The Gates of Tartarus | I ✓

8. I Meet An Eye-Con

Hey guys! I'm back, lol. How's life? Anyway, here's chapter eight!

Edit: Remember how I said I wasn't going to put off TBOO to write this? Well, fuNnY STorY—

Anyway, it's like midnight where I am and I try not to post until at least at an acceptable time but I also can't sleep so... what can one do?

I clutched Apollo's jacket a little tighter, though I wasn't sure how I found the strength to.

How long had we fallen for?

I wasn't sure, but it was long enough where we had long gotten over the awkwardness of hugging each other for reassurance that there was someone else with us. I found myself wondering why he hadn't let me go, especially when he had just met—he had said something about Amara and ten thousand years or something, though trying to figure that out was a dead end.

How much longer were we going to fall for? Was there even an end to his never-ending chute? And what had Apollo meant, the Underworld was only an entrance? Clearly, he had figured out where we were going, but he hadn't bothered to share that information before he had let go, and even if he tried to tell me, with the roaring wind in our ears, I would've been able to hear him

I was honestly half-dead with exhaustion at that point, but I tried to think. If this was an entrance to some place, and Apollo had willingly let go, there had to be an end, right? The thought didn't comfort me as much as I thought it would've. If there was indeed an end, that meant we would splatter on impact. Or would we? It was hard to form any coherent thoughts, and it had been almost two years since I had last taken physics...

I had been hoping that Apollo would come up with an infallible plan, but judging from his expression, it looked like the best plan he could come up with was not throwing up, so it seemed as though that part fell onto my shoulders, but my brain refused to cooperate—every plan I came up with seemed wilder than the last.

Just as I was about to give up, the chute we were falling down opened into a... Well, I don't know how to describe it.

I could make out the hazy outline of a rocky terrain far below us, obscured by thick red and black clouds, if those were even clouds. The air was suddenly hot—unbearably hot—and humid too, reminding me almost of when I had visited Xiamen three summers ago. But the air wasn't just hot and humid, which I maybe could've withstood; its fumes were like acid, every breath burning my lungs, watering my eyes as we tore through the clouds, the stench of rotting eggs and nightmares overbearing.

Apollo's grip tightened around my waist, his eyes gaunt yet determined. "This is going to feel weird, okay?"

And, at my nod, we evaporated.

Teleporting felt weird.

Later, Apollo would explain to me that we had dissolved into pure light (which, of course, was his specialty), though he hadn't bothered explaining all the science behind it. What was important was that it kept us from turning into pancakes and instead had us dropped on the sharp ground where we melted back into solids and tried to get feeling back into our arms.

"Why—" Apollo wheezed after a minute "—was that—as hard as—as hard as it was?"

I had no response to that, but I was sure he wasn't actually waiting for one. Instead, he just flopped over and looked like he was never going to move again. Though extremely tempted to follow, I forced myself to unzip Artemis' backpack—with trembling hands, I managed to fish out the little bottle, offering it to Apollo, who had managed to sit up.

He didn't take it, though. He just frowned, scanning my face. I wanted to scrunch away, though I found myself wondering if that would've been rude.

Before I could decide, he noted lightly, "You have a slight fever, and your hands..."