The Golden Assassin

Friend

Iapetus' POV: ( A/N: Didn't expect that did you? )

Splash!

Iapetus was sitting in the Fields of Asphodel, as he skipped stones into the nearby lake. As he was sitting on the sideline he checked his reflection. The change he saw surprised him greatly, well not really. Clipped short silver hair, pure silver eyes and muscular arms protruding from his sleeveless armoured vest made of Orthytic Silver. A massive spear with a silver tip was strapped on his back which gave justice to his name as the Piercer.

He imagined his old self with the wild silver Einstein hair, in a ripped-up blue janitor's uniform with a massive push broom in his hands and the name tag which incredibly read BOB. He was missing his friends. It had almost been a year since Percy and Nico have visited him. He remembers how they used to visit him and tell him about his past.

Knowing that he had a dark past, he now was neutral. He knew that there was a big issue which has been aroused explaining the absence of his friends, that his friends were in some serious trouble, and Hades wouldn't let him know. He was frustrated. He hated not knowing things!

Finally he wandered into the arena, where he usually went when he was in a bad mood. Practicing always cooled him down. Maybe because spear fighting, was one thing which he was familiar with. As he walked into the arena, his heart almost stopped. He sensed something stirring near the cave which led to Tartarus, and for once the stirring was not evil, it was familiar. It was Perseus Jackson.

He made a sprint towards the pit. The slope got steeper. The cavern walls narrowed as he entered into the side tunnel. The tunnel got colder. The hair on his arms bristled and he flinched. Bad memories came back to him –blood spilled on an ancient stone altar, the breath of a foul murderer. The tunnel widened into a huge dark cavern, and in the middle was chasm the size of a city block. He braced himself and lunged into the pit. He has to save his friend.

Percy's POV:

After practicing combat with all types of weapons except bow and arrow for the past year or so, Percy now can easily dual wield any weapon, as naturally as breathing underwater. He has been training his powers over the elements: Fire, Water, Air, Electricity, Earth and Time. His immense training has considerably increased his physical strength and endurance.

His control over the elements is on par in comparison with most of the Olympians. His habitual spying on the forces of Gaea had also helped him to bring his skills of stealth, speed and agility to a level that will bring Lord Hermes himself to shame. With the grace of a hunter which could make Lady Artemis jealous. He had already decapitated and weakened most of the Giants. Scoring another advantage, that would most likely lead the Olympians to victory in the Giant War once again.

It was now the time to take his leave from Tartarus. As he was reviewing the whole plan —and the backup plan, and the backup plan for the backup plan. A huge, silvery figure dropped out of the sky landing a good twenty feet away from him, he thought he was hallucinating, because it just wasn't possible.

There stood the friendly Titan, ten feet tall, in all his couldn't speak. He couldn't bring himself to believe that someone from the world upstairs would care enough to jump in Tartarus just to meet him.

"H-how…?" he stammered.

"I sensed your presence in here, and I thought you could keep some company." The Titan explained as he grinned with delight and did a victory dance as he finally found his friend.

Percy stepped forward and hugged the Titan so fiercely, he nearly cracked his ribs.

"I missed you." said Percy as the Titan hugged him back.

"I missed you too, my friend. I missed you too."

After explaining Iapetus, the whole game plan and the contingency plan, they started their journey to the Doors of the Death. Their camouflage plan seemed to be working. So, naturally, Percy expected a massive last-minute fail.

Fifty feet from the Doors of Death, and he froze.

Framed in Stygian iron, the magical portal was a set of elevator doors—two panels of silver and black etched with art deco designs. Except for the fact that the colors were inverted, they looked exactly like the elevators in the Empire State Building, the entrance to Olympus.

Seeing them, Percy felt so homesick, he couldn't breathe. He didn't just miss Mount Olympus. He missed everything he'd left behind: New York City, Camp Half-Blood, his mom and stepdad. His eyes stung. He didn't trust himself to talk.

The Doors of Death seemed like a personal insult, designed to remind him of everything he couldn't have.

As he got over his initial shock, he noticed other details: the frost spreading from the base of the Doors, the purplish glow in the air around them, and the chains that held them fast. There were they, they had to cut the chains, to free the Doors of Death.

Cords of black iron ran down either side of the frame, like rigging lines on a suspension bridge. They were tethered to hooks embedded in the fleshy two Titans, Krios and Hyperion, stood guard at the anchor points with the forces of Gaea.

The things were going exactly according to their plan. Percy reached the anchor hook as Iapetus distracted the two Titans. He uncapped his pen and Riptide grew to full length. Krios didn't react. His attention was firmly fixed on Iapetus, who had just leveled the point of his spear at Hyperion's chest.

Before he could strike the chains, a high-pitched whine pierced his ears, like the sound of an incoming rocket. Then an explosion rocked the hillside. Dark shrapnel ripped through Krios and Hyperion, shredding them as easily as wood in a chipper.

Percy looked at his own hands. His disguise was gone. Realization dawned upon him: The Death Mist had evaporated.

In front of the Doors of Death, the air darkened and solidified. The being who appeared was so massive, radiating such pure malevolence,he forced his eyes to trace the god's form, starting with his black iron boots, each one as large as a coffin. His legs were covered in dark greaves; his flesh all thick purple muscle, like the ground. His armored skirt was made from thousands of blackened, twisted bones, woven together like chain links and clasped in place by a belt of interlocking monstrous arms.

On the surface of the warrior's breastplate, murky faces appeared and submerged—giants, Cyclopes, gorgons, and drakons—all pressing against the armor as if trying to get out. The warrior's arms were bare—muscular, purple, and glistening—his hands as large as crane scoops.

Worst of all was his head: a helmet of twisted rock and metal with no particular shape—just jagged spikes and pulsing patches of magma. His entire face was a whirlpool—an inward spiral of darkness. As Percy watched, the last particles of Titan essence from Hyperion and Krios were vacuumed into the warrior's maw.

"Tartarus," Percy said his face void of any emotions.

The warrior made a sound like a mountain cracking in half: a laugh, a roar, Percy couldn't be sure.

This form is only a small manifestation of my power, said the warrior. But it is enough to deal with you. I do not interfere lightly, little demigod. It is beneath me to deal with gnats such as yourself.

You have proven surprisingly resilient, Tartarus said. You have come too far. I can no longer stand by and watch your progress.

"Are you going to fight me?" Percy asked. "Or are you going to hide behind your pets?" gesturing the army of monsters.

Tartarus spread his arms. Throughout the valley, thousands of monsters wailed and roared, clashing their weapons and bellowing in triumph. The Doors of Death shuddered in their chains.

Be honored, little demigods, said the god of the pit. Even the Olympians were never worthy of my personal attention. But you will be destroyed by Tartarus himself! boasted Tartarus.

- Lord Infinitus.