The Doors of Death, Tartarus

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

As Percy stared up at his dark whirlpool face, he decided he'd rather die in some less memorable way—maybe falling down the stairs, or going peacefully in his sleep at age eighty, after a nice quiet life with Annabeth. That sounded good.

It wasn't the first time Percy had faced an enemy he couldn't defeat by force. Normally, this would've been his cue to stall for time while Annabeth came up with a plan or they waited for reinforcements.

Except they had no reinforcements, and his voice wouldn't work. He couldn't even close his mouth. He was drooling as badly as he did when he slept.

Percy was dimly aware of the army of monsters swirling around him, but after their initial roar of triumph, the horde had fallen silent. Percy and Annabeth should have been ripped to pieces by now. Instead, the monsters kept their distance, waiting for Tartarus to act.

The god of the pit flexed his fingers, examining his own 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.

His voice sounded like a backward recording—as if the words were being sucked into the vortex of his face rather than projected. In fact, everything seemed to be drawn toward the face of this god—the dim light, the poisonous clouds, the essence of the monsters, even Percy's own fragile life force. He looked around and realized that every object on this vast plain had grown a vaporous comet's tail—all pointing toward Tartarus.

Percy knew he should say something, do something, but his instincts told him to hide, to avoid doing anything that would draw the god's attention.

Besides, what could he say? You won't get away with this!

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

Glancing at Annabeth, he saw that although the Death Mist no longer shrouded her face, she still had the complexion of a corpse.

Tartarus stood in front of them. Tartarus. The living, breathing embodiment of the pit they had been fighting to escape from ever since they got there. He was older than anything Percy had ever faced before. Percy had no idea what to do, but he had a feeling that if he crossed Tartarus, the Curse of Achilles would be as useful as a paper shield.

He'd thought he'd been scared when they first fell into Tartarus. He'd thought slowly dying from the arai's curses had terrified him. He'd thought he'd horrified himself with what he did to Akhlys and Annabeth. But this was an entirely new level of fear.

Percy did something he'd never done before. He dropped Riptide. It just fell out of his hand and hit the ground with a thud.

Tartarus hissed again—possibly laughing.

Your fear smells wonderful, said the god. 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.

He stretched out his massive purple hand and might have plucked up Percy like a weed, but Bob interrupted.

"Be gone!" The Titan leveled his spear at the god. "You have no right to meddle!"

Meddle? Tartarus turned. I am the lord of all creatures of the darkness, puny Iapetus. I can do as I please.

His black cyclone spun faster. The howling sound was so horrible, Percy fell to his knees and clutched his ears. Bob stumbled, the wispy comet tail of his life force growing longer as it was sucked toward the face of the god.

Bob roared in defiance. He charged and thrust his spear at Tartarus' chest. Before it could connect, Tartarus swatted Bob aside like he was a pesky insect. The Titan went sprawling.

Why do you not disintegrate? Tartarus mused. You are nothing. You are even weaker than Krios and Hyperion.

"I am Bob," said Bob.

Tartarus hissed. What is that? What is Bob?

"I choose to be more than Iapetus," said the Titan. "You do not control me. I am not like my brothers."

The collar of his coveralls bulged. Small Bob leaped out. The kitten landed on the ground in front of his master, then arched his back and hissed at the lord of the abyss.

As Percy watched, Small Bob began to grow, his form flickering until the little kitten had become a full-sized translucent skeletal saber-toothed tiger.

Percy suddenly remembered spying on Atlas in the Smithsonian all those years ago, and those teeth that had grown into kittens. They'd come from the saber-toothed tiger exhibit.

"Also," Bob announced, "I have a good cat."

No-Longer-Small Bob sprang at Tartarus, sinking his claws into Tartarus' thigh. The tiger scrambled up his leg, straight under the god's chain-link skirt. Tartarus stomped and howled, apparently no longer enamored with having a physical form. Meanwhile, Bob thrust his spear into the god's side, right below his breastplate.

Tartarus roared. He swatted at Bob, but the Titan backed out of reach. Bob thrust out his fingers. His spear yanked itself free of the god's flesh and flew back to Bob's hand, which made Percy gulp in amazement. He'd never imagined a broom could have so many useful features. Small Bob dropped out of Tartarus' skirt. He ran to his master's side, his saber-toothed fangs dripping with golden ichor.

You will die first, Iapetus, Tartarus decided. Afterward, I will add your soul to my armor, where it will slowly dissolve, over and over, in eternal agony.

Tartarus pounded his fist against his breastplate. Milky faces swirled in the metal, silently screaming to get out.

Bob turned toward Percy and Annabeth. The Titan grinned, which probably would not have been Percy's reaction to a threat of eternal agony.

"Take the Doors," Bob said. "I will deal with Tartarus."

Tartarus threw back his head and bellowed—creating a vacuum so strong that the nearest flying demons were pulled into his vortex face and shredded.

Deal with me? the god mocked. You are only a Titan, a lesser child of Gaea! I will make you suffer for your arrogance. And as for your tiny mortal friends . . .

Tartarus swept his hand toward the monster army, beckoning them forward. DESTROY THEM!

Annabeth raised her sword and yelled, "Percy!"

He shook off his paralysis and snatched up Riptide.

Percy barely had time to see Annabeth dive for the left-side chains holding the Doors of Death before the first wave of monsters was upon him. He body-slammed a few Cyclopes and empousai away. He stabbed an arai and yelped, "Gah! Stupid curses!" Pain burned all over his body, but after the gorgon's blood poison, it barely bothered him besides the initial shock. He scythed down a half-dozen telkhines.

Behind him, Annabeth lunged and sliced through the chains on the other side of the Doors of Death. The Doors shuddered, then opened with a pleasant Ding!

Bob and his saber-toothed sidekick continued to weave around Tartarus' legs, attacking, and dodging to stay out of his clutches. They didn't seem to be doing much damage, but Tartarus lurched around, obviously not used to fighting in a humanoid body. He swiped and missed, swiped and missed.

More monsters surged toward the doors. Percy fought them back as best he could, killing more than he could count. He sliced through another arai and a stabbing pain erupted in his stomach. His shirt grew sticky with blood.

Antaeus, Percy thought, remembering the first giant he'd met down in the Labyrinth. He'd tangled him in chains hanging from the ceiling of the underground arena, and then stabbed him in the gut.

Percy locked down the pain, hugged his stomach with one arm, and kept fighting. The wound wasn't deep.

"Percy, get over here!" Annabeth yelled.

Percy turned, seeing her standing in the doorway of the Doors of Death with her foot keeping them open. Bob was still fighting, and Damasen hadn't come. He knew what he had to do.

He joined her in the doorway, his face dripping with sweat, his legs trembling with exhaustion.

"You okay?" she asked.

He nodded. "Got some kind of pain curse from that arai. And a minor stab wound." He hacked a gryphon out of the air. "Hurts, but it won't kill me. Get in the elevator. I'll hold the button."

"Yeah, right!" She smacked a carnivorous horse in the snout with the butt of her sword and sent the monster stampeding through the crowd. "You promised, Seaweed Brain. We would not get separated again! Ever again!"

"I have the Curse of Achilles," he argued. "I'll have a better chance of holding the button for twelve minutes without dying than anyone else will."

"That curse didn't help you with the arai, and it won't now! And didn't you say you didn't want to rely on it anymore?"

"Well, yeah, but I can't do anything about that right now so I might as well use it."

"Never again!"

"You're impossible!"

"Love you too!"

An entire phalanx of Cyclopes charged forward, knocking smaller monsters out of the way. Annabeth grumbled, "It had to be Cyclopes."

Percy gave a battle cry and reached out with his mind. At the Cyclopes' feet, a red vein in the ground burst open, spraying the monsters with liquid fire from the Phlegethon. The firewater might have healed mortals, but it didn't do the Cyclopes any favors. They combusted in a tidal wave of heat. The burst vein sealed itself, but nothing remained of the monsters except a row of scorch marks.

Percy had to get Annabeth to leave now, or she'd never make it. "Annabeth, you have to go!" Percy said. "We can't both stay!"

"No!" she cried. "Duck!"

He didn't ask why. He crouched, and Annabeth vaulted over him, bringing her sword down on the head of a heavily tattooed ogre.

Annabeth and he stood shoulder to shoulder in the doorway, waiting for the next wave. The exploding vein had given the monsters pause, but it would be long before they remembered: Hey, wait, there's seventy-five gazillion of us, and only two of them.

Percy recognized the look in Annabeth's face, and knew there was no way he'd be able to convince her to leave. "Well then," he said, "you have a better idea?"

The Doors of Death stood right behind them—their exit from this nightmarish world. But they couldn't use the Doors without someone manning the controls for twelve long minutes. If they stepped inside and let the Doors close without someone holding the button, Percy didn't think the results would be healthy. And if they stepped away from the Doors for any reason, he imagined the elevator would close and disappear without them.

The situation was so pathetically sad, it was almost funny.

Percy wanted to scream in frustration. He had never wanted out of someplace more in his life. Tartarus had tested every limit Percy had—even the ones he hadn't known about. He'd felt more pain, fear, and exhaustion than he ever had in his life. The thought of finally being so close to freedom only to fail because their only option was for one of them to leave the other behind, which neither of them were willing to do—it was infuriating.

The crowd of monsters inched forward, snarling and gathering their courage.

Meanwhile, Bob's attacks were getting slower. Tartarus was learning to control his new body. Saber-toothed Small Bob lunged at the god, but Tartarus smacked the cat sideways. Bob charged, bellowing with rage, but Tartarus grabbed his spear and yanked it out of his hands. He kicked Bob downhill, knocking over a row of telkhines like sea mammal bowling pins.

YIELD! Tartarus thundered.

"I will not," Bob said. "You are not my master."

Die in defiance, then, said the god of the pit. You Titans are nothing to me. My children the giants were always better, stronger, and more vicious. They will make the upper world as dark as my realm!

Tartarus snapped the spear in half. Bob wailed in agony. Saber-toothed Small Bob leaped to his aid, snarling at Tartarus and baring his fangs. The Titan struggled to rise, but Percy knew it was over. Even the monsters turned to watch, as if sensing that their master Tartarus was about to take the spotlight. The death of a Titan was worth seeing.

Percy couldn't let Bob die—not alone, at least. Not after everything Bob had done for them, and how Percy had treated Bob in the first place. Bob was Percy's friend. And that was Percy's fatal flaw—he would never choose the world over a friend.

Percy gripped Annabeth's hand. "Stay here. I've got to help him."

"Percy, you can't," she croaked. "Tartarus can't be fought. Not by us."

Percy knew she was right. Tartarus was in a class by himself. He was more powerful than the gods or Titans. Demigods were nothing to him. If Percy charged to help Bob, he would get squashed like an ant. Unless . . .

The phantom sword in Percy's gut dug deeper. He felt nauseated just thinking about it, but if he tapped into the abilities he'd used before against Akhlys, he might . . . die slower? It probably wouldn't do much. But he had to try.

"We'll go together," Annabeth said.

Percy knew it would be their final battle. If they stepped away from the Doors, they would never leave Tartarus. But he was grateful she was thinking the same thing: at least they would die fighting side by side.

Then a ripple of alarm passed through the army. In the distance, Percy heard shrieks, screams, and a persistent boom, boom, boom that was too fast to be the heartbeat in the ground—more like something large and heavy, running at full speed. An Earthborn spun into the air as if he'd been tossed. A plume of bright-green gas billowed across the top of the monstrous horde like the spray from a poison riot hose. Everything in its path dissolved.

Across the swath of sizzling, newly empty ground, Percy saw the cause of the commotion. He started to grin.

The Maeonian drakon spread its frilled collar and hissed, its poison breath filling the battlefield with the smell of pine and ginger. It shifted its hundred-foot-long body, flicking its dappled green tail and wiping out a battalion of ogres.

Riding on its back was a red-skinned giant with flowers in his rust-colored braids, a jerkin of green leather, and a drakon-rib lance in his hand.

"Damasen!" Annabeth cried.

The giant inclined his head. "Annabeth Chase, I took your advice. I chose myself a new fate."

What is this? The god of the pit hissed. Why have you come, my disgraced son?

Damasen glanced at Percy and Annabeth, a clear message in his eyes: Go. Now.

He turned toward Tartarus. The Maeonian drakon stamped its feet and snarled.

"Father, you wished for a more worthy opponent?" Damasen asked calmly. "I am one of the giants you are so proud of. You wished me to be more warlike? Perhaps I will start by destroying you!"

Damasen leveled his lance and charged.

The monstrous army swarmed him, but the Maeonian drakon flattened everything in its path, sweeping its tail and spraying poison while Damasen jabbed at Tartarus, forcing the god to retreat like a cornered lion.

Bob stumbled away from the battle, his saber-toothed cat at his side. Percy gave them as much cover as he could—causing blood vessels in the ground to burst one after the other. Some monsters were vaporized in Styx water—Percy remembered that pain well. Others got a Cocytus shower and collapsed, weeping hopelessly. Others were doused with liquid Lethe and stared blankly around them, no longer sure where they were or even who they were.

Bob limped to the Doors. Golden ichor flowed from the wounds on his arms and chest. His janitor's outfit hung in tatters. His posture was twisted and hunched, as if Tartarus' breaking the spear had broken something inside him. Despite all that, he was grinning, his silver eyes bright with satisfaction.

"Go," he ordered. "I will hold the button."

Percy gawked at him. "Bob, you're in no condition—"

"Percy," Annabeth stopped him, her voice wobbling. "We have to."

"We can't just leave them!" Percy protested. He wouldn't leave Bob behind. Not again.

"You must, friend." Bob clapped Percy on the arm, nearly knocking him over. "I can still press a button. And I have a good cat to guard me."

Small Bob the saber-toothed tiger growled in agreement.

"Besides," Bob said, "it is your destiny to return to the world. Put an end to this madness of Gaea."

A screaming Cyclops, sizzling from poison spray, sailed over their heads.

Fifty yards away, the Maeonian drakon trampled through the monsters, its feet making sickening squish squish noises as if stomping grapes. On its back, Damasen yelled insults and jabbed at the god of the pit, taunting Tartarus farther away from the doors.

Tartarus lumbered after him, his iron boots making craters in the ground.

You cannot kill me! he bellowed. I am the pit itself. You might as well try to kill the earth. Gaea and I—we are eternal. We own you, flesh and spirit!

He brought down his massive fist, but Damasen side-stepped, impaling his javelin in the side of Tartarus' neck.

Tartarus growled, apparently more annoyed than hurt. He turned his swirling vacuum face toward the giant, but Damasen got out of the way in time. A dozen monsters were sucked into the vortex and disintegrated.

"Bob, don't!" Percy said, pleading. "He'll destroy you permanently. No coming back. No regeneration."

Bob shrugged. "Who knows what it will be? You must go now. Tartarus is right about one thing. We cannot defeat him. We can only buy you time. Twelve minutes. I can give you that."

Percy hated this. He hated that Bob was right. He hated that he was about to abandon a friend to a fate worse than death. And he hated that there was nothing he could do.

"Percy . . . hold the Doors," Annabeth said, and Percy obeyed. She jumped and threw her arms around the Titan's neck. She kissed his cheek, her eyes full of tears.

"Monsters are eternal," she told him, sounding close to sobbing. "We will remember you and Damasen as heroes, as the best Titan and the best giant. We'll tell our children. We'll keep the story alive. Someday, you will regenerate."

Bob ruffled Annabeth's hair. Smile lines crinkled around his eyes. "That is good. Until then, my friends, tell the sun and the stars hello for me. And be strong. This may not be the last sacrifice you must make to stop Gaea."

He pushed her away gently. "No more time. Go."

Annabeth grabbed Percy's arm, but he resisted. He couldn't stop staring at Bob, wondering how he managed to make such a good friend when he'd treated Bob so terribly. He didn't deserve the sacrifice Bob was making for them. But Percy knew he couldn't change his mind.

"Bob—" Percy's voice broke.

Bob just smiled. "Go."

Annabeth dragged Percy into the elevator car. He caught one last glimpse of the Maeonian drakon shaking an ogre like a sock puppet, Damasen jabbing at Tartarus' legs.

The god of the pit pointed at the Doors of Death and yelled: Monsters, stop them!

Small Bob the saber-toothed tiger crouched and snarled, ready for action.

Bob winked at Percy. "Hold the Doors closed on your side," he said. "They will resist your passage. Hold them—"

The panels slid shut.

"Percy, help me!" Annabeth yelped.

She shoved her entire body against the left door, pressing it toward the center. Percy did the same on the right. There were no handles, or anything else to hold on to. As the elevator car ascended, the Doors shook and tried to open, threatening to spill them into whatever was between life and death.

Percy's shoulders ached. His stomach throbbed, and the pain curse wasn't getting any better. The elevator's easy-listening music didn't help. If all monsters had to hear that song about liking piña coladas and getting caught in the rain, no wonder they were in the mood for carnage when they reached the mortal world.

"We left Bob and Damasen," Percy croaked, fighting back a sob. "They'll die for us, and we just—"

"I know," Annabeth murmured. "Gods of Olympus, Percy, I know."

Percy was almost glad for the job of keeping the Doors closed. The terror racing through his heart at least kept him from dissolving into misery. Abandoning Damasen and Bob had been the hardest thing he'd ever done.

He hadn't thought his fatal flaw was such a bad thing when Athena told him about it. Personal loyalty. How could that be bad? Percy loved his friends, he'd do anything he could to protect him. But over the years, he'd come to realize just how dangerous it was.

Percy knew he needed to return to the mortal world. He knew he needed to help the Seven defeat Gaea and restore the peace in Olympus and between Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter. And he needed to get back to his mom, too. But it had taken every bit of his will to get in the elevator and let Bob and Damasen bear the danger. Make the sacrifice play. This time, he couldn't protect his friends.

"Percy, the Doors," Annabeth warned.

The panels had started to slide apart, letting in a whiff of . . . ozone? Sulfur?

Percy pushed on his side furiously and the crack closed. He felt hot with anger and adrenaline.

"I will kill Gaea," he muttered. "I will tear her apart with my bare hands."

Annabeth nodded. Percy remembered what Tartarus had said—that he and Gaea couldn't be killed. Against such power, even Titans and giants were hopelessly outmatched. Demigods stood no chance.

He also remembered Bob's warning: This may not be the last sacrifice you must make to stop Gaea.

He felt that truth deep in his bones.

"Twelve minutes," Annabeth murmured. "Just twelve minutes."

Percy prayed to Poseidon that Bob could hold the UP button that long. He prayed for strength and rage. He wondered what they would find once they reached the top of this elevator ride.

If their friends weren't there, controlling the other side . . .

"We can do this," Percy said, shaking the thought away. "We have to."

"Yeah," Annabeth said. "Yeah, we do."

They held the Doors shut as the elevator shuddered and the music played, while somewhere below them, a Titan and a giant sacrificed their lives for their escape.

And if Annabeth started crying a little bit, who was Percy to blame her? He was too.