anti hero - percy jackson ²

v. sideways

Dear Reader,
Keep your friends close
and your enemies closer
—

Another thing on the list of things Cassandra wouldn't recommend: stumbling over a Titan.

After entering the storm front, they plodded on for what seemed like hours, relying on the light of her silver sword, and on Bob, who glowed faintly in the dark like some sort of crazy janitor angel.

Tartarus was terrifying (that's a shock, huh?). She could only see about five feet in front of her. Rocks loomed out of nowhere. Pits appeared at her feet—pits she was barely able to avoid falling into. Monstrous roars echoed in the gloom, but she had no idea where they came from. And the only thing she could be certain about was that the terrain was still sloping down.

Down really seemed to be the only direction in Tartarus. If Cassandra took even a step backward, she grew tired and heavy, as if the gravity were increasing to discourage her. Assuming the entire pit was the body of the god, Tartarus, Cassandra had a bad feeling that they were marching straight down his throat.

She was so lost in thought, that she didn't even notice the ledge until it was too late. She tried to catch herself, but she was already falling.

Luckily, it was only a shallow depression. Most of it was filled with a monster blister, which provided a soft landing. Cassandra was feeling pretty lucky—at least until she opened her eyes to find herself staring through a glowing gold membrane at a different, much larger face.

She screamed and flailed until she toppled sideways off the mount. Her heart raced in her chest.

It's fine, she told herself. It's fine. It's fine. You're fine.

Shakily, she got to her feet.

Curled in the membrane bubble in front of her was a fully formed Titan in golden armor, his skin the color of polished pennies. His eyes were closed, but he scowled so deeply he appeared to be on the verge of a bloodcurdling war cry. Even through the blister, Cassandra could feel the heat radiating from his body.

"Hyperion" She breathed.

Her shoulder ached from her old wound. During the Battle of Manhattan, Cassandra had fought—and eventually defeated—the Titan in front of her. Now, the ice sculpture she had turned him into currently resided in her cabin. In a tiny room, locked behind a door, so she never had to look at it again.

But ice sculptures were weird. First, there were multiple different kinds: covering something in ice, while still keeping it alive, and turning something completely to ice, where whatever you were turning to ice died and its soul went to the Underworld. If you went with the second option, normally, whatever you killed would remain in the Underworld forever, and you'd have a nice little souvenir to remember the accomplishment by.

But Hyperion was immortal, which complicated things. The ice sculpture she had made almost served as a shell of sorts. And when Hyperion returned to being alive, he would take on another body, while the sculpture still existed.

At least she assumed that was the case. But as far as she knew, no one had ever turned an immortal to ice, so she didn't exactly have a lot to go on.

She shuddered, and turned to suggest that they burst Hyperion's bubble before he woke up—which seemed like an event that would occur in the very near future—when she glanced at Bob. The silvery Titan was studying Hyperion with a frown of concentration—or maybe recognition.

Their faces looked so much alike...

Cassandra cursed silently. Of course they looked alike. They were brothers. Hyperion was the Titan lord of the east, while Iapetus—or Bob—was the lord of the west. If you took away Bob's broom and janitor's clothes, put him in armor, cut his hair, changed his color scheme from silver to gold, he would've been practically indistinguishable from Hyperion.