THADDEUS POV
Under normal circumstances, the drive from Las Vegas to Hollywood takes about nearly four hours—longer if you encounter traffic near L.A., which, let's be honest, you always do. It's roughly 270 miles via I-15 S. Smooth journey if you time it right.
Why am I even thinking about this? No idea. Call it an obsession. Something to distract me from the absolute turmoil that is my life.
But we were supposed to account for delays. Fuel stops. Meals. Restroom breaks.
Yeah, we didn't.
Because, hello, we needed to rescue Percy's mom!
So, instead of stressing about route efficiency like a normal, rational person, I decided to let that be Grover's responsibility. I handed over the wheel (which, in hindsight, may have been a mistake) and got comfortable in the backseat for a nap.
By "nap," I meant a full-on collapse—not a bad one, obviously, though the I'm-exhausted-let-me-exist-in-peace kind.
Was it risky? Perhaps. But still at this point, I'd rather take my chances with Grover's driving than face the nightmares waiting for me if I didn't get some rest.
Luckily, it wasn't a "complete" catastrophe. I actually managed to sleep.
ALTHOUGH... the weather? Yeah, that was another issue.
By bad, I don't mean "Oh no, it's drizzling, better grab an umbrella" bad. I mean Greek Myth bad. As in, Zeus-is-losing-his-patience bad. No lightning—yet—but the thunder? Loud enough to shake the ground and rattle my skull. That's what yanked me out of slumber.
I blinked away the grogginess and took in the scene. Grover was hunched over the radio, fiddling with the dial—probably trying to tune into some mortal news station to see how the world was reacting to impending divine warfare.
"Scientists remain baffled as a single, massive storm cloud has now expanded to cover the entire United States. Hurricanes are rapidly forming in the Gulf, while record-breaking waves are threatening levees along both coasts…"
The newscaster's voice droned on, but my focus shifted.
We were stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the 110 North, creeping through downtown L.A. Outside, Annabeth was brows furrowed as she studied the sky—stormy, dark, brooding, like a war was brewing above us.
Because, well… it was.
"Zeus and Poseidon… they're preparing for battle," she said, her voice tight with anxiety.
I exhaled. "Already? We still have a few days left."
Before anyone could respond, the radio crackled, the anchor's voice shifting tones. "In other updates, the nationwide manhunt continues for seventeen-year-old Percy Jackson, wanted for kidnapping and suspected terrorism. Authorities believe he is accompanied by Thaddeus Bartholomew and two other unidentified accomplices—"
I groaned, rubbing my temples. "Just what I needed."
"Don't let that get to you, man," Grover muttered, switching off the radio.
Annabeth rolled down the window, scanning the buildings. She spotted a clock on a high-rise and pointed.
I followed her gaze.
12:47 p.m.
Time was slipping away.
"Never thought I'd be late getting to hell because of traffic," Annabeth muttered, arms crossed, glaring at the gridlock ahead.
I snorted. "Could be worse. At least we're not stuck in an elevator to hell. Can you imagine? Just muzak and awkward small talk with demons for eternity. 'So, how's the wife? Oh, she left you for a Minotaur? Yeah, rough, buddy.'"
Annabeth just rolled her eyes.
But then I glanced over at Percy, and something was… off. He was slumped in his seat, staring ahead—but not really seeing anything. His fingers drummed anxiously against his knee. This wasn't just road trip exhaustion—this was something else. Something deeper.
"Look, guys… maybe it's time," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "Time to stop."
Annabeth snapped her head toward him. "What?"
I stopped mid-headbang against the dashboard. Did I hear him right? Percy Jackson—the same guy who'd dragged us through hell (almost literally), dodged monsters twice his size, and risked life and limb for the past week—was giving up?
"Take that back or I'm freezing your ass," I said, giving the dashboard one last thump for good measure.
Percy sighed. "Ares was right. Maybe I am being selfish. I mean… we've got less than, what? Thirty-six hours? We should just head straight to Olympus and stop the war."
Annabeth leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. "What about your mom?"
He hesitated, exhaling sharply like it pained him to say the words. "We've done everything we can..."
And that? That right there was what broke Annabeth's patience.
"Stop thinking like a mortal!" she snapped.
Percy blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
Annabeth didn't let up. "I didn't come all this way to quit," she said fiercely, her stormy gray eyes practically burning. "We can do this, Percy. We can save your mom and stop the war. But you have to stop doubting yourself. You've come too far. Get those weak, mortal thoughts out of your head... and start acting like a demigod."
I turned in my seat, staring at him.
"Look, I wasn't handing out my deepest secrets to just anyone—I had to feel you out first, make sure you were the right kind of person to trust. And don't get it twisted: I wasn't kicking it with you because I had nothing better to do or couldn't be bothered to socialize. Nah. I was there because I wanted to be."
"And let's not forget—I was the one swooping in every time some teacher decided to throw nonsense your way for no reason. That was me, looking out. So yeah, think about that."
I let that sit for a second before sighing and turning back to the road.
"A friend needed help," I said, my tone easing into something quieter. "When someone I care about needs me? I show up. No hesitation, no overthinking. That's just how it is. We've been through way too much together for me to act like I don't give a damn. I mean—we've taken on monsters, bent more rules than I can count, and somehow we're still standing. So Percy, answer me this: why stop now?"
For a moment, he just sat there, absorbing everything. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Okay," he said. "We finish this."
"Good," I muttered, rolling my shoulders. "Now someone better shake Grover awake before this whole thing goes sideways and we wind up in a ditch. Seriously, do I have to do everything around here?"
"Thanks, Thad… I owe you," Percy said, his voice raw with sincerity.
I waved him off. "You don't owe anyone a damn thing, and nobody owes you either… legally speaking, obviously. But here's the thing—if someone does you a solid? Be smart enough to show gratitude. Like Seneca said: 'He who receives a benefit with gratitude repays the first installment on his debt.' Translation? Don't be a jerk. Acknowledge the good stuff. That's how you move through life without being a waste of space."
Percy blinked. "Did you just hit me with ancient philosophy?"
"You're literally a half-blood. You breathe ancient philosophy."
Percy chuckled, then out of nowhere asked, "Can I hug you from the back?"
I stared at him. "Not sure if that's the gayest thing you've ever said… but congrats, it's top three. You're setting the bar high here."
Annabeth sighed heavily as she watched this trainwreck unfold. Grover, meanwhile, remained blissfully passed out in the front seat—dribbling drool onto the upholstery.
Not for much longer, though.
Annabeth, in true no-nonsense fashion, kicked the back of his seat—hard.
"WAH—!" Grover shot up, flailing like a man yanked out of a nightmare. "Kara? No, Kianna? Oh gods, I swear I wasn't flirting—it was just the lyre music—!"
I raised a brow. "Dude. What are you talking about?"
Grover blinked. He groaned, rubbing his face. "Nothing. Don't even ask."
I smirked. "Sure, buddy. 'Nothing.'"
Annabeth rolled her eyes. "Focus. We've got a quest to finish, geniuses."
Annabeth stabbed a finger at the map. "That's our exit. We're close."
Just then, a green sign loomed over the freeway, glowing like cheap neon under the bruised sky:
RIGHT LANE… HOLLYWOOD.
The second we escaped the traffic snarl, I snapped at Grover: "Cut through the traffic and gun it. Scenic routes are for tourists—we're on a one-way trip to hell."
He didn't argue. Tires screeched as we wove through lanes, the city blurring into palm trees and billboards advertising teeth-whitening and despair. Then—
There it was.
The HOLLYWOOD sign, bleached white and towering on the hillside like some giant's forgotten graffiti. Below it, the city sprawled—a glittering mess of ambition and broken taillights. Our van skidded into a dirt lot at the base of the hill, choking the air with dust.
We piled out, stiff and squinting in the hazy light. Above us, the sign hummed with cheap electricity.
Percy unfolded the map, scanning the scrubby hillside behind the letters. "Entrance should be… here."
Annabeth crossed her arms. "You're sure the entrance is here?"
Grover and I exchanged a look, scanning the hillside like supernatural scouts. Nothing screamed "Gateway to the Underworld"—but Hades isn't exactly the "neon sign and welcome mat" type. Obviously.
"Positive," Percy said, a little too confidently.
Before I could argue, he shoved the map into Annabeth's hands and took off toward the base of the sign.
"Uh… bro?" I called after him. "That looks sketchy as Hades."
Percy, being Percy, ignored me. He scrambled down to the lower half of the massive H and froze, staring at the concrete.
"What is it?" Annabeth asked, stepping forward.
Percy pointed at a patch of graffiti splashed across the sign's foundation. At first glance, just street tags and chaos. But the longer I stared, the more the paint seemed to shift—swirling and reforming before my eyes.
Into Greek letters.
Of course.
Annabeth, Grover, and I read it aloud in unison:
"Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."
Silence.
I exhaled. "Well. That's reassuring."
Annabeth gave a sharp nod. "This is it."
Grover swallowed. "Yay."
Percy rejoined us and pressed his palm against the H. The second his skin touched concrete—
CRRRREAK—
The entire letter spun like some colossal revolving door, yanking us into darkness before I could finish shouting:
"WHAT THE H—"
The revolving H ground to a halt, spitting us out into a cramped, pitch-black space. Damp earthen walls pressed in on us, smelling of moss and something… older. Ancient.
"Everyone in one piece?" Percy asked.
"We're good," Annabeth confirmed.
"Peachy," Grover muttered. "Except I'm currently seeing less than a mole in a mineshaft."
"Relax." I snapped my fingers. A soft, golden flame sparked to life in my palm, washing the chamber in warm light—and illuminating the figure standing three feet in front of us.
Dude was tall—like "needed-a-ladder-to-high-five-him" tall. Gaunt, with skin the pale blue of deep glacier ice. Silver hair hung straight past his waist, framing a face all sharp angles and hollows. But his eyes… hollow and haunted, like he'd personally escorted every soul to the Underworld since Tuesday. His robes? Living shadows, swirling around him like restless smoke.
My sleep-deprived brain short-circuited: Sith Lord.
The others? Predictable. Percy, Annabeth, and Grover scrambled back like scalded cats. Me? I let the silence stretch, savoring the drama, before taking one deliberate, tiny step back.
"Oh no," I deadpanned. "So scary. Really. I'm literally shaking."
The figure tilted his head, then gave a faint, knowing nod. "'Sup."
Grover, however, vibrated with panic. "It's the Angel of Death!" he yelped, voice cracking.
A faint, amused smile tugged at the man's lips. "Not quite." His voice was deep, smooth, yet heavy—like every word carried echoes of forgotten tombs. "I am Virgil, Guide of the Underworld." His gaze swept over us, lingering on Percy. "Though conversation would be pleasant, I must remind you—the living trespass here."
Virgil? Oh, hell yes.
"Wait—the Virgil?" I squinted, leaning forward. "You're telling me you're that Virgil? Dante's tour guide through Hell? Because if so—first, huge fan. Iconic work. Second, real quick: did you ever meet a guy named Sparda down there? Asking for a friend—"
Virgil raised an eyebrow, looking equal parts baffled and bored.
"…Right. Wrong underworld." I coughed. "Let's pretend I never spoke."
Percy shot me a seriously? side-eye. Annabeth sighed like she was counting to ten. Grover looked ready to chew through the earthen walls.
Virgil folded shadowy hands behind his back. "Now. Shall we address your… presence?"
"I need to see Hades," Percy said, stepping forward.
Virgil didn't blink. "Die and return. Simple." He turned to melt into the gloom like this was his coffee run.
Percy lunged. "We'll pay you!"
Virgil paused. Slowly, he extended a palm.
Grover, trembling, shoved every crumpled bill from his pockets into it. The cash ignited—poof—vanishing into ash. Five hundred bucks. Gone.
Virgil turned away. "Try."
"Wait—"
That's when it clicked. "Percy! The drachmas. From Aunty Em's."
Percy grimaced but dug into his pocket. The stolen gold coins clinked into Virgil's waiting hand.
Virgil rolled them between his fingers. A slow, unnerving smile spread across his face.
And then—
The H spun again.
The ground vanished.
We were yanked through whirling darkness—like souls squeezed through a cosmic wringer.
BAM.
The world slammed back into place. I lurched forward, barely avoiding a faceful of ashy dirt. My whole body buzzed, as if some primordial force had glanced at me, shrugged eh, not worth it, and looked away.
I sucked in a breath.
Well. That was… new.
"Son of a gun," I muttered, shaking off the crawling sensation. What else do you do?
"He tricked us!" Grover bleated, spinning in panic.
"Not exactly—" Annabeth began, then froze.
Percy followed her stare.
Grover too.
We all stopped.
Because—oh.
Oh.
Los Angeles was gone.
In its place: a funhouse mirror from Tartarus.
Above, the sky bled crimson and ink, swirling with sulfur-thick smoke. The Hollywood Hills—once sunbaked and studded with palms—were scorched wastelands. Fires guttered in the distance, licking the skeletons of buildings that clawed at the hellscape sky. Skyscrapers stood as charcoal husks, windows blown out, frames groaning.
Cars smoldered like the carcasses of mechanical beasts, metal warped and weeping.
And the streets—
Hundreds—maybe thousands—of souls drifted between the ruins. Pale and tattered, translucent, they moved without purpose, faces hollow. Mouths gaped in silent screams, a chorus of endless agony that seeped into my bones.
Los Angeles was gone.
This was Hell's waiting room.
"…Well. That's a thing," I muttered.
Virgil materialized beside us, silent as grave mist. Annabeth, Percy, and Grover tensed, stunned by the nightmare panorama.
Me?
I should've been shaking. But the real gut-punch?
I wasn't.
Oh, fear whispered in my skull, heavy as a tombstone on my chest. Yet beneath it? Something colder coiled in my gut. Unnameable. Wrong.
Virgil clapped, the sound cracking like dry bone. "Welcome to the Underworld."
The dead didn't react. Just drifted. Moaned. Reached.
Virgil thrust a torch toward us. "I'll take you to Hades."
No fanfare. No ominous chords. Just a casual invitation to meet the god of the dead, like we were popping round for tea.
We followed Virgil, weaving through the ashen corpse of Los Angeles. Burnt-out husks of cars and scorched animal bones littered the path. Clusters of ghosts drifted by, faces vacant, eyes fixed on nothing.
Percy gripped his sword and shield, knuckles white. Annabeth nocked an arrow. Grover clutched his daggers like they could ward off eternity itself.
Me?
Staff in hand, I walked like a hermit on a hellscape stroll, shoulders loose.
Then the ghosts started touching us.
Skeletal fingers, cold as forgotten graves, brushed my skin. Hands tugged at my sleeves, my hair—not violent, but desperate. Starving.
"Honestly? Not scary," I said, kicking one away. "The groping's annoying, though."
Virgil chuckled. "It grows… tiresome."
We pushed forward. Ghosts clung like frost to skin, their whispers a hollow chorus.
Virgil shrugged off a spectral hand. "These are the Unjudged. Harmless. They seek the living… for warmth. A reminder of what they lost."
"EW!" Grover yelped as a ghost cupped his cheek. "It's like ice!" He scrubbed his face raw.
I snorted. "Imagine waiting centuries just to get sentenced to Tartarus. Talk about boring."
Annabeth, Percy, and Grover all leveled identical really? stares.
Virgil merely smiled.
"You adapt," he said.
I eyed him. "You deal with this daily?"
He hummed. "Not always. I have… an intern."
I blinked. "You—wait. An intern?"
Virgil nodded.
I grinned. "I need to meet them. Bet their coffee runs are legendary."
Virgil's chuckle was dry as tomb dust. "You have no idea."
For a second, I'd almost forgotten we were marching into Death's living room.
Then we reached Hades' "humble abode"—a haunted mansion that lost a fight with a demolition derby.
The gates were jagged iron teeth, rusted and twisted like they'd impale anyone dumb enough to touch them. The mansion itself? A crumbling monstrosity—walls cracked, windows shattered, paint peeling like a leprosy patient. The garden was deader than Darren's sense of humor; he'd rate it negative infinity.
Right on cue, a blood-curdling shriek ripped through the air—guttural, lingering, and distinctly not human.
Cozy. Hades really rolled out the welcome mat.
"Totally not terrifying," I muttered as another wail echoed.
Virgil lifted a hand. The gate groaned open like a dying beast.
"Hades awaits inside," he said.
We stepped through. The souls outside surged forward, moaning like hungry tides. Virgil flicked his wrist. The gate slammed shut, bolts screeching into place.
As we picked through the graveyard of a lawn—dead trees, vines like skeletal fingers, bones jutting from the dirt—I snorted.
"Satan's probably sipping margaritas right now, subtly flexing his lawn care. Even he wouldn't let his place look like this."
Annabeth shoved me. "Thaddeus. Shut. Up."
"Come on, Wise Girl! You know he's got a killer Pinterest board for hellscape landscaping. Pure spite-gardening."
Her glare could've vaporized me. I grinned wider.
Before she could act on it, a low, guttural growl rumbled—
Not from the house.
From the shadows watching us.
A few feet away, two hellhounds hunched over the half-eaten corpse of… something unidentifiable.
They lifted their heads. Eyes glowed like banked coals, black fur matted with things best left unimagined.
Then they saw Percy.
Growls deepened into subsonic rumbles. Muscles coiled like springs. They crept forward.
Tap. Tap.
I rapped my staff against the ground. Frost crackled up my arm, encasing my left hand in glowing True Ice that bit through my sleeve.
Percy unsheathed Riptide. The hellhounds froze. Hesitated. Took one step back. Then another. No attack. No retreat. Just… watching.
Smart dogs.
We kept moving, stepping onto the crumbling stone porch. The front door was as decayed as the rest, splintering wood held together by spite and rust. A massive brass eagle knocker perched in the center.
Percy, being Percy, reached for it.
Virgil's eyes widened. "That's—"
Too late.
The eagle SHRIEKED, lunging with a razor-sharp beak that sank into Percy's hand.
"GAH!" Percy jerked back, blood welling from the gashes.
The knocker? Frozen brass again. Like nothing happened.
Virgil sighed. "—ill-advised."
I grabbed Percy's wrist, wiping blood with my sleeve. "Listen and learn, dumbass."
Virgil shot Percy a piercing glare as he pushed the door open. "I. Am. The. Guide. Remember?"
Percy nodded, cradling his hand.
The second we stepped inside, it felt like walking into a haunted house that had given up haunting and settled for terminal depression.
A cavernous hallway stretched ahead, flanked by a staircase one sneeze from collapse. Everything—literally everything—was buried under dunes of dust and cobweb empires thick enough to choke a god. Furniture stood abandoned like forgotten corpses, draped in grime. Chandeliers sagged under generations of spider kingdoms. The air hung stale with rot and the ghost of smoke.
Rats scurried across the floorboards in some spectral game of tag. Lizards and spiders crawled the walls like bored landlords.
I surveyed the decay. "Oh yeah. The HOA's drafting a scathing letter right now: 'Dear Lord of the Dead: Your lawn is a biohazard. Remediate or face the committee's wrath.'"
THWACK.
Annabeth smacked my shoulder with her bow.
Grover took a step—right onto a rotted floorboard.
CRACK—
The wood shattered.
"AAAAH!" Grover plummeted, barely snagging the splintered edge. Below?
The basement.
Packed with things far worse than rats.
Hundreds—no, thousands—of twisted, skeletal figures clawed upward. Lost souls. Hollow eyes blazing with hunger. Bony hands snatched at his legs, yanking him down as they hissed and gurgled in a language born of nightmares.
I dropped to my knees, thrusting my staff down. "GRAB IT! Unless soul smoothie's your drink of choice—spoiler: it sucks."
Grover kicked wildly, stomping skulls, but more hands surged.
"GROVER!" Annabeth and Percy lunged, seizing his arms. They heaved him back onto solid ground as a dozen skeletal fingers tore at his shoes.
Grover collapsed, pale and gasping, glaring at Virgil. "You said they were harmless!"
Virgil tilted his head. "The Unjudged are harmless. These? The Condemned. Already sentenced to eternal agony. They are… quite motivated."
"No. Shit," Grover wheezed.
I clapped his shoulder. "Chin up! Could've been wors—"
The mansion trembled.
Not a room.
Everything.
Then it hit—a voice booming through the halls like divine thunder, deep as the abyss and dripping with raw authority. Perfect timing.
"WHO DARES ENTER MY DOMAIN?!"
I winced. Yep. Jinxed it.
Virgil didn't flinch. He clasped his hands, utterly serene. "Merely myself, my lord. Virgil. With… visitors."
"WHO?!"
Oh, so the god of the dead was extra. Good to know.
Honestly? I'd expected less drama. Disney made him weirdly charming, and the myths couldn't agree if he was brooding or just bored.
Percy stepped forward, chin up. "Percy Jackson. Son of Poseidon."
Silence hung thick as tomb dust.
Then—calm. Cold. Razor-edged:
"Nephew. I've been expecting you."
Oh.
Great.
Virgil turned, gesturing deeper into the gloom. "Shall we?"
We followed the sound of Hade's voice.