blood-red sky. Rivers of fire flowed between them, casting an eerie glow that revealed little but shadows. The landscape itself seemed alive, pulsing with malevolence.
I had to move. Standing still made me an easy target, and I had no doubt that there were countless horrors lurking in the darkness, all of them hungry for demigod flesh.
But move where? There was no exit from Tartarus, no way back to the world above. The only way out was through the Doors of Death, and I had no idea where they were or how to open them.
I was trapped in the most dangerous place in existence, alone and injured, with every monster I'd ever killed potentially waiting for revenge.
For the first time since I'd discovered I was a half-blood, I felt truly helpless.
I thought of Annabeth, of the way she'd looked at me before I sent her away from the volcano. Would she think I was dead? Would they all move on without me, continuing the fight against Kronos while I was trapped in this nightmare?
The thought of never seeing her again, of never seeing any of them again, was almost more painful than my physical injuries.
"Focus, Percy," I muttered to myself. "One step at a time."
First, I needed to find shelter, somewhere I could hide and recover my strength. Then water—if such a thing even existed here that wasn't toxic or worse. Then... well, I'd figure that out later.
I took a tentative step forward, wincing as pain shot through my leg. Then another. And another. Each movement was agony, but it was better than standing still, waiting for death to find me.
As I limped across the glass plain, I became aware of eyes watching me from the shadows. Sometimes I caught glimpses of them—glowing red or yellow or sickly green, filled with hunger and hatred. But for now, they kept their distance, perhaps wary of Riptide's glow or the river of fire.
I didn't know how long that would last. Sooner or later, something would decide I was worth the risk, and I wasn't sure I had the strength to fight.
After what felt like hours of walking, I spotted something in the distance—a cluster of jagged rocks forming a small cave. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. I increased my pace, ignoring the stabbing pain with each step. My skin was pretty much healed, but that didn’t mean that the ache went away.
I was about fifty feet from the cave when I heard it—a low, rumbling growl that seemed to come from everywhere at once. I froze, Riptide held out before me.
"Who's there?" I called, trying to sound braver than I felt. "Show yourself!"
The growl came again, closer this time, and I whirled around, searching the darkness.
And then I saw it.
Emerging from the shadows was a creature I'd never seen before—something that looked like a cross between a drakon and a giant scorpion. Its body was covered in obsidian scales that absorbed what little light there was, making it seem like a hole in reality. Six yellow eyes glowed from a reptilian head, and a scorpion's tail arched over its back, dripping with venom that sizzled when it hit the ground.
I recognized it from Annabeth's lessons—a Tartarian Drakaena, one of the oldest and most vicious monsters native to the pit. They were rare in the world above, but here, they were apex predators.
It was easily three times my size, its claws large enough to snap me in half with a single movement. I raised Riptide, though the blade suddenly seemed pathetically inadequate against such a monster.
The drakaena's mouth opened, revealing rows of serrated teeth. "Son of Poseidon," it hissed, its voice like granite grinding against granite. "Your scent is... different. Powerful. Tainted."
I didn't know what it meant by "tainted," and I didn't want to find out. "Stay back," I warned, taking a defensive stance despite my body's protests.
The monster's head tilted, studying me with cold curiosity. "So far from your element. So vulnerable. The sea does not reach here, demigod. In Tartarus, you are nothing but meat."
It moved with shocking speed for its size, lunging forward with claws extended. I barely managed to dodge, rolling to the side as one massive claw crashed into the glass where I had been standing. Shards exploded in all directions, cutting into my arms and face.
I slashed with Riptide as I regained my footing, opening a gash along the monster's foreleg. Golden ichor spilled out, but instead of weakening the drakaena, it seemed to enrage it.
"You will suffer for that!" it roared, its tail lashing forward.
I jumped back, but not fast enough. The stinger grazed my shoulder, tearing through my shirt and leaving a burning line across my skin. Immediately, fire spread through my veins, and my vision blurred. Poison.
I staggered, nearly dropping Riptide. The drakaena sensed my weakness and advanced, its yellow eyes gleaming with hunger.
"Already failing," it taunted. "This pit devours the strong in days, the weak in hours. But the mind... oh, the mind goes first. Can you feel it already, son of Poseidon? The whispers? The darkness creeping in at the edges of your thoughts?"
It was right. Beyond the physical pain and fear, I could feel something else—a heaviness in my mind, like static slowly filling my thoughts. The air of Tartarus wasn't just toxic to my body; it was poisoning my mind.
"How long before you forget who you are?" the drakaena continued, circling me slowly as I fought to stay conscious. "How long before you become just another mad thing howling in the darkness? A day? A week? Time moves differently here. You might go mad before you even realize it's happening."
The thought terrified me more than the monster itself. To lose myself, to forget Annabeth, my mom, my friends... to become something else, something broken and twisted by this place...
No. I wouldn't let that happen.
Drawing on reserves of strength I didn't know I had, I lunged forward, surprising the drakaena. Riptide plunged deep into one of its eyes, and the monster shrieked in agony, thrashing wildly.
Its tail whipped around, catching me in the chest and sending me flying. I crashed hard into the glass ground, the breath knocked from my lungs. Riptide clattered away, its glow dimming as it left my hand.
The drakaena advanced, ichor streaming from its ruined eye, its movements now erratic with pain and rage. "I will tear you apart slowly," it snarled. "I will feast on your flesh while you still live, demigod!"
I tried to crawl toward Riptide, but my body wouldn't cooperate. The poison was spreading, numbing my limbs, clouding my thoughts. The drakaena was right above me now, its jaws opening wide, the stench of its breath washing over me—rot and sulfur and ancient malice.
This was it. After everything I'd faced, I was going to die here, alone in the darkness of Tartarus, torn apart by a monster no one would ever know I'd fought.
As the drakaena's jaws descended, a desperate, primal instinct took over. I reached out, not for water, but for something else—that dark power I had sensed earlier, the toxic lifeblood of Tartarus itself.
It responded instantly, a surge of burning energy flooding through me. A geyser of liquid fire—the same river I had bathed in earlier—shot between us, engulfing the drakaena.
The monster's screams were terrible as the fire consumed it, burning through scales and flesh alike. I rolled away, gasping as the fire passed close enough for a splatter to land right on my wound. I mean come on! My luck was just the worst.
Within seconds, the drakaena was gone, reduced to ash that scattered in the acid wind of Tartarus. The river of fire receded, flowing back into the river behind me.
I lay there, trembling from exhaustion and the aftereffects of the poison and raining fire. Whatever I had just done, it had drained me completely. But it had also saved my life.
With shaking hands, I reached for Riptide, which had returned to pen form and rolled nearby. As my fingers closed around it, I noticed something disturbing—there were black lines spreading across my skin from the wound on my shoulder, like dark veins crawling beneath the surface. But the drop of fire almost looked like it was fighting against it. Was it… healing me?
Or something else—some effect of using the power of Tartarus itself?
I didn't know, and that frightened me almost as much as the monster's words about losing my mind. How long could I survive here before Tartarus changed me irrevocably? Before I forgot who I was, why I needed to escape?
The very air seemed to whisper that it was already too late, that with each breath I took, more of the pit's essence was seeping into me, corrupting me from the inside out.
I forced myself to my feet, swaying with exhaustion. I had an idea. Though it wasn’t the smartest. I stumbled to the river, and before I could properly think it through, stuck my hands in the fire. I scooped the fire out of the river and dropped in on my shoulder. It didn’t hurt. I was shocked, my idea had worked! Of course, right until the white hot excruciating pain ravaged my shoulder. I did what any normal human, or demigod, would do in that situation. I passed out.
By the time I came to, I thought I was dead. For the hundredth time. But, just like every other time, I was still alive. The past few moments blew through my mind and I quickly checked my shoulder. The black lines were gone! As well as the wound. Huh. I guess the fire did heal me. That would be really useful later.
I stood up and looked around. The cave was still ahead, offering at least temporary shelter. I stumbled toward it, each step a battle against pain and growing weariness.
As I reached the entrance, I glanced back at the scorched battlefield. The drakaena was gone, but I knew there would be others—countless monsters drawn to the scent of a demigod, all eager for revenge or simply a fresh meal.
And somewhere out there were the Doors of Death, my only hope of escape.
I ducked into the cave, collapsing against the far wall. My entire body ached, I needed rest, but I feared what might find me if I slept.
More than that, I feared what I might become if I stayed in this place too long. The drakaena's words echoed in my mind: "How long before you forget who you are? How long before you become just another mad thing howling in the darkness?"
I closed my eyes, trying to focus on memories of the world above—Annabeth's smile, the smell of salt water at Camp Half-Blood, my mom's blue cookies. But they seemed distant already, like half-remembered dreams.
"I will get out of here," I whispered to the darkness. "I will stay sane. I will stay me."
But even as I said it, I wasn't sure if it was a promise I could keep. Because with every moment that passed, I could feel Tartarus working its way deeper into me—not just my body, but my mind, my soul, changing me in ways I couldn't yet comprehend.
And part of me—a small, dark part that seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment—wondered if that change might be exactly what I needed to survive.
I drifted into uneasy sleep, haunted by dreams of fire and darkness, and a version of myself I didn't recognize—stronger, more terrible, and utterly alone.
When I awoke, how much of Percy Jackson would remain? And how much would already be gone, replaced by something born of Tartarus itself?
I didn't know. But I was determined to find out. And one day, somehow, I would find my way home.
Even if the Percy Jackson who returned was very different from the one who had fallen.