I do not own PJO.

Sweet Sacrifice

Chapter 1

A Will Of Iron

There's a light at the end of the tunnel. Finally, there's something more than the red mist, the skin-crawlingly moist air, thick with the stench of blood, the wet black craggy marble tunnels that make up Tartarus.

Your eyes strain to make out the daylight filtering through the smoggy air. You don't dare to move, even blink, desperately hoping that this isn't some hallucination again. That in fact, you've reached the end of this living hell.

Your fingers, caked with dirt and encrusted with blood, reach on their own accord for the sleeping girl beside you. You touch her face, then run your fingers down to her shoulder, where the blood has barely stopped flowing since the monster attack about an hour ago. Or was it an hour ago?

Time has become as syrupy as molasses, rushing past in great dollops, so that one moment fades into another, and there is really no sense of anything, anymore. There used to be, you remember. There used to be a panic gnawing at your insides, a hunger, a thirst, a longing for freedom. It gradually dissolved into nothing. Until now. For the first time in a long time, you feel hope light a fire in your gut.

You latch on to Annabeth's slightly less injured shoulder and shake, hard. She doesn't stir. A great fear swells in your chest, dropping the bottom out of your stomach. You shake her again, harder this time.

She coughs weakly, her breath a wheeze. She turns her head to the side, then opens her eyes, two sad grey orbs that blink confusedly out, all fight beaten out of them, replaced with exhaustion and pain.

"Annabeth," you whisper gravelly. "Annabeth, I found it."

She blinks.

"Get up!" You tug on her arm and she whimpers, squeezing her eyes shut tight. But you know she can't, know she'll die if you stay here much longer; know that your whole world depends on that faint echo of light in the distance.

You seize her hand. "We can't rest yet, Wise Girl. We're almost there." She coughs again, body convulsing with effort, turning her head to the side to let the dark red liquid spill over her cracked lips to the ground. You lift her head with your shaking hand. "Come on. This fight isn't over yet."

"Just let me be," she moans finally.

"I can't," you say, and your heart almost breaks. "We're almost out. We're almost finished with this. Do you remember the sun? How it used to sparkle on the water?"

She frowns slightly. "I think so," she says, vocal chords tripping over every other word. "It was warm. I'm so cold."

"Come on, Wise Girl. It's just a little more. A little more for me?" She shudders involuntarily. You wait, hoping that she can find just a little more inside her to bring you both home.

Her back sticks to the ground as she sits up, and she let out a little mewl of pain. You fold your knees beneath you and push up, grabbing onto the side of the cavern wall to get your balance.

When the intense dizziness has faded, you reach your hand down and catch hold of Annabeth, rocking back and almost losing your balance pulling her up.

Her knees threaten to buckle as she takes a step. You're not much better yourself, but you snake your hand around her waist to hold her up. She sinks into your arm. You can feel her ribs and hipbones poking at you.

Pain is clouding your mind, turning your consciousness into shards of glass turning in clear water, glinting in the sun. You grip Annabeth harder than you probably should, struggling to keep yourself grounded.

You take another step, and another. Your abused feet scream at you, the half-healed wounds reopening on the stony ground.

Annabeth's head rests gently on your shoulder.

Your body is screaming at you, stop, stop, stop, but you do your best to ignore it, ignore the way your knees shake at the strain of holding your weight, ignore the bloody footprints you're leaving behind you, ignore everything, and focus your eyes on the soft light in the distance.

As you continue on, you're practically carrying Annabeth. With each step, she's moaning softly, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. Her eyelashes flutter against your bare shoulder. You bow your head in exhaustion and plod on. As the time passes, you find yourself slipping away into numbness, where there is no pain, no anything. A place where you're barely aware of Annabeth wrapped around you, shivering horribly. Every time you notice and ground yourself back in reality, the pain hits you harder and harder, until you're gasping under the sheer weight of it. It's too much. You took on too much.

You stumble and barely catch yourself from splattering to pieces on the ground below. Annabeth's feet are dragging with each step. You can barely hear her breathing anymore.

"An-na-beth?" The name comes out crackly, like it's coming out of an old rabbit-eared TV.

She makes a small hissing noise in the back of her throat.

"S'not much further now," you lie. Your tongue feels like heavy cotton in your mouth. "We're almost there. Almost home."

She doesn't respond.

You look up; searching for the small glint of light, but it's not there. Instead, there's an square opening of light about the size of a book. Relief floods through your system.

"Wise Girl!" You're babbling now, your voice getting louder and louder with each word until it echoes around the cavern. "Look!"

She whimpers at your words, one filthy hand coming up to cover her ears. You stop; pull her head off your shoulder. She squeaks in pain. You turn her face to the light, watch her eyes for some sign, any sign that she sees it. She shakes her head free of your grip on her chin and whispers, "I can't see anything."

"What? Annabeth, it's right there."

"Are you sure you're not imagining things?" she asks tiredly.

You look at the light, then back at her. You're not imagining things, that much you're certain of.

"Yes, I'm sure," you say, quieter now.

You start moving forward again, dragging Annabeth with you. She goes without protest, but with every other step her knees give out and she's falling. You pull her arm around your shoulder to keep her upright and attempt to swallow the agonizing rub of her arm pulled taught over the half- healed scar on your left shoulder. You stumble forward, half-carrying Annabeth.

There's a certain desperateness that comes with seeing the exit, the end of this living torture. Your legs are shaking horribly and your vision is going in and out, but the Doors are getting closer and closer. You can't think straight anymore. Your heartbeat is thundering in your ears, blocking out all sounds. Your body is almost breaking under the overwhelming demands of your will and the hope that's sending adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Annabeth moans in pain beside you. You squeeze her hand. You're so close. You can make out the darkly ornate statues leading up to the Doors, black marble Greek sculptures of armed men. Their blank eyes glow with a evil red light. You shudder, hoisting Annabeth more firmly around your thin shoulders. You free your hand from Annabeth's and slip it into your tattered pocket. Your hand closes around the familiar weight of a heavy bronze pen. You poise your fingers over the cap, ready to spring into action even though you can barely move without blinding pain washing over you.

You pass the first two statues, unease making goose bumps erupt on what remains of your skin. You can feel their red eyes watching you.

You push on, further into enemy territory. Annabeth hangs limp on your right side.

Your dread becomes stronger with each passing second. Your instincts are screaming that this is wrong, that you should not be in the midst of these dark shadows, but what choice do you have, really?

Prickles erupt down your spine.

You're about halfway through the shadowy figures when a too-large hand clamps down on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. It's too cold and hard to possibly be human. Your stomach turns to ice with terror as you slowly turn around.

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A.N. Tartarus and Sweet Sacrifice are not set in the same verse. Sorry if there was any confusion.

I hope you enjoyed!