Alacrity

XIII.

XIII. A Quick Pit-Stop To the Depths of Hell

When they reached a certain depth, Lyra began to feel dizzy - the air around them turned misty, and the floor of the elevator began to sway. She blinked heavily, and when she opened her eyes, Charon's silk Italian suit was replaced by a long, black robe - where his eyes should have been there were only empty sockets, full of death and despair. Lyra shivered, averting her eyes - she grabbed onto Annabeth's hand for comfort, and her best friend intertwined their fingers.

When Lyra blinked again, she realized their elevator had turned into an ancient wooden barge - Charon was ferrying them across a dark oily river swirling with bones, plastic dolls, rotted flowers, soggy diplomas.

"The River Styx," Annabeth murmured, "It's so..."

"Polluted," Charon supplied, and he cast the four demigods an angry look, as if they personally were responsible, "For thousands of years, you humans have been throwing in everything you come across - hopes, dreams, wishes that never came true. Irresponsible waste management, if you ask me."

Ahead, the far shore glimmered in an emerald green light, like a poisonous land. If Lyra liked her father, she probably would have prayed to him, but instead Lyra shut her eyes and tried to convince herself that everything would be okay.

Soon the shoreline of the Underworld came into view - dark, craggy rocks and black, volcanic sand stretched about a hundred yards inland to the base of a high, obsidian wall that wrapped as far as Lyra could see. An echoing howl sounded from somewhere off in the mist, chilling Lyra to the bones - down in the Underworld, there was only one creature that could make that noise.

Charon turned to give the four demigods a skeletal smile, "Old Three-Face is hungry. Bad luck for you, little godlings."

The bottom of the boat slid into the sand, and the four followed the spirits of the dead towards a large black archway, with three separate entrances with metal detectors and security cameras. Cerberus' growl was growing louder, but Lyra couldn't place where it was coming from. Two lines were marked 'attendant on duty', and the other was 'EZ death' - the latter was moving swiftly.

"What do you figure?" Percy asked Annabeth. The blonde shrugged, "The fast line must go straight to Asphodel Fields. No contest. They don't want to risk judgment from the court, because it might go against them."

Percy frowned, "There's a court for dead people?" Lyra rolled her eyes and yet again huffed. Percy groaned, "I get it, you've probably already told me before. Annabeth, explain it again."

"Yeah - three judges. They switch around who sits on the bench. King Minos, Thomas Jefferson, Shakespeare - people like that. Sometimes they look at a life and decide that person needs a special reward - the Fields of Elysium. Sometimes they decide on punishment. But most people, well, they just lived. Nothing special, good or bad. So they go to Asphodel Fields."

"And do what?"

Grover bleated, "Imagine standing on a wheat field in Kansas - forever."

Percy shivered, "Harsh."

"Not as harsh as that," Grover pointed over in the distance, "Look." A couple of security ghouls had pulled aside a spirit and were frisking him at the security desk - it was a televangelist who'd raised millions for orphanages, but then got caught spending the money on stuff for his mansion. He'd died in a police chase when his 'Lamborghini for the Lord' went off a cliff. He was going to be given a special punishment from the Kindly Ones.

Cerberus' howls only grew louder as the four presse closer to the gates - she couldn't tell where it was coming from until the green mist shimmered fifty feet in front of him. Right where the path split into three lanes was an enormous shadowy monster - he was half-transparent, staring right at them with a tilted head, almost as if he was baiting them to come closer. He sniffed the air and growled - Lyra quickly realized he could smell the living.