𝙄𝙉𝙁𝙇𝘼𝙈𝙀𝘿; heroes of olympus

murderer

PERCY JACKSON
AS PERCY FELL, his thoughts were rather deranged.

First thought: was it real?

The ghosts he had encountered were chattering, black dead things, and each time they touched him, they didn't hurt to kill―they hurt to shatter.

The first flashback: Annabeth, gored. Dead.

The second flashback: Annabeth, her throat slit by Luke in the throne room of the gods. Her throat slit by her own knife.

The third flashback: Grover, mauled.

The fourth flashback: Camp Half-Blood, in ruins. As Percy walked through, he saw the corpses of his friends. Some cried out in pain.

The fifth and final flashback: Annabeth, grasping his hand as she choked on her own blood.

Was it real? Any of it? Percy had no connection to the world where his friends were in this hellhole. When Erith had disappeared, he had refused to leave without her. He had slashed and slashed and slashed, but the chattering ghosts never stopped.

If their goal had been to kill him, they had failed. But if the goal had been to smother the few good things he had left, well―

If Erith hadn't reappeared, he was sure he wouldn't have been able to take much more of the fight. He was weak. The monsters were not, and they were plenty in number―at least a hundred, and it seemed like they regenerated.

So when she materialized, standing on the ground, eyes wild and fearful, Percy didn't hesitate. He grabbed her hand and jumped to the mansion of night.

She didn't stop him, so maybe it was a good choice.

Second thought: what the hell happened to Erith?

Because as freaked out as he felt, she looked like she had seen a ghost―a real ghost, not the chattering black things that had haunted Percy. Like she had seen the ghost of a lover.

He'd ask her about it when they were out of imminent danger. Right now, Percy had only one winning instinct, and it was called run.

Third thought: wasn't it Annabeth's birthday sometime soon? Percy wasn't sure how time worked in Tartarus, but he hoped she'd excuse him for not getting her a gift.

Dear Annabeth, sorry for neglecting to buy you flowers or something. I was actually stumbling through the pits of hell and fighting ghosts while my companion bestie disappeared in thin air. Oh, and also, I guess I can control poison. And blood. Love you!

He'd be sure to make that letter a reality as soon as he could.

If she's still alive, a voice snarked in his head.

Annabeth, slashed open like in some horror film.

Annabeth, guts falling out.

Annabeth, arm hanging out of its socket.

Percy became aware of a pounding beat. Erith squeezed his hand.

And then they hit the floor.

Pain shot up his legs, but he stumbled forward and broke into a run. Erith had the same idea, and somehow, they kept pace with each other in the dark.