Mortal Power: A Percy Jackson Fanfiction

Chapter 23

I gasp at the score: 100.

"No!" Charon exclaims in disbelief. "You beat me and got an even score."

All I can do is smile. I can breathe again. The relief feels great.

Then the weight of the situation comes crashing back down on me. "Drake," I whisper to myself. "Orca."

"What?" Scowls Charon.

"Okay, Ferry Man. Time for you to hold up your end of the deal." I push back the fear I hold for them and stand straight.

"Fine," he says, rolling his eyes. "Over here."

He begins shoving past spirits, which is good for me since I don't have to walk through them. He leads me to an elevator.

"Step inside." I step in next to him. He pushes back the bustling spirits, the ones desperate for a ride. "Back off unless you have a coin!" He growls. They all obey.

The doors close, and we descend.

We both stare ahead silently, though I doubt Charon is panicking on the inside. I've heard some horrible things about the Underworld.

I notice something off and start searching for it, before I realise that the elevator is changing like a 3D image: it is slowly fading into a boat. I look at Charon and he too is changing. His Italian suit is phasing into a black robe with a low hood, and a long stick appears in his hands.

He puts it over the side of the boat and pulls us forward through the river Styx. It's sick green with various objects such as diplomas and wedding certificates floating through; all the forgotten dreams of the dead.

I shiver and hug myself, hoping this mission runs smoothly so I can get out of here as soon as possible.

We eventually land on a black sand beach, artistically laid with skeletons. As I stride to the top of the hill, Charon calls out, "I will see you soon."

I walk faster. I wish I hadn't.

I make one scan of the Fields of Punishment and know that I never ever want to lay eyes on it again, let alone live in it. No, I will not describe the horrors that take place there.

The Fields of Asphodel aren't a lot better; not in a horrifying way, but sad. Thousands of millions of souls wandering around, not going anywhere in particular, probably not knowing who they ever were.

When I look over at it, I feel a pull toward it like I'm attached to it by a string: Elysium. I skip over the beautiful white beaches and parties and barbecues to the Isles of the Blest in the middle of a large lake, where spacious houses from every era adorn the land.

I suddenly realise that I've even taken a few steps toward the gates. I stop myself and shake my head. "Snap out of it, you don't have time," I scold. I regretfully turn away from Elysium and focus on my task.

Which brings the question to my attention: where am I meant to be going? I see nothing unusual about the Underworld. Except...

The Fields of Punishment look a little empty. Though there are still a few evil souls suffering their punishment, many of the barbed wire sections are empty. And aren't there supposed to be Furies patrolling the fields?

I bite my lip and close my eyes. Where is the most concentrated feeling of death, hopelessness, and danger? I sense two spots. I look over to the first one, which appears to be the pit of Tartarus. That would naturally feel miserable, and I'm not going there if it is my destination. So the second one must be where I should go, which is...

Hades' palace. Is this a mistake? I shrug. Even if that isn't where the fighting is going to be, I could ask the King of the Underworld himself where there have been disturbances. I laugh bleakly at myself. Like he'll help me that easily.

I walk up the path through a beautiful garden, growing every type of plant and flower I can think of. This is probably the happiest place in the Underworld, aside from Elysium. My heart aches when my thoughts return to the Isles of the Blest.

I finally reach the grand door of the palace, set into a wall of black obsidian, which looks like it's sucking whatever light is left from its surroundings. Happy.

I push open the doors and am chilled to greet no one. I've heard stories from people who have heard stories from people who have heard stories from people who have been to the Underworld, and they said that there are undead soldiers from every era, whether it be a Roman soldier from the battle of Troy or a German soldier from World War Two. Yet there is nothing guarding the palace. Just the bronze floor shining up at me.

I cautiously make my way to the closest door. I open it and it reveals a hallway with many more doors. I open the first one to a room of silver. Silver floor, silver walls, silver blocks stacked high. I close the door again with bright spots in my eyes.

"So I guess it wouldn't be a great idea to snoop," I mutter to myself. The echoes taunt me. How do I find my friends?

And then I feel it. The feeling of impossibility. The feeling that makes me want to dig my own grave and lie there forever.

Naturally, I follow it.

I walk down the hallway and open the door at the end. Yes, the feeling is stronger, so I continue. I wind an untraceable path through the palace, through countless rooms and endless corridors. The feeling grows ever stronger, and it takes all my willpower not to dig my grave and lie in it forever.

Am I lucky? Very. Who knows what horrors of the palace I could stumble upon, but I have a feeling that I will be safe with my emotional guide.

I'm just about to open another door when I freeze. I put my ear against the door and hear talking, though it's muffled. I consider my options. Risk opening the door? Too dangerous. I instead resolve to get down on all fours and look in the crack between the door and the ground. I have a very limited view here, but I can still see enough.

I have arrived.

______

Look who is doing an early update to appease her readers! I hope you are slowly forgiving me. Did you like the chapter?

Remember to appreciate this while you can, because I expect there won't be more than thirty chapters, and maybe not even that. I have very much enjoyed writing this and interacting with my wonderful readers (that's you).

What challenges await Audin? Can she save her friends?

Vote, comment, and follow if you will,

K.C. Bailey