Percy fall into Tartarus Alone

Chapter 3

Third Person Pov:

As Percy fell, thoughts of Hesiod, the old Greek poet who had speculated on the nine-day descent from Earth to Tartarus, crossed his mind. He hoped Hesiod was wrong. He had lost track of how long he had been falling—hours? A day? It felt like an eternity. The whistling in his ears had turned into a deafening roar, and the air had become unbearably hot, carrying a stench reminiscent of rotten eggs. Suddenly, the chute through which he had been plummeting opened up into a vast cavern. Percy was momentarily stunned, unable to think clearly. The sheer size of the cavern was mind-boggling; the entire island of Manhattan could fit inside, and he couldn't even see its full extent.

Red clouds hung in the air, resembling vaporized blood. The landscape, or at least what he could make out, consisted of rocky black plains interrupted by jagged mountains and fiery chasms. To his left, the ground dropped away in a series of cliffs, resembling colossal steps leading further into the abyss. Despite the suffocating sulfuric odor, Percy managed to focus on the ground directly below them and noticed a ribbon of shimmering black liquid—a river. He gestured urgently.

Percy could manipulate water, assuming that the substance below him was indeed water. Perhaps he could find a way to cushion his fall. He had heard terrifying tales about the rivers of the Underworld, capable of erasing memories or reducing body and soul to ashes. But he pushed those thoughts aside, as he had already encountered them firsthand. This was his only chance. The river rushed towards them, and at the last second, Percy yelled defiantly. The water exploded into a massive geyser, engulfing him.

The impact didn't kill him, but the intense cold threatened to. The freezing water shocked the air out of his lungs, and his limbs turned stiff. Percy began to sink, surrounded by eerie wailing sounds—countless heartbroken voices as if the river itself were composed of distilled sadness. The voices were more unsettling than the cold, weighing him down and numbing his senses. They whispered, telling him there was no point in struggling, that he was already dead. They suggested he could sink to the riverbed, let the river carry his body away, and find an easier end. But he couldn't succumb to those thoughts. He couldn't die. Percy imagined his mother's smiling face, and that jolted him back to reality.

Though he couldn't see anything in the murky water, he refused to give up. He didn't want to die. Kicking upward, he managed to break the surface. Percy created a whirlpool to buoy himself, knowing that this was a river, and rivers had shores. "Land," he croaked, his voice weak. "Go sideways." A voice murmured inside his head, and Percy, appearing near death with exhaustion, struggled to keep going.

Usually, water invigorated him, but this water was different. Manipulating it had drained every ounce of his strength. The whirlpool began to dissipate. "Pointless," Percy muttered, his teeth chattering from the cold. He stopped swimming and began to sink once more. Memories of his promise, his parents, and his determination surged through him. He fought against the current, desperately moving towards the shore. Finally, he reached the coast, his body covered in blisters from head to toe, with blood and pus oozing from his pores. Through sheer willpower, he forced himself onward.

After what felt like an interminable amount of time, Percy found himself standing on a cliff with a sheer drop to a river of lava below. His skin screamed with pain, his body ravaged by blisters. Determined, he pressed on. At last, he caught sight of a warm glow on the horizon. Clenching his teeth to suppress the agony, he continued his arduous trek. Suddenly, a movement behind him caught his attention. Reacting instinctively, he swung his sword backward, striking down his pursuer, a creature named Archane. With his guard up, Percy cautiously moved closer to the comforting glow.

Walking down the most terrifying place where each and every monster I slayed is present. I mean how many monsters I have slain? hundred? two hundred? I don't know. I know this place fills my heart with dread I have never felt before. Not even in my veins. like someone is watching my every move.

soon a peculiar occurrence just at the edge of Percy's field of vision. An object, previously unnoticed, swiftly entered his peripheral region, hurtling towards Percy with an astonishing velocity that seemed to surpass the speed of sound itself. The sheer momentum of this mysterious item created a sound barrier.

As the object raced through the air, a wave of compressed air formed around it, resulting in a sudden burst of intense sound that resonated through the atmosphere. The deafening noise grew more prominent with each passing second, echoing in Percy's ears and captivating his attention. It was as if the object was breaking through the very fabric of sound itself, leaving behind a trail of sonic disruption.

Reacting swiftly on pure instinct, Percy's reflexes kicked in, propelling him to turn sharply to the left. With determination coursing through Percy's veins, he extended his hand forward, fingers outstretched, instinctively gripping the enigmatic object by its sturdy handle. To an utter surprise, as soon as Percy's grasp firmly enveloped the item, it came to an abrupt halt, as if responding to his touch.

As Percy held the object in his hand, he marveled at its peculiar form. It revealed itself to be a truly extraordinary artifact—a trident with not three, but five distinct prongs extending outward in perfect symmetry. In the realms of ancient Greek mythology, such a weapon would be referred to as a "Pentadent," a symbol of power and authority. In the depths of Latin lore, it would be known as a "Quindent," representing a unique fusion of strength and wisdom.