30 advance chapters on [email protected]/Saintbarbido.
Shout out to @Shikdi1 and @Slayer47. Your discussion about the fic was eye-opening and fun to go through. All 85 comments. Thank you.
(Annabeth's P.O.V.)
The pink paper plane sliced through the clear sky with ease, carrying us toward L.A.
I had to pinch myself to be convinced that this was real and not a surreal dream. The last 5 days had actually happened though it felt like hours to Percy and me. And we were indeed flying through the air on magic.
My fingers knocked on the pink floor with a dull thunk, confirming that it was solid and that I was not about to fall thousands of feet, on to the desert sprawled beneath us, dotted with tiny cars and the occasional shimmer of heat waves rising off the asphalt.
The others were calm, a sharp contrast to the storm brewing in my chest.
Loth sat cross-legged at the front of the construct, the little wind that made it into our 'transportation' tousling his hair. And was it shimmering?
Seaweed brain lounged beside me, his head tilted back, a thoughtful look on his face. That's a first.
I tried to relax, but the tension was thick—like the silence was daring someone to break it. I was almost tempted by the maelstrom of questions rolling in my head.
But then Loth did.
"I think it's time you both knew everything." His voice was steady, but there was a weight to it that made me sit up straighter.
Percy blinked. "About what? The curse?"
And the restored magic, where he'd been the last 5 days, why he seemed different...
Loth turned slightly, enough for me to catch a glimpse of his expression. Serious. Focused. "Not just the curse. Everything."
He started from the beginning—how he'd fought the Hellhound curse, how he'd faced Ares, and how he'd finally reclaimed control over his magic. Every detail spilled out like puzzle pieces falling into place.
But it was what he said next that made my stomach twist.
"Ares wasn't acting alone." Loth said, his eyes narrowing as if the memory itself pissed him off. "Someone helped him. The traitor in Camp."
The words hung in the air, sharp and heavy.
I frowned. "What are you saying?"
Loth glanced over his shoulder, his gaze locking with mine. "I know who the traitor is. Surprised you haven't figured it out yet."
I felt my pulse quicken. "Who?"
Instead of answering directly, Loth started connecting dots we'd missed—or maybe refused to see.
"The monsters always found us too easily," he said. "The Hellhound didn't just wander into camp by accident. Someone lowered the barrier. And the shoes Luke gave Percy? They weren't just a gift."
The flying shoes he was referring to had burned in the wrecked bus along with our bags.
Percy shifted uncomfortably beside me, glancing at his feet, warring with Loth's insinuations same as me.
I shook my head. "No. Luke wouldn't—"
"Wouldn't what?" Loth cut in, his tone sharper now. "Betray us? Because he's 'noble'? Because he's your friend?"
My chest tightened. "Yes."
Loth didn't flinch. "He's the only one who could've done it. Think about it. The timing, the access, the fact that the shoes had a dark enchantment." He leaned closer, his voice lowering. "I didn't leave those shoes behind on accident. I knew they were dangerous. My aura sense, though weak at the time, confirmed it."
My heart raced, a swirl of denial and doubt battling in my mind. "But why? What would Luke gain from betraying us?"
Loth's jaw clenched. "Revenge. On the gods. On the system that abandoned him."
I wanted to scream. To tell him he was wrong.
But then Loth said something that shattered the last fragile wall I'd built around the truth.
"He once told Percy and me how much he hated the gods. How they treat their kids like pawns. Luke wanted to change things, Annabeth. But losing Thalia… it broke him. Twisted his purpose from change to destruction. He blames them."
I swallowed hard, the words sinking in like ice water.
"You're lying," I whispered, but even I didn't believe it.
"Look at me and tell me I am."
So I did.
I stared into his eyes, searching for anything—anything—that would prove he was wrong.
But there was no doubt there. No hesitation.
His eyes were clear, sharp, with tiny pink motes swirling in the irises.
His posture was confident, his face more defined, his expression steady. This wasn't the same boy who'd stumbled into camp with a chip on his shoulder and a goofy grin.
This was someone who'd fought monsters—literal and metaphorical—and come out stronger.
He met my gaze without flinching.
And that's when it hit me.
I believed him.
The realization was like a punch to the chest.
"I believe you," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. I looked down, blinking rapidly to clear the sting behind my eyes.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Percy was the one who finally broke it. "So… what now?"
Loth exhaled slowly, his eyes back on the horizon. "The plan hasn't changed. We find Hades, save your mom, and get the bolt from the real thief, Luke Castellan."
(Loth's P.O.V.)
Los Angeles greeted us like a punch to the face—blazing sun, endless traffic, and an overwhelming sense of chaos.
I even spotted Apollo's chariot pulling the sun across the sky, the golden light reflecting off every car window and glass building.
With a flick of my wrist, I unmade the paper plane construct, and we landed smoothly on the pavement.
Annabeth pulled out the map, her face still shadowed by everything we'd just discussed.
We navigated the crowded streets, weaving past honking cars and annoyed pedestrians until we reached a nondescript building with a faded sign: D.O.A Recording Studios.
A small red devil figure with horns and a pronged tail was plastered next to the entrance.
Percy stared at it, muttering, "What'd they say in the old days? Rock and roll is the road to hell."
Annabeth rolled her eyes. "Technically, it's not hell. It's the Underworld. How bad—"
I slapped my hand over her mouth.
She glared at me, muffling protests under my palm.
"Oh, I know," I said mockingly. "Let's tempt Murphy's Law on our way to the land of the dead, said Annabeth."
She yanked my hand away, her face flushed. "Next time, you lose your favorite hand. No more fun time."
I smirked. "Worth it."
With an exaggerated huff, she pushed open the door, storming inside first.
Percy and I exchanged a glance.
"Girls," we said in unison, bursting into laughter and calming our nerves for what lay ahead.
I clapped him on the shoulder. "Let's show these Californians how we do things New York style."
Inside, the lobby was sleek and modern—marble floors, glass walls, and faint elevator music playing overhead.
Behind the front desk sat a man in a crisp white suit, his dark skin contrasting with his snow-white hair. A nameplate read: Charon.
Percy, dyslexic as ever, stepped forward. "Hey, Chiron—"
The man's eyes narrowed dangerously. "It's Charon, not Chiron. Do I look like a centaur to you?"
Percy flushed. "Uh… nope. Sorry."
Charon sighed like he dealt with idiots daily. "I'm the ferryman of the dead, not your camp counselor, half-god."
"We need passage to the Underworld," Annabeth said, cutting to the chase.
Charon snorted. "Yeah, so does everyone else who has ever lived. Got the toll?"
Without hesitation, I pulled out a small pouch from my belt—Ares' last contribution to our quest, procured from his corpse.
I tossed it onto the counter, the sound of coins clinking as two golden drachma per head spilled out.
Charon's entire demeanor changed in an instant.
"Right this way," he said smoothly, leading us toward a sleek elevator at the end of the hall.
"This is the boat?" Percy whispered to Annabeth who had briefed us on what to expect.
Charon pressed the button, the doors sliding open with a soft ding. "Boat's just a name, kid. The ride's the same."
We stepped inside, and instead of going up or down, the elevator shot forward, faster than any normal lift should.
A strange sensation washed over me—as if we were dissolving into light.
When the doors opened again, we weren't in Los Angeles anymore. Or anywhere in the mortal world.
We stood on a sleek, wooden boat floating above a vast, dark river moving through an enormous dark cavern. The River Styx.
It's dark waters churned like liquid shadows, faint whispers rising from beneath the surface.
Faces appeared briefly in the black waves—twisted in fear, pain, or longing before vanishing again.
Charon's true form stood at the helm of the boat, his figure cloaked in tattered robes, face hidden beneath a hood.
Along the shores, countless versions of him herded souls, while skeletons in rusted World War II helmets stood guard like silent sentinels.
The Mist was thin here, reality laid bare and yet something in the air resonated with my powers, the effect amping up the further in we went.
"The Underworld." Percy finally broke the silence."Didn't expect it to be so..."
"Dreary? Gloomy? Depressing?" Annabeth scoffed albeit shakily."Just don't piss your pants before we save your mom Seaweed brain."
After what felt like hours, the boat finally docked on the opposite shore.
Charon turned to us, his hollow gaze lingering. "One-way trip, kids."
We stepped off, our feet landing on cold, gray sand. I had my Aura Sense on for any signs of danger.
Charon's grin stretched wider, unnerving in its emptiness.
"I'd wish you good luck," he said, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "But there's none to be found here."
With that, the boat returned, leaving only his cackling laughter echoing across the dark waters.
Welcome to the Underworld indeed.