NEVER BE THE SAME . . . percy jackson

one hundred and three: the battle in wonderland.

GETTING KILLED BY Tartarus didn't seem like much of an honor.

As Brooklyn stared up at his dark whirlpool face, she decided she'd rather die in literally any other way — maybe falling down the stairs, or going on a ship and crashing into an iceberg. Yes, that sounded good.

It wasn't the first time she had faced an enemy she couldn't defeat by force, but her body couldn't even move to run. She couldn't even close her mouth. For all she knew, she was drooling as badly as Percy did when he slept.

She was dimly aware of the army of monsters swirling around her, but after their initial roar of triumph, the horde had fallen silent. Annabeth, Percy, and Brooklyn should have been ripped to pieces by now. Instead, the monsters kept their distance, waiting for Tartarus to act.

The god of the pit flexed his fingers, examining his own polished black talons. He had no expression, but he straightened his shoulders as if he were pleased.

It is good to have form, he intoned. With these hands, I can eviscerate you.

His voice sounded like a backward recording — as if the words were being sucked into the vortex of his face rather than projected. In fact, everything seemed to be drawn toward the face of this god — the dim light, the poisonous clouds, the essence of the monsters, even Brooklyn's own fragile life force. She looked around and realized that every object on this vast plain had grown a vaporous comet's tail — all pointing toward Tartarus.

Brooklyn knew she should say something, but her instincts told her to hide, to avoid doing anything that would draw the god's attention.

Besides, what could she say? You won't get away with this!

That wasn't true. She, Annabeth, and Percy had only survived this long because Tartarus was savoring his new form. He wanted the pleasure of physically ripping them to pieces. If Tartarus wished, Brooklyn had no doubt he could devour her existence with a single thought, as easily as he'd vaporized Hyperion and Krios. Would she be able to go to heaven from that? Brooklyn didn't want to find out.

Next to her, Percy did something she'd never seen him do. He dropped his sword. It just fell out of his hand and hit the ground with a thud. Death Mist no longer shrouded his face, but he still had the complexion of a corpse.

Tartarus hissed again — possibly laughing.

Your fear smells wonderful, said the god. I see the appeal of having a physical body with so many senses. Perhaps my beloved Gaea is right, wishing to wake from her slumber.

He stretched out his massive purple hand and might have plucked up Percy like a weed, but Bob interrupted.

"Begone!" The Titan leveled his spear at the god. "You have no right to meddle!"

Meddle? Tartarus turned. I am the lord of all creatures of the darkness, puny Iapetus. I can do as I please.

His black cyclone face spun faster. The howling sound was so horrible, Brooklyn fell to her knees and clutched her ears. Bob stumbled, the wispy comet tail of his life force growing longer as it was sucked toward the face of the god.

Bob roared in defiance. He charged and thrust his spear at Tartarus's chest. Before it could connect, Tartarus swatted Bob aside like he was a pesky insect. The Titan went sprawling.

Why do you not disintegrate? Tartarus mused. You are nothing. You are even weaker than Krios and Hyperion.

"I am Bob," said Bob.

Tartarus hissed. What is that? What is Bob?

"I choose to be more than Iapetus," said the Titan. "You do not control me. I am not like my brothers."