Perseus Jackson: Champion of Thanatos

My Own Reliquary

As I made my way towards my so-called home in Tartarus, I pondered the possible premise of my impending insanity. I can safely say I am sane or I wouldn't be questioning the state of my sanity; does that make sense? It's irrelevant, the only thing Tartarus had done to me was strengthen my character and dilute the amount of remorse I held. I sidestepped a bubbling crevice of lava as it spurted upwards, brushing soot from my shoulder. The area near where I resided was mostly a field of ashes and embers, with the occasional eruption of hot magma. The smell of sulfur was choking in this area, but my nose no longer noticed it. There was always a thin veil of smoke and steam swirling across these plains, and I rose above it, clambering atop masses of obsidian. Then, about ten paces in front of me was a jagged wall that did not warrant any farther passage this way. However there was two inconspicuous boulders, black and as smooth as glass, which laid against the wall. I crawled in-between said rocks, and inside was a small alcove with a rugged linen carpet on the middle. There were jagged edges all along the inside, making it impossible to stand. This way the Arai could not find me, I could deal with normal monsters, but the Arai with plastered-on faces of my beloved; tended to push me farther to depravity. Whenever I would think of her, my thoughts would quickly avoid it, and for that cowardice, I was grateful. Yet, it was difficult to forget her with the Arai plaguing me in the day, and her spirit plaguing me in my nightmares. That was another thing, there were never any dreams of hopeful escapes here, only dreams of suffering more full of anguish than Tartarus could provide.

Each time I slayed an Arai with Annabeth's face, it would not curse me physically, like it would to a usual hero. The more Arai I killed, the larger the cracks in my sanity and my ability to perceive right and wrong became. This was the curse that the demons left with them each time. I relive each time I killed a blonde-haired daughter of Athena, until the lullaby of blood-curdling screams begin to tire me. Then with thoughts of crimson rivers and spilling the ichor of the Gods, I drift into a restless sleep. When I wake the next morning with the scent of sulfur oddly stronger than the day before, I hear a commotion outside. I cautiously creep between the two dark boulders providing my home, and what I see startles me. Under my perch, on the plateau of flaming ash, was a solitary Hellhound. I peered at it, safe at my high elevation, when it turned to meet my gaze. It growled a ferocious, yet somehow mournful noise, something only a dog of death could do.

I was not impressed, I had certainly faced greater odds than a mangy mutt. Granted, he had his scars from this place. On his ribcage was a large bite-mark from a Hellhound, who had gotten inside his guard; he would not make that mistake again. On his back he had a cruel looking scar that looked like three claw marks; a dracaena who had attacked him while he rested. The last scar he had was quite personal, a thin white line that went diagonal across his forehead and nose to the cheek. That was the first time he had encountered the "familiar" looking Arai. He had obviously fell for the illusion the first time, and only his quick reflexes had saved him from having his face torn open. That was the first time he had to kill Annabeth, the first of many. So when I saw this adversary I did not fear it; a terrible mistake. I calmly jumped from my balcony of stone and sauntered across the plains to the vicious looking Hellhound. When I was about twenty yards from the monster, I jolted into a sprint. The Hellhound did not seemed to move a muscle which seemed odd.

As soon as closed I closed the distance, I threw a jab with my sword. Riptide tore the air and showed the reflection of the embers of the plains, it gleamed like the sun. Immediately, when it grazed the Hellhounds rugged fur, the beast dissipated in a ball of suffocating smoke. The smoke rose into the air and dissipated as soon as it had come. I looked around with confusion but mostly vexation. Where the Hades did it go? It had not bursted into glittering gold dust like usual, it had exploded before I had even skewered it. Then I noticed the plains I was standing on glowing brighter, the veins of magma in the ashy ground ran thicker and faster, and I felt a sense of foreboding. Dozens of mounds of ash began to rise from the flaming ground, I felt my skin begin to blister. The mounds started breaking apart and cracking like an eggshell. Then, out of these numerous piles came Arai, all with the face, of Annabeth Chase.