The Path Of Glory (Annabeth Chase x Male Reader)

16. Welcome To The Underworld

They stood in shadows of Valencia Boulevard, looking up at gold letters etched in black marble: DOA RECORDING STUDIOS.

Underneath, stenciled on the glass door: NO SOLICITORS. NO LOITERING. NO LIVING.

It was almost midnight, but the lobby was brightly lit and full of people. Behind the security desk sat a tough-looking guard with sunglasses and an earpiece.

Percy turned to the others. "Okay. You remember the plan."

"The plan? Because we have a plan, now?" Y/N said wryly.

"The plan," Grover gulped. "Yeah. I love the plan."

Annabeth said, "What happens if the plan doesn't work?"

"Don't think negative," Ethan said, trying to smile.

"Right," she said. "We're entering the Land of the Dead, and I shouldn't think negative."

Percy got the pearls the Nereid had given him out of his pocket. He looked gloomy.

Y/N put his hand on Percy's shoulder. "Don't worry. It'll be fine."

He gave Annabeth a nudge.

"Oh, right!" she chimed in. "We got this far. We'll find the master bolt and save your mom. No problem."

Percy seemed relieved and slipped the pearls back in his pocket. "Let's whup some Underworld butt."

They walked inside the DOA lobby.

Muzak played softly on hidden speakers. The carpet and walls were steel gray. Pencil cactuses grew in the corners like skeleton hands. The furniture was black leather, and every seat was taken. There were people sitting on couches, people standing up, people staring out the windows or waiting for the elevator. Nobody moved, or talked, or did much of anything. Out of the corner of his eye, Y/N could see them all just fine, but if he focused on any one of them in particular, they started looking...transparent. He could see right through their bodies.

The security guard's desk was a raised podium, so they had to look up at him.

He was tall and elegant, with chocolate-colored skin and bleached-blond hair shaved military style. He wore tortoiseshell shades and a silk Indian suit that matched his hair. A black rose was pinned to his lapel under a silver name tag.

Y/N read the name tag, but Percy asked the question first, "Your name is Chiron?"

The man leaned across the desk. Y/N couldn't see anything in his glasses except his own reflection, but the man's smile was sweet and cold, like a python's right before it eats you.

"What a precious young lad." He had a strange accent—British, maybe, but also as if he had learned English as a second language. "Tell me, mate, do I look like a centaur?"

"N-no," Percy said.

"Sir," the man added smoothly.

"Sir," Percy said.

The man pinched the name tag and ran his finger under the letters. "Can you read, mate? It says C-H-A-R-O-N. Say it with me: CARE-ON."

"Charon," Percy said, as if he was six.

"Amazing! Now: Mr. Charon."

"Mr. Charon."

"Well done." The man sat back. "I hate being confused with that old horse-man. And now, how may I help you, little dead ones?"

Percy looked at the others for support.

"We want to go to the Underworld," Annabeth said.

Charon's mouth twitched. "Well, that's refreshing."