invisible string | f. zhang

xl. Tartarus

"Careful, brother."

"At least a janitor's work is honest," Bob says. "I clean up after others. I leave the palace better than I found it. But you . . . you do not care what messes you make. You followed Kronos blindly. Now you take orders from Gaea."

"She is our mother!" Hyperion bellows.

"She did not wake for our war on Olympus," Bob recalls. "She favors her second brood, the giants."

Krios grunts, "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 dings. All three Titans jump.

Had it been twelve minutes? Maribelle glances at the button.

"Double Red! Where is Double Red?"

Hordes of monsters stir and jostle one another, but none of them came forward.

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

Maribelle and Annabeth get into position, right behind Hyperion. Annabeth raises her drakon-bone sword over the base of the chains. In the fiery light of the Titan's armor, her Death Mist disguise made her look like a burning ghoul. Maribelle crouches with her own weapon.

Annabeth holds 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 mutters a curse. "Just wonderful. This will completely mess up our schedule. Make your choice, brother. Fight us or help us. I don't have time for your lectures."

Bob glances at Maribelle, Annabeth, and Percy. She thought he might start a fight, but instead he raises the point of his spear. "Very well. I will take guard duty. Which of you wants a break first?"

"Me, of course," Hyperion says.

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

"I've been standing here longer," Hyperion grumbles.

"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 complains. "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."

Maribelle's heart pounds.

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

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

Maribelle looks to Percy, ready to strike. But before anyone could move, a high-pitched whine pierces their ears, like the sound of an incoming rocket.

Then, an explosion rocked the hillside. A wave of heat knocks Maribelle backwards. Dark shrapnel rips through Krios and Hyperion, shredding them as easily as wood in a chipper.

Stinking pit. A hollow voice rolls across the plains, shaking the warm fleshy ground.

Bob staggers to his feet. Somehow the explosion hadn't touched him. He sweeps his spear in front of him, trying to locate the source of the voice.

Maribelle and Annabeth had landed together about twenty feet from the Doors. Maribelle rises to her feet shakily, looking over to Annabeth. She gasps when noticing the Death Mist no longer covered her. Maribelle looks down at her own hands and sees she's no longer deathly-looking either.

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

In front of the Doors of Death, the air darkens and solidifies. The being who appeared was so massive, radiating such pure malevolence, that Maribelle almost wanted to crawl away and hide.

Instead, she forces her eyes to trace the god's form, starting with his black iron boots, each one as large as a coffin.

His legs were covered in dark greaves; his flesh all thick purple muscle, like the ground. His armored 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 armor 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.

Maribelle blinks hard, glancing to Annabeth who was also looking at the god.

The warrior makes a sound like a mountain cracking in half.  This form is only a small manifestation of my power, says the god. But it is enough to deal with you. I do not interfere lightly, little demigod. It is beneath me to deal with gnats such as yourself.

Maribelle couldn't hear if Percy was speaking or not, but the warrior answers again.

You have proven surprisingly resilient, Tartarus says. You have come too far. I can no longer stand by and watch your progress.

Tartarus spreads his arms. Throughout the valley, thousands of monsters wail and roar, clashing their weapons and bellowing in triumph. The Doors of Death shudder in their chains.

Be honored, little demigods, says the god of the pit. Even the Olympians were never worthy of my personal attention. But you will be destroyed by Tartarus himself!