The Fiction Games

Chapter Nineteen - Master of Death

For a moment, Katara watched the sun float from the unyielding clouds, quickly engulfed by the tops of white trees. Still powdery and delicate, the snow around her shimmered orange in the blazing campfire. Six tributes huddled around it, but Katara decided to keep first watch. She couldn't help shake the feeling the group had already found him. Peter, Michonne, Percy, Harry, and Peeta were on their way to the camp with Aang at last. 

Although the night was covered with gray, the arena projected the day's results. Katniss Everdeen was the only tribute to appear in the sky as the national anthem played a little long than usual, as though President Snow made the song linger just to torment Peeta. Katara gritted her teeth. If she had a chance to assassinate Snow, she would, regardless of Aang's approval.

Footsteps crunched behind her. Frail, cautious steps, as though they were unsure of disturbing Katara. It was that wizard who was scared of her own shadow. 

"I don't mean to b-bother you," Hermione shivered. "But it's getting colder. Sit by the fire, the enchantments will keep this place safe. Walkers, the snow, not even the green monster can get past our defenses."

Katara retorted, "It's not our safety I'm worrying about. How is Aang going to find us if the enchantments are meant to keep everything out?"

"Before they left, I gave Harry Floo Powder. If he finds Aang t-travelling through the woods, all he has to do is light a fire and d-direct him to the cornucopia." Hermione pointed to the hearth. "Once that fire turns green, we'll know they'll be back."

Katara drew her attention to the darkening trees, now coated in foreboding shadows. Except for the fire snapping twigs, the night was quiet and still, which made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Quiet only meant future torment for the tributes. And with Aang still alive, she feared if they weren't back soon, the Gamemakers will have something sinister brewing.

"Aang's out there somewhere," Katara said. "I just know it."

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It was impossible to miss the castle peaking over the sea of snow-capped trees. When the night crept over the arena, the tributes found it easier to find, as though the palace shined as its own celestial orb. First Harry believed the castle was completely constructed of glass, but as he flew closer, he noticed the walls formed giant icicles that dared to rip the clouds above. Harry was reminded of a crown, in its appearance and sense of sovereignty.

Leaning the broomstick downward, Harry darted twice his speed. Water doused his face, nearly blinding him, but he pressed on following the blue light. As he got closer, he began to slow down and descend into the trees. 

He landed on a mound of snow effortlessly, and carried the broomstick under his arm. Floo Powder still in his pocket, Harry waited for the others to catch up. When Michonne landed two feet on the ground, she tossed the broom off into the woods and tore off the red-hot blade. "No more....broomsticks...okay?"

"I agree," Percy said. "Is it close? Should we throw a couple of stones just to check its in the arena?"

"Unnecesary," Peeta said. "They wouldn't tease us like that."

With the trees dispelling behind them, the snow piled taller so that their legs from the thigh down was drenched, and their numbing bones shook violently. The blue-white castle was just a few yards away. An arched bridge connected the double doors to the ground, but what guarded the doors made them tense.

Walkers. Chained to the ground with heavy iron bars, they spotted the tributes and bared their teeth in anticipation. Michonne whipped her sword around, and lobbed on their heads in a single swing. She looked at her companions, pointing to the double doors, "Gentlemen?"

Before Peter opened the doors, he warned them, "If the White Witch truly is alive, don't get near her wand. One touch, and you're turned to stone. Perhaps breaking it will reverse winter." The door creaked as they filed inside the frozen palace. 

Michonne kept two hands on the sword. Wind slipped between the cracks, kicking up the snow inside. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, yet there wasn't a candle lit. It was just as cold inside as it was outside, but the tributes barely noticed. They were looking at the statues.

Dozens of them, cropped evenly throughout the courtyard. Some had their arms reaching forward, some with a hole running straight through their skull. Harry had to look away from one whose head was squashed on the ground like a grape. Their flesh, blood and rotting intestines all in solid stone, graying from age. They were harmless, but Michonne didn't sheath her weapon. "The last person who kept walkers in a collection, I jabbed a shard of glass in his eye."

"Hopefully that's not the case now," said Harry.

Barks boomed in all directions. Harry reached for his wand. Two jet black dogs scampered through the courtyard, weaving in and out of the statues towards the tributes. Waving the red saber, Michonne waited for the dogs to get closer so she can sink the blade in their necks. Then she saw their eyes.

"Those are hellhounds!" Percy shouted.

Immediately he recognized the amber-yellow eyes and the shaggy black fur. When their paws touched the frosty ground, wisps of smoke sizzled in the air. Stepping apart from the others, Percy tried to see if one them was Mrs. O'Leary.

"Percy, don't!" Harry cried.

"Relax, guys," said Percy. "They're friendly!"

By their snarling fangs, Harry thought Percy was going insane, and found a spell reach his lips. Suddenly someone shouted alien words, calling the hounds to stop. The hellhounds obediently sat a few feet from the tributes, and patted with pink tongues lolling out of their mouths. One second they were ferocious creatures, the next they were playful puppies. Michonne discouraged lowering her sword.

"That means stop in Greek," Percy said. "That could only mean..."

"Who goes there?" the man shouted in English.

"Percy Jackson, sir," he said formally, as though he already knew the man in the other room. "With a couple of friends."

The man muttered a few words, which Percy informed meant proceed. The hellhounds got on four feet and walked at their sides, guiding them through the courtyard. Percy told Michonne to put away the sword. "You do not want him as an enemy." Walking past the statues, up a flight of stairs that was sculpted by ice, they entered the throne room. 

Multicolored stained glass windows channeled on both sides of the room, snow building up outside. Two people sat on identical thrones at the end of the room, clothed in polar bear fur. The woman, with a crown of ice and matching scepter, made Peter tense. The White Witch. Percy was more concerned with the man, shoulder-length greasy, black hair, skin pale as snow and eyes gauging heavy black eyes. He wasn't sick like Bruce, this was his normal condition.

He rose from the throne.

"Perseus, son of Poseidon," purred Hades, Lord of the Dead, "Welcome back to my home uninvited."

"We wouldn't be trespassing like this if it wasn't urgent," Percy said.

"I believe you said the same thing when you stole the Master Bolt and came to the Underworld," Hades confirmed. "What is it this time? Besides the fact we're both in the arena."

"How is this possible?" Percy asked, dumbfounded. "How could they take a god?"

Now Harry thought he was losing his mind. "God?" he mouthed.

"Yes, Harry James Potter," Hades proclaimed. Harry couldn't tell Hades was looking at him because of the two dark holes where his eyes should be. "I am a god. The Greek god of the Underworld. Ruler of the Dead. Whatever you want to call me."

"How do you know my name?" Harry asked. If Percy knew who Hades was, shouldn't Hades be in the same world? "We're from different realms."

"Death is known in many worlds, including yours. Allow me to be elaborate later, please. To answer your question, Perseus, it was simple. It was by my own free will that I came here."

Percy asked, "Why?"

Hades gave a smile, showing rows of mismatched silver and yellow teeth. "To save you, of course."