I DO NOT own the book or the characters. All I own is the plot line.

Percy was trying to wrap his mind around the Fields of Asphodel.

It was as if he was at the largest concert he could imagine; a football field packed with millions upon millions of fans. But something had gone wrong. There were no lights, no sound, no beach ball bouncing around. People just milled in silence, whispering, waiting for the main event that would never come.

Nevermind that the black grass had been trampled by eons of dead feet giving it an even more depressing outlook, or the moist wind that blew reminding him of the breath of a swamp. Black trees—Grover told him they were poplars—grew in clumps and clusters, adding to the depressing aesthetic.

The cavern ceiling was so high above them it might've been a bank of storm clouds, except for the stalactites, which glowed faint gray and looked wickedly pointed. Percy tried not to imagine that they'd fall on them at any moment but the stalactites dotted around the fields said another story.

He guessed that the dead didn't have to worry about stalactites the size of rocket boosters.

Percy, Annabeth, and Grover tried to blend into the crowd, keeping an eye out for security ghouls. Percy couldn't help looking for familiar faces among the spirits of Asphodel, but the dead were hard to look at. Their faces shimmer. They looked angry or slightly confused. They would come up to him and speak, but their voices sounded like bats twittering. Once they realized they he couldn't understand them, they would walk away, dejected.

The dead weren't scary. They were just sad.

Their group crept along, following the line of new arrivals that snaked from the main gates toward a black-tented pavilion. Waiting for them was a banner that read:

JUDGMENTS FOR ELYSIUM AND ETERNAL DAMNATION

Welcome, Newly Deceased!

Out from the back of the tent came two much smaller lines.

To the left, spirits flanked by security ghouls were marched down a rocky path toward the Fields of Punishment, which glowed and smoked in the distance—a vast, cracked wasteland with rivers of lava and minefields and miles of barbed wire separating the different torture areas. Even from far away, Percy could see people being chased by hellhounds, burned at the stake, forced to run naked through cacti patches or forced to listen to opera music. He could just make out a tiny hill, with the ant-sized figure of Sisyphus struggling to move his boulder to the top. And he saw worse tortures, too—things he didn't want to describe.

The line coming from the right side of the judgment pavilion was much better. This one led towards a small valley surround by walls—a gated community, which seemed to be the only happy part of the Underworld. Beyond the security gate were neighborhoods full of beautiful houses from every time period in history; Roman villas and medieval castles and Victorian mansions. Silver and golden flowers bloomed on the lawns; the grass rippled in rainbow colors. Percy could hear the laughter and he could smell barbecue cooking.

Elysium. The places for heroes.

In the middle of that valley was a glittering blue lake, with three small islands like a vacation resort in the Bahamas. The Isles of the Blest, for people who had chosen to be reborn three times, and in those three lives, they had achieved Elysium. Immediately Percy knew that's where he wanted to go when he died.

"That's what it's all about," Annabeth said like she was reading his thoughts. "That's the place for heroes."

But Percy thought about how so few people there were in Elysium, how tiny it was compared to the Fields of Asphodel or even the Fields of Punishment. So few people did good in their lives. It was depressing.

They left the judgment hall pavilion and moved deeper into the Fields of Asphodel. It got darker. The colors faded from their clothes. The crowds of chattering spirits began to thin.

After a few miles of walking, they began to hear a familiar screech in the distance. Looming on the horizon was a palace of glittering black obsidian. Above the parapets swirled three dark bat-like creatures: the furies. He got the feeling they were waiting for them.

"I suppose that it's too late to turn back," Grover said wistfully.

"We'll be okay." Percy tried to sound confident.

"Maybe we should search some of the other places first," Grover suggested. "Like Elysium, for instance..."

"Come on, goat boy." Annabeth grabbed his arm.

Grover yelled. His sneakers sprouted wings and his legs shot forward, pulling him away from Annabeth. He landed flat on his back in the grass.

"Grover," Annabeth chided. "Stop messing around."

"But I didn't—"

He yelped again. His shoes started flapping like crazy. They levitated off the ground and started dragging him away from the group.

"Maia!"he yelled, but the magic word seemed to have no effect. "Maia, already! Nine-one-one! Help!"

Percy got over being stunned and made a grab for Grover's hand, but he was too late. Grover was picking up speed, skidding downhill like a bobsled.

They ran after him.

Annabeth shouted, "Untie the shoes!"

It was a smart idea, but Percy guessed that it wasn't so easy when your shoes were pulling you along, feet first, at full speed. Grover tried to sit up, but he couldn't get close to the laces.

They ran after him, trying to keep him in sight as he zipped between the legs of spirits who chattered at him in annoyance.

Percy was sure Grover was going to barrel straight through the gates of Hades' palace, but his shoes veered sharply to the right and dragged him in the opposite direction.

The slope got steeper. Grover picked up speed. He and Annabeth had to sprint to keep up. The cavern narrowed on either side and he realized that they'd entered some kind of side-tunnel. No black grass or trees, just rock underfoot and the dim light of the stalactites above.

"Grover!" Percy yelled, his voice echoing. "Hold on to something!"

"What?" he yelled back.

Grover was grabbing at gravel, but there was nothing big enough to slow him down.

The tunnel got darker and colder. The hairs on Percy's arms bristled. The tunnel reeked of evil. It made Percy think of things he shouldn't even know about—blood spilled on an ancient stone altar, the foul breath of a murderer. Then he saw what was ahead of them, and he stopped dead in his tracks. The tunnel widened into a huge dark cavern and in the middle was a chasm the size of a city block. Grover was sliding straight toward the edge.

"Come on, Percy!" Annabeth yelled, tugging at his wrist.

"But that's—"

"I know!" she shouted. "The place you described in your dream! But Grover's going to fall if we don't catch him."

She was right of course. Grover's predicament got Percy moving again. Grover was yelling, clawing at the ground, but the winged shoes kept dragging him toward the pit, and it didn't look like he and Annabeth could possibly get to him in time. What saved him were his hooves. The flying sneakers had always been a loose fit on him, and finally, Grover hit a big rock and the left shoe came flying off. It sped into the darkness of the chasm, never to be seen again.

The right shoe kept tugging him along, but not as fast. Grover was able to slow himself down by grabbing onto the big rock and using it as an anchor. He was ten feet from the edge of the pit when they caught him and hauled him back up the slope. The other winged shoe tugged itself off, circled around the trio angrily and kicked at their heads in protest before flying off into the chasm to join its twin. The group collapsed, exhausted, on the obsidian gravel.

Percy's limbs felt like lead. Even his backpack seemed heavier as if somebody had filled it with rocks. Grover was scratched up pretty bad. His hands were bleeding. His eyes had gone slit-eyed, the way they did whenever he was terrified.

"I don't know how ..." he panted. "I didn't..."

"Wait," Percy said. "Listen."

He heard something—a deep whisper in the darkness.

Another few seconds and Annabeth said, "Percy, this place—"

"Shh." he stood.

The sound was getting louder. Percy could clearly make out that it was a voice muttering, but something was off. The voice sounded...evil. And it was coming from the pit. Grover sat up in alarm. He had heard it too. They were all alert, looking at the pit in growing horror.

At that moment it clicked what the pit was.

"It's Tartarus." Percy murmured. Annabeth looked at him in alarm. "It's the entrance to Tartarus."

He uncapped Anaklusmos. The bronze sword expanded, gleaming in the darkness, and the evil voice seemed to falter, just for a moment, before resuming its chant. He could almost make out the words ; they felt ancient—more so than Ancient Greek. As if it was ...

"Magic," Percy said.

"We have to get out of here," Annabeth said.

Together, they dragged Grover to his hooves and started back up the tunnel. Percy's legs wouldn't move fast enough. His backpack weighed him down. The voice got louder and angrier behind them and they broke into a run. He looked ahead and saw Annabeth's back. She was too far away.

His stomach dropped. He wasn't going to make it. He could feel it in his bones. What about this mother? What about the quest? He heard the whisper of the Oracle in his head:

You shall fail to save what matters most, in the end.

Percy realized what the last line of the prophecy meant. He wasn't meant to survive this. He wasn't meant to save his mother, or his friends, or even the stupid bolt. He was meant to fail.

But his weren't friends.

Courage burned through him. He threw his backpack at Annabeth, the weight of it causing him to stop in his tracks. Percy could feel Annabeth's shock as she face-planted with the bag on top of her.

There. His friends could continue on without him.

"GO!" he tried not to choke up as he felt the wind nip at his clothes. He closed his eyes. He wasn't brave enough to face his death head on.
The wind stopped. He let out a sigh of relief and opened his eyes. He was teetering on the edge of the pit, losing balance fast. He waved his arms around, trying to regain it.

It failed epically. He was falling.

Annabeth lunged for him, hand out. He reached for it.

He missed by a few precious centimeters. All he could do was stare at Annabeth's outstretch hand as the pit swallowed him whole.

I'm so sorry, Mom. Forgive me.