ЩΣ MЦƧƬ DӨ ЩΉΛƬ IƬ ƬΛKΣƧ ƬӨ ƧЦЯVIVΣ

by Pink_m1lk

Summary:

Percy travels through Tartarus, looking for annabeth constantly worried, constantly fearful, maybe even abit hungry but mostly wondering:

Where did annabeth go?

Chapter 1: Solitude isn't...great in Tartarus

Summary:

Percy travels through Tartarus, looking for annabeth constantly worried, constantly fearful, maybe even abit hungry but mostly wondering:

Where did annabeth go?

Notes:

Sacrificed my sleep for this chapter.

Percy’s legs felt like they were made of stone. Every step was heavier than the last, his body screaming for rest. His muscles ached, his wounds throbbed, and the burn of exhaustion weighed down on him like a mountain pressing against his back. The fight with Akhlys had drained him more than he realized—his energy sapped from wielding poison, from pushing himself too hard, too fast.

And now he was starting to feel it.

His stomach twisted with hunger, a sharp reminder that he hadn’t eaten in what felt like ages. Not that Tartarus had much to offer in terms of food. He tried not to think about that. He tried not to think about how much weaker he was getting with every passing hour.

But more than anything, he tried not to think about Annabeth.

He hoped she was okay. That she wasn’t hurt. That she hadn’t been taken. She had to be somewhere. She had to. He couldn’t let himself consider any other possibility.

Just as he was forcing himself to keep moving, his foot snagged on something—something thick and gnarled, jutting out from the twisted landscape. A root.

Before he could catch himself, his body pitched forward.

The fall was quick but rough. The jagged ground tore into his skin, scraping his arms and hands as he crashed against it. A sharp pain shot up his knee where it slammed into a particularly nasty rock.

"Dammit.." he muttered through clenched teeth.

For a long moment, he just lay there, his body aching, his breath uneven.

Maybe…maybe a small break wasn’t the worst idea.

Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself up, wincing as he examined the fresh scrapes on his arms. Small cuts, nothing serious, but they stung against the filth of Tartarus. Not that it mattered. Pain was just a constant at this point.

Shaking his head, he glanced around. If he was going to rest, he needed to find a spot that was at least somewhat stable. His gaze landed on a massive dead tree, its skeletal branches stretching toward the blood-red sky like clawed fingers.

It looked sturdy enough. More importantly, it was hollowed out, creating a space big enough for him to fit inside.

Good enough.

Dragging himself toward it, he settled inside the dark cavity of the tree, pressing his back against the rough bark. He let out a slow, unsteady breath, forcing himself to relax.

Just for a little while. Just long enough to catch his breath.

Then he’d get back up.

Then he’d keep looking.

He had to.

He couldn't stay in Tartarus, he had friends and family who needed them!

Percy lay inside the hollow of the dead tree, his back pressed against its rough, splintered bark. The air was thick, heavy, suffocating like it always was in Tartarus, but for now, he had shelter—if only barely. His body ached, exhaustion seeping into his bones, but his mind refused to quiet down.

His fingers absently fiddled with Riptide in his pocket, the familiar weight of the pen grounding him. The cool metal rolled between his fingertips, the cap clicking softly as he twisted it open and closed, over and over again. It was a small comfort, a distraction from the gnawing hunger in his gut and the deeper, more dangerous thoughts lurking at the edges of his mind.

Annabeth.

Where was she? Was she safe? Had something taken her-

No. He couldn’t let himself think that way. She was too smart, too strong to let something drag her away without a fight. If something had tried, he would’ve heard it.

So why hadn’t he?

The doubt slithered back into his thoughts, cold and insidious. 'You didn’t hear anything, because maybe… there was nothing to hear.'

She doesn't want you anymore..

Percy clenched his jaw and shook his head, pushing the thought away. He was tired. That was all. Tartarus was messing with his head.

He needed rest.

With a slow, deep breath, he curled in slightly, letting the weight of exhaustion pull him down. The hollow tree wasn’t comfortable—not by a long shot—but it was something. He let his eyes slip shut, telling himself he’d just rest for a moment. Just a quick nap.

Then he’d go out and find Annabeth.

Percy drifted between sleep and wakefulness, his mind teetering on the edge of rest but never quite falling into it. The air inside the hollow tree was thick, suffocating, filled with the scent of rot and something deeper, something old. It wrapped around him, curling into his lungs like a ghost.

His fingers still brushed against Riptide in his pocket, an unconscious habit, as if the feel of the pen could anchor him to something real. Something normal.

But nothing about Tartarus was normal.

And his dreams were worse.

Shadows swirled behind his closed eyelids. He saw flashes of Annabeth—her stormy gray eyes wide with something he couldn’t place. Fear? Disgust? Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. She was reaching for him, but every time he tried to move, she slipped further away.

Then the dream shifted.

Poison dripped from his fingers, pooling at his feet, seeping into the cracks of the ground like black ink. He felt it inside him, in his veins, in his bones. The power he had wielded against akhlys, the way it had felt—right. The way it had made him strong.

Annabeth was still there, standing at a distance now, watching him. But she wasn’t reaching for him anymore.

She was stepping back.

“No,” Percy mumbled, shifting against the rough bark, his body twitching in protest. “No, I—Annabeth, wait—”

Her expression twisted, something unreadable in her eyes, and then—

She turned away.

The hollow emptiness that followed was worse than the nightmare itself.

Percy jolted awake with a sharp inhale, his body tensed, sweat clinging to his skin despite the unnatural cold of Tartarus. His heart pounded against his ribs, his breaths shallow and uneven.

He sat up, rubbing a hand over his face, trying to shake off the lingering weight of the dream.

It wasn’t real.

You're too dangerous..

It wasn’t real.

Annabeth hadn’t left him.

Right?

Not in Tartarus of all places, there was no way.

Swallowing hard, Percy forced himself to his feet, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the wake of the unsettling dream. He needed to move. He needed to find her, because the alternative—the idea that she had left him—was something he wasn’t ready to face.

Percy stood there, his breath still uneven, his pulse hammering in his ears. The dream clung to him, the image of Annabeth stepping away burned into his mind like an afterimage from staring at the sun too long.

Why had she left?

Had something happened?

Was it him?

His jaw clenched as the question took root. He didn’t want to believe it. He refused to believe it. Annabeth wouldn’t just leave him. Not here. Not like this. But in the back of his mind, something gnawed at him, something cold and uncertain.

Maybe it was because of what he had done.

His hands curled into fists at his sides as he thought back to Akhlys. The way the poison had bent to his will, the way he had wanted to see how much she could take. He had never felt anything like it before—never felt that kind of raw, unfiltered power coursing through him. It had scared him.

But not in the moment.

No, in the moment, it had felt…good.

Had Annabeth seen that? Had she looked at him and seen something different?

Something wrong?

Something's...wrong with you..

Percy exhaled sharply, shaking his head. He was thinking in circles, chasing shadows that might not even be real. He needed to focus. He needed to find her.

But before he could do that, he needed to take care of himself.

His mom's voice echoed in his mind, soft but firm, the way it always was when she was worried about him. "Percy, you have to take care of yourself, too. You can't help anyone if you're falling apart."

He glanced down at himself, really taking in his state for the first time since he had collapsed inside the tree. His clothes were torn, stained with dirt, sweat, and blood—some of it his, some of it not. His arms were littered with scrapes from his fall, and his knee ached from where it had slammed into the rough ground.

Yeah. He was a mess.

And if his mom saw him like this, she'd be worried sick.

A small, tired smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Even in the depths of Tartarus, he still didn’t want to worry his mom.

With a heavy sigh, he ran a hand through his tangled hair, straightened his shoulders, and forced his body to keep moving. He could rest when he was out of here. When he had found Annabeth.

Until then, he just had to keep going.

 

Notes:

Poor bby, I'm the one writing and I feel bad ngl

Short chapter though..I'm at school rn (college) and I'm writing when Its break time. I'll start another chapter next break cause by then we start wrapping things up in class and get ready to leave, assuming I have no homework, I will make a longer chapter.

Chapter 2: Days go by...

Percy’s stomach growled louder than usual, an uncomfortable reminder of just how long it had been since he’d eaten anything substantial. His mouth felt dry, like it had been coated in dust, and he could feel the faint sting of thirst creeping up his throat. Tartarus wasn’t exactly known for its abundance of fresh water, and the last thing he wanted to do was drink from one of the cursed rivers.

As if to punctuate the discomfort, a low growl rumbled from his stomach, and he winced, pressing a hand against it.

"I know, I know," he muttered to himself. "Not ideal. But I’ll find something soon. Just keep moving."

Hunger is so heavy..

But then, he heard it.

A rustling.

A soft, shuffling sound, like something moving through the dead underbrush. It was quick and almost hesitant, like whatever it was didn’t want to be seen.

Percy froze, his senses on high alert. He wasn’t in great shape. If he had to fight, he wasn’t sure he could win.

Stay calm. Stay alert. Don’t panic.

Instinctively, his fingers curled around the familiar weight of Riptide in his pocket. With a practiced flick of his wrist, the pen transformed into its gleaming celestial bronze form, the hilt cold in his hand as he held it at the ready.

His heart pounded in his chest as his eyes darted around the hollow tree, scanning for any movement.

The sound came closer. He couldn’t quite make out what it was, but it was definitely coming from the direction of the brush. His grip tightened on Riptide, his breath shallow and controlled.

Then, with a sudden burst, a small, furry figure burst out from the shadows.

Percy’s eyes widened in surprise.

It was Small Bob—the baby sabertooth tiger cub, chewing on what appeared to be a large broomstick. The stick was too big for him, but he seemed determined to gnaw on it anyway, his tiny teeth scraping against the wood with a playful snarl.

Percy blinked.

"Small Bob?" he whispered, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite himself. He couldn’t help it. The cub’s goofy, innocent nature was a small light in the otherwise terrifying dark.

..friend..?

The cub paused in his chewing and looked up at Percy with wide, amber eyes, his little tail wagging in excitement. He gave an excited little growl, more playful than threatening.

Percy let out a relieved laugh, lowering his sword. "Well, you’re not exactly who or what I expected."

The cub trotted over, nudging Percy’s leg with his head as if expecting attention.

That’s when it hit him.

"Wait." Percy’s brow furrowed as he looked around. "Bob—Bob’s nearby, isn’t he?"

He couldn’t shake the feeling that Small Bob wasn’t just here by accident. There had to be a reason the little cub was here, and that reason might have something to do with Annabeth. Maybe Bob had seen her. Maybe he had sent his cub to search for Percy.

Percy crouched down, gently placing a hand on the cub’s furry head. "Have you seen Annabeth, little guy? Or...maybe Bob sent you to look for me?"

The cub didn’t answer, of course—he couldn’t talk. But he tilted his head curiously, his tongue lolling out as he looked up at Percy with unknowing eyes.

But then Percy felt something else—a fleeting sense of hope. Maybe Bob had seen Annabeth. Maybe he’d sent Small Bob out to find Percy in the chaotic mess of Tartarus.

He couldn’t be sure, but the thought kept him moving forward.

With one last glance at the cub, Percy straightened up, looking around more carefully. "Alright, little buddy. If Bob’s near, we’ll find him. And maybe, just maybe, we’ll find Annabeth, too."

He wasn’t sure how, but the thought of Bob being close brought a renewed sense of urgency. Annabeth wasn’t far. She couldn’t be. And he was one step closer to finding her.

Percy barely had time to react before Small Bob scrambled up his leg, tiny claws pricking through his already torn pants.

"Hey—woah, little guy, slow down!" Percy winced as the cub’s sharp claws dug into his shoulder next, tiny but sharp enough to sting as they scraped against his skin. The little sabertooth was determined, though, his stubby tail flicking with excitement as he climbed higher, using Percy’s shoulder as a launchpad to perch right on top of his head.

"Ow—okay, seriously dude?" Percy muttered, wincing as Small Bob adjusted himself, his little claws barely breaking the skin. The cub let out a satisfied chuff, his warm fur tickling Percy’s forehead as he settled in like he belonged there.

Percy sighed, carefully reaching up to steady the little guy. "You’re way too comfortable up there, you know that?"

In response, Small Bob wagged his tail, his purr vibrating through Percy’s skull. Great. Now he had a sabertooth hat.

Shaking his head but unable to hide his smirk, Percy glanced down and picked up the battered broomstick that Small Bob had been chewing on earlier. The wood was old and rough, but it was solid. He tested its weight in his hand before pressing it against the ground and leaning forward slightly.

It wasn’t perfect, but it would work as a makeshift cane. His body still ached, every step making his muscles scream, but with the added support, walking didn’t feel quite as terrible.

With Riptide still gripped in his other hand, he pressed on, his tired eyes scanning the twisted landscape of Tartarus. And now, at least, he didn’t have to do it alone.

Percy trudged forward, his grip tight on both Riptide and the battered broomstick he was using as a makeshift cane. Every step was a reminder of how beat-up he was—his body ached, his stomach twisted with hunger, and thirst burned the back of his throat. But he kept moving. He had to.

On top of his head, Small Bob shifted, his little claws kneading into Percy’s scalp.

Percy hissed. "Ow—hey, watch the claws, buddy!"

The cub gave a contented little purr, completely ignoring him as he continued kneading, his stubby tail flicking every so often.

Percy exhaled through his nose, resisting the urge to pluck the little guy off his head. It wasn’t that bad. Just...mildly painful. Like getting poked with tiny needles over and over again.

"You know," Percy muttered as he carefully stepped over a cracked section of the ground, "if this place had some kind of Tartarus-style massage, this might be it."

Small Bob responded by kneading a little harder.

Percy winced. "Alright, alright—message received." He shifted the broomstick-cane in his grip, using it to steady himself as he pressed on through the ever-changing landscape.

The air around him was thick and suffocating, carrying the distant sounds of something wrong—whispers that didn’t belong to any living thing, the distant echoes of creatures lurking just out of sight. But he didn’t focus on that.

He focused on the path ahead.

Not alone...with companion..

Percy had been walking for what felt like forever, his feet dragging as exhaustion gnawed at him. His body still hurt, his hunger and thirst were getting worse, and he still hadn’t seen any sign of Annabeth or Bob. The endless, shifting landscape of Tartarus wasn’t helping.

He gritted his teeth and pressed on, scanning the area. "C’mon, Bob…Annabeth…where are you guys?"

Then, all of a sudden, Small Bob stirred from his perch on Percy’s head. The cub let out a soft chuff before shifting his weight, his little claws scraping against Percy’s scalp as he sniffed the thick, foul-smelling air.

"Hey, what—" Percy started, but before he could finish, Small Bob leapt off his head, landing lightly on the jagged ground below. His little nose twitched as he sniffed again, ears perked, his body tense.

Percy immediately felt uneasy.

"What is it, buddy?" he asked warily. He wasn’t sure if Small Bob actually understood him, but the cub didn’t hesitate—he started padding off in another direction, his movements cautious but determined.

Percy hesitated for only a moment before following. He had already decided he’d take care of the little guy, and honestly, he really didn’t want to be alone right now.

They moved quietly, Percy stepping carefully over the uneven terrain as Small Bob led him deeper into the gloom. Then, suddenly, the cub stopped.

Percy barely had time to react before Small Bob crouched low, his tail flicking behind him in a telltale hunting stance.

Percy froze, instinctively pressing himself behind the nearest dead tree. His pulse picked up as he peeked around the trunk to see what Small Bob was stalking.

A monster.

It was hunched over a jagged rock, its grotesque body shifting unnaturally, as if it wasn’t entirely solid. Its head twitched, sniffing the air, its elongated limbs tensed as if ready to lunge at the first sign of prey.

Percy tightened his grip on Riptide. He didn’t recognize this particular monster, but it didn’t matter—if it was in Tartarus, it was bad news.

He turned his gaze back to Small Bob, who was still crouched, completely focused on the creature.

Percy frowned. Is he really about to attack?

The cub was feisty, sure, but there was no way he was big enough to take on a full-sized monster by himself. Percy was about to step in, readying himself to strike first—

And then Small Bob moved.

But not in the way Percy expected.

One second, he was the small, adorable sabertooth cub Percy had perched on his head. The next—

He wasn’t.

A deep, rumbling growl vibrated through the air as Small Bob began to change. His body stretched, his limbs expanding, his frame filling out in mere moments. Percy watched, wide-eyed, as the once-tiny cub grew into something massive—an adult sabertooth tiger, his fur bristling, his fangs gleaming like daggers.

Percy barely kept himself from dropping his sword in shock.

"Holy Styx.." he breathed, his mouth slightly agape.

If Percy stood up, Small Bob would probably reach past his shoulders. Maybe even up to his chin. The cub—no, the full-grown sabertooth—was enormous, his powerful muscles coiled beneath his striped fur, his claws digging into the ground, ready to pounce.

Percy swallowed. "Small Bob, huh?" he muttered to himself. "I think I need a new name for you."

But there was no time to process what had just happened—because Small Bob had locked onto his target.

The moment Small Bob lunged, Percy barely had time to react.

The monster let out a garbled screech as the massive sabertooth tiger crashed into it, claws raking deep into its shifting, unnatural flesh. Small Bob’s fangs sank into the monster’s throat before it could even fight back, pinning it to the ground with terrifying strength.

Percy had seen plenty of battles—had fought his fair share of monsters—but this?

This was brutal.

The monster thrashed, clawing desperately at Small Bob’s fur, but the tiger didn’t so much as flinch. With one final, bone-crunching bite, Small Bob tore through its neck, silencing it forever. Its body went still, then disintegrated into a thick, dark sludge instead of the usual golden dust of monsters slain on the surface.

Percy slowly lowered Riptide, his heart still racing.

"Well," he muttered, clearing his throat. "That was…efficient."

Small Bob turned to look at him, licking his bloody muzzle before grasping what was left of the monster in his powerful jaws. Percy watched in a mix of horror and fascination as the tiger dragged the corpse toward him, dropping it at his feet with a heavy thud.

Percy blinked. "Uh…thanks?"

Small Bob let out a pleased rumble before lowering his head to take a few deep bites of the monster’s remains, tearing through it with ease.

Percy grimaced. "Yeah, uh, you enjoy that, buddy."

But then Small Bob did something unexpected.

After eating his fill, he nudged the corpse toward Percy with a massive paw, his round, glowing eyes watching expectantly.

Percy frowned. "Wait…you want me to eat that??"

The sabertooth’s tail flicked, and he nudged the corpse again, more insistently this time.

Percy swallowed hard, glancing down at the mangled remains. His stomach twisted—not just from the sight of it but from hunger. He was starving, and he knew Small Bob wasn’t offering this out of cruelty. In the wild, sharing a kill meant trust.

Still. Eating monster meat? That sounded like a one-way ticket to getting cursed by the gods.

But then again… the gods weren’t here, and he needed something to keep his strength up.

He sighed, running a hand through his dirty hair. "This is officially the worst idea I’ve ever had." he muttered.

Percy stared down at the remains of the monster, his stomach twisting—not with revulsion, but with hunger.

He couldn’t believe he was actually considering this. Eating monster? That was on the list of things that should not be done. The gods would probably smite him on the spot if they were watching.

But they weren’t watching.

No punishment..

They weren’t here.

And if he wanted to survive Tartarus, he couldn’t afford to be picky.

With a deep breath, Percy crouched down and hesitantly tore a chunk from the monster’s remains. The texture was strange—firm but not tough, like raw fish. It felt wrong, but the moment he took a bite, his brows lifted in surprise.

It wasn’t…bad.

It tasted like some foreign version of sushi—not exactly his go-to meal, but definitely edible. The flavor was slightly salty, almost savory, with an aftertaste he couldn’t quite place.

He hummed in surprise. "Huh."

Encouraged, he took another bite. Then another. Before he knew it, he was eating alongside Small Bob, tearing through the monster’s remains like it was just another meal. It was unsettling how natural it felt.

By the time they were finished, Percy sat back and wiped the remnants from his mouth with the back of his hand. He wasn’t full, but he felt better. Stronger.

He exhaled. "Well. That was definitely a new experience."

He turned to Small Bob, who was licking his paws clean. Then, as if the meal had drained the last of his battle energy, the massive sabertooth shimmered—and just like that, he shrank back into his cub form.

Percy blinked. "Seriously? You could’ve stayed big, you know."

But Small Bob just chuffed and scrambled onto Percy, climbing his arm before attempting to settle on his head again.

"Ow—dude, claws!" Percy winced as the little sabertooth kneaded into his scalp once more, his stubby tail flicking happily.

Percy let out a tired laugh, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

He glanced around, wiping his hands on his already-ruined pants. He should’ve felt guilty. He should have been worried about what the gods would think of him right now. But as he sat there, deep in the bowels of Tartarus, full from eating monster flesh—

He realized something.

The gods weren’t here.

And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he cared.

 

Chapter 3: Hungry hungry health boost

Summary:

Percy and small bob end up somewhere they weren't supposed to be but end up gaining something in return for better or worse

Notes:

Sacrificed my sleep for this chapter.

Percy sat there for a moment, rolling his shoulders, feeling the dull ache of exhaustion settle into his bones. The meal hadn’t fixed everything—his body still hurt, his mind still raced with worry over Annabeth and Bob—but at least he wasn’t starving anymore.

Hungry for another one...?

That was something.

Small Bob purred contentedly atop his head, his tiny claws still kneading into Percy’s scalp, like he was making himself comfortable for a long ride.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Percy muttered, adjusting his position and stretching his sore legs. "I’m your official ride now, huh?"

The little sabertooth flicked his tail, seemingly pleased.

Percy let out a breathy chuckle, then ran a hand through his hair—well, as best as he could with Small Bob using it as a bed. His fingers came away streaked with dried monster blood, dirt, and grime. He was a mess, and he knew it. His clothes were in tatters, his arms and legs were covered in scrapes, bruises, and dried cuts. He probably smelled like a walking corpse.

And yet, for some reason…he felt fine.

Still hungry..

That should’ve worried him.

But it didn’t.

It won't..

Maybe it was because there were no gods watching. No expectations. No rules.

Back in the mortal world, he would’ve been horrified at what he’d just done—eating a monster, actually enjoying it. It was the kind of thing that would’ve made Chiron sit him down and give one of his famous grave Centaur wisdom talks. Annabeth would’ve given him that exasperated look—the one that said, 'Seaweed Brain, you are an idiot and I love you, but mostly you’re an idiot.' 

Why would she want to talk to a...

But none of them were here.

No one was here.

Just him and Small Bob in the darkest pit of existence, where survival was the only thing that mattered.

Percy exhaled through his nose and gripped the broomstick-turned-cane, using it to push himself to his feet. His legs wobbled for a second, but he steadied himself.

"Alright, buddy," he said, glancing up at Small Bob. "Let’s keep moving."

The little sabertooth chuffed in agreement, his stubby tail wagging slightly.

Percy didn’t know where Annabeth was. He didn’t know where Bob was. But what he did know was that standing still in Tartarus was a death sentence.

And he wasn’t ready to die. Not yet. He has family and friends who he was pretty sure still needs him.

Percy trudged forward, his body aching with every step. The air in Tartarus was heavy, pressing down on him like a weight that refused to lift. His hunger was under control for now, but exhaustion was creeping up on him again.

Then, as the landscape shifted ahead, he saw it—the river of fire.

The Phlegethon.

Percy groaned loudly, dragging a hand down his face. "You have got to be kidding me."

He’d already been here. Which meant one of two things: either he’d somehow gone in the wrong direction, or Tartarus had shifted around him again just to screw with him.

Neither option made him feel any better.

"This is sooo great." he muttered. He was too tired to be mad about it, so instead, he sighed and decided he might as well take a break.

With a grunt, he made his way toward the riverbank and sat down, stretching out his sore legs. Small Bob hopped off his head and landed lightly on the ground before padding over to the river’s edge, ears twitching curiously.

Percy leaned back on his hands, watching as Small Bob lifted a paw and swatted at the river, batting at the fire like it was some kind of toy.

"Be careful, buddy," Percy warned lazily. "That’s literally a river of pain."

But, of course, Small Bob didn’t listen.

The little sabertooth edged closer, sniffing at the glowing red liquid, his whiskers twitching. Then, before Percy could stop him, the cub stuck out his tiny tongue and licked it.

The reaction was immediate.

With a sharp HISSSSS, Small Bob jumped back, shaking his head furiously. He scurried away from the river, huffing and letting out a series of angry little growls, as if personally offended by the Phlegethon’s betrayal.

Percy burst out laughing. "Dude, I told you!"

Small Bob let out an annoyed grumble before dramatically flopping into Percy’s lap, his fur still bristling as he glared at the river.

Percy chuckled, scratching behind the cub’s ears. "Yeah, yeah, you’re real tough," he teased. "Don’t pick fights with fire next time, genius."

The little sabertooth let out one last grumble but didn’t move from Percy’s lap, still occasionally shooting glares at the river as if daring it to try again.

Percy just shook his head, still chuckling.

Percy sighed, his laughter fading as the ache in his body made itself known again. He looked down at himself—his arms were covered in scrapes and cuts, his clothes were barely holding together, and he could still feel the deeper bruises from his fights. He wasn’t in terrible shape, but he definitely wasn’t at his best.

He glanced at the Phlegethon, watching the molten fire churn and bubble. The river was supposed to heal—he and Annabeth had used it before. But drinking from it burned. It wasn’t pleasant, and after Small Bob’s reaction, he wasn’t exactly eager to try it again.

Still…he needed to be in better shape if he was going to keep going.

'Is it worth it?' he wondered.

He flexed his fingers, wincing at the stiffness. Yeah. It was.

"Alright," he muttered to himself. "Let’s get this over with."

Carefully, he leaned forward, cupping his hands together. The heat was intense, making his skin tingle before he even touched the liquid. He hesitated for just a second—then scooped up some of the fiery water and brought it to his lips.

The moment the liquid touched his tongue, it burned.

Pain..bad..

Percy clenched his teeth, forcing himself to swallow. It was like drinking pure lava, searing its way down his throat, spreading heat through his veins. He gasped, dropping the rest of the water as his whole body tensed.

Then, just as quickly as the pain came, it was replaced.

A strange, tingling relief spread through him. His cuts sealed shut, his bruises faded, the deep ache in his muscles lightened. He exhaled sharply, feeling stronger—but something was different.

He looked down at his arms.

The wounds were gone, but in their place were scars. Thin, glowing lines traced where his injuries had been, faintly pulsing like cooling molten rock. A deep, fiery orange, almost as if the heat of the Phlegethon had left its mark on him permanently.

Percy swallowed, flexing his fingers again. There was no pain—just warmth, like embers still smoldering beneath his skin.

"Huh," he muttered. "Did not expect that."

He turned his hands over, watching the faint glow pulse and fade. It was subtle, not too noticeable unless he focused on it, but…it was there. A reminder.

Small Bob, who had been watching from his lap, tilted his head and sniffed at Percy’s arm before giving the faintly glowing scars an experimental lick. He immediately pulled back and got off of Percy's lap, sneezing.

Percy snorted. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Hot."

The little sabertooth huffed and curled back up on a nearby rock instead, this time watching the river with suspicion.

Percy exhaled, rolling his shoulders. He felt better. Stronger. But the scars…they meant something.

The Phlegethon had healed him—but it had changed him, too.

He stared at the glowing scars on his arms, frowning. Why now?

He had drunk from the Phlegethon before—back when he and Annabeth were barely hanging on, just trying to stay alive. But this hadn’t happened then. No glowing scars, no strange heat lingering beneath his skin. It had burned like hell, sure, but it had healed them and moved on.

Now, though…

The glow shifted.

What had once been the molten orange of lava slowly faded, deepening into a more golden color—similar to ichor, the blood of the gods. It pulsed faintly, as if alive, running just beneath his skin like veins of liquid metal.

Percy flexed his fingers, watching the way the glow moved with him.

He barely had time to wonder what the Hades that meant before a sudden, sharp pain shot through his stomach.

"Augh—!"

He doubled over, the agony hitting like a tidal wave. His gut clenched, twisting into knots so tight he swore something inside him snapped. It felt like he hadn’t eaten in days—no, weeks—as if every ounce of energy had been sucked out of him in an instant.

He collapsed onto his side, groaning as his hands clawed weakly at the jagged ground, scraping against the rough stone. He barely noticed when his palms got cut, too focused on the hunger tearing through him.

His breathing turned shallow. The air itself felt thicker, harder to take in, like he was suddenly being crushed under the weight of Tartarus itself.

Then he started coughing. Thick, slimy remnants of the monster he’d eaten earlier forced their way up his throat, making him gag. He barely turned his head in time to spit it onto the ground, his entire body shuddering.

What the hell was happening to him??

Small Bob came over and licked his cheek, then pawed at his chest, his little claws poking into him—not enough to really hurt, but enough to say, 'Hey, what’s wrong with you? Fix it.'

It was a little too playful for how much Percy was currently dying.

"N-not…helping…buddy…" Percy gritted out, squeezing his eyes shut as another wave of pain shot through his stomach.

It was like his body had gone into overdrive. The Phlegethon was supposed to heal him, but maybe it had worked too well. His metabolism, his digestion—everything had been kicked into high gear, burning through whatever was in his system at an unnatural rate.

The problem?

There wasn’t enough in his system to keep up.

He needed food. Now.

"Oh, this is bad.." Percy groaned, pressing a hand to his stomach as another sharp pang of hunger shot through him. His insides felt hollow, like he was running on fumes.

Small Bob let out a tiny meow and bit at Percy’s tattered shirt, tugging weakly as if trying to drag him somewhere.

"Buddy, I can barely stand right now," Percy muttered, his voice rough. "You think I can just—"

Another stab of hunger twisted in his gut, cutting off his words. Percy sucked in a sharp breath, wincing.

Alright. He needed to move. Staying here wasn’t going to help.

With a pained hiss, he pushed himself up to his feet, wobbling slightly as his body protested. His limbs felt heavy, his head light, and the hunger gnawed at him like a relentless beast.

A new feeling coiled in his chest—irritation. He clenched his jaw. His fuse felt shorter than usual, as if the hunger itself was making him agitated.

Without a second thought, he stuffed Riptide back into his pocket, grabbed Bob’s broom off the ground, and started walking.

Somewhere.

Anywhere.

He didn’t even know if he was going in the right direction. He just needed to keep moving.

Small Bob gave a happy little chuff and trotted alongside him, his tiny form darting ahead, then doubling back. He pounced on small rocks, batted at scraps of bone, and chased flickering shadows like they were toys.

Percy barely paid attention. His thoughts were muddled, lost in the haze of hunger and exhaustion.

All he could focus on was the burning emptiness in his gut and the growing need to fix it.

Notes:

Not only is doubt is starting to get to Percy, He's adapting to his surroundings. Unwilling might I add. Not like he knows that's what's happening to him though..😶‍🌫️

Chapter 4: Cat lessons

Summary:

But meow does a meow meow become a meowteor?

When does a meow meow become a meow

When does a man become a meownster

Notes:

...hiii...I cooked up a long chapter for y'all, don't be mad-

 

I got sumn to tell y'all though in the notes at the bottom so read it all pls 🙏🙏🙏

It's worth it to read ALL of it, there's a surprise at the bottom

Percy didn’t know how long he had been walking, but the hunger never got better. It only got worse. It clawed at his insides, curling around his ribs, pressing against his skull like a dull, endless pounding. Every step felt heavier, his body urging him forward faster, as if something deep inside him already knew what it needed.

And then he found it.

A monster, skulking in the shadows. A hulking, twisted thing with jagged teeth and too many eyes blinking in different directions. It smelled awful—like rot and sulfur and something that should’ve died a long time ago.

But all Percy could think about was food.

Before he could even process what he was doing, he lunged.

The fight was quick. A blur of movement, of instincts taking over, of something inside him snapping like a leash that had been held too tight for too long.

By the time the monster fell limp beneath him, Percy was panting, his hands drenched in dark, oozing blood.

And he hadn’t used Riptide.

He blinked, his mind catching up to his body, realization crashing down on him like a wave. He looked down at himself—his fingers curled into claws, the nails longer, sharper than they had been before. There were streaks of blackish-red along his hands and arms, monster blood still warm between his fingers.

Warm..

His stomach was full now. The gnawing hunger was gone. For now..But the relief didn’t make him feel better.

It made him feel sick.

"What..the hell did I just do?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.

He staggered back from the corpse, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like it would somehow erase the last few minutes. His pulse was too fast, his breathing uneven.

'I ate a monster.'

Like it was normal. Like it was just another meal, like grabbing a slice of pizza or a blue Coke from the fridge back home.

Percy clenched his jaw. "No. No, this isn’t—this can’t be normal." He curled his hands into fists, his new, sharper nails digging into his palms. "I can’t keep doing this."

He forced himself to focus, to really look at his hands. The blood. The claws. The way his body had just moved without him thinking, like this was something natural.

It wasn’t.

"Get a grip, Jackson," he muttered. "You are not gonna start eating monsters like it’s a casual taco tuesday. That’s not who you are."

But as he stared down at his hands, at the way his nails caught the dim, eerie light of Tartarus—he couldn’t shake the feeling that something inside him was changing.

 

Small time skip presented to you by small bob fighting Percys fingers and losing.

 

The journey dragged on in a heavy, surreal haze. Percy didn’t know how long he’d been walking again—time meant nothing down here. But between the bone-deep exhaustion, the fading adrenaline, and Small Bob’s rhythmic breathing on his head, he found himself zoning out more often.

It wasn’t until the soft glow from his scars caught his eye that he really looked at himself again.

They were dim now—barely lit, like dying embers. The once-vibrant molten orange had cooled into a faint gold sheen, now flickering just beneath his skin like a heartbeat too weak to carry on.

Weird, he thought. He’d only drank from the Phlegethon once before, back with Annabeth. It hadn’t done this. He hadn’t changed.

He shifted his grip on the broom and dragged the monster corpse a little further, but curiosity gnawed at him harder than hunger had earlier.

He ran a thumb over one of the scars on his forearm, watching the gold pulse faintly beneath his skin—then flinched.

His nails extended.

Just like that, with no warning, they slid out from the tips of his fingers—longer, curved slightly at the end, sharp and deadly. Not like normal fingernails.

Like talons.

They shimmered in the dimness of Tartarus, shifting in color from deep black to a dark, almost bioluminescent deep sea blue that reminded Percy of the ocean at its most dangerous.

Small Bob gave a soft huff from his perch on Percy’s head, apparently undisturbed.

Percy stopped walking, brow furrowing. Carefully, he set the broom down and shook out his hands.

"Okay," he murmured to himself, "that's new."

He tried flexing his fingers—again, the claws responded, extending slightly. He exhaled slowly and tried to will them back. Nothing.

"Come on..." he muttered. "Back in, Wolverine style."

It took some practice, but after a few tries—and a few accidental scratches on his own arm—he got the hang of it. The claws slipped back under his skin, then extended again, then retracted once more at his will.

Percy grinned. For the first time since everything had spiraled—since Akhlys, since Annabeth, since the dreams—he smiled.

It was small.

It was weird.

But it was control.

In a place where everything was chaos, pain, and survival…even something as tiny as learning how to use new claws felt like a victory.

"Yeah," he whispered, flexing his fingers again and letting the claws slide back in. "I got this."

Small Bob stirred lazily on his head, letting out a purring grumble of approval. Percy picked the broom back up, grabbed the corpse again, and continued walking with a little more confidence in his step. Because down here, even the smallest win mattered.

The silence of Tartarus stretched around him again, oppressive and endless, but Percy felt…a little lighter.

He continued dragging the half-eaten monster, the broom tapping alongside his steps, Small Bob’s warmth nestled against his curls. The eerie glow of the place flickered over the rough landscape, shadows twitching in corners where light shouldn’t reach. But Percy paid it less mind now.

The control—the choice—to retract the claws gave him something to anchor to.

He could still choose.

Even in this hellhole where the air felt like poison and the ground like knives, he could hold onto that.

After another mile or so—at least he guessed it was a mile—he found a sloped outcropping that offered a bit of shelter beneath an overhanging shelf of rock and bone. He dropped the monster’s body with a heavy grunt, his shoulders aching, and leaned the broom beside it.

He sat down beneath the overhang, exhaling slowly as he let himself rest for just a moment. Small Bob stirred and hopped off his head, stretching with a tiny yawn before trotting toward the corpse and taking another bite.

Percy didn’t join him this time.

His stomach still felt uneasy—not from hunger anymore, but from what he’d done. From what he’d let himself do.

He looked down at his hands again. The scars still faintly glowed, the color shifting now and then between gold and orange, like flickering coals. He extended one claw slowly, just to watch it. It gleamed under the eerie light. Then he retracted it again.

Control.

But the question whispered back into his mind, soft and cruel: How long until you lose that too?

He rubbed his temples, tried to focus on something else. Annabeth.

Was she still ahead of him? Or behind? Had she left on purpose? No—he still couldn’t believe that. Wouldn’t. Not yet.

He needed to find her. He needed answers.

But for now…he had Small Bob. He had Riptide. And he had enough strength in him to keep going, even if Tartarus wanted him to break.

He sat in silence a moment longer, letting the calm settle in his bones. Just a moment of peace. A moment where he wasn’t running, bleeding, starving, or changing. A moment where he could pretend the world hadn’t cracked beneath his feet.

Then, he stood. Small Bob looked up at him with curious eyes.

"Let’s go, fuzzball," Percy said softly, flexing his fingers one more time, claws remaining hidden. "We’ve got a long way to go and people to find."

And with the broom in one hand, and his sword ready at his hip, Percy walked back into the nightmare.

After what felt like hours of walking through cracked, steaming earth and skies that bled smoke, Percy finally let himself rest again.

He found a slanted slab of obsidian-looking rock jutting from the side of a cliff, offering a small nook of shadow and shelter. With a grunt, he sat down, then eased himself back onto the rough, warm stone. It wasn't comfortable, but compared to Tartarus’s usual standards, it was luxury.

He exhaled, letting his limbs go heavy. His body still ached, but the pain had dulled to something manageable—his skin scarred, his muscles tight, but whole. His glowing scars had faded to faint golden lines that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat.

As he lay there staring at the twisted sky, Small Bob suddenly padded into view and leapt onto his chest with all the weight of a smug little king.

"Ugh—dude," Percy wheezed. “You’re not that small anymore, remember?”

Small Bob meowed.

Percy raised a brow. “What?”

Small Bob meowed again. Louder this time. Then again. And again. Four times in rapid succession, looking right into Percy’s face with unnerving intensity.

"...What are you trying to tell me?" Percy asked slowly.

Small Bob narrowed his eyes and let out a long, whiny meooooow.

Percy blinked. “Okay, now you’re just being dramatic.”

The sabertooth cub crouched down slightly, tail swishing—and let out an annoyed chirp-meow. It was almost scolding. Percy stared at him in bewildered silence.

"...Are..areyou yelling at me??"

Small Bob replied with a short, sharp meep.

This went on for another minute: Small Bob meowing at various pitches and rhythms, pacing in a small circle on Percy’s chest, sitting down, then standing again, all while staring at him expectantly.

Finally, Percy groaned and gave a half-hearted meow back.

Small Bob paused.

Percy frowned. “Wait—was that what you wanted?”

The cub tilted his head.

“…Meow?”

Small Bob blinked once, then hopped off his chest without another sound, wandering over to a rock that he immediately began batting at with his oversized paws. Then he swatted at some kind of six-legged bug with a puffed-up tail and proceeded to chase it in circles.

Percy stared after him, completely bewildered.

Then it hit him.

“Sometimes cats hunt for their humans because they think the human is similar to a kitten that doesn’t know how to hunt for itself.” his mom had once told him, brushing his hair back when he was ten and their neighbors cat had left a dead bird in front of their door.

“They try to teach you how to be a cat.”

Percy let his head fall back with a groan.

“Seriously? You’re trying to teach me to be a cat?” he asked, lifting his head just enough to glare at the now-busy Small Bob.

The cub ignored him, rolling onto his back and playfully kicking the air, smug as ever.

“…I fought Titans,” Percy muttered, “I’ve been to literal hell. I now have glowing scars and retractable claws. And I’m being lectured by a tiny sabertooth tiger who thinks I don’t know how to hunt...I used to go to war.” percy muttered.

He groaned again, flopping back down onto the rock and throwing an arm over his face.

But, despite the absurdity of it all, he couldn’t help but feel a faint flicker of warmth in his chest. Even in Tartarus, small Bob had his back. (Somewhat.)

Percy leaned back against the stone, his eyelids drooping under the weight of exhaustion that pulled at every thread of his being. The dull ache in his muscles, the fire of hunger gnawing at his insides, and the strange cool heat of the scars tracing his skin were all starting to blur together. His fingers curled around the worn broomstick resting at his side, and Small Bob was curled up on his chest, purring faintly.

“Just a nap,” Percy mumbled. “Five minutes…I’ll move after that…”

Sleep took him like a tide, fast and deep.

 

 

---

 

He opened his eyes to darkness.

No—not darkness. It was dim, murky. Like he was submerged underwater.

His body floated, weightless, but he didn’t feel wet. Just... suspended.

In front of him, blurred shapes began to materialize. Percy’s heart lurched as he recognized the two figures.

Annabeth!

And Bob too!

The massive form of the Titan—Polybotes, though he hadn’t gone by that name in a long time—walked calmly beside Annabeth. She looked shaken, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her posture stiff and uncertain. Her head was down, eyes unfocused as if trying to solve a riddle only she could see.

She said something to Bob. Percy could see her lips move.

Bob answered.

But Percy heard nothing.

He frowned and focused harder, trying to pull the words from the air. They were right there—but muted, like the ocean around him refused to carry the sound. That was wrong. Water had always carried sound for him. Made it clearer, not muffled.

He reached out instinctively toward them.

Still no sound. But they were alive. That should’ve been enough. He tried to tell himself that.

Except…

Suddenly, the water pressed in tighter. It grew heavier. His chest burned.

His lungs burned.

He couldn’t breathe.

Panic clawed its way up his throat. He kicked at nothing, twisting in place, but the world around him was distorting—Annabeth and Bob becoming vague, warped shapes as his vision trembled.

'Why can’t I breathe—'

 

 

---

 

 

Percy jolted awake with a ragged gasp, sitting straight up like he’d been hit in the chest.

Small Bob, who had apparently chosen to lay directly on his face while he slept, let out a startled yowl as he was flung off and landed nearby, fur fluffed and back arched.

“Hrk—” Percy doubled over slightly, sucking in breaths, hand pressed over his heart. “What—what the Hades, Bob?!”

The sabertooth cub hissed indignantly, puffed up like a fuzzy fireball, and swatted at the air with a paw before promptly turning away to lick his fluffed-up fur down in a very pointed show of 'I’m not apologizing.'

Percy glared. “You nearly killed me, and you’re the one mad? Are you serious right now??”

Small Bob didn’t respond.

Percy sighed, dragging a hand down his face before running it through his hair. “Nearly suffocated by my own cat in the Pit of Despair. Would have been the lamest way to go.”

But before he could even properly recover from the dream—or suffocation—a fresh wave of pain slammed into his stomach. It twisted violently, and he doubled over again with a low growl. He clutched his middle tightly, curling into himself, claws sliding out instinctively. His fangs peeked from beneath his lips, breath sharp and ragged.

Small Bob turned quickly, eyes narrowing. He darted away in a blur of pale fur and returned moments later in his full, massive form—fangs bared and dragging a mangled corpse of a smaller monster behind him.

With a grunt, Bob dropped the creature beside Percy and gave a low, expectant growl.

Percy didn’t even hesitate.

He dragged himself toward the corpse and buried his fangs into its neck, tearing into the flesh and swallowing mouthfuls of hot, foul-tasting meat. He didn’t care what it tasted like. All that mattered was quelling the agony inside him.

He could feel his claws twitching, his muscles pulling tighter under his scar-lined skin. His body was changing, becoming something more savage the longer he stayed here.

And he was starting to accept it.

Just as he finished the last piece of sinew and bone, he heard the thump of heavy paws.

Small Bob returned, growling low in his throat…but he wasn’t alone.

Behind him, being dragged across the rough stone, was a second figure. A larger shape.

And this one…was still moving.

Percy froze, wiping blood from his mouth, heart pounding.

“Bob…” he whispered hoarsely, eyes narrowing. “What..what is that.”

The figure stirred again—and

Percy’s claws extended with a soft click, breath caught in his throat when he saw what bob had brought back.

"..no way."

 

 

To be continued...

Notes:

Sup y'all

I'm getting my shit together and going through a fast paced college thing so Ive been on demon time trying to keep up and I've had no time to write a chapter

Cause ngl these math classes are beating my ass Omni man style..

I've been thinking about getting a schedule for not only this but my other books but that ain't gon happen fr, I gotta figure a way around my college stuff plus I'm learning Greek and French, be proud of me guys 🥺

On the other hand I've been cooking up so many different pjo, epic the musical, invincible, teen wolf, young justice, and marvel (winter soldier) type fanfics it's giving me crazy

I've had so many ideas dawg, I don't mind posting short books about my ideas if y'all wanna see fr 👀

But anyway I think that's all I wanted to say so see y'all in the next about 500 years from now and enjoy Percy somewhat (not even somewhat, probably just straight up) becoming a cryptid😭

 

Had to leave y'all on a cliffhanger fr so I could motivate myself to do another chapter instead of writing more of the un-uploaded books I have

I wanna know what y'all think of Percy situation?

OH-! if someone guesses what's gonna happen next chapter I'll let that person either read a chapter early OR let someone decide to have something happen later if you have an idea. Your pick!

Chapter 5: Not a chapter, not a snippet, maybe both

Heyo! 👋 I've been gone a while lmao, college is kicking my ass fr. But anyway, I didn't want to leave y'all hanging and waiting or thinking I just abandoned the story (I never will). So! I'll give y'all a small snippet of the beginning of the chapter Im working on.

Keep in mind that it was a sort of draft so if Luke is ooc or there's some spelling errors then that's why.

Edit: while getting the 'snippet' ready, I go a little carried away (like Luke in this chapter. Yeah he's here too now) and I gave y'all half a chapter instead.

Y'all deserve it though so Ill let y'all have this instead of the small lil bit I was gonna give.

---

Percy sank his teeth into the still-warm monster Small Bob had dropped off, his mind foggy with hunger. His claws dug into its hide as he devoured it, ripping through the foul-tasting flesh with a kind of desperate precision. Each bite dulled the ache in his stomach, numbing the pain that had twisted him into a growling, half-feral heap on the ground.

By the time the hunger faded into a manageable hum, Percy was blinking drowsily and wiping gore off his mouth. That’s when he saw it—Small Bob dragging something new into view.

Someone.

Percy sat up straighter, squinting.

At first, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Luke.

The ghost was pale and translucent like most Underworld spirits, but the injury that killed him hadn’t faded. Blood trickled from the wound beneath his left arm, soaking into a shirt that didn’t really exist. There was a smear at the corner of his mouth, and his eyes were…gone. Just blank, glowing white.

His hair was messy, his face drawn with exhaustion and shadows. He looked like he hadn’t slept in years—which, Percy supposed, might actually be the case.

“Luke?” Percy breathed.

Luke looked just as surprised, pausing mid-drag to stare at Percy with wide, unreadable eyes. “Percy??” he rasped with an echoey sounding voice.

He opened his mouth to speak, probably to ask what Percy was doing in Tartarus—but before a single word came out, Small Bob dropped him.

There was a thunk and a startled yelp as Luke hit the rocky ground hard, groaning and rubbing his translucent head with a pained wince.

“Ow!”

Percy blinked, lips parted like he’d been about to say something scathing, only to falter. He watched Luke sit up, rubbing the spot he'd hit.

He couldn’t help but mutter, “Do ghosts even feel pain?”

Then he remembered something Nico had said—something about 'phantom pains' of certain injuries he had, to which Percy proceeded to call him and old man. Guess that applied to ghost brains too.

Percy huffed and glanced at Small Bob, who was now chewing lazily on a rock like it was the most delicious thing in Tartarus. His tail flicked once. He looked very proud of himself for supposedly bringing Percy 'food'.

(This is where the snippet would have ended ✋)

Percy furrowed his brow as his gaze then rested on luke. “Why are you here?”

Luke, still rubbing his head, looked up at Percy. “I could ask you the same thing,” he said, voice hoarse. “What are you doing in Tartarus? You look like you’ve been goin' through it.” 

Percy deadpanned. “Because I have.”

Luke opened his mouth again, probably to follow up, but Small Bob interrupted by padding over and dropping a bloody hunk of monster meat right into Luke’s lap.

Luke flinched, jerking his arms up as far from the thing as possible, wearing the most offended expression Percy had ever seen on a dead guy.

“What the Hades is that supposed to be.” Luke asked, glancing at Percy with a clear 'help me' look as Small Bob stared expectantly at him.

Percy laughed—like, full-body laughed for the first time in what felt like days. “I think he wants you to eat it.”

Luke recoiled, poking the meat with a hesitant finger. His face contorted in disgust. “Gross. That’s…no..No. Is your cat broken or..?”

“Don’t ask me,” Percy said, still grinning. “He thinks I’m helpless and need to be fed half the time.”

Small Bob gave a low, muffled mrowr and nudged the meat closer to Luke’s face. Luke leaned away instantly.

“I’m dead,” he insisted. “I don’t need to eat.”

“But you can?” Percy asked curiously.

Luke hesitated. “..Technically, yeah?”

Percy made a show of gesturing to the meat like a game show host. “Prove it.”

Luke gave him a flat look. “I’m not eating the monster corpse, Percy.”

He got up, brushing his ghostly clothes off and muttering curses under his breath—but he didn’t get far. Small Bob let out a low rumble and lunged, pouncing on him before he could take three steps.

“Oof!” Luke groaned, his back hitting the ground again as Small Bob lay on top of him, kneading his chest with his paws and purring like a chainsaw.

Luke let his head thunk back against the stone floor, glaring up at Percy as the giant sabertooth cub proceeded to make himself comfortable.

“You’re his prisoner now,” Percy said, slightly smirking.

Luke frowned, letting out a long, soul-deep sigh. “I would have ran if I knew this was where I would end up when I saw him.”

“Welcome to Tartarus,” Percy said, resting his chin on his knees and watching Small Bob knead and make bread like a content kitten baker. “Population: us.”

Luke didn’t reply. He just lay there, his arms splayed out, Small Bob drooling slightly on his chest, and muttered something about going to the Fields of Punishment instead.

Percy just cackled at Luke's suffering. Luke groaned again as Small Bob adjusted his massive weight on his chest. “Alright, I’ll bite,” he said after a minute. “Why are you in Tartarus, Percy?”

Percy leaned back slightly, rubbing a bit of dried blood off his fingers. “Quest.”

Luke hummed like that answer made sense…until it didn’t. His brows furrowed slowly, confusion overtaking his face. “A 'quest'.” he repeated, eyes narrowing. “What kind of quest has someone go into Tartarus willingly?”

Percy blinked.

And then blinked again.

Right. Luke. Former enemy. Former host of Kronos. Deadly traitor-turned-savior in his final moments. Percy should’ve had his hand on Riptide the second Small Bob dragged him over. He should’ve questioned him, threatened him, sliced first and maybe asked questions later.

But instead here he was. Talking like this was normal. Like they were old friends catching up in some miserable hell-dump.

The realization irritated him.

He huffed. “Why should I answer that?”

Luke shrugged as best he could under the considerable weight of a sabertooth tiger. “You don’t have to. I’m just curious. I mean, I already died doing something stupid. I figured I’d ask what your excuse was.”

Percy rolled his eyes, not offering more. But then the memory of Annabeth filtered into his mind—her hunched figure, walking alongside Bob, arms clutched around herself like a shield. His chest tightened. He needed to find her. He had to keep moving.

He stood up and stretched, cracking his back. The motion earned Small Bob’s attention, his fuzzy ears perking up. Without hesitation, the large feline leaned down, latched his jaws around the back of Luke’s shirt, and started dragging the ghost along the jagged terrain.

“Hey!” Luke yelped, flailing slightly as he was unceremoniously tugged across the rocky ground. “Again?? Seriously?!”

Percy deadpanned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Small Bob, drop him. He’s not a chew toy.”

Small Bob didn’t stop. He just looked up at Percy with the biggest 'What?' expression a sabertooth could possibly give, Luke still clamped in his jaws like luggage.

“Small Bob,” Percy repeated with more force. “Leave. Him.”

No change except the way small bob carried luke. He layed Luke down and actually went and started dragging him by the leg, being careful not to bite too hard, determined to drag the ghost. Luke groaned as his back scraped against a jutting rock and his head occasionally hitting random rocks like they were going over speed bumps. “Ow. Ow. Ow.” he repeated in a sort of monotoned voice.

Percy sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in defeat. “Okay. Fine. I guess you’re coming with us now.”

Luke, still being dragged, grunted. “..Never in my twenty three years...” he muttered.

Small Bob purred proudly, tail swaying as he padded forward with Luke still in tow.

Percy shook his head and muttered under his breath, “This quest just keeps getting weirder and weirder.”

---

Bet y'all hadn't been expecting Luke to be there. 🧍

Small bob is the true quest leader/j 💪

Chapter 6: Guilt, reliability, and the reason why Percy doesn't like Ares

Summary:

Percy starts to hate Luke a little less and sort of tolerates him(not that he has a choice.)

Luke is just there for the ride tbh

Or well- not ride because he's being dragged.

Notes:

Chapter is shorter than I wanted it to be and I can't help but feel like I've probably made Percy and Luke ooc honestly.

Kinda eepy while making this, I skipped taking a nap to give y'all this chapter. Might do it again tomorrow idk.

Previous chapter ending...

 

“Small Bob,” Percy repeated with more force. “Leave. Him.”

No change except the way small bob carried luke. He layed Luke down and actually went and started dragging him by the leg, being careful not to bite too hard, determined to drag the ghost. Luke groaned as his back scraped against a jutting rock and his head occasionally hitting random rocks like they were going over speed bumps. “Ow. Ow. Ow.” he repeated in a sort of monotoned voice.

Percy sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in defeat. “Okay. Fine. I guess you’re coming with us now.”

Luke, still being dragged, grunted. “..Never in my twenty three years...” he muttered.

Small Bob purred proudly, tail swaying as he padded forward with Luke still in tow.

Percy shook his head and muttered under his breath, “This quest just keeps getting weirder and weirder.”

 

---

 

...Continued--

 

As they trudged forward through the shifting terrain of Tartarus—Percy leading with his broom cane, and Luke still being dragged unceremoniously by a determined sabertooth—Luke cleared his throat.

“So,” he said, tone dry, “how’s the quest going so far?”

Percy side-eyed him. “We’re in Tartarus, Luke.”

Luke let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Okay, yes, point taken. Obviously not great. I meant- what have you done on this quest that got you to this point? Like…what happened? Besides looking like you rolled through a monster buffet and then got mauled by 'the cat'.” he said pointing at small bob.

Percy didn’t answer immediately.

Luke watched him for a beat and then waved a hand lazily, careful not to get his arm tangled in the ground. “You know what- Never mind.”

Silence returned.

They walked for a while like that, the air thick with sulfur and tension. The silence wasn’t peaceful, though—it was heavy. Awkward. Tartarus always made silence feel like it was alive and waiting to bite.

Percy didn’t like it.

He didn’t like the way his thoughts curled up in the corners of that silence, ready to crawl out the second he stopped focusing on something else.

So he spoke.

“..I think Annabeth might be afraid of me.”

Luke, jostled over a crack in the ground, raised a brow from where he was still being dragged. He didn’t say anything—just gave Percy a pointed look. An unspoken 'Go on.'

Percy noticed. He frowned and kept his gaze ahead.

He didn’t explain. He didn’t want to explain. The image of what happened with Akhlys still clung to him like poison smoke. The way Annabeth had looked at him—shaken, uncertain. Like he wasn’t himself anymore.

Luke, apparently picking up on his hesitation, shifted slightly and muttered, “Sometimes talking helps. Not that I’d know. I heard a mortal say that once, so don’t quote me on that. Mortals aren’t always the brightest.”

Percy huffed but didn’t answer. He was thinking.

About Annabeth. About Akhlys. About the way his body changed without him asking it to. The hunger. The claws. The poison.

He didn’t know how to talk about it without sounding insane.

Luke, meanwhile, kept talking, his voice casual despite being carted along by a sabertooth tiger like a sad little shopping bag. “I mean, before I died, there was a time I had actually used a library computer once and- yeah, we're demigods, we aren't supposed to use stuff like that or we'll attract monsters but there's this thing mortals made okay? I think it was called Wikipedia and It was supposed to be an online encyclopedia but anyone could edit it. Anyone. Mortals thought that was a reliable source.” Luke had started rambling it seemed.

Percy guessed the loneliness of Tartarus had gotten to Luke a while ago, and the ghost was finding comfort in talking to someone for once. Even if said person didn't seem to want much to do with him.

Luke let out a short laugh. “–I mean, come on. And I'm pretty sure people are putting random stuff in them just to screw with people. I literally watched someone edit another dudes supposed death into one. He gave me five dollars not to say anything.”

Percy let out a soft snort in spite of himself.

He wasn’t sure why, but something about Luke rambling was…comforting.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, not even under threat of sword-point, but the sound of Luke’s voice made the silence bearable. It filled the awful mental void where guilt and fear and self-hate liked to live. It pushed those things back, even if just a little.

Percy didn’t feel better—not really. But he didn’t feel worse so he guessed he could tolerate the ghost for as while longer. 

They walked in silence for a while longer after Luke Wikipedia rant was over, Small Bob humming low purrs as he lumbered forward, Luke still dangling by the leg like an overgrown toy.

But then Percy exhaled, the breath long and heavy.

“I killed her,” he muttered.

Luke glanced up, brows pinching. “Killed who?”

Percy’s jaw tightened. “…The goddess of misery. Akhlys.”

Luke’s brows shot up in surprise. “You killed a goddess??”

Percy nodded slowly. “Yeah. I didn’t mean to. Not at first. She was trying to kill both of us—me and Annabeth. So I…I used the poison. Controlled it.” His voice grew quieter. “And it felt… good. Too good. I wanted her to suffer. I wanted to see how much Misery could take after what she did to me.”

There was a long pause.

Luke didn’t say anything. Not yet.

Percy’s fists clenched slightly. “After that, I looked around and Annabeth was gone. No trace, no sound. I thought she might’ve been taken. Or attacked. But…now I’m not so sure.”

His voice wavered for a second.

“I think....i think I scared her away.”

Luke’s expression shifted into something unreadable. He didn’t make a snide remark. Didn’t roll his eyes. He just…listened.

“I don’t blame her,” Percy said bitterly, gaze dropping to the ground. “I’m changing. I can feel it. I’ve got claws now. Had glowing scars not too long ago. Hunger that doesn’t go away unless I’m tearing monsters apart with my teeth. And when I do I don’t feel afraid anymore—I feel alive. Like it’s what I was meant to do.”

His breath caught in his throat.

“..I’m becoming some kind of monster.”

That last sentence was quiet. Barely a whisper. But it echoed all the same, like Tartarus itself repeated it back to him.

Luke stayed silent for a moment before finally speaking, his voice softer than before.

“I know what it feels like,” he said, “to think you’re becoming something you hate. To look in the mirror and not recognize the person looking back.”

Percy didn’t respond.

Luke sighed. “And hey, if Annabeth really thought you were a monster, she would’ve stayed to stop you, right? Not run. You two are friends aren't you?”

That made Percy falter in his step. Just slightly.

He wanted to believe it. But he couldn't. Not completely. Not yet. But he wanted to.

Desperately.

The deeper they walked, the more Percy noticed the atmosphere changing.

The air felt thicker—heavier. The jagged terrain gave way to ground that was darker, more charred. The shadows stretched longer here, like they were watching, waiting.

Percy squinted ahead. “Finally,” he muttered. “This…this feels like somewhere new.”

“Somewhere worse,” Luke said, still being dragged along by Small Bob’s loose grip. “Congratulations.”

The further they went, the darker it became, until they crossed into what felt like another layer of Tartarus—where the gloom seemed to whisper and pulse with heat. The temperature rose just slightly, but enough to make Percy uneasy.

He slowed his pace, senses tightening.

That’s when he saw the figures up ahead.

At first, the flickering shapes might’ve looked like beautiful women in flowing robes—until the illusion melted and left behind twisted, fiery-eyed creatures with clawed hands and fanged smiles. Fucking empousa...

“Oh, come on,” Percy muttered.

Small Bob let out a deep, guttural growl that vibrated the ground. Without warning, he dropped Luke with a thud.

“Ow?!”

Before Luke could even sit up, Small Bob grabbed him by the collar and tossed him onto his back like a rider mounting a war beast.

“Wait—what are you—HEY!” Luke yelped, grabbing onto Bob’s fur. “I don’t do jousting! I don’t—AAAHHH!”

Small Bob leapt into the chaos with a terrifying roar, launching straight into a cluster of empousa and tearing through them like an avalanche of fur and fangs.

Percy blinked, mouth slightly open. “…Well. That works.”

He raised Riptide just in time to block the claw of an empousa that lunged at him from the side. He twisted and retaliated, slashing low, forcing it back. The monsters were beautiful and horrific all at once—gleaming skin, flaming hair, mouths full of teeth meant to rip.

He swung again—only this time, something went wrong.

His sword.

Riptide jerked in his hand—yanked, as if pulled by something invisible—and flung itself from his grip, spinning through the air and landing far out of reach.

“What the—?!”

Percy barely ducked in time as an empousa slashed at his face. He stumbled back, rolling to avoid another swipe. A third came in from behind, and he twisted his body away just before its claws could tear open his back.

Panic started to rise in his chest.

Why did the sword literally get up and leave? In the middle of a gods damned fight!

He ducked, rolled, leapt over a swipe—and realized quickly: they were targeting him. Specifically him.

Small Bob was tearing through groups of them with Luke holding on for dear life, yelling unintelligible curses and shouting about never signing up for this, but the empousa weren’t even paying attention to them. Just Percy.

He gritted his teeth and ducked under another attack, his breath ragged. Cuts were forming on his arms, his side—too many for comfort.

Why now, Riptide? he thought, eyes darting toward the spot where the sword had landed. But there were too many monsters between him and it now.

And without his sword, he was starting to realize he was getting outnumbered. Fast.

Percy’s breath came in short gasps as he twisted and barely avoided a swipe aimed at his neck. The empousa were closing in—circling like wolves sensing weakness. He was tired. Too tired. Cuts bloomed along his arms and legs where claws grazed too close. Blood trickled, stinging.

And then—

A memory.

Not just any memory.

His first quest.

Twelve years old. A sword too big for him. An ego he didn’t yet know was warranted. A war god with a grudge.

The god of war himself—Ares.

He could still hear his mocking laughter. That sneer. That challenge on the beach. And then the words he said when Percy won:

“This isn’t over, kid. You just made yourself an enemy. That sword? It’ll fail you when you need it most. Remember that.”

Percy’s eyes widened.

Riptide.

The sword flying from his hand—it wasn’t chance. It wasn’t his grip. It was the curse. A god’s petty vengeance. Because Percy had bruised Ares’s pride.

Because he beat a war god at twelve years old.

And now?

Now he was in Tartarus, without annabeth, exhausted, bleeding—and unarmed.

A hiss to his right. Another swipe from the left. He staggered backward, too slow this time. Claws slashed across his side and he cried out, clutching the wound.

He dropped to one knee.

'Is this it?' he thought bitterly. 'This how I go? Killed because of some divine sore loser?'

He almost accepted it.

Almost.

“Heads up!”

A blur swept in—a roar, a streak of fur and claws and wild energy.

Small Bob launched himself into the horde of empousa, sending monsters flying. Luke, somehow still clinging to the giant sabertooth’s back, wielded the old, chewed-up broom like a baseball bat. It cracked against one of the empousa’s skulls with a satisfying THWACK, sending it crumpling to the ground.

“Back it up ladies!” Luke shouted as he swung the broom again like a staff, shoving another empousa backward. “Seriously, you would've thought they learned after dying the first time!”

Percy blinked from where he crouched, watching in disbelief as Luke, former traitor Luke, rode his monstrous cat into battle like some deranged ghost-knight with a janitor’s weapon.

Small Bob snarled, clawed, and chomped through the rest of them with alarming efficiency, his powerful form tearing through the remaining empousa like a furry wrecking ball.

And then…silence.

Smoke and dust settled. Torn limbs and black ichor stained the ground.

Percy sat still, panting, his heart pounding in his ears.

Luke slid off Small Bob’s back with a ghostly grunt, holding the now-dented broom across his shoulder like a hero in some sort of movie.

“You okay?” he asked, offering a hand even though he wasn’t sure Percy could or would actually take it.

Percy didn’t grab the hand, but he nodded faintly. “Yeah. Thanks.”

He turned to Small Bob, reaching out to ruffle the big feline’s blood-stained fur. “You too, fuzzball.”

Small Bob purred so loud it shook the ground and leaned into Percy’s hand before licking at his fingers with a sandpaper tongue.

Percy made a face. “Okay, gross—but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Luke smirked. “Least I could do after trying to kill you that one time. Or two. Depending on how you count it.”

Percy groaned and rolled his eyes as he stood. “Don’t remind me.”

Luke shrugged. “Besides, you’ve still got a quest to finish. A girl to find. Can’t let you die yet.”

They started walking again, back into the shifting gloom, with Small Bob bounding ahead.

Luke casually rested the broom on his shoulder and added, “I can tell I'll be playing ‘ghost in shining armor’ today.”

Percy snorted under his breath. “Yeah, well. Try not to die again while you’re at it.”

Luke grinned. “No promises.”

Notes:

Did y'all catch the HLVR: But the AI are aware reference?

Luke refuring to small bob as 'The cat' is hilarious to me since he heard Percy call him by name but he refuses to use said name.

Bt dubs- if I were to have a little qna for the characters some time in the future, would y'all like that?

If y'all want one that is, y'all can go ahead and drop questions and I'll save em up for the qna that might happen after a certain amount of characters have appeared in the story.

Chapter 7: Friend or foe?

Summary:

Names having power + damasen finally

Notes:

I'm pretty sure I've made damasen ooc but this is like..an AU so it's fine. I don't know much about him so I'm working with what little knowledge I got and making my own lil damasen. 🤲*Hands you my version of damasen*

 

Happy birthday to me btw 🎉🎂🕺

Percy moved with a sharper edge now.

Since the ambush with the empousa, something in him had cracked open a little more—some primal instinct that refused to close again. He hadn’t said anything, hadn’t acknowledged it out loud, but Luke noticed the shift. Percy’s stance was more predatory. His eyes flicked to every sound, every shadow. He held himself tense like a spring ready to snap.

The worst part? Percy didn’t even seem to notice.

Or maybe he did, but chose to ignore it.

He let Luke keep the broom, which now served as their backup weapon while Riptide stayed sheathed in Percy’s pocket. It was a silent choice, but it said more than Percy realized: a part of him didn’t trust the sword anymore...

As they traveled deeper into the scorched, craggy path, the air began to shift again—cooler, denser, and faintly...floral??

Percy halted at the scent, his eyes narrowing, body immediately on edge.

That was when he saw him.

A massive figure ahead, sitting amidst a patch of dying wildflowers that stubbornly bloomed in Tartarus' toxic soil. Broad as a hill and just as quiet, the man—no, giant—watched them from a distance, unmoving but not unaware.

Percy gained a feral look in an instant.

“..Enemy..” he growled, almost too low for Luke to hear.

“Woah, wait—”

But Percy didn’t.

He crouched slightly, claws slipping out from his fingers like knives and fangs bared. A low growl rumbled in his throat, and without a second thought, Small Bob mirrored him—teeth also bared, shoulders coiled. If Percy wanted something dead, Small Bob did too. That was law.

“Percy—” Luke tried again, stepping forward—

Too late.

Percy lunged forward like a wild beast, and Small Bob prepared to leap.

But Luke moved fast.

He tackled Percy from behind, wrapping both arms around him and pinning his arms to his sides, locking his own legs around Percy’s to keep him from bolting. “Hey, hey! Cut that out—! Damn it Percy!”

Percy thrashed, snarling—not speaking, not thinking, just reacting. He clawed at the air, trying to break free, muscles tensing like he was ready to rip through Luke if necessary.

“Percy!” Luke snapped, trying to reach him.

No response.

“Percy, it’s okay! He’s not attacking! Look—he’s just sitting there!”

Still nothing. Just growls and ragged breathing.

Luke gritted his teeth. “Perseus!”

The name rang out like a bell in Percy’s head.

His body jerked—his breath hitched—and the fight in him slowed. He was still tense, still growling low in his throat, but the mindless rage began to slip away like steam from a cracked pipe.

His muscles relaxed slowly, and his glowing claws retracted.

Luke let out a relieved breath but didn’t release him just yet. “..You back?”

Percy blinked rapidly, chest rising and falling. He looked around—at the strange patch of dying flowers, at the massive figure in the distance—and then at his own hands.

'..What the hell was I just about to do?' he thought to himself.

He sighed, annoyed and embarrassed, rubbing his face once Luke finally let him go. “Gods…I—I lost it. Again.”

Luke stood next to him, broom still in hand like a baseball bat. “Yeah, no kidding. What was that?”

Percy didn’t answer right away. He stared at his hands. “Side effects, I think. From being down here. Eating monsters. Fighting. Running. It's like my brain just…shifts and gains a different mindset.”

Luke hummed. “Well, good thing I stopped you. That guy over there?” He nodded toward the giant. “Actually a pretty decent dude.”

Percy frowned. “How do you know him?”

Luke raised a brow. “Because he has a name, Percy. His name is Damasen. And he’s not a monster—he’s a giant. C'mon now, be nice.”

Percy looked like he was going to protest, but Luke kept going, the tone in his voice turning matter-of-fact, as if correcting someone on a very basic piece of trivia. “I met him once. A while ago when I first arrived in Tartarus. He’s…different. Doesn’t really want to get too involved with others if it risks his own safety.”

Percy stiffened a bit at that, but didn’t argue.

When they both looked back over at Damasen, they saw Small Bob had already trotted up to him and was now climbing up his leg like a small spider trying to climb onto someone. Damasen just blinked down at him, gently tilting his head, more confused than annoyed.

Percy groaned and rubbed his temples. “Of course he would–…” he said, watching small bob.

Luke smirked. “If your murder-cat likes him, I’d say we’re safe.”

Percy let out a long sigh. “I need to pull myself together.”

“Yeah,” Luke said, resting the broom on his shoulder. “Preferably before you decide I’m next on the ‘fight or feast’ list.” Luke said, casting Percy a wary side glance.

Percy rolled his eyes. “Please. Doubt you’d even taste good.”

Luke clutched his translucent chest like Percy had wounded him. “Wow. You wound me, Jackson. Truly.”

A small smirk tugged at Percy’s lips. “You’re a ghost. You probably don’t even taste like anything. Like...unseasoned seasoning.”

Luke blinked. “..What?”

“Exactly.” Percy said as they approached the towering figure of Damasen, the smirk still faintly present.

Damasen stood calmly, unmoving despite the tiny saber-toothed cub that had managed to scale his side and was now perched on his shoulder, happily chewing on a thick braid of the giant’s hair. Percy cleared his throat awkwardly and stepped forward, sheepish.

“Hey uh..sorry. About earlier. The almost-attacking-you part. And the cat....He means well. I think.”

Damasen glanced at the small feline gnawing on his hair, brow raised. “It is alright. Both things are understandable. You are in Tartarus. Instincts run wild here.” His deep voice rumbled like distant thunder—peaceful, not angry. “I have been mistaken for a threat before.”

Percy nodded, feeling the heat of shame crawl up his neck. “Still. Thanks for not squishing me.”

Luke, standing with the broom still slung over his shoulder, tilted his head toward Damasen’s leg, which was wrapped in dark cloth and still stained with blood. “What happened to your leg? I mean—only if you’re okay saying.”

Damasen’s heavy gaze shifted down to the wound. For a moment, he was quiet.

“I was attacked,” he said slowly, “by a girl. A small one, though fierce. I believe…it was an act of fear. She was running—from monsters. I took care of them.”

That was enough.

Percy and Luke exchanged a sharp glance. It had to be Annabeth.

“..Was she okay?” Percy asked quickly, unable to keep the concern from his voice.

Damasen gave a slight nod. “Shaken. But she did not seem wounded. She ran before I could speak to her.”

Percy’s fists clenched slightly, his heart twisting. Annabeth…Alone, scared, and possibly thinking he was dead—or worse.

Luke noticed his silence and stepped in. “Would it be alright if we rested at your place? We’ve been walking a while, and Percy’s on the verge of going full cave-gremlin again.”

Damasen gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “Yes. My hut is not far. Come.”

As they followed Damasen, Percy’s steps slowed. The swampy terrain squelched underfoot, each step damp and cold. But Percy wasn’t focused on the ground.

How far had Annabeth gone? Was she close to the exit? Was she still in danger?

He didn’t doubt Bob was doing everything to protect her—but Tartarus was brutal. Relentless. And the thought of her out there, possibly thinking he was dead or gone...

He didn’t even realize he was spacing out until–

“Ow—!”

Percy looked down to see Small Bob in his cub form, nipping at his ankle with playful little mews and purring growls. The cub stared up at him, tail swishing, clearly demanding attention.

Percy bent down and scooped him up, Small Bob immediately wriggling and snapping softly at Percy’s fingers like it was all just a game. Percy sighed—half amused, half exhausted—and let the cat chew harmlessly at his knuckle as they continued walking.

The ground soon opened to a murky swamp clearing where Damasen’s hut stood—built of thick drakon bones lashed together with cords of hide, covered with drakon skin for roofing. It was primitive, but sturdy.

Warm light glowed from within.

Luke whistled lowly. “Charming,” he said. “Kind of cozy, in a haunted wilderness-murder-cabin way.”

Percy didn’t say anything in response—his gaze drifted toward the sky above the hut, if you could call it that. Just more darkness and swirling shadows, wondering if he'd ever get out and find annabeth.

The interior of Damasen’s hut was warmer than Percy expected—lit by soft embers tucked into sconces made of hollowed bones, their glow pulsing like fireflies in the gloom. Despite the grim materials, the place had a strange calm to it, as if the very walls had soaked up Damasen’s quiet, peaceful presence.

The scent of herbs lingered in the air—something earthy and faintly metallic, probably to keep away whatever Tartarus-born disease lingered in the swamp mist outside.

Damasen gestured calmly toward the inside. “Make yourselves comfortable,” he said, voice like distant thunder. “Luke, you remember the way.”

Luke gave a short nod. “Yeah. I remember.”

He didn’t elaborate, and Damasen didn’t ask. With a quiet hum, the giant turned and walked off toward the back of the hut—maybe to tend to more herbs or just give them space.

Percy, still holding Small Bob in his arms, followed Luke through the slightly warped hallway of bones and sinew. Luke led the way with the familiar air of someone who had once, if briefly, called this place home.

“He gave me the bed the one time I stayed here,” Luke said as they walked, brushing a hand over the rough wall. “Said he doesn’t sleep much. Not because he doesn’t want to. Tartarus just doesn’t let him sometimes.” He glanced back. “You look like you’ll pass out just standing there.”

Percy gave him a deadpan stare. “I’m fine.” He winced as Small Bob nipped at his fingers again. “Mostly.”

Luke only snorted, reaching the modest room and pushing open the curtain of stitched drakon-hide. “Right. And I’m the holy Spirit.”

Inside was a low bed made of mossy padding, stacked pelts, and some kind of woven bedding that looked absurdly soft considering where they were. The moment Percy stepped into the room, his knees nearly buckled—not from pain, but from relief. His whole body was vibrating with exhaustion he hadn’t let himself acknowledge.

“You sleep,” Luke said simply, leaning against the doorframe with arms crossed. “Seriously. You look like half your soul's still dragging behind you.”

Percy gave him a tired side-eye, then sighed and finally placed Small Bob down on the bed.

As expected, the cub immediately waddled to the nearest corner of the mattress, curled up into a fuzzy ball of fang and fluff, and let out a satisfied huff.

Percy followed, collapsing onto the bed next to him.

The moment his body hit the bedding, he exhaled sharply. It was soft. Softer than anything he’d felt in what felt like weeks—or months. He’d lost track of time entirely down here. And the warmth, the stillness…it was like his body was already letting go.

He blinked once.

Twice.

He barely noticed Small Bob scoot from the corner of the bed to the crook of his neck and shoulder, the cub’s purring vibrating softly against his throat like a little engine.

For the first time in Tartarus, Percy felt somewhat safe.

And before he could even think another thought, he was asleep.

Notes:

This morning while I was heading to school (collage), I said good morning to Apollo. I was then flashbanged multiple times in a few seconds and then through out the day I'm pretty sure the sun kept trying to bake me. Idk if he was trying to say good morning, happy birthday, or what but Id like to think that being baked was his way of trying to give me a hug and say happy birthday. 🧍🤷

Small chapter but I wanted to post sumn. I'll prolly post again later in the week.

Chapter 8: Some friend you are

Summary:

Luke suffering, small bob really likes soup (but only if Luke's touched it first), Percy feels sort of okay for once.

Notes:

I did NOT read it for mistakes or anything. Y'all get a raw chapter cause I'm tired but wanted to put out the chapter

Ts been waiting in the drafts for six days now

Might go back and edit it later

Percy blinked slowly, the red sky of Tartarus casting everything in eerie, shifting shadows. The strange dream-vision remained sharp despite the unnatural fog that curled around the edges. Annabeth and Bob moved like figures behind thick glass—distorted, dulled, unreachable. He could see their mouths moving, their bodies tense with movement, but the sound didn’t quite reach him.

It was like being underwater with cotton in his ears, which was… ridiculous. He was a son of Poseidon. Water was supposed to be his thing. Sound should carry perfectly for him. But here in Tartarus, nothing followed the rules.

He let out a soft, almost bitter chuckle. This must be what fish feel like when humans try to talk to them with scuba gear, he thought. The mental image of a fish squinting in confusion at a goggled human babbling in bubbles almost made him smile. Almost.

But then he looked at Annabeth.

The humor drained from his face.

Her appearance hit him like a punch to the gut. Torn clothes. Dust and ichor caking her skin. Her blond hair hung in a chaotic mess, and there was a wild, untamed look in her gray eyes that made something twist in Percy’s chest. It wasn’t just exhaustion—it was survival. Desperation. She looked like a cornered animal that had fought too hard for too long.

And yet, she was still standing.

Still swinging that knife like it was part of her arm. Still pushing forward, even if every step looked like it hurt.

Percy felt guilt tug at him as he watched her. But also…a flicker of hope. She was alive. She had Bob. And she was close—so close to the Doors.

All he had to do was find a way there. All he had to do was survive this cursed place a little longer, and he’d get to her. Then he could say it all—say how sorry he was. How he never meant to scare her.

He didn’t know how to explain that moment. What happened with Misery. That suffocating pressure, that voice like nails in his brain, the overwhelming need to make it stop. She was trying to break them—twisting their emotions, amplifying their pain until they tore each other apart. Percy hadn’t wanted to hurt her. He barely even remembered moving before it was over.

But when he turned and saw the look on Annabeth’s face…

His brows furrowed.

Why was that different? Misery was a threat. A monster. Like all the others they’d faced before. Why did this one feel wrong?

Maybe Annabeth was just overreacting. She’d been exhausted, cornered, barely hanging on. Anyone would be shaken after that, right?

He clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing as he watched her again, her silhouette darting between monsters as Bob slammed a giant club down like a divine judge.

Yeah. She was just tired. Just overwhelmed. She had to know he didn’t have a choice.

Still…the doubt lingered like a bitter taste in his mouth.

He clenched his fists, frustration crawling under his skin like fire ants. He saved her. She should’ve been grateful. Not scared. Not looking at him like he’d become something—

Something worse.

His throat tightened.

I was protecting us, he told himself again.

But the mantra wasn’t as steady as it used to be. It cracked around the edges.

Percy watched as Bob and Annabeth finished off the last of the monsters. Annabeth leaned forward, bracing herself on her knees, gasping for air. Bob put a hand on her back—gentle, reassuring.

Percy’s shoulders slumped. His eyes softened.

They’d be okay. At least for now.

But he was going to have to talk to her—really talk—when they got out. No dodging. No pretending it was all fine. No brushing it off as a bad day.

It wasn’t fair.

They were supposed to work together. That’s what they’d promised. That’s what had kept him going when the walls of Tartarus pressed too close and the air turned to smoke in his lungs. That promise. That she’d be there. That they’d fight their way out together.

But she’d left.

And knowing where she was—knowing she was alive and still fighting—should’ve made him feel better. It didn’t.

Instead, it just made it worse. Knowing she was out there without him, moving forward while he stayed stuck in this hellhole, each day clawing a little more of himself away. Percy scowled, wiping a hand down his face. His fingers came away damp. Sweat. Or tears. He didn’t know. Didn’t care.

This was useless. All of it.

The thinking. The aching. The spiral he kept circling like a drain.

He’d rather sleep. Not dream—just sleep. Deep, empty, quiet. Like skipping a cutscene in a game he already knew the ending to. Just black out and open his eyes later and pretend it had never happened.

Percy sighed, long and hard.

Then he noticed the quiet.

Too quiet.

He inhaled—

And panic hit him like a fist to the chest.

No air.

His lungs seized. He tried again.

Nothing.

Why couldn’t he breathe?

His eyes went wide, heart lurching into a frantic rhythm. Was he dying? For real this time? His body locked, brain scrambling in a thousand directions, thoughts cascading in a jumbled mess.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.

Not like this.

His limbs trembled, pressure building in his skull. The world tilted, blurry and strange. His vision dimmed.

Then—

A voice.

Faint. Familiar.

“Wake up. Champion of Olympus—wake up.”

Percy blinked through the pressure, the name reverberating like a distorted echo underwater.

Champion…of Olympus?

The voice was clearer now. Urgent. “Percy. Wake up—”

Then he gasped awake.

His whole body jerked violently, claws out, lungs screaming for air. Instinct took over and he grabbed, clutching the nearest thing in a blind frenzy—

Luke.

Luke winced as Percy's claws sank into his arms, translucent skin parting like mist and bleeding real red despite the ghostliness. The dead boy hissed through his teeth but didn’t pull away, one hand bracing Percy’s shoulder as he whispered, “Hey, hey. It’s okay. You’re awake now. You’re alright. Breathe.”

Percy’s vision cleared in fragments, face pale and drenched with cold sweat, heart rattling his ribs. Luke’s form flickered in front of him, glowing faintly in the dim light, bleeding from his side and now his arms too.

“Luke—” Percy rasped, voice shredded and shaky. “I didn’t— I didn’t know—”

“I know,” Luke said with a strained smile. “I’ve had worse wake-up calls. You’ve got some nasty reflexes now.”

Percy stared at the blood, horrified, and forced himself to unclench his fingers. His claws retracted instantly, leaving faint trails of red down Luke’s arms that shimmered like cracks in glass.

Luke gave a breathless chuckle. “Well, that’s new.”

“I’m sorry,” Percy muttered. “I thought— I thought I was dying.”

“You were,” Luke replied dryly. “Suffocating. I think Small Bob might’ve decided your face was a mattress again.”

Percy blinked, eyes flicking to the corner.

Sure enough, the drakeling cub was perched innocently on the dresser, tail swishing as it lapped lazily at what looked suspiciously like… soup. Percy’s soup.

The little cub tilted its head and gave Percy a pleased rumble, like you’re welcome for the warmth, hooman.

Luke just deadpanned, gesturing to the bowl. “I went to go get food for you. Came back to find him sprawled on your face and stealing your dinner. So unless you wanna fight him for leftovers, you’re gonna have to get up and get your own now.”

Percy groaned but managed a weak smirk. “Figures. Even my emotional support monster’s a thief.”

“Must be a demigod thing,” Luke muttered, dragging a hand through his hair.

Percy rolled out of bed with a grunt, legs shaky but working. He followed Luke slowly, shoulders hunched, heart still uneven in his chest.

He kept thinking about that voice.

Champion of Olympus.

A cruel title.

He didn’t feel like a champion. Not of Olympus. Not of anything. Just a half-broken boy with claws, fangs, and eyes that weren’t fully human anymore.

But he followed Luke anyway—because there was soup to be had, and maybe if he kept moving, kept going forward, the voices and the guilt would quiet down. Even just a little.

Even if just for tonight.

The kitchen was barely that—more like a corner of the hut that had been grudgingly dedicated to “food things.” There were no cabinets, no shelves, not even a fire pit. Just a large pot sitting atop a crude stone stand, warm from whatever heat Damasen had conjured to keep it simmering. Beside it sat a stack of mismatched bowls and a few tarnished spoons. The smell rising from the pot was surprisingly pleasant—herbs, something vaguely tomato-like, and… mushrooms?

Percy didn’t ask. He was too hungry to care.

He and Luke each took a bowl, ladling out the thick soup. Percy noticed the ghost’s hands trembled slightly, the injuries from earlier still visible and not healing the way living wounds might. Still, Luke didn’t say a word about it.

As they made their way back to the room, bowls in hand, the first thing they saw was Small Bob halfway up the tattered curtains beside the window.

“Seriously?” Percy said, blinking.

Small Bob twisted in midair and dropped back down with a thud, meowing so loudly it almost sounded like a lecture. The cub padded over quickly, tail high, as if he had been waiting for them this whole time.

Then he turned his bright eyes on Luke—and leapt.

“Hey—HEY! No—no, no, get down, you—OW—”

Small Bob scrambled up Luke’s side, ignoring the protests, until he was draped lazily across Luke’s chest like a smug, purring scarf. Luke stared down at him with a look that was one part betrayed, one part exhausted.

Percy snorted into his soup. “He likes you.”

“He likes my body heat,” Luke muttered. “Which, fun fact, I barely have anymore. Ghost perks.”

Small Bob chirped, then immediately started reaching one little paw toward Luke’s bowl, claws tapping the edge like a thief testing a lock.

Luke narrowed his eyes. “No.”

The cub stretched closer.

“No, Small Bob. You have your own—”

Luke paused, looked over to the dresser where the original soup bowl still sat with a decent amount of untouched broth left inside. He turned slowly back to the small dragon curled against him, who had the gall to give him the most innocent, big-eyed look Percy had ever seen.

“…You have food,” Luke said flatly, lifting Small Bob by the scruff of his neck with practiced ease. “This is mine. That is yours.”

He walked over and plopped the drakeling down next to the original bowl.

Small Bob stared at it. Then at Luke. Then gave a slow, dramatic blink before leaning down and eating from his own soup like he’d planned to do that the whole time.

Luke exhaled. “Unbelievable.”

Percy chuckled, finally sitting down again with his bowl. “He’s smart. Knows a sucker when he sees one.”

Luke muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘I got stabbed for less than this.’

Despite everything—despite the aching exhaustion, the nightmares, the weight of guilt and abandonment still clinging to him like wet clothes—Percy found himself smiling.

Luke had just lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, bowl of warm soup in hand, when the unmistakable sound of claws clicking against the floor alerted him.

“No,” he said preemptively, not even looking up.

But it was too late.

Small Bob, the sabertooth tiger cub with no concept of personal space—or boundaries—launched himself like a furry missile onto Luke’s lap, claws digging into his shirt as he began to climb up his chest with enthusiastic determination.

“No! Get off—get off of me! You have your own food, you little gremlin!” Luke leaned back, trying to escape the clingy feline’s ascent, while shielding his soup like it was the last bowl on earth.

Across the room, Percy sat on a worn wooden chair, spoon in hand, calmly eating his own soup as he watched the scene unfold. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Luke caught it instantly.

He froze mid-struggle, pinned by paws and narrowed his eyes at Percy. “Are you laughing at me?”

Percy’s expression went blank. “What? No. Absolutely not.” He took another slow, innocent sip from his spoon.

Luke narrowed his eyes further. “Because if something’s funny, I’d love to laugh too.”

Before Percy could reply, Small Bob made his move.

The cub swelled in size—fur rippling, limbs elongating—until a full-sized sabertooth tiger stood on Luke’s lap. With a single, gleeful pounce, the now-massive feline tackled Luke completely, knocking him flat onto the mattress. The soup bowl wobbled precariously in his hands as the tiger tried to stick his oversized tongue inside.

“NO—!” Luke’s voice went strangled. “STOP—GET—YOU’RE GOING TO SPILL IT!”

Percy let out a startled gasp as Luke flailed beneath the giant cat, limbs half-crushed, soup bowl tilting dangerously.

“Small Bob!” Percy called, but the tiger was far too focused on his mission to care.

Luke squirmed, barely keeping the bowl upright with both arms while Small Bob licked furiously at his chin and the side of the bowl.

“Demon spawn!” Luke growled. “Get your big fuzzy face out of my food!”

Percy, meanwhile, clutched his own bowl tighter, half-standing to keep it from falling as he watched the chaos, trying—and failing—not to laugh. A snort escaped before he could catch it.

“Traitor,” Luke gasped, one hand shoving at Small Bob’s massive head. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Just a little,” Percy admitted with a crooked grin, finally setting his bowl down beside Small Bob’s untouched one on the dresser. He crossed the room and carefully grabbed the tiger by the scruff.

“Okay, buddy. He said no.”

Small Bob let out a grumble but obeyed, stepping off of Luke and shrinking back down to his cub size with a dramatic huff. He flopped beside the bed like an offended loaf of bread.

Luke sat up slowly, hair sticking up in random directions, his shirt rumpled, and his bowl of soup now a little less full.

“I’m going to haunt you one day,” he told Percy seriously, brushing tiger fur off his chest.

Percy raised an eyebrow. “You’d have to be scary for that.”

“I am scary.”

“And,” Percy added, smirking, “you’d have to get out of Tartarus first.”

Luke paused, then gave a tired nod. “...Fair.”

Luke let out a long, exhausted sigh and stared down at his soup—now lukewarm, speckled with fur, and half-licked by a feline menace. He grimaced.

“I don’t even feel like eating anymore,” he muttered, shifting to stand with the stiffness of someone thirty years older than he should be. “I’m gonna go… clean myself up. Again.”

He picked a tuft of tiger fur off his sleeve and flicked it to the floor with a glare, muttering something about feline betrayal.

Small Bob, now cub-sized again and completely unrepentant, blinked up at Luke from where he lay near the bed. He gave a little chirp, stood, and began following him toward the back of the small room like a shadow with oversized paws.

Luke didn’t even fight it this time. He just sighed again and muttered, “Fine. Come on, demon cat.”

The door creaked slightly as it opened and then clicked shut behind them, leaving Percy alone with the soft hum of Tartarus outside and the warmth of his own soup in hand.

He stood still for a moment, the quiet wrapping around him like a blanket. Then he took a seat again, back on the chair near the dresser. The scent of the broth was still pleasant, the warmth from the bowl sinking into his fingers.

He let out a small breath through his nose—half-laugh, half-sigh—and took another spoonful. The soup really wasn’t anything special. But somehow, in the middle of this hellhole, in a land of monsters and death and silence and blood…

It tasted good.

And for the first time since the quest began, Percy realized—

He felt happy.

Not safe, not comfortable, not at peace… but happy. In this strange, messy, absurd moment where Luke got tackled by a giant cat and tried to threaten him with ghosthood and Small Bob made a mess of everything.

It was chaotic and weird and real. A spark of something human in a place that seemed built to smother all of that out.

He smiled softly to himself, leaned back just a little, and let himself enjoy the quiet.

Just for a little while longer.

 

Notes:

I was gonna have this be more lore focused at first, but I don't know how it turned into Luke suffering, honestly.

Luke pov chapter soon..?👀

no beta we start tweakin like Richard (Dick) 'crash out' Grayson 🤟👹

Notes:

I feel bad for the poor bby, I'm sorry Percy 😔

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Daddy's little monster