This, Zagreus decided, was the dumbest deal he’d ever made.
No guards, no monsters. Nothing that could so much as harm him (but, perhaps, for the scalding waters of the Phlegethon) as long as he stayed in the pot, and left the infernal arms behind.
It should have been inevitable that he would eventually escape. It still was.
His arms strained, as he hung from the Daedalus hammer he’d lodged at the edge of the ledge. He just needed to haul himself up, and he’d be able to-
“What do you think, Cerberus?” echoed the voice from Gods-knew-where.
Zagreus gritted his teeth.
There was the faint sound of Cerberus making an unconvinced noise.
Silence fell, but for the scraping of the hammer, and the sound of careful breathing.
Just, reach up, hand by hand. The ledge was almost in-
He was falling, the stale air of Tartarus whistling past him, as-
There was a thud, as the pot hit the ground, and the breath left his lungs.
“Oh dear,” came his Father’s voice, hardly bothering to conceal his amusement, “It seems he has fallen, Cerberus, to a room that he was in an hour ago.” The last words seemed distinctly pointed at Zagreus.
Not for the first time, Zagreus considered just getting out of the pot. These hammers weren’t meant for combat, but maybe… He sighed. Maybe he’d just be better off stepping out and getting killed so he could start over the normal way.
“It was a great deal of progress,” said his Father, clearly directed at Cerberus, “perhaps he will give up now.”
He reached out, and grabbed the hammer again.
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