𝙄𝙉𝙁𝙇𝘼𝙈𝙀𝘿; heroes of olympus

round two

ERITH JAY
IT WAS A FIGHT TO THE DEATH, and Erith felt like she was the sun.

Tartarus let out a hissing sound like laughter as he flexed his polished black talons. It is good to have form, girl. With these hands, I can eviscerate you.

Erith didn't dare look behind her at the monster army or to see what Percy was doing. She kept her eyes focused on Tartarus, and she kept her will focused on herself.

The last two times she had used the disc, she had nearly burned herself up and gone unconscious. She didn't have that luxury right now. Searing Tartarus in one little burst of power would do no lasting damage. This wasn't an enemy she could fight with sheer force, not even with a Titan and the son of Poseidon on her side.

But she could distract. While she ran her mind through what Annabeth would do, she could distract.

Annabeth was a talker. Percy was a fighter. So what was Erith?

The poet, a snide voice in her head said.

The poet. She laughed, light streaming from her mouth, sizzling in the hot air of the pit. The sun, the poet, the daughter.

Hmm, Tartarus mused, taking a halting step forward. His aura sucked at her light, and she grunted, trying to keep her power with her. I quite like this form. It has... many senses. Perhaps my beloved Gaea is right, wishing to wake from her slumber.

He stretched out a massive purple hand and Percy shouted. Dark liquid slammed into Tartarus and he stumbled backward, his hand dropping.

"Begone!" Bob yelled, taking Percy's attack as a good opening. He leveled his spear at the god. "You have no right to meddle!"

Meddle? Tartarus turned. I am the lord of all creatures of the darkness, puny Iapetus. I can do as I please.

His black cyclone face spun faster. Erith stumbled forward, her light streaking toward the god like a comet. A scream tore from her throat. And then Percy's hands were on her shoulders, pulling her away, to safety.

When her vision cleared, Bob was charging at Tartarus, thrusting his spear at his chest. Before it could connect, Tartarus swatted Bob aside like a pesky insect. The Titan went sprawling. Rage bubbled in Erith's chest, hot and fast, and her aura grew.

Why do you not disintegrate? Tartarus mused. You are nothing. You are even weaker than Krios and Hyperion.

"I am Bob," said Bob.

Tartarus hissed. What is that? What is Bob?

His knowledge was limited, Erith noticed. 

"I choose to be more than Iapetus," said Bob. "You do not control me. I am not like my brothers."

The collar of his coveralls bulged. Small Bob leaped out. The kitten landed on the ground in front of his master, then arched his back and hissed at the lord of the abyss.

As Erith watched, Small Bob began to grow, his form flickering until the little kitten had become a full-sized, translucent skeletal saber-toothed tiger.

"Also," Bob announced, "I have a good cat."

No-Longer-Small Bob sprang at Tartarus, sinking his claws into Tartarus's thigh. The tiger scrambled up his leg, straight under the god's chain-link skirt. Tartarus stomped and howled, apparently no longer enamored with having a physical form. Meanwhile, Bob thrust his spear into the god's side, right below his breastplate.