They'd barely made it ten feet from Damasen's hut before exhaustion came thundering back and the homesickness began to set in.
The four of them tumbled along in the darkness, the air thick and cold, the ground alternating patches of pointy rocks and pools of muck. The terrain reminding them that they couldn't let their guard down anymore.
Percy had pulled a makeshift tunic of drakon leather over his shredded t-shirt while Cressida did the same, his Goode High School Swim Team shirt still covered in blood and quite torn and shredded, but both of them were still shivering from the cold which was odd considering they'd been doing nothing but sweating until now.
Percy's focus narrowed to the ground in front of him. Nothing existed except for that and Cressida at his side. Whenever he felt like giving up, plopping himself down, and dying (which was, like, every ten minutes), he would squeeze her hand that had barely left his since they left Damasen's, just to remember there was warmth in the world.
While Cressida was clearly upset about leaving Damasen behind after her whole philosophy of not leaving friends behind, part of Percy was relieved. Even with Castor around, he was concerned enough about Bob's staying on their side once they reached the Doors of Death. He wasn't sure he wanted a giant as his wingman, even if that giant could cook a mean bowl of stew. Not that he'd say it out loud because there didn't seem to be an ounce of scepticism in Cressida anymore when it came to their travelling companions.
He hadn't heard their pursuers in hours, but he could sense their hatred... especially Polybotes's. That giant was back there somewhere, following, pushing them deeper into Tartarus. There would be no way to return to Damasen even if they were to turn around.
Percy tried to think of good things to keep his spirits up—the lake at Camp Half-Blood, the time he'd kissed Cressida underwater. Their date in Paris. He tried to imagine the two of them in New Rome together, walking through the hills and holding hands. But Camp Jupiter and Camp Half-Blood both seemed like dreams. He felt as if only Tartarus existed. This was the real world— death, darkness, cold, pain. He'd been imagining all the rest.
He shivered. No. That was the pit speaking to him, sapping his resolve.
"This place is worse than the River Cocytus," he muttered.
"Yes," Bob called back happily. "Much worse! It means we are close."
"That sounds good," Cressida said sarcastically.
"It does, Cressie," Castor beamed and though Percy was thankful for his help, he hated his seemingly eternal optimism. "It means you're closer to home."
Cressida squeezed Percy's hand, her face angelically beautiful in the light of his sword. "I may have relented on the whole calling me Cress thing, but you don't get to call me Cressie."
Percy couldn't help but crack a smile and he knew that she'd been trying to get him to smile and to reassure him when he'd been so worried about lifting her spirits.
"We can debate it when we get out of here," he replied, and she scoffed.
"There will be no debate. I will say you can't do it, and you will listen. Just like you will do so when I say that I want to go somewhere different on a date."
"Paris was nice."
"Oh, yeah. That was really cool. That little table and all the French food. The lights and your moment under the Eiffel Tower -"
"Castor!" Cressida scolded. "It is weird enough that you watch what I do, I don't need to be reminded of the fact that you watched me make out with my boyfriend under the Eiffel Tower."
"Oh relax," Castor waved. "I stop at the steamy parts. I don't need to see my baby sister be that much of a grown-up."
"Castor!"
"Love you."
Percy bumped her shoulder with his. "Rome was nice too. Before the whole quest thing."
Cressida managed to give him a wicked smirk as she pretended they were anywhere else in the world. "I'd settle for New Rome," she said, completely taking him by surprise. "So long as you're there with me like the parasite you are."
Percy laughed at that as he brought their conjoined hands up to lips and kissed hers. For a moment, Percy actually remembered what it was like to feel happy. He had the most amazing girlfriend in the world. They could have a future together.
"I love you," he said, and her smile grew a bit bigger as some of the tension eased off her shoulders.
"As you should. I am amazing after all."
Percy rolled his eyes. "You could say it back, you know?"
"I could. But it's more fun not to."
"Cress."
"Fine. I love you. Happy?"
"No. Why did that sound like such a chore for you?"
"Because it annoys you when it does, which makes it more amusing for me."
And Percy tugged her lips to his for a quick kiss before they kept walking.
"I love you," she said and now it was Percy's turn to smile.
"Aww. It's cute that you two can still do that bickering thing of yours even when you're heading towards the heart of Hell."
"Castor!" Cressida screeched and he just laughed. "You're such a buzzkill."
"You know, strangely, I've missed hearing those words."
"Oh, well I'm more than happy to insult you."
And for a second, the atmosphere was light before the darkness dispersed with a massive sigh, like the last breath of a dying god. In front of them was a clearing—a barren field of dust and stones. In the centre, about twenty yards away, knelt the gruesome figure of a woman, her clothes tattered, her limbs emaciated, her skin leathery green. Her head was bent as she sobbed quietly, and the sound shattered all Percy's hopes. He realized that life was pointless. His struggles were for nothing. This woman cried as if mourning the death of the entire world.
"We're here," Bob announced. "Akhlys can help. Akhlys!" Bob called.
The creature raised her head, and Percy's stomach screamed, Help me!
Her body was bad enough. She looked like the victim of a famine— limbs like sticks, swollen knees and knobby elbows, rags for clothes, broken fingernails and toenails. Dust was caked on her skin and piled on her shoulders as if she'd taken a shower at the bottom of an hourglass. Her face was utter desolation. Her eyes were sunken and rheumy, pouring out tears. Her nose dripped like a waterfall. Her stringy grey hair was matted to her skull in greasy tufts, and her cheeks were raked and bleeding as if she'd been clawing herself.
Across her knees lay an ancient shield—a battered circle of wood and bronze, painted with the likeness of Akhlys herself holding a shield, so the image seemed to go on forever, smaller and smaller.
"By the gods," Cressida gasped. "That's his shield. I thought Thalia was pulling my leg. I thought it was just a story."
"Oh, no," the old hag wailed. "The shield of Hercules. He painted me on its surface, so his enemies would see me in their final moments—the goddess of misery." She coughed so hard, it made Percy's chest hurt. "As if Hercules knew true misery. It's not even a good likeness!"
"What's his shield doing here?" Percy asked.
The goddess stared at him with her wet milky eyes. Her cheeks dripped blood, making red polka dots on her tattered dress. "He doesn't need it anymore, does he? It came here when his mortal body was burned. A reminder, I suppose, that no shield is sufficient. In the end, misery overtakes all of you. Even Hercules."
Percy inched closer to Cressida who was inching closer to Castor who was also unnerved by the woman before them.
"Bob," Percy said, "we shouldn't have come here."
"Agreed," Castor and Cressida murmured.
From somewhere inside Bob's uniform, the skeleton kitten mewled in agreement. The Titan shifted and winced as if Small Bob was clawing his armpit. "Akhlys controls the Death Mist," he insisted. "She can hide you."
"Hide them?" Akhlys made a gurgling sound. She was either laughing or choking to death. "Why would I do that?"
"They must reach the Doors of Death," Bob said. "To return to the mortal world."
"Impossible!" Akhlys said. "The armies of Tartarus will find you. They will kill you."
Cressida turned the blade of her drakon-bone sword, which Percy had to admit made her look pretty intimidating (more so than usual) and hot in a 'Barbarian Princess' kind of way (again, more so than usual).
"So, I guess your Death Mist is pretty useless, then," she said.
The goddess bared her broken yellow teeth. "Useless? Who are you?"
"I'm the daughter of Dionysus," Cressida said proudly, her voice radiating bravery and power - and Percy was impressed even though she knew she'd done things like this before. Castor looked equally as proud of her. "The first one born in millennia. I've done the impossible my entire life and I did not walk halfway across Tartarus to be told what's impossible by some minor goddess."
The dust quivered at their feet. Fog swirled around them with a sound like agonized wailing. "Minor goddess?" Akhlys's gnarled fingernails dug into Hercules's shield, gouging the metal. "I was old before the Titans were born, you ignorant girl. I was old when Gaia first woke. Misery is eternal. Existence is misery. I was born of the eldest ones—of Chaos and Night. I was—"
"I'm bored," Cressida interrupted. "We get the idea. Sadness and misery, blah, blah, blah. I've done the whole boasting contest with Porphyrion and I won. Which is exactly why I stopped you. You go on and on about how old you are and yet you still don't have enough power to hide two demigods with your Death Mist. Like I said: useless."
Percy cleared his throat. "Uh, Cress-"
Both she and Castor shot him a warning look that told him to work with them or else... and he didn't want to imagine the or else part.
"My little sister is right. I mean, we brought her all the way here because Bob thought you could help," Castor continued.
"But I guess you're too busy staring at that shield and crying. I can't blame you. It looks just like you," Percy added.
Akhlys wailed and glared at the Titan. "Why did you inflict these annoying children on me?"
Bob made a sound somewhere between a rumble and a whimper. "I thought—I thought—"
"The Death Mist is not for helping!" Akhlys shrieked. "It shrouds mortals in misery as their souls pass into the Underworld. It is the very breath of Tartarus, of death, of despair!"
"Awesome," Percy said. "Could we get two orders of that to go?"
Akhlys hissed. "Ask me for a more sensible gift. I am also the goddess of poisons. I could give you death—thousands of ways to die less painful than the one you have chosen by marching into the heart of the pit." Around the goddess, flowers bloomed in the dust—dark purple, orange, and red blossoms that smelled sickly sweet. "Nightshade," Akhlys offered. "Hemlock. Belladonna, henbane, or strychnine. I can dissolve your innards, boil your blood."
"Pass," Cressida said. "We got our share of poison from the arai."
"Now can you hide us in your Death Mist or not?" Percy asked.
"Yeah, it'll be fun," Cressida added and now Percy looked at her like she was out of her mind.
The goddess's eyes narrowed. "Fun?"
"Sure," she promised. "If we fail, think how great it will be for you, gloating over our spirits when we die in agony. You'll get to say, 'I told you so' for eternity."
"Or, if we succeed," Percy added, "think of all the suffering you'll bring to the monsters down here. We intend to seal the Doors of Death. That's going to cause a lot of wailing and moaning."
Oh, he'd never loved his girlfriend more.
Akhlys considered. "I enjoy suffering. Wailing is also good."
"Then it's settled," Percy said. "Make us invisible."
Akhlys struggled to her feet. The shield of Hercules rolled away and wobbled to a stop in a patch of poison flowers. "It is not so simple," the goddess said. "The Death Mist comes at the moment you are closest to your end. Your eyes will be clouded only then. The world will fade."
Cressida turned to her brother worriedly as Percy's mouth went dry.
"Okay. But...they'll be shrouded from the monsters?" Castor asked.
"Oh, yes," Akhlys said. "If you survive the process, you will be able to pass unnoticed among the armies of Tartarus. It is hopeless, of course, but if you are determined, then come. I will show you the way."
"The way to where, exactly?" Cressida wondered but the goddess was already shuffling into the gloom.
The couple turned to look for Bob and Castor, but both were gone. How does a ten-foot-tall silver dude with a very loud kitten and a freaking ghost that rarely shuts up just disappear?
"Castor?!" Cressida called worriedly. "Bob?!"
"Hey!" Percy yelled to Akhlys. "Where's our friends?"
"They cannot take this path," the goddess called back. "They are not mortal. Come, little fools. Come experience the Death Mist."
Cressida exhaled nervously as she took his hand again. "Well...guess there's no turning back now. And...how bad can it be?"
The question was so ridiculous Percy laughed, even though it hurt his lungs. "Yeah. Next date, though—dinner in New York. That diner you loved on your fifteenth birthday. And then dinner in New Rome."
"It's a date. For both occasions," she huffed before they began following the goddess's dusty footprints through the poison flowers, deeper into the fog, hoping they lived long enough to have date night again.