𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 [Jason Grace]

58

𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐦. Neither would the poisonous atmosphere, nor the treacherous landscape with its pits, cliffs, and jagged rocks.

Nope. Most likely he would die from an overload of weirdness that would make his brain explode.

First, he and Dante had had to drink fire to stay alive. Then they were attacked by a gaggle of vampires, led by a cheerleader Dante had killed four years ago. Finally, they were rescued by a Giant born to oppose Dante's father, who wore a tracksuit with gold chains and slicked back hair like a mobster in some old movie. Sure. Why not?

They followed Hippolytos through the wasteland, tracing the route of the Phlegethon as they approached the storm front of darkness. Every so often they stopped to drink firewater, which kept them alive. His throat felt like he was constantly gargling with battery acid.

The only thing fueling him was Dante. As they walked, every few minutes, he would look over. Or when Jason was busy scanning their surroundings, he'd look at Dante and catch him already staring. He wasn't sure if it was the Phlegethon fire-water in his stomach that made his insides grow warmer.

Dante still grumbled under his breath and clearly looked miserable at having to travel with Hipp. He still glared at Jason with hatred but when he spoke, it was almost robotic.

Their conversations went something like—

"Phlegethon water?" Jason offered once.

"Yes. Please."

Dante gave him an almost creepy smile. It looked unnatural, like he didn't know how to smile and was learning for the first time.

"Would you like some skittles?" He offered three yellow ones to Jason.

"Thanks!"

"No problem."

But the weirdest part had to be when he called Jason by his name.

It came out haltingly, almost hesitant.

"Jason... careful," He pointed to the pimple like bubble Jason had almost stepped on. Gods know what that was, so Jason didn't step on it.

As much as Jason wanted to tease him about the name usage, he didn't. Dante was the weirdest person he had ever met. Surely this was one of his quirks. Or maybe it was just Tartarus.

"So, Hipp," Dante began, again with that robotic, practiced politeness. "How did you get to Tartarus?"

"I was pushed in, I told you."

"How many entrances does this place have?" Dante wondered aloud. Jason had seen a lot of chutes when they were falling. If he had to guess, it was somewhere between twenty and too much. "I can't imagine having brothers that cruel."

"It's okay," Hipp shrugged. "I'm used to it. Come along! We are almost at a rest stop."

A rest stop.

Jason couldn't imagine what those words meant in Tartarus. He remembered all the times he and Dante had relied on highway rest stops on quests.

Wherever Hipp was taking them, he hoped it had clean restrooms and a snack machine. He repressed the giggles. Yes, he was definitely losing it.

Jason hobbled along, trying to ignore the rumble in his stomach. He stared at Hipp's back as he led them toward the wall of darkness, now only a few hundred yards away. His orange tracksuit almost looked like a prison uniform. It was ripped between the shoulder blades, as if someone had tried to stab him.