Sea Green Eyes

Chapter 71

"She is our mother!" Hyperion bellowed.

"She did not wake for our war on Olympus," Bob recalled.

"She favours her second brood, the giants," Krios grunted. "That's true enough. The children of the pit."

"Both of you hold your tongues!" Hyperion's voice was tinged with fear. "You never know when he is listening."

The elevator dinged. All three Titans jumped.

Had it been twelve minutes? Percy had lost track of time.

Krios took his finger off the button and called out, "Double Red! Where is Double Red?"

Hordes of monsters stirred and jostled one another, but none of them came forward.

Krios heaved a sigh. "I told them to hang on to their tickets. Double Red! You'll lose your place in the queue!"

Cressida held up three fingers, ready to count down. They had to cut the chains before the next group tried to take the elevator, but they also had to make sure the Titans were as distracted as possible.

Hyperion muttered a curse. "Just wonderful. This will completely mess up our schedule." He sneered at Bob. "Make your choice, brother. Fight us or help us. I don't have time for your lectures."

Bob glanced at Cressida and Percy, Castor giving him a supportive nod.

Bob raised the point of his spear. "Very well. I will take guard duty. Which of you wants a break first?"

"Me, of course," Hyperion said.

"Me!" Krios snapped. "I've been holding that button so long my thumb is going to fall off."

"I've been standing here longer," Hyperion grumbled. "You two guard the Doors while I go up to the mortal world. I have some Greek heroes to wreak vengeance upon!"

"Oh, no!" Krios complained. "That Roman boy is on his way to Epirus —the one who killed me on Mount Othrys. Got lucky, he did. Now it's my turn."

"Bah!" Hyperion drew his sword. "I'll gut you first, Ram-head!"

Krios raised his own blade. "You can try, but I won't be stuck in this stinking pit any longer!"

Cressida met Percy's eyes. She mouthed: One, two—

But before he could strike the chains, a high-pitched whine pierced his ears, like the sound of an incoming rocket.

And an explosion rocked the hillside. A wave of heat knocked Percy and Cressida backward. Dark shrapnel ripped through Krios and Hyperion, shredding them as easily as wood in a chipper.

STINKING PIT. A hollow voice rolled across the plains, shaking the warm fleshy ground.

Bob staggered to his feet. Somehow the explosion hadn't touched him. He swept his spear in front of him, trying to locate the source of the voice. Small Bob the kitten crawled into his coveralls.

Cressida had landed about twenty feet from the Doors, Castor sprawled next to her. When she stood, Percy was so relieved she was alive that it took him a moment to realize she looked like herself again. The Death Mist had evaporated.

He looked at his own hands. His disguise was gone too.

TITANS, said the voice disdainfully. LESSER BEINGS. IMPERFECT AND WEAK.

In front of the Doors of Death, the air darkened and solidified. The being who appeared was so massive, radiating such pure malevolence. His legs were covered in dark greaves; his flesh was all thick purple muscle, like the ground. His armoured 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 armour 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.