Chapter 17: The Edge of Tartarus
When they got off Charon's boat and stood on the shore, the full weight of the Underworld descended on them. The air felt thick, burdened with something wrong. It wasn't heat or cold—it was the feeling of being watched, the feeling of being judged by something ancient and indifferent, like the world itself was staring back at them. The ground under Percy's feet was rough, blackened stone, cracked and dry as if it had never been alive. Ridges and jagged formations arose from the land, like broken bones, and tall shadows stretched far, twisted in strange ways in the dim, flickering light with no apparent source.
The Underworld extended as far as the eye could see—far larger than Percy was expecting. He'd imagined one huge cavern, but it appeared it stretched on in every direction as far as he could see. Above them, the sky—or whatever served as a sky—was an endless shifting void of grey and black, swirling like the contents of a turbulent storm cloud that never broke. He heard cries, echoing in the dark, caught in the persistent wind of some unknown origin that never came close enough to brush his skin.
In the distance, Percy could see different parts of the Underworld laid out like an ugly eternal map. On the left was the Fields of Asphodel, stretching out into eternity, and packed with millions of souls.
They walked purposelessly, whispering to themselves and murmuring, with dull and lifeless expressions, as if they had forgotten long ago who they were. The field was desolate and devoid of anything living. The grey grass, which was lifeless, started to shake suddenly without the wind. The monotony of it made Percy shudder.
Beyond the field, hazy and barely visible were the gates to Elysium; unlike the rest of the Underworld, Elysium had a softly glowing warm light that spilt over an expanse of golden fields in the sunshine. Percy could almost hear laughter in the air and music on the warm air's breeze; those haunted echoes dimmed as they floated beyond earshot. That was the ultimate prize reserved for the true heroes who distinguished themselves from the others.
And driving home that thought, just over to the right, was distinctly worse. In the distance, the Fields of Punishment burned. The hellscape of punishment seemed endless. Percy could see enormous pits and an entire life of souls forced into perpetual labour against whips of fire. He saw humongous boulders rolling down cliffs as souls struggled to push them up; rivers of lava carved through the land as they engorged souls screamed lamenting from their depths, shadows moved around them in the fires, monsters birthed from the wrath of the gods.
And beyond all of it was Tartarus.
Percy couldn't see it plainly, but he could sense it, a wide chasm at the edge of everything. It was vast and primordial, like something struggling to escape. The air around it was mesmerizing, twisting unnaturally, and although it was still quite a way off, he was conscious of that chasm wrapping around his bones.
The sight of it drew something tight in his chest.
Something that purred.
That beckoned.
A heavy hand grasped his wrist.
"Percy," Annabeth said sharply.
Percy blinked, his hand had crept forward, taking a step toward the chasm, almost without conscious thought. His breathing was fast and ragged, cold sweat slicked his skin. Annabeth's grip was firm, her cool grey eyes were fixed on him with open worry.
"Don't," she said. "Don't look that way for too long."
Percy nodded stiffly and forced himself to look away.
"Come on," Grover dumped. His voice wavered. "Let's—let's get this over with."
The gates stood ahead of them, tall and unnaturally black. Beyond them was the entrance to the Underworld, flanked by twisted obsidian pillars that jutted out jaggedly toward him in a cruel way. They pulsed gently as if they were alive. And in between the pillars lay their final obstacle-
Cerberus.
The three-headed dog of the Underworld.
And gods, he was bigger than Percy had imagined.
He had thought it would be big, sure, but Cerberus was huge—towering over them like a waking nightmare, his black, shaggy fur rippling like a liquid shadow, absorbing all the light around him. Each of his three heads was the size of a minivan, each one of them looking down with burning red eyes filled with a strange kind of hunger. His teeth, as long as swords, gleamed in the dim light, and thick ropes of saliva dripped down to the ground sizzling where they landed.
He released a low growl that reverberated the air around them, shaking Percy's bones.
Percy tightened his grip on Riptide. He had fought monsters before, sure, but this? This was something else entirely. This was not just a monster—this was a force. The will of the Underworld made flesh.
With its low growl, Cerberus let Percy and Annabth know there would not be an immediate attack, but rather a test. Cerberus was waiting, watching and considering. Percy fought off the urge to move. If Cerberus wanted to kill them, he could do it effortlessly. If Percy attacked him, there was no way Percy would win.
Annabeth exhaled nervously, her fingers clutching the straps of her backpack, "We need to get past him."
"Anyone got a twenty-foot dog bone?" Grover mumbled.
A rumbling sound was emitted by the cavern and the stone floor beneath their feet trembled. Annabeth quickly stepped in front of the creature.
"Sit!" she commanded, loudly and authoritatively. The middle head turned to her.
"Good boy," she said,
"You like games, right?"
She retrieved a bright red rubber ball from her backpack. Cerebrus' reaction to this event was instantaneous: he sat up, tail wagging, ears up. Annabeth threw the ball, and for a moment, Cerberus hesitated. Then he lunged at the ball, snapping with all three heads.
Percy seized Annabeth's arm, "We need to go!"
They dashed past the dog as he eyed the ball and dove through the gates, just as he sensed something was not right. An enraged growl erupted through the room, but it was too late; they had made it inside.
–
They progressed cautiously through the Underworld, the air becoming colder the further they travelled. There was an unrelenting darkness that seemed to border on them, murmuring in a voice just beyond the threshold of hearing. The land began to slope downward, gradually at first, then more steeply the closer they came to their destination. Shadows dashed across the jagged stone walls cast by flickering torchlight, flames of an unnatural green hue. The air was thick with the scent of decay and something metal-like, something akin to old blood.
Percy's hold on Riptide became even tighter. He could feel it, something lurking. The Underworld had been oppressive previously, but this was different. This was...wrong.
And then Grover yelled.
Percy turned just in time to see his friend being dragged backwards.
Grover's winged shoes, which had been silent for much of the journey, suddenly kicked into life, flapping madly and pulling him, unknowingly, toward the edge of something--a pit, so dark it swallowed all other light around them.
"The shoes!" Grover yelled, kicking violently.
"They won't stop!"
Percy lunged forward, grabbing Grover's arms at the edge. Annabeth did so at the same time, taking hold of Grover's waist while they pulled with all their might.
But the shoes wouldn't stop.
They beat at the ground as if they were in a desperate attempt to pull Grover up and away-- the magic working behind them was a powerful force.
Grover's hooves scraped along the ground and through the black stone, carving deep grooves as he thrashed against the pull beneath them.
Percy's eyes flicked past Grover—toward the pit.
And, in that moment, suddenly, he understood. This wasn't a shape. This wasn't just some unremarkable gash in the Underworld.
This was Tartarus.
The realization sent ice-cold tendrils of fear spreading through the shout of the space behind his ribs. Everything about it was massive. There was a void in the ground that went on forever down into Nothing, something alive, swirling and writhing. Its arms of nothingness extended upward, outward. The edges were broken, jagged stone toward the bottom of the void, - - it was as if the ground just tried to pull away from it. And then the sound, or the lack thereof, of air above the pit sounded like silent missing air, almost as if the world just pretended it wasn't there. Yet, even within that silence,
Percy thought he heard something distant—like an ancient, slow, steady vibration in stone, like a heartbeat. The closer he got, the worse the pull back to the ground, not just physically there was something deeper that was resonating within him, like a response, something inside of him.
Percy gritted his teeth and pulled even harder on Grover. The satyr's eyes were wide with fear, his legs thrashing in panic as the evil shoes continued to drag him towards the chasm.
"Take them off!" Annabeth yelled.
"I'm trying!" Grover shouted furiously back, fumbling with the laces. Of course, the shoes were fighting him.
The tighter he pulled, the tighter the shoes held on. Percy's arms were burning with the effort, his feet sliding across the dirt beneath him. He dug in, planting his feet as best he could, but it only slowed Grover down a little.
This pull was stronger. Too strong. Then— Riiiiiiip. The shoes ripped clean off Grover's feet. The enchanted sneakers flapped about for a moment and then dropped down into the pit. The moment they crossed the threshold, they disappeared into darkness. No noise.They were… just gone. Percy barely had time to register the horror of it before Grover collapsed against him, out of breath.
Annabeth was right there, gripping his arm, her face pallid.
The three faced the pit, still way too close for comfort.
It was still hungry.
Waiting.
Watching.
Percy swallowed hard. His heart thumped in his ears.
Grover groaned, rubbing his hooves. "That was...not fun."
Annabeth shot him a look. "You almost fell into Tartarus!" Grover shook his head, shuddering. "You don't have to remind me." Percy made himself breathe slow and steady. He looked back at the pit and forced himself to look away. His hands curled into fists again.
For just a second, he felt something, something deep in his soul, so he tugged toward the pit. Not fear. Not dread. Something...familiar. Like the whisper of darkness curling around his mind.
Percy Jackson.
His blood ran cold.
He heard it.
He knew it. The others were not disturbed. They did not hear it. Percy forced himself to look at the pit, gritting his teeth. "Let's go," he said sternly. He did not look back as they sped off. But, he felt it. The weight of something waiting to happen.
—
End of Chapter 17
Author's Note: Well, now they venture deeper into the Underworld. I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. Thoughts?
On a side note, I recently started reading Jeffrey Archer's Clifton Chronicles and I am hooked.