𝐂œ𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐬é𝐬 [Percy Jackson]

119

Getting killed by Tartarus didn't seem that bad. 

If he was gonna go out fighting, he'd rather be up against a primordial than some measley minor god. 

It wasn't the first time Hadrian had faced an enemy he couldn't defeat by force. Normally, this would've been his cue to stall for time with some entertaining charmspeak.

Except his voice wouldn't work. He couldn't even close his mouth. For all he knew, he was drooling as badly as Percy did when he slept.

He was dimly aware of the army of monsters swirling around him, but after their initial roar of triumph, the horde had fallen silent. Hadrian and Percy should have been ripped to pieces by now. Instead, the monsters kept their distance, waiting for Tartarus to act.

The god of the pit flexed his fingers, examining his own polished black talons. He had no expression, but he straightened his shoulders as if he were pleased.

It is good to have form, he intoned. With these hands, I can eviscerate you.

His voice sounded like a backward recording—as if the words were being sucked into the vortex of his face rather than projected. In fact, everything seemed to be drawn toward the face of this god—the dim light, the poisonous clouds, the essence of the monsters, even Hadrian's own fragile life force. He looked around and realized that every object on this vast plain had grown a vaporous comet's tail—all pointing toward Tartarus.

Hadrian knew he should say something, but his instincts told him to hide, to avoid doing anything that would draw the god's attention.

Besides, what could he say? 

There's not much that comes to mind when you're thinking of chatting up a primordial. How's the weather? lovely for this time of the year, I'm a big fan of the fire rivers and torturous monsters that regenerate on your skin. 

Or perhaps.

Have you caught up with the latest Olympus scandal? I heard Apollo dyed his hair purple because he was going through a crisis. 

Can I just say you look absolutely divine with the whole purple mist thing, the vortex face and the uh—

Yeah. Hadrian was going to shut up for this one. 

He and Percy had only survived this long because Tartarus was savoring his new form. He wanted the pleasure of physically ripping them to pieces. If Tartarus wished, Hadrian had no doubt he could devour his existence with a single thought, as easily as he'd vaporized Hyperion and Krios. Would there be any rebirth from that? Hadrian didn't want to find out.

Next to him, Percy did something he'd never seen him do. He dropped his sword. It just fell out of his hand and hit the ground with a thud. Death Mist no longer shrouded his face, but he still had the complexion of a corpse.

Tartarus hissed again—possibly laughing.

Your fear smells wonderful, said the god. I see the appeal of having a physical body with so many senses. Perhaps my beloved Gaea is right, wishing to wake from her slumber.

He stretched out his massive purple hand and might have plucked up Percy like a weed, but Bob interrupted.

"Begone!" The Titan 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. The howling sound was so horrible, Hadrian almost threw up. It was even more terrifying than anything Nyx or Akhlys could concoct. Bob stumbled, the wispy comet tail of his life force growing longer as it was sucked toward the face of the god.

Bob roared in defiance. He charged and thrust his spear at Tartarus's chest. Before it could connect, Tartarus swatted Bob aside like he was a pesky insect. The Titan went sprawling.

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?

"I choose to be more than Iapetus," said the Titan. "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 Hadrian 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.

Tartarus roared. He swatted at Bob, but the Titan backed out of reach. Bob thrust out his fingers. His spear yanked itself free of the god's flesh and flew back to Bob's hand, which made Hadrian gulp in amazement. He'd never imagined a broom could have so many useful features. Small Bob dropped out of Tartarus's skirt. He ran to his master's side, his saber-toothed fangs dripping with golden ichor.

You will die first, Iapetus, Tartarus decided. Afterward, I will add your soul to my armor, where it will slowly dissolve, over and over, in eternal agony.

Tartarus pounded his fist against his breastplate. Milky faces swirled in the metal, silently screaming to get out.

Bob turned toward Percy and Hadrian. The Titan grinned, which probably would have been Hadrian's reaction to a threat of eternal agony.

"Take the Doors," Bob said. "I will deal with Tartarus."

Tartarus threw back his head and bellowed—creating a vacuum so strong that the nearest flying demons were pulled into his vortex face and shredded.

Deal with me? the god mocked. You are only a Titan, a lesser child of Gaea! I will make you suffer for your arrogance. And as for your tiny mortal friends...

Tartarus swept his hand toward the monster army, beckoning them forward. DESTROY THEM!