Being Human: A Percy Jackson Fanfiction

There's Mist In Hell: Chapter 8

A/N This chapter is super random.

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"'I'm fine,' you said. I wasn't fine for days."

"I was OK, you should never worry."

"I do anyways."

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As much as I wanted to leave, I knew I couldn't. I didn't want a repeat of what happened the last time I was in the Pit. Last time, I had fallen in. Last time, I had a possible way to escape.

I knew it wasn't the same. I knew what to do this time, yes. But I was banished this time. Sentenced to spent the rest of my miserable life in the deepest part of Hell. The last thing on my mind was escaping. It was impossible, and I knew it. 

Tartarus. Hell. The Pit. Whatever you want to call it, it's real. I always knew it was. Even before I found I was half god. Hell is real. Always has been, always will be. 

Because Hell is real. And it wasn't hot. No, it was cold. Freezing. My soul is- was- freezing. 

Hell continued to be real. Hell could be the jealousy I had felt whenever I saw a happy couple walk by. Why couldn't I be that happy? Hell could be the way my stomach churned and my heart broke. Hell was the nightmares. The way they broke me, shattered me. 

Pieces fell-

-onto the floor-

-of my soul.

Hell is real. I knew it. I experienced it. I felt it.

Why did they deny? Hell was being taken away from my other half. My soulmate. My love. 

I had had a dream a few nights before the day I saw the mist. I saw a person I had known. I saw them die. 

I thought they were lucky. My soul was too compromised to feel much. I smiled.

At the face of death, I laughed. Death was an old friend of mine. 

Death wouldn't take me to Hell. No, it would free me from it. 

Hell is real. 

You know that.

I know that.

Hell is real. Dark, misty. Hell was an experience no one enjoyed. I didn't want to die. No, I knew I couldn't. I had something- someone- to live for.

And, well, I was immortal. 

"You're on the road to Hell," a woman told me the day I saw the mist. "You can't escape. Can't go back."

I took drakon skin- hide?- and dried it. Made a sort of material. A paper like material. Maybe even a cloth-like material. It was thick, tough. Made good armor. Made good clothing.

I never told anyone I knew how to sew. My mom taught me a bit. Annabeth taught me some weaving. They taught a type of sewing at one of the military schools I went to. 

Also, for some reason, Damasen had a sewing kit. An extra large one, too. The thread was made of drakon hide- he had a lot at his disposal, I guess- and the scissors and needle were drakon bone. 

I'd never been too good at sewing. The blessing of Aphrodite helped, I suppose. By that point in time, I'd made boots- light and easy to run in. I'd made a chestplate, too, along with a skirt-type armor that looked weird but was good for battle.