Chapter Text
Percy had nowhere to go.
He fell to one knee. He wanted to tell Annabeth to run, but he couldn’t speak. His throat was as dry as dead leaves. He wished there were water in Tartarus—some nice pool he could jump into to heal himself, or maybe a river he could control. He’d settle for a bottle of Evian.
“You will feed the eternal darkness,” Akhlys said gleefully.
The white-green poison kept pooling, little streams trickling from the plants as the venomous lake around him got wider and wider.
Lake, he thought. Streams. Water.
Percy croaked out a laugh. Poison was liquid. If it moved like water, it must be partially water.
He remembered some science lecture about the human body being mostly water. He remembered extracting water from Jason’s lungs back in Rome.… If he could control that, then why not other liquids?
It was a crazy idea. Poseidon was the god of the sea, not of every liquid everywhere.
Then again, Tartarus had its own rules. Fire was drinkable. The ground was the body of a dark god. The air was acid, and demigods could be turned into smoky corpses.
So why not try? He had nothing left to lose.
He glared at the poison flood encroaching from all sides. He concentrated so hard that something inside him cracked—as if a crystal ball had shattered in his stomach.
Warmth flowed through him. The poison tide stopped.
The fumes blew away from him—back toward the goddess. The lake of poison rolled toward her in tiny waves and rivulets.
Akhlys shrieked. “What is this?”
“Poison,” Percy said. “That’s your specialty, right?”
He stood, his anger growing hotter in his gut. As the flood of venom rolled toward the goddess, the fumes began to make her cough. Her eyes watered even more.
Oh, good, Percy thought. More water.
Percy imagined her nose and throat filling with her own tears.
Akhlys gagged. “I—” The tide of venom reached her feet, sizzling like droplets on a hot iron. She wailed and stumbled back, in the direction of Annabeth, claws extended blindly, but Annabeth was too quick for her. The drakon-bone sword came flashing down from high above, severing Akhlys’ left hand entirely, leaving ichor dripping from the wound.
Akhlys roared in pain, a sound unlike anything Percy had ever heard before. And yet, it was music to his ears. He wanted to hear her scream. He wanted her to suffer. He wanted Misery to have a taste of her own medicine.
But Akhlys wasn’t done yet. With her good hand, she raked her claws across Annabeth’s torso, causing her to scream out in pain this time. Annabeth feebly struck out again, but this time Akhlys was easily able to dodge the blow. In turn, the misery goddess wrapped her remaining hand around Annabeth’s wrist in a vice-like grip, causing her to yelp once more and drop her sword.
Akhlys cackled in delight as she tightened her hold on Annabeth. “I will make you feel misery like no mortal has ever seen before!”.
Annabeth’s screams turned to whimpers, and Percy’s rage hardened, threatening to explode outwards. This miserable bitch dared hurt Annabeth, his Annabeth?
He focused again, and the poison flowed even faster towards Akhlys. He was idly aware of the fact that he was sending the toxic stream towards Annabeth too, but that was a risk he had to take. Akhlys was a far bigger threat at the moment than her poison was. He couldn’t leave Annabeth helpless and defenceless, even if that meant taking a chance.
As the smoky fumes pursued Akhlys, she was forced to back away hurriedly towards the cliff edge, and most importantly, away from Annabeth. He hurriedly directed the poison in the direction of the retreating Akhlys, following her stride for stride. Mercifully, Annabeth’s screams had ceased, and though she coughed and spluttered, Percy knew – or at least, he hoped – that she hadn’t inhaled enough of the toxic air to cause any lasting damage.
He turned his attention back to the evil, traitorous goddess in front of him. The dripping ichor from the stump on her left arm had created a golden trail along the ground, glowing amidst the murky blackness of their surroundings. And then, an idea struck him. Ichor, after all, was mostly water too. Why couldn’t he take control over that too?
He imagined himself latching on to the very ichor coursing through Akhlys’ veins, and slowly he felt it respond to him, bending to his will just like the poison had. He focused all his power on the wound Annabeth had inflicted, and pulled, feeling the ichor flow, slowly.
More, the voice in his head said. For every drop of Annabeth’s blood she had spilt, Akhlys deserved to lose a hundred. He watched as the ichor gushed out rapidly, in a beautiful torrent.
“Percy… how?” he heard, his brain dimly registering a voice that sounded terrified. Akhlys begged for mercy, but Percy wasn’t ready to give it to her. He didn’t want to stop. He wanted to choke this goddess. He wanted to watch her slowly bleed to death. He wanted to see just how much misery Misery could take. Akhlys whimpered, her body having completely betrayed her, ichor now flowing like a golden river from her severed arm.
As Percy tightened his grip, Akhlys went paler and paler, until all that was left was a shriveled husk, whose begging was so weak Percy could barely make out each word.
This was what she deserved, Percy thought. A pathetic end for a pathetic traitor. Akhlys would die begging for a mercy that would never come.
Grimly, he lifted Riptide, ready to finish the job, but as he closed in on Akhlys, the misery goddess found one final burst of strength, born out of desperation. Instead of allowing Percy to finish her, she launched herself off the cliff, into the abyss below. Percy knew there was no hope of surviving the fall, not in her present state. She was dead.
Percy kicked the goddess’ severed hand over the cliff edge in disgust. He should have felt relief, or happiness, at having defeated Akhlys, but the only thing he could feel was disappointment. Akhlys had denied him the satisfaction of the final blow. She had chosen a coward’s ending, perhaps fitting for the traitor she was, but it had left Percy feeling hollow. She deserved far worse for daring to hurt Annabeth like she had, and Percy had had plenty more pain to inflict yet.
Annabeth! Percy had forgotten all about her in his rage. Where was she? What had Akhlys done to her? He looked around frantically. If she was badly hurt, he would find a way to make Misery pay, dead or not.
Only then did he see those familiar grey eyes staring at him, stunned, as though they had just seen a ghost. Only then did his brain register whom the terrified voice he had heard belonged to. Annabeth’s expression was impossible to read fully, but there was more than a hint of fear etched on her face.
Suddenly, Percy felt a nagging sense of guilt. He had been so focused on ensuring Akhlys suffered that he’d lost track of all else. Had he gone too far? Would Annabeth think he was insane? Was he insane? Hearing voices was hardly the sign of a stable mind, after all.
Percy looked back at Annabeth. Her face glistened with tears, and her breathing was shallow and shaky, but she was alive, and that was the most important thing. Her face was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen, even if the expression on it was one of worry.
And then it hit him. Her face was just as beautiful as ever. She no longer looked dead. Akhlys, the vindictive bitch that she was, must have taken away the Death Mist before she died, a final fuck you from beyond the grave. Had that pathetic creature, even as she lay dying, ruined their only hope of survival?
For a moment, Percy felt the rage bubble up within him again, but he forced himself to calm down. The contents of his stomach were threatening to expel themselves, and much as she deserved worse, Akhlys was beyond the point where she could suffer any further.
Just then, Annabeth said his name at last.
“Percy,” she said, her voice trembling.
Percy wondered what she would say next. Would he feel her disgust, or worse, would she be scared of him? Her voice was the most beautiful sound in the world, and yet all Percy could do was pray that it wouldn’t curse him, that he hadn’t gone too far in her eyes.
He braced himself, closing his eyes, expecting a rebuke. Instead he felt her arms wrapped around his neck, hugging him, her warmth a welcome antidote to his torment, as he returned the embrace.
“What just happened?” she asked eventually, as she pulled away from him. Her voice cracked as she did, and Percy knew that what she had seen had taken its toll.
Frankly, he didn’t know where to begin. Did he tell Annabeth about the realization that water wasn’t the only liquid he could control? Annabeth was very far from stupid, and he knew she had probably worked that out already. Did he tell her about the sense of rage he’d felt, the desire to hurt Akhlys and cause her to suffer?
In the end, though, there was one inescapable fact, and that seemed as good a place to start as any.
“I just killed Akhlys.”
“You did,” Annabeth replied shakily. “And you did it in a way I never would have believed possible. Poseidon’s domain is water, not poison. How did you…” Her voice trailed off.
Percy hesitated. There was a part of him that felt like Annabeth shouldn’t have to know what he had done, that it was unnatural and dark, that it would terrify her to know what he was capable of. But this was Annabeth, he reasoned, and if he couldn’t trust her, then there was nobody he could trust at all.
“It was like I had this voice inside me,” Percy began. “When she betrayed us, it felt like something suddenly snapped, and I had control of the poison, and I was the one hurting her and not the other way round.”
Percy’s voice wavered a little, as he contemplated how much to tell her, before he carried on. The only possible answer was to tell her everything. This was the girl he had jumped into hell for.
“It kept urging me on, telling me to hurt Akhlys, and I couldn’t stop listening to it. And then she hurt you, so I thought I might as well test out whether my powers extended to ichor, and, well… you saw what happened.”
Saying it all out loud made it sound a lot worse, Percy reflected.
“The strangest part is, I enjoyed it. Every scream of hers made me feel this sadistic rush that I’ve never had before. I wanted to hurt her. I wanted to see her suffer. This place… I don’t know if I’m going insane, or schizophrenic, or whether it’s just the Pit, or…” he trailed off.
“Ten drachmae says you can’t even spell schizophrenic, Seaweed Brain,” Annabeth replied, smirking a little.
“S-K-I-Z-,” he started, before he was cut off by Annabeth bursting out laughing. Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t even come close to getting it right. He laughed along too, feeling a whole lot better after the whole ordeal. It was like the weight of the sky had been lifted from his shoulders once more.
This is why Annabeth was so perfect, Percy thought. She could make you laugh even in the depths of Tartarus. And she was such a genius that even though she had dyslexia, Percy still wouldn’t rule her out in a Spelling Bee. He was so, so glad she didn’t hate him.
After the laughter died down, Annabeth continued. “I can’t say I wasn’t terrified of you just then. You had this aura, this look in your eyes, as though you would stop at nothing. But… I know you, and I trust you. You’re not insane.”
She locked eyes with Percy, a silent vote of confidence, and Percy felt his heart lift like never before. She didn’t think he was a monster. She didn’t hate him. The euphoria he felt was threatening to send him floating straight out of Tartarus.
“Besides,” Annabeth added, “Akhlys deserved it.” She smiled, before grimacing in pain, even as she tried to hide it.
Percy remembered the mark Akhlys’ claws had left on Annabeth, and he felt that rage bubbling again at the thought the miserable rat had hurt Annabeth. “What did she do to you?” he growled.
“It's nothing, Percy," Annabeth assured him, not making eye contact. “I’m alright.”
Unfortunately for Annabeth’s attempts to convince him, he’d known her long enough to know when she was lying. She just wasn’t that great at it, being the incredibly genuine person she normally was.
“I said what did she do to you?” he growled, and Annabeth flinched slightly. Percy realized he might have been a little bit too aggressive in his tone.
You have to keep control of your emotions, Percy, he scolded himself. That was something the people of Washington state knew all too well. With his powers, losing control meant people getting hurt, or worse.
Annabeth looked down at the ground before replying.
“When she touched me… I saw visions. Horrible ones. Losing everyone I loved, over and over again, and it all being my fault. There were some where…” She stopped herself.
“Where?”
“Never mind that,” Annabeth said abruptly. Percy knew she was still hiding what had really happened, but he didn’t feel like it was the right time to press her. They’d had enough stressful conversations for today.
“Can you have a look at the wound?” she asked instead. “There’s some Phlegethon water in the backpack, not to mention medical supplies from Damasen.”
Percy lifted her shirt, which had been ripped to shreds, to find a deep gash in her side, where Akhlys’ claws had pierced through Annabeth’s skin. He reached for the backpack, before a thought occurred to him. Maybe there was a better way? Blood was just another liquid, after all.
Only one way to find out, he thought. He closed his eyes, slowly reaching out and latching onto her blood, imagining the steady trickle from the wound slowly drying up. When he opened his eyes again, the wound was dry, only a scar left behind.
He looked over at Annabeth gleefully, but what he wasn’t anticipating was that she would shudder. “That was horrible, Percy. Feeling you take control of my blood like that… please don’t do that ever again.”
Percy hadn’t thought about that. He cursed himself for acting on impulse, rather than doing the obvious thing and just asking her.
“You won’t, will you?” Annabeth repeated.
Percy silently nodded, keen to move on. “Guess we’ll be sticking to bandages,” he quipped nervously, in an effort to lighten the mood.
Annabeth’s weak laugh in response was the most beautiful thing he had heard in weeks.
Percy helped her up, and they looked over the cliff edge, where they saw… nothing. Just dark black void, extending as far as the eye could see. Suddenly, Percy recalled what Akhlys had said, and once again his stomach was threatening to empty itself.
“Akhlys… she said something about feeding us to the night,” he remembered. “What was that about?”
Unfortunately, Percy had a sinking feeling he knew the answer, and from the look on Annabeth’s face, she did too. But before either of them could say any more, the temperature dropped. The abyss before them seemed to exhale, a breath as cold as ice itself.
Percy grabbed Annabeth and backed away from the edge as a presence emerged from the void—a form so vast and shadowy, he felt like he understood the concept of dark for the first time.
“I imagine,” said the darkness, in a feminine voice as soft as coffin lining, “that she meant Night, with a capital N. After all, I am the only one.”