The House of Hades

WHAT IS THIS? THE GOD OF THE PIT HISSED. Why have you come, my disgraced son?

Damasen glanced at 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. 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’s 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’s voice threatened to break. She hated herself for letting Bob do this, but she knew it was the only way. “We have to.”

“We can’t just leave them!”

“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 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 sidestepped, impaling his javelin in the side of Tartarus’s 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, his eyes pleading. “He’ll destroy you permanently. No coming back. No regeneration.”

Bob shrugged. “Who knows what will be? You must go now. Tartarus is right about one thing. We cannot defeat him. We can only buy you time.”

The Doors tried to close on Annabeth’s foot.

“Twelve minutes,” said the Titan. “I can give you that.”

“Percy…hold the Doors.” Annabeth jumped and threw her arms around the Titan’s neck. She kissed his cheek, her eyes so full of tears, she couldn’t see straight. Bob’s stubbly face smelled of cleaning supplies—fresh lemony furniture polish and Murphy Oil wood soap.

“Monsters are eternal,” she told him, trying to keep herself from 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 her 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. She dragged him into the elevator car. She had one last glimpse of the Maeonian drakon shaking an ogre like a sock puppet, Damasen jabbing at Tartarus’s legs.

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

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

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

The panels slid shut.