anti hero - percy jackson ²

iii. bob the titan

Dear Reader,
When in doubt, ask yourself:
What would Annabeth do?
—

Cassandra had been on a lot of good walks in her lifetime. Fun ones through New York City. Calming ones along the beach. Cozy ones around camp.

This was none of those.

She followed the River Phlegethon, stumbling over the glassy black terrain, jumping crevices, and hiding behinds rocks whenever the empousai slowed in front of her.

It was tricky to stay far enough behind to avoid getting spotted but close enough to keep Kelli and her comrades in view through the dark hazy air. The heat from the river baked her skin. Every breath was like inhaling sulfur-scented fiberglass. When she needed a drink, the best she could do was sip some ultra-refreshing liquid fire.

At least the river seemed to be holding true on its healing thing. Her cuts and scrapes had faded. Her palms were no longer bleeding. She'd used the hair tie she'd found in her pocket to tie her hair back in a high ponytail, and she felt less shaky on her feet.

She still had no idea how much time had passed. She trudged along, following the river as it cut through the harsh landscape. Fortunately, the empousai weren't speed walkers. They shuffled on their mismatched bronze and donkey legs, hissing and fighting with each other, seemingly in no hurry to reach the Doors of Death.

Once, the demons sped up in excitement and swarmed something that looked like a beached carcass on the riverbank. She couldn't tell what it was—a monster? An animal? Either way, the empousai attacked it enthusiastically.

When the demons had moved on, Cassandra reached the spot to find nothing left besides a few splintered ones and glistening stains drying in the heat of the river. No doubt would the empousai devour her with the same gusto.

She forced herself to move forward. The last thing she needed was to lose the demons.

As she walked, she let her mind think about the Argo II and Camp Half-Blood. She let herself think about her friends and the rest of the crew. She wondered what they were doing now. How far along were they on the journey to Epirius? But she mostly just thought about how much she missed them.

Getting back to them was the only source of motivation she had. She wouldn't die before she saw them again. She wouldn't cause that kind of heartbreak.

After a few more miles, the empousai disappeared over a ridge. When she caught up, she found herself at the edge of another massive cliff. The River Phlegethon spilled over the side in jagged tiers of fiery waterfalls. The demon ladies were picking their way down the cliff, jumping from ledge to ledge like mountain goats.

Her stomach churned. She didn't have much to look forward to when she reached the bottom. The landscape below was a bleak, ash-gray plain bristling with black trees, like insect hair. The ground was pocked with blisters. Every once in a while, a bubble would swell and burst, disgorging a monster like a larva from an egg.

Any appetite she had disappeared instantly.

All the newly formed monsters were crawling and hobbling in the same direction—toward a bank of black fog that swallowed the horizon like a storm front. The Phlegethon flowed in the same direction until about halfway across the plain, where it met another river of black water. The two floods combined in a steaming, boiling cataract and flowed on as one toward the black fog.

The longer she stared into the storm of darkness, the less she wanted to go there. It could be hiding anything—an ocean, a bottomless pit, an army of monsters. But if the Doors of Death were in that direction, it was her only chance.