Sea Angels

~13~

The magma's heat wasn't as bad as Percy remembered. Yes, it made him feel like he was being slowly charbroiled inside one of Hephaestus' forges, but at least the hair on his arms hadn't been too badly singed off yet. His hair still hadn't caught fire, which was also a good thing. Times like these made him envy Leo's control over fire, but he was water, the complete opposite of fire. At least he had a little protection and wouldn't go up in flames immediately.

He ran, fully aware of the thick, burning liquid threatening to engulf him as it raced down the tunnels faster than cheetahs. He barely had enough time to put a small enchantment on the backpack, preventing it from disintegrating as long as he didn't burn. His only consolation was that there wasn't anything chasing him, if you didn't count the magma, that is.

Percy followed his gut instincts, completely disregarding the plan he had told to the others as he ducked and weaved through the endless maze beneath Mount Saint Helens. He really should tell Hephaestus to pick another volcano as his favorite forge. Two close calls in the same mountain was really pushing it, even for him.

The ground continued to crack and rumble, and Percy had just enough time to haul himself up to the layer above him before the magma rolled past, fast and furious, as little beads jumped up, nearly burning through his sneaker. He cursed under his breath, gasping in acrid air before starting his exhausting sprint again. As if the air wasn't bad enough in Tartarus, it was just like that right now, down to the part that all the ourae wanted was him dead.

Making sure to keep his eyes peeled for the Mark of Daedalus, Percy continued down the maze-like structure, his feet pounding on the burning pavement. He'd have to dodge around the random geysers of magma that would erupt mere feet in front of him to avoid taking a bath in liquid fire. If drinking liquid fire burned his throat, he didn't want to know what a full bath would do.

Without warning, the magma surged forward, completely immersing him in the thousands-of-degrees hot liquid. For a split second, he panicked, not completely sure that his fire protection would hold.

Then the warm, tingly feeling began, almost like he was underneath an electric blanket that his mother would wrap him in on cold winter nights when he was younger. Percy knew the feeling wouldn't last long, though, before the inferno would get to him, turning him into a pile of ashes.

He pushed forward, swimming through the lava as the heat intensified. His hair smelt burnt. His lips became parched instantly, and it felt like his body was deprived of all retained moisture. Blisters popped up all over his skin with an ugly red rash. The heat was stifling, almost like someone had Saran-wrapped a room shut and turned on the heater to full blast. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead and back, but he had no time to spare to wipe it away.

Unlike poison, which had some water in it, magma was silicon and liquid rock, none of which contained water. Percy could already feel his minimal defense begin to dissipate as the hair on his arms began to singe.

He found an opening above him and swam up just as his natural defense against the intense heat wore off. The soles of his boots began to turn into a thick, black sludge that reeked of something awful. Percy smothered the pieces of fabric dangling from the side of his backpack, which had started to catch on fire and smoke.

Once again, the magma was at Percy's heels, and the ground shifted again, throwing him off balance and crashing into a wall. The volcano was moments away from an explosion, and he needed time to make a plan, time that he didn't have. Percy shut down all his thoughts, like he usually did, and went solely on instincts as he jumped back into the magma, swimming to the highest lava tubes he could find.

Percy found himself looking up into the open air with stars glittering over the night sky. He didn't have time to fully appreciate their beauty, as he was on the caldera of the volcano. Magma poured in torrents of orange streaks, forcing the bottom of the caldera up as Mount Saint Helens prepared to explode.