The House of Hades (The Heroes of Olympus 4)

Hazel realized that Hecate was assisting her—lending her the strength to keep up a defensive shroud. Hazel also knew that the instant her own concentration wavered and that darkness touched her, she would collapse. If that happened, she wasn’t sure Hecate would be able—or willing—to stop the giant from crushing her and her friends.

Hazel sprinted toward the Doors of Death. Her blade shattered the chains on the left side like they were made of ice. She lunged to the right, but Clytius yelled, NO!

By sheer luck, she wasn’t cut in half. The flat of the giant’s blade caught her in the chest and sent her flying. She slammed into the wall and felt bones crack.

Across the room, Leo screamed her name.

Through her blurry vision, she saw a flash of fire. Hecate stood nearby, her form shimmering as if she were about to dissolve. Her torches seemed to be flickering out, but that might have just been that Hazel was starting to lose consciousness.

She couldn’t give up now. She forced herself to stand. Her side felt like it was embedded with razor blades. Her sword lay on the ground about five feet away. She staggered toward it.

“Clytius!” she shouted.

She meant it to sound like a brave challenge, but it came out as more of a croak.

At least it got his attention. The giant turned from Leo and the others. When he saw her limping forward, he laughed.

A good try, Hazel Levesque, Clytius admitted. You did better than I anticipated. But magic alone cannot defeat me, and you do not have sufficient strength. Hecate has failed you, as she fails all of her followers in the end.

The Mist around her was thinning. At the other end of the room, Leo tried to force-feed Percy some ambrosia, though Percy was still pretty much out of it. Annabeth was awake but struggling, barely able to lift her head.

Hecate stood with her torches, watching and waiting—which infuriated Hazel so much, she found one last burst of energy.

She threw her sword—not at the giant, but at the Doors of Death. The chains on the right side shattered. Hazel collapsed in agony, her side burning, as the Doors shuddered and disappeared in a flash of purple light.

Clytius roared so loudly that a half dozen stelae fell from the ceiling and shattered.

“That was for my brother, Nico,” Hazel gasped. “And for destroying my father’s altar. ”

You have forfeited your right to a quick death, the giant snarled. I will suffocate you in darkness, slowly, painfully. Hecate

cannot help you. NO ONE can help you!

The goddess raised her torches. “I would not be so certain, Clytius. Hazel’s friends simply needed a little time to reach her—time you have given them with your boasting and bragging. ”

Clytius snorted. What friends? These weaklings? They are no challenge.

In front of Hazel, the air rippled. The Mist thickened, creating a doorway, and four people stepped through.

Hazel wept with relief. Frank’s arm was bleeding and bandaged, but he was alive. Next to him stood Nico, Piper, and Jason—all with their swords drawn.

“Sorry we’re late,” Jason said. “Is this the guy who needs killing?”

HAZEL ALMOST FELT SORRY FOR CLYTIUS.

They attacked him from every direction—Leo shooting fire at his legs, Frank and Piper jabbing at his chest, Jason flying into the air and kicking him in the face. Hazel was proud to see how well Piper remembered her sword-fighting lessons.

Each time the giant’s smoky veil started creeping around one of them, Nico was there, slashing through it, drinking in the darkness with his Stygian blade.

Percy and Annabeth were on their feet, looking weak and dazed, but their swords were drawn. When did Annabeth get a sword? And what was it made of—ivory? They looked like they wanted to help, but there was no need. The giant was surrounded.

Clytius snarled, turning back and forth as if he couldn’t decide which of them to kill first. Wait! Hold still! No! Ouch!

The darkness around him dispelled completely, leaving nothing to protect him except his battered armor. Ichor oozed from a dozen wounds. The damage healed almost as fast as it was inflicted, but Hazel could tell the giant was tiring.

One last time Jason flew at him, kicking him in the chest, and the giant’s breastplate shattered. Clytius staggered backward. His sword dropped to the floor. He fell to his knees, and the demigods encircled him.

Only then did Hecate step forward, her torches raised. Mist curled around the giant, hissing and bubbling as it touched his skin.

“And so it ends,” Hecate said.

It does not end. Clytius’s voice echoed from somewhere above, muffled and slurred. My brethren have risen. Gaea waits only for the blood of Olympus. It took all of you together to defeat me. What will you do when the Earth Mother opens her eyes?

Hecate turned her torches upside down. She thrust them like daggers at Clytius’s head. The giant’s hair went up faster than dry tinder, spreading down his head and across his body until the heat of the bonfire made Hazel wince. Clytius fell without a sound, face-first in the rubble of Hades’s altar. His body crumbled to ashes.

For a moment, no one spoke. Hazel heard a ragged, painful noise and realized it was her own breathing. Her side felt like it had been kicked in with a battering ram.

The goddess Hecate faced her. “You should go now, Hazel Levesque. Lead your friends out of this place. ”

Hazel gritted her teeth, trying to hold in her anger. “Just like that? No ‘thank you’? No ‘good work’?”

The goddess tilted her head. Gale the weasel chittered—maybe a good-bye, maybe a warning—and disappeared in the folds of her mistress’s skirts.

“You look in the wrong place for gratitude,” Hecate said. “As for ‘good work,’ that remains to be seen. Speed your way to Athens. Clytius was not wrong. The giants have risen—all of them, stronger than ever. Gaea is on the very edge of waking. The Feast of Hope will be poorly named unless you arrive to stop her. ”