Tartarus: New Rules, New Powers

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WHEN HE REACHED THE LEDGE, Percy was pretty sure he had just doomed himself to a lifetime in the underworld. The cliff dropped more than eighty feet. At the bottom stretched a nightmarish version of the Grand Canyon: a river of fire cutting a path through a jagged obsidian abyss, the glowing red current casting horrible shadows across the cliff faces. 

Even from the top of the canyon, Percy felt like he was being roasted in an oven, his skin burning right off. The chill of the River Cocytus hadn't left his bones, but now he somehow felt frozen and burnt at the same time. Every breath took more effort, as if his chest was filled with those styrofoam peanut things people pack with that he'd liked to play in as a kid. The cuts on his hands bled more rather than less. 

Assuming he could make it down to the fiery river, which he doubted, his plan seemed absolutely insane, and a good way to get him killed. Like, let's just jump in a river of fire and see what happens! That's crazy even for him. 

Percy examined the cliff. He noticed a tiny gap running diagonally from the edge to the bottom. He could try to climb down using that. He'd be crazy to try, but it's still his best chance. Not a great chance, not a good chance, not even a chance that he thought he would survive. Just his best chance.

 He was worried he was just leading himself to his death, but what other choice did he have? If he stayed here, he would die anyway. Blisters had started to form on his arms from being in the Tartarus air. This entire pit wasn't any healthier than sitting in a cloud of poisonous drakon breath. 

Percy started to climb down. The ledge was barely wide enough to let him place his toe on it without it slipping right back off. His hands clawed for any crack in the smooth, glassy rock. He'd ripped off the sleeves of his T-shirt and used the cloth to wrap his bloody palms, but his fingers were still slippery and weak. 

He looked down at the fiery river. What was it called again? The Phlegm-a-re-than? Phlegmarethan, no that's not right. That sounded like a marathon for hawking spitballs, but then again, maybe the real name of the river did as well. Oh well, close enough. 

He cllambered along the ledge. He'd made it about a third of the way down the cliff—still high enough up to die if he fell. He grunted, nearly missing the ledge and falling to his death. He kept going, one step at a time. Percy's eyes stung with sweat. His arms trembled. But to his amazement and surprise, he finally made it to the bottom of the cliff. When he reached the ground, he stumbled and grabbed a jagged rock so he wouldn't fall over. 

He looked down at his arms, surprised how bad the blisters and rashes had become. Red boils had popped up on his face, so he imagined it looked like he had a bad case of smallpox. His vision was blurry. His throat felt blistered, and his stomach was clenched tighter than a fist. 

I have to hurry, he thought. "Just to the river," he muttered, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. "I can do this. I have to do this. For Annabeth" He chanted to himself, trying to keep going.

 He staggered over slick glass ledges, around massive boulders, avoiding stalagmites that would've impaled him like a chicken skewer with any slip of his foot. His tattered clothes steamed from the heat of the river, but he kept going until he crumpled to his knees at the banks of the Phle-ga-maro-thon river.

Percy remembered Nico telling him something about... healing. That it keeps evil things alive so that they could continue getting tortured. Wow, cheerful. So, if it was like the underworld ambrosia and nectar for monsters... he had to drink it, assuming it would even work on a demigod.

Percy cupped his hands, about to try and scoop up some fire water, when he froze. He heard a scuttling noise behind him... like a giant spider. Arachne. He reached for Riptide, then remembered he didn't have it. Arachne clicked her pincers as he desperately searched his pockets for his shard of glass. It must have fallen out during the climb. Desperately, Percy seized a jagged rock from the ground. He rolled over and plunged it into Arachne's underbelly.

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