Percy In Tartarus

14: Left Behind

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Word Count: 4,187 words

POV: Percy

Chapter 14: Left Behind

Getting killed by Tartarus didn't seem like much of an honour.

As Percy stared up at the dark whirlpool of a face, he decided that he would rather die in some less memorable way – maybe falling down the stairs or going peacefully in his sleep at the age of eighty after a nice quiet life. Yes, that sounded good.

It wasn't the first time Percy had faced an enemy he couldn't defeat by force. Normally, this would have been his cue to stall for more time with some clever talking. But Percy couldn't force himself to speak; he was completely frozen in place. His voice wouldn't work – he couldn't even close his mouth. He was only dimly aware of the army of monsters swirling around him, but after the initial triumph, the horde had fallen silent. He should have been ripped to pieces by now. Instead, the monsters kept their distance, waiting for the Pit himself to act.

The primordial of the Pit flexed his fingers, examining his polished black talons. He had no expression, but he straightened his shoulders, as if he were pleased.

"It is good to have form," he intoned. "With these hands, I can eviscerate you."

Tartarus' voice sounded like a backward recording, as if the words were being sucked into the vortex of his face rather than being projected. In fact, everything seemed to be drawn toward the face of the primordial – the dim light, the poisonous clouds, the essence of the monsters, and even Percy's own fragile life force.

Percy's skin stung and his heart burned, his Curse of Achilles acting up. He looked around and realised that every object on the vast plain had grown a vaporous comet's tail – all pointing toward Tartarus' physical form. Percy knew that he should say something, but his instincts told him to hide and avoid doing anything that would draw the primordial's attention.

Besides, what could he say?

You won't get away with this!

That wasn't true.

Percy had only survived this long because Tartarus was savouring his new form. He wanted the pleasure of physically ripping Percy to pieces. If Tartarus wished, Percy had no doubt that he could devour his existence with a single thought, as easily as he had vaporized Hyperion and Krios. Would there be any rebirth from that? Percy didn't want to find out.

He only wanted to give up.

Percy wasn't sure if it would be considered selfish, but he wanted all of it to stop. Percy had gone through so much just because he was a demigod and demigods never got happy endings, but he was tired of it. He was silly to ever think that he could spend the rest of his life in New Rome with Annabeth. Percy wasn't going to make it out of the Pit. He didn't need to fight anymore. It was so easy to ignore his racing heart and just let everything overtake him. It would be easier for Percy, and certainly easier for Tartarus. But the problem was that Percy still had something to fight for.

Percy had the lives of Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter riding on his ability to free the Doors of Death. His friends were counting on him, too.

As much as he wanted to take the easy route, he knew he couldn't.

Percy held out Xenia in threat.

Tartarus hissed, possibly laughing at Percy's feeble attempt.

"Your fear smells wonderful," Tartarus taunted. "I see the appeal of having a physical body with so many senses. Perhaps my beloved Gaea is right, wishing to wake from her slumber."