SEQUAL TO EVERYWHERE EVERYTHING
BOOK TWO OF THREE !!!
Mitchell didn't expect to wake up from a nightmare, only to find himself in a real one. When he finds Percy's bed empty in the middle of the night, he freaks out.
Mitchell will do whatever it tak...
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GETTING KILLED BY TARTARUS DIDN'T SEEM like much of an honour. As Mitchell stared up at his dark whirlpool face, he decided he'd rather die in some less memorable way — maybe falling down the stairs, or going peacefully in his sleep at age ninety, after a nice quiet life with Percy. Yes, that sounded good.
It wasn't the first time Mitchell had faced an enemy he couldn't defeat by force. Normally, this would've been his cue to stall for time with some clever chitchat. 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.
Mitchell was dimly aware of the army of monsters swirling around him, but after their initial roar of triumph the horde had fallen silent. Mitchell 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 backwards recording — as if the words were being sucked into the vortex of his face rather than projected.
In fact, everything seemed to be drawn towards the face of this god — the dim light, the poisonous clouds, the essence of the monsters, even Mitchell's own fragile life force. He looked around and realised that every object on this vast plain had grown a vaporous comet's tail — all pointing towards Tartarus.
Mitchell 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? You won't get away with this! That wasn't true. He and Percy had only survived this long because Tartarus was savouring his new form.
He wanted the pleasure of physically ripping them to pieces. If Tartarus wished, Mitchell had no doubt he could devour his existence with a single thought, as easily as he'd vaporised Hyperion and Krios. Would there be any rebirth from that? Mitchell 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 Gaia 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.
