Wildfires, Heroes of Olympus ₂

066, they worked it out on the remix

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
SILVIANA    DUVALL

Getting killed by Tartarus didn't seem like much of an honor.

As Sylvie stared up at his dark whirlpool face, she decided she'd rather die in some less memorable way—maybe falling down the stairs, or going peacefully in her sleep at age eighty, after a nice quiet life with Percy. Yeah, that sounded good.

It wasn't the first time Sylvie had faced an enemy she couldn't defeat by force. Her time in Tartarus had taught her that was her cue to stall for time with some nonsensical chit-chat.

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

She was dimly aware of the army of monsters swirling around her, but after their initial roar of triumph, the horde had fallen silent. Sylvie 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 Sylvie's own fragile life force. She looked around and realized that every object on this vast plain had grown a vaporous comet's tail—all pointing toward Tartarus.

Sylvie knew she should say something, but her instincts told her to avoid doing anything that would draw the god's attention.

Besides, she couldn't say anything. The pain in her ribs stole the words, leaving only strained, shallow gasps. Each breath felt like shards of glass slicing through her chest, her voice smothered by the agony.

This was it. She 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, Sylvie had no doubt he could devour her existence with a single thought, as easily as he'd vaporized Hyperion and Krios. Would there be any rebirth from that? Sylvie didn't want to find out.

Next to her, Percy did something she'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 Nemo interrupted.

"Get out of here!" The Titaness leveled her spear at the god. "You have no right to meddle!"