ΉӨЦƧΣ ӨF ΉΛDΣƧ
PERCY KEPT ON GRUMBLING that he was tired of being a corpse. Lucia had to remind him that it wasn't permanent, but every time he looked over he avoided eye contact.
He might still love her, but zombie Lucia wasn't exactly a sight to him. She failed to realize it was because of how much it pained him to see her so...well, dead.
They trudged toward the heart of Tartarus, their bodies moved at a slow pace, their flesh almost foreign to them, causing every step to be challenging.
Their arms looked like bleached leather pulled over sticks. Their skeletal legs seemed to dissolve into smoke with every step.
Percy was particularly worried that the Death Mist might cling to them forever, even if they somehow managed to survive Tartarus.
"I don't want to spend the rest of my life looking like an extra from The Walking Dead.." He groaned.
Under their feet, the ground glistened a nauseating purple, pulsing with webs of veins. In the dim red light of the blood clouds, Death Mist.
Lucia snorted, "Relax Kelphead, let's think about getting out of here first."
Lucia was well aware that she looked like a mess.
Her hair was frizzy, her eyes blown out and lifeless, and her skin almost...well—falling off the bone—!
It was gross.
Super gross.
But vanity was the last thing on her mind as she felt herself getting closer to what she wanted, which was escaping Tartarus.
She could practically feel the doors of death calling to her. She became warmer the closer they got. Like she could almost feel how close she was to reaching the surface again, to reaching home.
It could have been a cruel delusion, but Lucia actually found comfort in this premonition.
Ahead of them was the most depressing view of all.
Spread to the horizon was an army of monsters—flocks of winged arai, tribes of lumbering Cyclopes, clusters of floating evil spirits. Thousands of evil creatures, maybe tens of thousands, all milling restlessly, pressing against one another, growling and fighting for space—as if they were fighting for front view at a concert.
Bob led them toward the edge of the army.
About thirty yards from the nearest monsters, Bob turned to face the duo.
"Stay quiet and stay behind me," he advised. "They will not notice you."
"We hope," Percy muttered.
On the Titan's shoulder, Small Bob woke up from a nap. He purred seismically and arched his back, turning skeletal then back to calico. At least he didn't seem nervous.
Percy stared at the swarm of vicious monsters. "Well, I hope we won't have to worry about bumping into any friends in this crowd."
Bob grinned. "Yes, that is good! Now, let's go. Death is close."
"The Doors of Death are close," Lucia corrected, then sighed. "I'm just glad you are not the titan of foresight."
They plunged into the crowd. Lucia shuddered, she was afraid the Death Mist would fade right off her.
Don't be fooled, she had been among large hordes of monsters before, in fact, she lived among them—all kinds.
But Kronos and the Princess Andromeda were different. So was the army of monsters she fought during the Battle of Manhattan.
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²𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃𝐘✸ percy jackson
Fanfiction𝄞 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃𝐘.(n.) behold the blood of Hyacinthus, which had poured out on the ground beside him and there stained the grass, was changed from blood; and in its place a flower, more beautiful than Tyrian dye, sprang up. ❝ Near time...
