Finding Pan | OUAT Fan-fiction

43: Taking on Tartarus

The fires swarmed around Elle as she fell from the Underworld to a Worse Place. Her arms suffered burns as she hit the ground. She grunted from the impact and found the roaring fires had ceased and been replaced by a numbing chillness.  She exhaled and watched the warm air blow from her lips. 

The ground was coated in ashes as were her hands. She brushed the ashes off of her body and stepped forward. Torches on the wall lit on their own as Elle gripped her sword tightly in her hand. She stepped forward and the ground cracked beneath her. She jumped to the nearby ledge just as the lava river spewed out below her. 

"Phlegethon," Elle muttered, "The River of Fire."

Her hands gripped the rocky ledge as she avoided being splashed by the boiling river. When the lava receded, Elle leapt back onto the ground. She staggered back at the sight in front of her. 

The corpse of a soul with haunting eyes and gaping mouth. Its hand reached for the entrance from which they fell, as if they were trying to escape. Elle let out a deep breath when she saw it was not Peter. That reassurance quickly faded when Elle remembered that this was still Tartarus. 

She passed through the blinding light of the exit and found herself in a desert. The cold she felt prior was replaced with blistering heat. She wiped the sweat off her brow before diving to the side to avoid a rolling boulder. She watched as an old man's shoulders slumped in defeat. Before he walked down, his cold eyes met Elle's. 

"Who are you?" The man grumbled.

"Who are you?" Elle asked back.

The man straightened his posture, "My name is Sisyphus. I was a king who defied the gods and paid the price. What is your name?"

Elle was silent, debating on how to answer. The souls of Tartarus were cunning and deceptive. Hades even warned her about it during her tour of the Underworld. 

"I have no name," Elle responded. 

Sisyphus stared at the pirate, "I see. Your face is not the newest one. Though it seems the god has condemned more souls at a time now than since the Titanomacy."

Elle could not stop herself from asking, "How many souls?"

"Including you, two," Sisyphus' said roughly, "The first was dragged down by the god himself."

"Where is he?" Elle asked him. 

"Why should I tell you?" Sisyphus averted his gaze towards her, "What do I get in return?"

"What do you want?"

"I want to get out of this hell."

Before Elle could answer, a whip collided with the dead soul's side. Elle turned to see a young man standing there clad in black. His black hair tinted with blood. Old stitches covered his face. 

"Who are you?" Elle asked and was met with the whip that wrapped around her. 

She hissed from the pain and was pulled in front of the warden. 

"I'll ask again," The warden hissed, "Who are you?"

"Who are you?" Elle asked in return. 

"The name is Atlas," the warden said cockily. 

"You seem to be all knowing of this plain of torment. I'm looking for a soul and as I recall, you should be holding up the world upon your shoulders."

Atlas only grinned and Elle could see his sharpened teeth, "Ah yes, that bitter little task. What would you say if I told you that Hades himself came here and offered me a replacement?"