006───────ஐ〰ฺ･:*:･✿cages and chains

     THE TUNNEL IS A DEAD END. There's a dead body there, slumped in the corner; ironic, Lila can't help but think. It really was a dead end for everybody — the end of the path, the end of life. Lila wonders if that's some kind of depressing twist of fate by the gods — they are going to die here, and it truly is their own dead end. Perhaps this is where everybody dies, this is the dead end of the universe, where everything ends.

      She can hear footsteps from behind them, heavier than a titan, cracking the fragile floor with every step. Rasping, asthmatic breathing fills the corridor, louder with every shake of the ground. 

     "Tyson — " Percy hisses, looking behind himself nervously. "Can you — ?"

     Tyson's eyes widen as if he hadn't thought about it, but he nods excitedly. "Yes!" Lunging forward, he slams into the tunnel, the rock quaking as if it has it's own miniature earthquake contained inside. Dust begins to fall from the ceiling, scattering their shoulders and hair. Annabeth looks a decade older with greying hair. 

     "The ceiling won't fall down," Lila whispers nervously, eyeing the roof above them. "Right? It's magic or — or something."

      Nobody answers, but Lila sees Annabeth squint at the ceiling, before tactfully deciding to say anything. Grover gulps. Lila feels even less confident that Daedalus will help their cause, should they somehow find him. What kind of person builds a death trap such as this? A bad person, one who likes to kill and destroy. 

     The boulder blocking their path finally gives way with a raucous grind, scratching away at the walls, probably leaving uncountable scratches. Tyson pushes it forward into a small room, and Annabeth and Grover rush forward. Lila reaches for Percy's wrist at the same time as he reaches for her's — their hands brush, they jump away from each other as if lit up with a thousand Volts of electricity. Lila doesn't dare look at him but her face is burning. 

     Annabeth, practical as always, spins around to glare at them. "Hurry up!" She drags Lila forward into the room. Together, they push the boulder into the wall, using all of their combined strength. From the other side of the boulder is a guttural scream of fury, echoing through the tunnels. Whatever is chasing them accepts defeat regretfully and moves on to prey on another. Lila is selfishly relieved.

     "We trapped it," Percy grins. 

     Grover swallows so loud Lila can hear his nervousness floating through the thick of the air. "Or trapped ourselves."

     They turn. The opposite wall is covered with bars; the room has no entrance, no exit. Only four walls of ash-grey bricks, as if the sides of the wall had been burnt away and rebuilt from their own ashes. 

     "What in Hades?" Annabeth tugs at the bars, kicking one of them slightly. There's no movement — not even an inch. 

      "A prison," Percy says. "Maybe Tyson can break — "

      "Shhh," Grover interrupts, leaning forward to peer through the bars. "Listen."

     Lila listens. For a moment, she hears nothing — and then she hears it, the sonorous echoes of sobbing drifting through the building. It's eerie, seemingly coming from every direction. There's another sound; snarling and muttering and hissing, but not loud enough to be heard. It's so close. Lila feels the same as she does when she reads sometimes — the words are so close, too close, just out of range. She tries to reach out and understand them, to grab them, but they slip through her fingers. 

     "What's that language?" Percy asks. 

     Tyson's eye widens, almost as large as his forehead. It's a disturbing look — Lila can understand why cyclopes are so fear inducing now. "Can't be."

     "Apparently, it can," Lila whispers. "Can we go now?"

     Grover nods his assent, eyes flicking around the cell as if they will peel away the layers of rock to find a concealed passage underneath. Instead, Tyson grabs two bars of the cell and bends them open, leaving a huge hole in the centre, so large that even he can slip through with ease. 

     "Wait!" Grover shouts quietly. 

     Tyson does not wait. Percy sprints off after him without a moment's hesitation, while Annabeth sighs, scrunches her nose in disappointment, before following — Lila at her heels. Grover gives a half cry of irritation and stamps his hooves, but he can't leave them behind. What a strange group they are. 

     "I know this place," Annabeth murmurs, eyes taking in every inch of murky ceiling and tattered walls. "This is Alcatraz."

     "That island near San Francisco?" 

     "The prison?" Lila adds. 

     Annabeth nods, crossing her arms over her chest. "My school took a field trip here. It's like a museum."

     If Clarisse were here, Lila knows exactly what she would say. Well — not exactly, but it would be along the lines of "Really, a museum?" But Clarisse isn't here, they are alone under the ground on an island in San Francisco, while their friends are together in Camp Half-Blood. 

     "Freeze," Grover says quietly, and the three demigods follow his instruction. Tyson, as if mesmerised by a siren's song (Annabeth had described the feeling in great detail, so Lila almost feels as though she has firsthand experience), keeps walking. "Stop it, Tyson!" Grover grabs his arm. "Can't you see it?"

      Lila follows his pointing hand, and her stomach plummets, dropping through the ground of the labyrinth into the murky pits of Tartarus below. How long has it been since she left the camp for something other than an errand? Year upon year, she's watched heroes and villains and all the people in-between return, scarred by awful crimson slashes or psychological wounds that run too deep to be healed by a simple bite of ambrosia. Percy and Annabeth went on their first quest aged fourteen, she remembers, horrified. And yet, Lila, aged seventeen ( in a few months ), is shaking, trembling, every inch of her weak body begging her to run. 

     She meets Percy's eyes, wondering if he was prepared for this, if this is what he sees everyday when he leaves camp. But he looks just as shocked as she is, paling rapidly, eyes wide. He meets Lila's eyes; they reach for each other's hand again. She squeezes his hand tightly; one palm is clammy and cold, the other burning hot. She can't distinguish between them. 

     It has a woman's body from the waist up — like a centaur, but more grotesque, something you would read about in a Stephen King novel or a Tim Burton film. From the waist-down, it — she has a dragon's legs. It sounds magnificent; when you say dragon, Lila would think of red and gold scales, fire and gold, blood and dust. This dragon — it's black, so black, as if all the light surrounding is being sucked toward the void, swallowed by the black hole of scales. She has claws and a tail — those aren't too awful until Lila remembers that they'll probably have to fight her — they look as though they could slice right through a human with ease. 

     Lila squints at the woman-dragon-monster's legs, wondering if they're tangled in barbed wire. Then she realises; they're tangled in snakes — sprouting snakes somehow, the vipers hissing and snarling. Her hair is also forged from snakes — so similar to Medusa, yet so different. 

     Her waist is the strangest part. Lila can't tear her eyes away from the magnetic image. There's no words to explain it — the sight is so weird her mind can't put it into words. But somehow, impossibly, animal heads appear, snarling and roaring and hissing, always violent, always terrifying. There's a wolf, howling into the wind, yellow eyes narrowing, teeth baring. A lion, roaring, slashing, glaring. A snake, hissing and lunging, venom dripping from it's teeth. 

     It sounds insane, but it's as if she's not whole. As if she's from right when the world was nothing but chaos and abyss, before it was something. Before shapes were defined and whole, there was . .  . this. 

     "It's her," Tyson whimpers, shoulders trembling, locked in place. 

     "Get down!" Grover hisses, pragmatic for perhaps the first time ever. 

     Percy pulls Lila down beside him, and they slunk into the shadows, hoping to blend in. Their bright orange t-shirts don't help, but the monster is focused on something beyond their sight, growling at the source of the sobbing noise. The sobbing itself echoes, choking, so loud, as if a thousand tone-deaf choristers are weeping their hearts out. 

     "What's she saying?" Percy asks. "What's that language?"

     Lila stops listening to the cries of the captive, focusing on the language. Now that she can hear it better, she realises that it doesn't seem so out of reach anymore. 

     "The tongue of the old times," Tyson shivers. "What Mother Earth spoke to Titans and . . . her other children with. Before the gods."

     "You will work for the master or suffer," Lila whispers, her throat catching as she says the words. The master. Kronos?

     Annabeth blinks in surprise, her grey eyes fixating on Lila intensely. "You understand her?"

     ". . . You don't?" Lila murmurs, looking to Percy for support. He looks just as confused as she is. "It's like . . . It's just like Ancient Greek, my brain just translated it."

    Even Ancient Greek has never been easy. While most demigods seem to always have the language in the back of their minds, always ready to translate upon need, Lila always feels as though she has to drag it out of herself with her nails and force it to translate — so much effort and not simple at all. 

     Annabeth says nothing, but her lips press into a thin line, surveying Lila. 

    "I will not serve," Tyson says again, and Lila jumps, for his voice is not his own. Instead, it's deep and hurt, pained. Gods, she'd forgotten he could do that — mimic other voices with such ease. 

     The voice switches again, this time it's harsh and cruel, reminding Lila of gravel on stone, scratching and scraping in a wince-originating sound. "Then I shall enjoy your pain — Briares." His voice stumbles over the word Briares. "If you thought your first imprisonment was unbearable, you have yet to feel true torment. Think on this until I return."

     Lila gasps. There's just something so cruel and innately powerful about the way she instills fear by her absence, by the anxious way he waits for her to return. Something so impressive about the way she spreads her gigantic dragon wings, spreads them wide and soars through the courtyard, melting into the shadows, belonging among them. 

     "Horrible," Grover stutters, recoiling. "I've never smelt any monster that strong."

     "Cyclopes worst nightmare," Tyson murmurs, wrinkling his nose in disgust. His eye trembles, fear-filled, swallowing up the darkness in horrified awe. "Kampê."

     "Who?" 

     "Every Cyclops knows about her," Tyson explains, eyes glazing over as he remembers all the terrible tales he's heard. "Stories about her scare us when we're babies. She was our jailer in the bad years."

      "The bad years?" Lila echoes. "Like, world-war-catastrophe bad, or the end of the world as we know it bad?" 

     Grover snickers without humour, chewing his lip nervously. "More like the beginning of the world. Before the gods." 

     Annabeth nods, pushing a stray strand of blonde hair behind her hear with a scoff of irritation. "I remember now. When Titans ruled, they imprisoned Gaea and Ouranos's earlier children — the Cyclops and the Hekatonkheires."

     "The Heka-what?" 

     "The Hekatonkiearies?" Lila echoes Percy's confusion. "What?"

     Annabeth raises an eyebrow at Lila's butchered pronunciation. "The Hundred-Handed Ones. They called them that because . . . well, they had a hundred hands."  Lila can't argue with that logic. "They were the elder brothers of the Cyclopes."

     "Very powerful," Tyson nods, eyes lighting up with memories of his childhood. Lila has never really thought about it before,  but she wonders about Tyson's mother. Percy found him on the streets, so what happened to him before that? Did his mother really abandon him? Typical of the gods. Nymphs and gods are really just the same, however much the latter tries to deny it. "Wonderful! As tall as the sky. So strong they could break mountains!"

     "Cool," Percy deadpans, looking entirely serious. "Unless you're a mountain."

      Lila snickers under her breath, and his lips twist upwards in a grin, satisfied. Annabeth casts them both a scowl, as if to say "Please be serious." 

     "Kampê was the jailer," he explains, shadows falling over his face. "She worked for Kronos. She kept our brothers locked up in Tartarus, tortured them always, until Zeus came. He killed her and freed the Cyclopes and Hundred-Handed Ones to help fight against the Titans in the big war."

     Lila chews her bottom lip. "She looked pretty alive to me."

     "So she's back," Percy summarises, swallowing. 

     "Bad." Tyson agrees. 

      Lila nods. If she makes it back to Camp Half-Blood alive, the image of Kampê sinking into the shadows will haunt her dreams. It's one of those images that she will never forget — those reptilian scales glittering, the snakes hissing. Kampê is what children are warned about through lullabies and laments. All other monsters are just cheap copies, badly-made imitations. 

     "So who's in that cell?" Percy asks, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. Lila can practically see the gears turning behind his eyes. "You said a name — " 

     "Briares!" Tyson brightens, infused with hope and daffodils. He's yellow-green, Lila thinks. Sunshine-yellow for happiness and light, green for courage without bounds. "He is a Hundred-Handed One. They are as tall as the sky and — " 

     "Yeah," Percy interrupts. "They break mountains."

     "I guess we should check it out," Annabeth sighs, looking as though there is nothing she wants to do less. Lila agrees, slightly, but Tyson looks so excited that she forces a smile. "Before Kampê  comes back."

     THE FIRST THING TO NOTE IS THE SOBBING.

      It cuts through the air like a knife, gut-twisting, stomach-turning, inharmonious and discordant. It's so raspy — as if he has been sobbing for so long his throat is hoarse and aching, and so with every cry it dries and shrivels and he coughs. It sounds painful.

     The captive himself is one-of-a-kind (three-of-a-kind if you listen to Annabeth). Lila has never seen anything like him — Janus seems ordinary in comparison. Human sized, pale, wearing a loincloth. With a tangle of thousands of arms on his chest, most of which are covering his face while he sobs. Lila's mouth drops open. 

     "Either the sky isn't as tall as it used to be, or he's short," she hears Percy mutter from behind her. 

     Normally she would giggle at his humour, but this time she can't bring herself to laugh at the creature's expense. She just feels . . . pity. So pitiful, such a shame. From Tyson's tales, she imagined a great god-like being, more ancient than Zeus, more powerful than Hera. But whatever he once was . . . he's been reduced to this shell of his former self, and it's a goddamn tragedy. They're monsters, she realises sharply. Not Kampê ( though of course Kampê is a monster too ) but the Titans and Luke and all the demigods on his side. Even the gods, those who allow this to happen and don't bat an eyelash. Sometimes willful ignorance is as much a sin as being a perpetrator. 

     Tyson falls to his knees as if worshiping a deity or begging for help. Perhaps both. "Briares!" 

     The sobbing stops, and Lila is shocked to realise that she'd grown used to the sound. Now the silence is just so empty. 

      "Great Hundred-Handed One!" Tyson half-begs. "Help us!"

     Briares looks up, and Lila tries hard not to look away. His face is heartbroken, so sad, as if all the fight has been forced out of him. Lila hopes she never looks so defeated. "Run while you can, Cyclops," Briares says. "I cannot even help myself."

     Lila's inner philosopher disagrees with that statement on so many levels. Even if he can't help himself, he can still help others. Perhaps helping someone else will give him the strength he needs to save himself. 

     "You're a Hundred-Handed One!" Tyson refuses to admit defeat. "You can do anything!"

      A few of Briares's hands wipe his nose, while a few more build a boat, disassembling it just as fast. More are playing rock paper scissors, or scratching the cement floor. 

     "I cannot!" Briares cries hopelessly. "Kampê is back! The Titans will rise and throw us back in Tartarus."

     "Briares," Lila says suddenly, widening her eyes at him. "Please, don't you want to be out of this cell? I mean — it can't be fun, being stuck in here."

     "It's not too bad," he murmurs sadly. "I have many hands." To illustrate his point, forty of the hands seem to do some strange kind of finger-dance. "I don't get too bored."

     "But you can't prefer it," she persists determinedly. He will come with them, Hera help her. Lila doesn't care if she has to make Tyson drag him out by the ear. "Don't you miss the fresh air and — and the sky and the sun?"

     "I never saw the sun much," he sniffs, eyes misting up. "I was always in my forge, building for the gods — "

     "Then don't you miss your forge?" Lila adds, aware that time is rapidly running out. She will be back soon, and Lila doesn't want to be around when that happens. But they can't leave Briares here. "Don't you miss the fire, and the metal, and the — " Lila has no idea what sorts of things are in forges. 

      "I do miss them." For a moment Lila thinks it has worked; he is convinced — but then his face crumples again and he slumps back into his cell. "No, no, she will catch us. I cannot."

     "Put on your brave face," Tyson tells him.

     Briares's face suddenly changes — not completely, still the same face, but the expression is the opposite. Instead of defeated, lonely, terrified, he just looks strangely confident. And then it disappears. 

     "No good," he says. "My scared face keeps coming back."

     "How did you do that?" Percy asks. 

     Lila watches in stunned silence. Some things are so hard to believe, to understand. Cruelty is one of them. Why do the Titans, Luke — why do they enjoy causing pain and suffering and strife everywhere they stand, enjoy pushing others down to make themselves better. That's not how the world works. That's not how the world should work. Lila wishes that everyone could just get along and love each other and not want to destroy everybody else. Is that so hard? Perhaps. Perhaps the thought is naive and dumb and ridiculous — but it's so Lila. Maybe she's silly and idealistic and hopelessly romantic, but . . . maybe she's not. Maybe she's the only person who sees the world for what it really is — a blank canvas to be improved. 

     Annabeth tries to convince Briares to leave, but to no avail. Tyson even rips the bars of the cell off their hinges. Finally, it's Percy's turn. 

     "One game of rock, paper, scissors." Whatever Lila expected him to suggest, it was not that. "If I win, you come with us. If I lose, we leave you in jail."

     "No way!" Lila hisses. He ignores her. 

     "I always win rock, paper, scissors," Briares murmurs. 

     "Then let's do it!" Percy hits his fist three times, Briares copying. 

     Lila blinks. A third of his hands are scissors, another third are paper, the last third rock. Her heart sinks like a stone in thin water. 

     "I told you," Briares looks so upset that Lila briefly wonders if, secretly, he wanted to lose, to be forced out of here. "I always — what is that you made?"

     "A gun," Percy shows him. Lila can't help but laugh — Percy's certainly resourceful. Even though he's a cheater. "A gun beats anything."

     "That's not fair."

     "I didn't say anything about fair. Kampê's not going to be fair if we stick around. She's going to blame you for ripping off the bars. Now come on!"

     Lila meets Percy's eyes, impressed. His eye twinkle, and for a moment she can practically see god half of him shining through. This is where he looks most god-like, she thinks; happy and proud and successful. She slips her hand into his again. 

     "Demigods are cheaters," Briares sniffs. 

    Lila turns, a smile on her lips, preparing to skip out of there with a hundred-handed man and her pride intact. 

    Her blood runs cold, heart stopping. 

    Kampê lunges. 

     "THE OTHER WAY," Percy says calmly, his lips pressing together. The humour has been shocked out of him by the solemnity of their situation; they face impossible odds, and they are lost in a labyrinth hoping to drive them insane. Lila's heart stops for a moment, stilling in her chest. Somehow, the most chilling thing of this situation is to see Percy entirely serious, and perhaps even slightly scared. She didn't even know he could be scared; she had always thought he was trained, conditioned by his experiences not to feel fear. Clearly, it isn't so.

      You're unprepared, she hears a voice thundering into her ears. Female, it is Hera's antithesis; short, to the point, honest. And it is right; she is unprepared. Always, quests have seemed romantically attractive, glorified and exalted — not like this, not sleeping on the ground, being chased by monsters every hour. She shakes the thoughts away, remembering the voice. Focus. Adapt. 

     They sprint down the catwalk, Percy half pulling Lila along by his side. She's never been a particularly good runner, especially sprinting for long distances — at camp, she usually tried to avoid exercise. Why participate in something you're not good at? She regrets that now. 

      Briares, naturally  is sprinting ahead, his hundred arms waving in panic. Usually, Lila would have allowed a laugh — but not now. 

     Behind them, Kampê lifts her wings, spreading them wide like a vulture ready to circle it's already dead prey. Wind blows through the tunnel, spawned by her beating wings. "I will rip you apart!" She growls in that ancient language — the one that sounds exactly like flesh being torn apart. 

     Percy's jaw tightens, and Lila figures he doesn't need (or want) a translation. The message is pretty clear from the visceral snarl and the harsh tone. 

     Lila gulps. 

     "Left," Annabeth pants, wiping beads of sweat from her forehead. (Lila wonders whether the sweat is from fear, the overexertion of her body, or just plain stress. Perhaps both.) "I remember this from the tour."

      They dart left, pushing through the doors and bursting into the open prison yard. Surrounded by security towers and barbed wire, Lila almost feels sorry for the criminals who had to live in such a dreary place. It's . . . dead. It feels dead. Grey concrete surrounds the fences and the ground, absorbing any sign of life, sucking the sunlight from the atmosphere. Is this what the Underworld is like? 

     The yard itself is full of tourists , cameras flashing faster than paparazzi at a red carpet event. Nobody bats an eye at the sight of a few teenagers sprinting into the yard as if the devil himself was on their tail. The Mist truly is a powerful thing. 

      "Is that . . ." Lila can scarcely believe her eyes, caught on the mountain standing tall nearby. 

      "Mount Tamalpais," Percy finishes, unable to tear his eyes away from it, his jaw clenching at the source of half their problems (which is a fair chunk, considering how many problems they have). "New Mount Orthrys."

     Above the mountain, huge storm brews, a tunnel of black clouds and thunder, thicker than anything Zeus could have summoned (Lila is surprised she isn't electrocuted on the spot for that thought). Lila can't imagine ever joining the Titan's side when it looks like this. It just . . . looks evil. There's simply no way to justify yourself when your home looks more like death personified than the Underworld. 

      "It's even worse," Annabeth raises an eyebrow at the mountain as if it has personally disappointed her. "The storms have been bad all year, but that — "

      "Keep moving!" Briares shouts, waving his hands. How have none of the tourists spotted him? It's hard to miss a man with hundred arms — especially one who is screaming, sprinting around and waving every single one of those hands like a madman. "She is behind us!"

      They rush to the other end of the yard, furtively checking behind to ensure they aren't being followed. Lila realises she's still gripping Percy's hand, but she doesn't let go. He seems in no hurry to release hers either. 

      "She's too big to get through the doors," he says, ever the optimist. 

      The wall explodes.

      Tourists scream (oh, apparently they notice this) and Kampê rises from the dust and rubble like a phoenix rising from ashes. Lila regrets that analogy; it's insulting to the phoenix to compare it to a monster like Kampê. 

     Kampê holds two swords ( where did she get swords from? it's not like there's a local Walmart in the labyrinth where she can find Celestial Bronze scimitars, or Annabeth would've known). The blades drip and glow with green liquid luminescence, boiling and bubbling, reminding Lila of a witch's potion from one of those cartoons she watched when she was younger, where they added all the strangest ingredients like eyes or blood. 

     "Poison!" Grover hisses, backing away slightly, before stopping as he edges closer to Tyson. Lila sees him make the evaluation; eventually he decides Tyson is less of a threat than Kampê shuffles even closer. "Don't let those things touch you, or . . . "

     "Or we'll die?" Percy guesses. 

     "Perfect," Lila mutters under her breath, struggling to keep up a positive facade. They need a plan, and fast. But Lila is not the planner in the group, she is the one who panics and runs away and hopes that a miracle, or astoundingly good luck will save her ( as it usually does. Unfortunately, she doesn't think she'll be blessed with a miracle this time ). 

       "Well. . . After you shrivel slowly to dust . . . yes."

     "Let's avoid the swords," Percy decides. 

     "Thanks, Percy." Annabeth does not look thankful.

     "Briares, fight!" Tyson encourages, watching Briares expectantly, and Lila half believes him for a moment. She really thinks that Briares will fight. "Grow to full size!"

     But Briares shakes his head, backing away, looking so afraid — so afraid — that to say he is petrified is a bitter understatement. 

      The dragon-woman charges across the courtyard. 

      "Run." Annabeth orders. 

      There's no argument, not even from Percy. They sprint again, lunging through the yard, exhausted, breathless, desperate, energy spent. There are screams from behind, mortals shouting in horror and confusion, sirens beginning to blare. 

     They reach the wharf just as a tour boat unloads. The new visitors are almost comically confused to see a group of panicked teenagers, followed by a mob of tourists, and then a dragon-woman sprinting toward them. Lila flashes them a smile, trying to appear as casual as she can; a wasted effort. 

     "The boat?" Grover suggests.

     "Too slow," Tyson shakes his head. "Back into the maze. Only chance."

     "We need a diversion," Annabeth agrees, eyes flicking for some idea, some moment of genius that might be their salvation. 

      Tyson casually rips a lamppost from the ground, holding it like a spear. His shoulders square, pushing down as if he holds the weight of the sky on his shoulders. Lila respects him so much. He's ten times the demigod she is, and he's not even a demigod. "I will distract her. You run ahead."

      "I'll help," Lila blurts out, and the entire group turns in horror and surprise. Even Briares looks confused, which Lila can't help but feel slightly offended by. Does he really think her so useless, in the five seconds he's known her? A fair observation, but a hurtful one.  

     "You can't be serious," Annabeth's mouth drops open. "What are you going to do, throw a daffodil at her?" 

     That's probably a better plan than anything Lila can think of, but no. "I have an idea."

     "No, go," Tyson insists, pushing her toward Percy. "Poison will hurt Cyclopes. A lot of pain. But it won't kill."

     "I have a plan!" Lila insists, refusing to move. Annabeth raises an eyebrow (Lila can't blame her, often she pretends she has a plan when she really doesn't, but this is not one of those times.) 

     Percy clenches his jaw again, but nods slightly. He doesn't like it, she can tell. He doesn't have to, he just has to trust that she can take care of herself. Lila drops his hand, and, feeling very cold and very alone, she watches him rush away. 

     "Do you really have a plan?" Tyson doesn't sound optimistic. 

     "Yes," Lila nods, clenching her fist. She will do this, she will prove that she was meant to be here for a reason after all. She's not just a weakling gardener, she's a demigod. A not-so badass, slightly weak, mild-tempered demigod. "No, it doesn't involve throwing daffodils."

      She reaches into her back pocket, pulling out a tiny blue seed. It's so delicate, more fragile than the daintiest petal. She's half afraid it will break apart and crumble to dust in her palm. 

      Kampê charges. 

     Lila closes her eyes and prays quickly, figuring it will probably improve her odds. Demeter, Persephone, Antheia, any other patrons of plants I may have forgotten — this is not a good way to start a prayer — please, let this work, or else I'm going to shrivel into dust very slowly and painfully, and humiliate myself trying to fight. 

      Please. Tyson levels his pole and prepares to lunge forward, but Lila steps into his his way and throws the seed at Kampê's face. Immediately vines spring from it, enveloping Kampê's face and body, strangling her, wrapping around her legs and neck and arms. She rips them away, looking angrier, but immediately the vines grow back, glowing blue, and Lila watches them burn into Kampê's skin with a cruel sort of satisfaction that will leave her guilt-stricken later, she knows. But right now she's just glad to be alive, to see Kampê struggling. 

     Blue. That reminds Lila of something, but her panicked mind can't quite connect the dots.

     "Hecate!" Kampê curses. Oh, apparently Lila prayed to the wrong goddesses. She makes a mental note to sacrifice some food to Hecate later, and smiles gratefully up at the sky. 

      While Kampê is caught, Tyson drops his lamp post and grabs a Dippin' Dots stand, throwing it at Kampê's head. It rains ice cream, and Lila wants to laugh at the sight of Kampê covered in ice cream and tangled in glowing blue vines. The snakes hiss, snarling, looking angrier than before. 

     "Quick!" Tyson grabs her arm and tugs her toward the group, speeding away until he's almost dragging her. Behind them, Kampê snarles, finally managing to break through Hecate's magic vines and charging after the petrified pair. 

      The others look far away, so far away, and Kampê is gaining steadily. They aren't going to make it. 

      Kampê raises her swords for the final killing blow, and Lila senses the boiling acid of her poisoned blades about to cleave through her body. Percy slaps his wristwatch, desperation filling his features. The watch spirals into a shield; he throws it at Kampê's face, and she stumbles.

     It gives them a window of perhaps half a second, but it is enough, just enough. Tyson pulls Lila into the labyrinth, Percy following right behind. The doors close with a resounding slam, and Kampê shrieks with rage, pounding on the enchanted walls. 

     They sprint further into the labyrinth. 

a/n: it's been a while ! shit, sorry it's been almost two months

-bit of a filler chapter, foreshadows a lot but that's kinda it. next chapter is vv fun though so im very excited to write it. 

love y'all ! thank you for sticking with me && for 2K reads <333

lyra xx