Percy In Tartarus

11: Making Misery Miserable

As Percy struggled across the plains, the fog became so thick that he had to resist the urge to swat it away with his hands. The only reason Percy was able to follow Akhlys was because poisonous plants sprung up wherever she walked – beautiful, but deadly, flowers lined the way – leaving a morbid cookie-crumb path to follow. Finally, they arrived at the end of a cliff. The fog dissipated and Percy found himself on a peninsula that jutted out over a pitch-black void.

"Here we are." Akhlys turned and leered at Percy. Blood from her cheeks continued to stain her dress and her sickly eyes turned excited.

Could Misery look excited?

"Uh ... great," Percy muttered. "Where is here?"

"The verge of final death," Akhlys said. "Where Night meets the Void below Tartarus."

Percy inched forward and peered over the side. "I thought there was nothing below Tartarus."

"Oh, certainly, there is ..." Akhlys' said. "Even Tartarus needed to rise from somewhere. This is the edge of the earliest darkness, which was my mother, the Night. Below lies the realm of Chaos. Here, you are closer to nothingness than any mortal has ever been. Can you not feel it?"

Percy stopped and assessed how he felt, realizing he knew exactly what she meant. The Void seemed to be pulling at Percy with a familiar tug, like the heart of Tartarus but stronger, leaching the breath from his lungs and the oxygen from his blood. He looked down into the darkness but couldn't find it in himself to feel scared. The dark radiated something horrible, but it was comforting, in a way; it was a place of endlessness, of no pain or suffering. There was nothing to fear because there was nothing there at all.

"I ... I can't stay here," Percy said, backing away. Already, he could feel the strength of the pull. He had the urge to jump right off into the nothingness, to join that endless feeling. It would be so easy.

"No, indeed!" Akhlys said. "Don't you feel the Death Mist? Even now, you pass between – look!"

White smoke gathered around Percy's feet. As it coiled up Percy's legs, he realized the smoke wasn't just surrounding him – it was coming from him. His whole body was dissolving. Percy held up his hands and found they were fuzzy and indistinct. His weapons and pack were turning to smoke, too. Percy's blood moved like sap in his veins. For years, Percy had worried about dying – especially before his sixteenth birthday. When you were a demigod that went with the territory. Most half-bloods didn't live very long. You always knew that the next monster you fought could be your last. Except now Percy knew that he truly understood what it felt like to be on the edge of death – he was closer than ever before.

Percy studied his arms. All he could see were blobs of white mist, but he guessed that to someone else he looked like a corpse. He took a few steps, though it was difficult. His body felt insubstantial, like he was made of helium and cotton candy. Percy would rather fall into the River of Fire or get attacked by the arai, or even be trampled by giants, than go through this again. He felt horrible.

"I've felt better," Percy decided, "and I can't move very well. But I'm alright."

Akhlys chuckled darkly. "Oh, you're definitely not alright."

Percy frowned. "But I'll pass unseen now? I can get to the Doors of Death?"

"Well, perhaps you could," Akhlys admitted. "If you live that long, which you won't."

The goddess spread her arms out and more plants bloomed along the edges of the Pit – hemlock, nightshade, and oleander spreading toward Percy's feet like a deadly carpet.

"The Death Mist is not simply a disguise, you see. It is a state of being. I could not bring you this gift unless death followed – true death."

"It was a trap." Percy swore.