MISERY

"until now"

ARIADNE WOKE STARING AT THE SHADOWS DANCING ACROSS THE HUT'S CEILING. She hadn't had a single dream. That was so unusual, she wasn't sure if she'd actually woken up.

As she lay there, Annabeth snored next to her—despite claiming she never did—and Small Bob purring on her belly, she heard Bob and Damasen deep in conversation.

"You haven't told them," Damasen said.

"No," Bob admitted. "They are already scared."

The giant grumbled. "They should be. And if you cannot guide them past Night?"

Damasen said Night like it was a proper name—an evil name.

"I have to," Bob said.

"Why?" Damasen wondered. "What have the demigods given you? They have erased your old self, everything you were. Titans and giants...we are meant to be the foes of the gods and their children. Are we not?"

"Then why did you heal the girl?"

Damasen exhaled. "I have been wondering that myself. Perhaps because the girl goaded me, or perhaps...I find these two demigods intriguing. They are resilient to have made it so far. That is admirable. Still, how can we help them any further? It is not our fate."

"Perhaps," Bob said uncomfortably. "But...do you like our fate?"

"What a question. Does anyone like his fate?"

"I liked being Bob," Bob murmured. "Before I started to remember..."

"Huh." There was a shuffling sound, as if Damasen was stuffing a leather bag.

"Damasen," the Titan asked, "do you remember the sun?"

The shuffling stopped. Ariadne heard the giant exhale through his nostrils. "Yes. It was yellow. When it touched the horizon, it turned the sky beautiful colors."

"I miss the sun," Bob said. "The stars, too. I would like to say hello to the stars again."

"Stars..." Damasen said the word as if he'd forgotten its meaning. "Yes. They made silver patterns in the night sky." He threw something to the floor with a thump. "Bah. This is useless talk. We cannot—"

In the distance, the Maeonian drakon roared.

Annabeth sat bolt upright. "What? What—where—what?"

"It's okay." Ariadne took her arm.

Damasen loomed over the bed. "There is no time, little mortals. The drakon is returning. I fear it's roar will draw the others—my brethren, hunting you. They will be here within minutes."

Annabeth's pulse quickened. "What will you tell them when they get here?"

Damasen's mouth twitched. "What is there to tell? Nothing of significance, as long as you are gone."

He tossed them two drakon-leather satchels. "Clothes, food, drink."

Bob was wearing a similar but larger pack. He leaned on his broom, gazing at Ariadne as if still pondering Damasen's words.

"The Prophecy of Eight," Annabeth said.

Ariadne had already climbed out of the bed and was shouldering her pack. She frowned at her. "What about it?"

Annabeth grabbed Damasen's hand, startling the giant. His brow furrowed. His skin was as rough as sandstone.

"You have to come with us," she pleaded. "The prophecy says foes bear arms to the Doors of Death. I though it meant Romans and Greeks, but that's not it. The line means us—demigod, a Titan, a giant. We need you to close the Doors!"

The drakon roared outside, closer this time. Damasen gently pulled his hand away.

"No, child," he murmured. "My curse is here. I cannot escape it."

"Yes, you can," Annabeth said. "Don't fight the drakon. Figure it out a way to break the cycle! Find another fate."

Damasen shook his head. "Even if I could, I cannot leave this swamp. It is the only destination I can picture."

Ariadne could see Annabeth's mind race. The brunette looked at the giant. "There is another destination. Look at us! Remember our faces. When you're ready, come find me. We'll take you to the mortal world with us. You can see the sunlight and stars."

The ground shook. The drakon was close now, stomping through the marsh, blasting trees and moss with its poison spray. Further away, Ariadne heard the voice of the giant Otis, urging his followers forward. "THE MADNESS GOD's DAUGHTER! SHE IS CLOSE!"

"Annie," Ariadne said urgently, "that's our cue to leave."

Damasen took something from his belt. In his massive hand, the white shard looked like another toothpick, but when he offered it to Annabeth she realized it was a sword—a blade of dragon bone, honed to a deadly edge, with a simple grip of leather.

"One last gift for the child of Athena," rumbled the giants. "I cannot have you waking to your death unarmed. Now, go! Before it is too late."

Annabeth wanted to sob. She took the sword, but she couldn't even make herself day thank you.

"We must leave," Bub urged as his kitten climbed onto his shoulder.

"He's right, Annie," Ariadne said.

They ran for the entrance. Annabeth didn't look back as she followed Ariadne and Bob into the swamp, but she heard Damasen behind them, shouting his battle cry at the advancing drakon, bus voice cracking with despair as he faced his old enemy yet again.

***

     SHE COULDN'T FOCUS. Ariadne felt her mind become preoccupied with ugh swirling thoughts and questions. Mainly, ones surrounding Bob and their new giant friend, Damasen.

"You said you want to greet the stars again," she began. "Which ones?"

Bob tilted his head, mimicking the kitten on his shoulder. "The swan. The bird of lakes."

Annabeth gripped Ariadne's hand. Her blonde curls fell over her grey eyes, storming irises and a curl of her mouth signifying her thoughts. "Why so?"

"Cygnus, the king, dove into a river to collect his friend's bones, day after day for proper burial. Devotion, possibly, but certainly love."

She supposed that was a proper reason.

Ariadne felt homesick for the swamp.

She never thought she'd miss sleeping in a giant's leather bed in a drakon-bone hut in a festering cesspool, but right now that sounded like Elysium.

Her and Annabeth and Bob stumbled along in the darkness, the air thick and cold, the ground alternation patches of pointy rocks and pools of muck. The terrain seemed to be designed so that Ariadne could never let her guard down. Even walking ten feet was exhausting.

Ariadne had started out from the giant's hut feeling strong again, her head clear, her belly full of drakon jerky from their packs of provisions. How her legs were sore. Every muscle aches. She pulled a makeshift tunic of drakon leather over her shredded t-shirt, but it did nothing to keep out the chill.

Her focus narrowed to the ground in front of her. Nothing existed except for that and Annabeth at her side.

Whenever she felt like giving up, plopping herself down, and dying (which was, like, every ten minutes), she reached over and took her hand, just to remember there was warmth in the world.

After Annabeth's talk with Damasen, Ariadne was worried about her. Annabeth didn't give in to despair easily, but as they walked she wiped tears from her eyes, trying not to let Ariadne see. She knew she hated it when her plans didn't work out. She was convinced they needed Damasen's help, but the giant has turned them down.

Part of Ariadne was relieved. She was concerned enough about Bob staying on their side once they reached the Doors of Death. She wasn't sure she wanted a giant as her wingman, even if that giant could cook a mean bowl of stew.

She wondered what had happened after they left Damasen's hut. She hadn't heard their pursuers in hours, but she could sense their hatred...especially Otis and Ephialtes's. The giants were back there somewhere, following, pushing them deeper into Tartarus.

Ariadne tried to think of good things to keep her spirits up—the lake at Camp Half-Blood, the time she'd kissed Percy underwater. She'd tried to imagine the two of them at New Rome together, walking through the hills and holding hands. And—oh, Gods...Percy.

But Camp Jupiter and Camp Half-Blood both seemed like dreams. She felt as if only Tartarus existed. This was the real world—death, darkness, cold, pain. She'd been imagining all of the rest.

She shivered. No. That was the pit speaking to him, sapping his resolve. She wondered how Nico had survived down there alone without going insane, as the daughter of Madness and Vines, it was a curiosity. That kid had more strength than Ariadne had given him credit for. The deeper they travelled, the harder it became to stay focused.

"This place is worse than the River Cocytus," she muttered.

"Yes," Bob called back happily. "Much worse! It means we are close."

Close to what? Ariadne wondered. But she didn't have the strength to ask. She noticed Small Bob the cat had hidden himself in Bob's coveralls again, which reinforced Ariadne's opinion that the kitten was the smartest one in their group.

Annabeth laced her fingers through hers. I'm the light of her golden-bronze sword, Ariadne's face was beautiful.

"We're together," Annabeth reminded her. "We'll get through this."

She's been so worried about lifting her spirits, and here she was reassuring her.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Piece of cake."

"But next time," Annabeth said, "Andrea and Percy better take us somewhere different on a date."

"Paris was nice," Ariadne recalled.

She managed a smile. Months ago, before Percy got amnesia, they'd had dinner in Paris one night, compliments of Hermes. That seemed like another lifetime. And Andrea had whisked Annabeth away on an architecture adventure, how the blonde reminisced thoughtfully.

"I'd settle for New Rome," Annabeth offered. "Percy had the idea. As long as Andrew and you are there with me."

Then 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 center, about twenty yards away, knelt the gruesome figure of a woman, her clothes tattered, her limbs evacuated, her skin leathery green. Her head bent as she sobbed quietly, and the sound shattered all Ariadne's hopes.

She realized that life was pointless. Her struggles were for nothing. This woman cried as if mourning the death of an entire world.

"We're here," Bob announced. "Akhlys can help."

If the sobbing ghoul was Bob's idea of help, Ariadne was sure she didn't want it.

Nevertheless, Bob trudged forward. Ariadne felt obliged to follow. If nothing else, this area was less dark—not exactly light, but more of a soupy white fog.

"Akhlys!" Bob called.

The creature raised her head, and Ariadne'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 hair was matted to her skull in greasy tufts, and her cheeks were raked and bleeding as if she'd been clawing herself.

Ariadne couldn't stand to meet her eyes, so she lowered her gaze. Across her knees lay an ancient shield—a bartered 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.

"That shield," Annabeth murmured. "That's his. I though 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 Ariadne's chest hurt. "As of Hercules knew true misery. It's not even a good likeness!"

Ariadne gulped. When she and her friends had encountered Hercules at the Straits of Gibraltar, it hadn't gone well. The exchange had involved a lot of yelling, death threats and high-velocity pineapples.

"What's his shield doing here," Ariadne asked.

The goddess stared at her 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, misters overtakes all of you. Even Hercules."

Ariadne inched closer to Annabeth. She tried to remember why they were here, but the sense of despair made it difficult to think. Hearing Akhlys speak, she no longer found it strange that she had clawed her cheeks. The goddess radiated pure pain.

"Bob," Ariadne said," we shouldn't have come her."

From somewhere inside Bob's uniform, the skeleton kitten jeweled 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 your."

Annabeth turned a blade of her drakon-bone sword, which Ariadne had to admit made her look pretty intimidating in a 'Barbarian Princess' kind of way. "So I guess your Death Mist is pretty useless, then," she said.

The goddess bared her broken yellow teeth. "Useless? Who are you?"

"A daughter of Athena." Annabeth's voice sounded brave—though how she did it, Ariadne didn't know. "I didn't 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 gnarled fingernails dig 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—"

"Yes, yes," Ariadne said. "Sadness and misery, blah blah blah. But you still don't have enough power to hide two demigods with your Death Mist. Like I said: useless."

Annabeth smiled under her hair. "Ariadne is right! Bob brought us all the way because he thought you could help. But I guess you're too just staring at that shield and crying. I cant blame you. It looks just like you."

Akhlys wailed and glared at the Titan. "Why did you inflict Al these annoying children on me?"

Bob made a sound somewhere between a rumbled 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," Ariadne 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 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. Ariadne's head swam.

"Nightshade," Akhlys offered. "Hemlock. Belladonna, henbane of strychnine. I can dissolve your innards, boil your blood."

"That's very nice of you," Ariadne said. "But I've had enough poison for one trip. Now, can you hide us in your Death Mist, or not?"

"Yeah, it'll be fun," Annabeth said.

The goddess's eyes narrowed. "Fun?"

"Sure," Annabeth 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," Ariadne 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."

Akhlys considered. "I enjoy suffering. Wailing is also good."

"Then it's settled," Ariadne 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 them. The world will fade."

Ariadne's mouth felt dry. "Okay. But...we'll be shrouded from the monsters?"

"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?" Annabeth asked.

The goddess was already shuffling into the gloom.

Ariadne turned to look at Bob, but the Titan was gone. How does a ten-foot-tall silver dude with a very loud kitten disappear?

"Hey!" Ariadne yelled to Akhlys. "Where's our friend?"

"He cannot take this path," the goddess called back. "He is not mortal. Come, little fools. Come experience the Death Mist."

Annabeth exhaled and grabbed his hand. "We'll...how bad can it be?"

The question was so ridiculous Ariadne laughed, even though it hurt his lungs. "Yeah. Next date, though—dinner in New Rome."

They followed the goddess's dusty footprints through the poison flowers, deeper into the fog.

Ariadne missed Bob.

She'd got used to having the Titan on her side, lighting their way with his silver hair and his fearsome war broom.

Now their only guide was an emancipated corpse lady with serious self-esteem issues.

As they struggled across the dusty plain, the fog became so thick that Ariadne had to resist the urge to swat it away with her hands. The only reason she was able to follow Akhlys path was because poisonous plants sprang up wherever she walked.

If they were still on the body of Tartarus, Ariadne figured they must be on the bottom of his foot—a rough, calloused expanse where only the most disgusting plant life grew.

Finally they arrived at the end of the big toe. At least that's what it looked like to Ariadne. The fog dissipated, and they found themselves on a peninsula that jutted out over a pitch-black void.

"Here we are." Akhlys turned and leered at them. Blood from her cheeks dropped on her dress. Her sickly eyes looked moist and swollen but somehow excited. Can Misery look excited?

"Uh...great," Ariadne asked. "Where is here?"

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

Annabeth inched forward and peered over the cliff. "I thought there was nothing below Tartarus."

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

Ariadne knew what she meant. The void seemed to be pulling at her, leaching the breath from her lungs and the oxygen from her blood. She looked at Annabeth and saw that her lips were tinged blue.

"We can't stay here," she said.

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

White smoke gathered around Ariadne's feet. As it cooled yo her legs, she realized the smoke wasn't surrounding her. It was coming from her. Her whole body was dissolving. She held up her hands and found they were fuzzy and indistinct. She couldn't even tell how many fingers she had. Hopefully still ten.

She turned to Annabeth and stifled a Yelp. "You're—uh—"

She couldn't say it. She looked dead.

Her skin was sallow, her eye sockets dark and sunken. Her beautiful hair had dried into a skein of cobwebs. She looked like she'd been stuck in a cool, dark mausoleum for decades, slowly withering j to a desiccated husk. When she turned to look at her, her features momentarily blurred into mist.

Ariadne's blood moved like sap in her veins.

For years, the taller girl worried about Annabeth dying—her sister. When you're a demigod, that goes with the territory. Most half-bloods don't live long. You always knew that the next monster you fought could be your last. But seeing Annabeth like this was too painful. She'd rather stand in the River Phlegethon, or get attacked by arai, or be trampled by giants.

"Oh, gods," Annabeth sobbed. "Ari, the way you look..."

Ariadne studied her arms. All she saw were blobs of white mist, but she guessed that to Annabeth she looked like a corpse. Despite this, no one could doubt Ariadne was still one of the most beautiful creatures in hell and the heavens.

"I've looked better," she decided. "I can't move very well. But I'm all right."

Akhlys clicked. "Oh, you're definitely not all right."

Ariadne frowned. "But we'll pass unseen now? We can get to the Doors of Death?"

"Well perhaps you could," the goddess said, "if you lived that long, which you won't."

Akhlys spread her gnarled fingers. More plants bloomed along the edge of the pit—hemlock, nightshade and oleander spreading towards Ariadne's feet like a deadly carpet. "The Death Mist is not simply a disguise, YIY see. It is a state of being. I could not bring you this gift unless death followed—true death."

"It's a trap," Annabeth said.

The goddess cackled. "Didn't you expect me to betray?"

"Yes," Annabeth and Ariadne said together.

"We'll, then, it was hardly a trap! More of an inevitability. Misery is inevitable. Pain is—"

"Yeah, alright, lady," Ariadne growled. "Let's get to fighting."

She drew her sword, but the blade was made of smoke. When she slashed at Akira, the sword just floated across her like a gentle breeze.

The goddess's ruined mouth split into a grin. "Didn't forget to mention? You are only mist now—a shadow before death. Perhaps if you had time, you could learn to control your new form. But you do not have time. Since you cannot touch me, I fear any fight with Misery will be quite one-sided."

Her fingernails grew into talons. Her jaw unhinged, and her yellow teeth elongated into fangs.

Akhlys lunged at Ariadne, and for a split second she had a Percy thought: Well, hey, I'm just smoke. She can't touch me, right?

She imagined the Fates up in Olympus, knowing which string she cut after the Titan War.

The goddess's claws raked across her chest and stung like boiling water.

Ariadne stumbled backwards, but she wasn't used to being smoky. Her legs moved too slowly. Her arms felt like tissue paper. In desperation, she threw her backpack at her, thinking maybe it would turn solid when it left his hand, but no such luck. It fell with a soft thud.

Akhlys snarled, crouching to spring. She would have bitten Ariadne's face off if Annabeth hadn't charged and screamed HEY! right in the goddess's ear.

Akhlys flinched, turning towards the sound.

She lashed out at Annabeth, but Annabeth was better at moving than Ariadne. Maybe she wasn't feeling as smoky, or maybe she'd just been so used to fighting invisible in her Yankees' cap.

Annabeth dived straight between the goddess's legs and somersaulted to her feet. Akhlys turned and attacked, but Annabeth dodged again, like a matador.

Ariadne was so stunned she lost a few precious seconds. She started at corpse Annabeth, shrouded in mist but moving as fast and confidently as ever. Then it occurred to her why she was doing this: to buy them some time. Which meant Ariadne needed to help.

She thought furiously, trying to come up with a way to defeat Misery. How could she fight when she couldn't touch anything?

On Akhlys's third attack, Annabeth wasn't so lucky. She tried to get aside, but the goddess grabbed Annabeth's wrist and pulled her hard, sending her sprawling.

Before the goddess could pounce, Ariadne advanced, yelling and waving her sword. She still felt about as soldi as a Kleenex, but her anger seemed to help her move faster.

"Hey, Happy!" she yelled.

Akhlys spun, dropping Annabeth's arm. "Happy?" she demanded.

"Yeah!" She ducked as she swiped at her head. "You're downright cheerful!"

"Arggh!" She lunged again, but she was off-balance. Ariadne sidestepped and backed away, leading the goddess further from Annabeth.

"Joyous!" she called. "Delightful!"

The goddess snarled and winced. She stumbled after Ariadne. Each compliment seemed to hit her like sand in the face.

"I will kill you slowly!" she growled, her eyes and nose watering, blood dripping from her cheeks. "I will cut you into pieces as a sacrifice to Night!"

Annabeth struggled to her feet. She started rifling through her pack, no doubt looking for something that might help.

Ariadne wanted to give her more time. She was the brains. Better for her to get attacked while she came up with a brilliant plan.

"Cuddly!" Ariadne yelled. "Fuzzy, warm and huggable!"

Akhlys made a growling, choking noise, like a cat having a seizure.

"A slow death!" she screamed. "A death from a thousand poisons!"

All around her, poisonous plants grew and burst like overfilled balloons. Green-and-white sap trickled out, collecting into pools, and began flowing across the ground towards Ariadne. The sweet-smelling fumes made her head feel wobbly.

"Ari!" Annabeth's voice sounded far away. "Uh, hey, Miss Wonderful! Cheerful! Grins! Over here!"

But the goddess of misery was now fixated on Ariadne. She tried to retreat again. Unfortunately the poison ichor was flowing all around her, making the ground steam and the air burn. Ariadne found herself stuck on an island of dust not much bigger than a shield. A few yards away, her backpack smoked and dissolved into a puddle of goo. Ariadne had nowhere to go.

She fell to one knee. She wanted to tell Annabeth to run, but she couldn't speak. Her throat was as dry as dead leaves.

She wished she could grow vines in Tartarus—some nice soil she could feel through her fingers, a cool feeling in he roams. She'd settle for a potted plant.

"You will feed the eternal darkness," Akhlys said. "You will die in the arms of Night!"

She was dimly aware of Annabeth shouting, throwing random pieces of drakon jerky at the goddess. The white-green poison kept pooping, little streams trickling from the plants as the venomous lake around him got wider and wider.

Lake, she thought. Streams. Water.

Probably it was just her brain getting from from poison fumes, but she croaked out a laugh. Poison was liquid. If it moved like water, it must be partially water—and re could recall exactly what she did on Geryon's ranch in the labyrinth.

It was a crazy idea. Dionysus was the god of wine and madness, but who knew if that applied to the gods and goddesses.

Then again, Tartarus had its own rules. Fire was drinkable. The ground was the body of a dark gif. The air was acid, and demigods could turn into smoky corpses.

So why not try? She had nothing left to lose.

She glared at Misery who was controlling the poison encroaching from all sides. She concentrated so hard that something inside her cracked more than she already was—as if a crystal ball had shattered in her stomach.

Warmth flowed through her. The poison tide stopped.

The fumes blew away from him—back towards the goddess. A lake of poison rolled towards her in tiny waves and rivulets.

Akhlys shrieked. "What is this!"

"Poison," Ariadne said. "That's your specialty, right? Mine's madness—even for goddesses."

She stood, her hand twitching as Misery's jerked. Her arm lifted high, in an uncomfortable contortion of skin and bones as the poison flowed toward her, bloody cheeks and tears turning to the intoxicating wine her father was known for. As a flood of venom rolled towards the goddess, her eyes glazed and shined with amethyst.

Ariadne imagined her skull splitting and her body dissolving from the inside out.

Akhlys gagged. "I—" the tide of venom reached her feet, sizzling like droplets on a hot iron she wailed and stumbled back.

"Ari!" Annabeth called.

She's retreated to the edge of the cliff, even though poison wasn't after her. She sounded terrified. It took Ariadne a moment to realize she was terrified of her.

A small part in the brunette's mind resolved with content. Good, she thought, they should be scared of me.

"Stop..." Annabeth pleaded, her voice hoarse.

She didn't want to stop. She wanted to rip this goddess from the inside out. She wanted to watch her flail in her own poison. She wanted to see how much misery Misery could take.

"Ariadne, please..." Annabeth's face was still pale and corpse-like, but her eyes were the same as always. The anguish in them made Ariadne's skin crawl.

She turned to the goddess. She willed the control on her mind to recede and movement back into Akhlys, creating a small path of retreat along the edge of the cliff.

"Leave!" she bellowed.

For an emaciated ghoul, Akhlys could run pretty fast when she wanted to. She scrambled along the path, fell on her face and got up again? Wailing as she sped into the dark.

As soon as she was gone, the pools of poison evaporated. The plants withered to dust and blew away.

Annabeth stumbled towards her. She looked like a corpse wreathed in smoke, but she felt solid enough when she gripped her arms.

"Ari, please don't ever..." Her voice broke into a sob. "Some things aren't meant to be controlled. Please."

Her whole body tingled with power, but the anger fizzled under her ribs, homing instead in the cage surrounding her heart. The broken glass inside her was swept up into a crevice in her mind.

"Okay," she said softly. "Got it."

"We have to get away from this cliff," Annabeth said. "If Akhlys brough us Here as some kind of sacrifice..."

Ariadne tried to think. She was getting used to moving with the Death Mist around her. She felt more solid, more like herself. But her mind still felt stuffed with cotton wool.

"She said something about feeding us to the night," she remembered. "What was that about?"

The temperature dropped. The abyss before them seemed to exhale.

Ariadne grabbed Annabeth and backed away from the edge as a presence emerged from the void—a form so vast and the shadowy she felt like she 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."

Ariadne felt the crystal ball inside her gift cut her lungs to shreds. She could still hear Akhlys's wails in the hood ringing in her head like an echo on high.

Misery understood what misery finally was, and the fates knew they didn't cut the string they originally thought. A goddess born in a mortal body—throwing the balance off and the scale destroyed.

authors note:

It's been too long! Happy October! I'm being Shego for Halloween how fun!

Senior year is kicking my ass but it's been fun, and I'm sorry for the delays!

Let me know what you think! How much did you like the chapter and what was your favorite part?

Q: What are you being for Halloween and your plans?

A: I'm going as Shego and my friend as Kim Possible. We're going to a party and trick-or-treating!

Love you guys!