Luke was fighting.

Not for his life, no – it was too late for that. He knew, no matter how this ended, that he wouldn't be surviving it.

No – he was fighting for something much more important. He was fighting for his soul.

For his spirit, for himself, for the person that he sometimes thought had been lost five years ago, when he went on his failed quest – or maybe even eight, when Thalia died. He was fighting for the old Luke, because for the first time he could see that Luke again – and he couldn't let himself believe it was too late to get him back.

It was excruciating, sometimes – it hurt so much, although he didn't even really know how to define physical pain anymore, now that his body was invulnerable. Now that his body wasn't even his anymore.

He didn't know how to describe it – it was as though he were nothing and everything at the same time, holed up inside this body, being controlled by someone who wasn't him. It hurt to speak – that voice scraping metal and stone against his all-too-mortal throat. Moving felt all wrong, as though he were some kind of robot. He fought, but he couldn't resist – his body moved when it was told to move, he said what he was told to say – but it wasn't him saying it.

Of course he would realize who he was as soon as he wasn't himself anymore.

Everything hurt – like a razor constantly being dragged across his vulnerable skin, never giving the scars a chance to heal – because it went so completely against his will to do the things he was doing. Sometimes it hurt so much that he would curl in on himself, squeeze his mental eyes shut and give up for a moment, because it stopped the agony. But he knew that if he gave up for too long, he would succumb, he would sink away, and Luke would disappear forever.

His last chance for himself, his last chance for the world, his last chance for Elysium, his last chance for –

Annabeth.

Thalia had given up on him long ago, he knew, and he couldn't blame her for it. He tried sometimes, but it hurt more than this possession did even to think of her, so instead he focused on Annabeth, Annabeth as he had last seen her when he still controlled his body, those hopeful gray eyes trained on him, still believing in him, even to the last. He remembered that seven-year-old girl who had sprung at him from behind a sheet of metal, brandishing a hammer at his head.

She still fought with his knife.

Forcing his eyes open, forcing himself to look through the thin sheen of gold, ignoring the pain that scraped against every surface of his not-quite-there self – he saw her.

Saw her standing back to back with Percy Jackson, holding his knife, her knife – perhaps the sign that she had never given up on him, never would give up on him – saw her slashing and stabbing and blocking, saw her throw herself to the side –

Saw her fall.

"No!" he tried to scream, but the words wouldn't leave his body – they reverberated around inside his skull, causing painful echoes, but no one could hear them but him. He raged, he screamed, he tried as he had never tried before to move his limbs, to run to Ethan Nakamura and kill him for hurting Annabeth, for hurting his little sister –

But Percy Jackson did it for him. Slammed Ethan hard in the head with his sword hilt, and the other boy went down, and Luke could do nothing but watch, because Kronos was at his strongest in battle, and for all his pounding and yelling, Luke was helpless.

Helpless to watch as Percy Jackson drove the enemies back, as blood seeped from the wound on Annabeth's arm, as the whole battle seemed to come to a standstill. "No one touches her!" shouted Percy, and Luke slumped down, falling into himself, because he should have been there, he should have been the one protecting Annabeth –

And because the one that Percy was protecting Annabeth from, was him.

"Interesting," and he let out another soundless cry as that awful voice grated against his throat, as Kronos examined Percy and Annabeth with an air of curiosity, superiority, and excitement. As though he had finally figured something out.

"Bravely fought, Percy Jackson. But it's time to surrender, or the girl dies."

No, no, no! Luke renewed his struggle, fighting – for one second he could feel the smile disappear from the face that had once been his, but then it reappeared full force. But Luke couldn't let this happen – he had to fight, he had to keep fighting, because if he knew anything about Percy, it was that if he could save Annabeth, he would.

And for that, Luke hated him and loved him at the same time.

"Percy, don't," moaned Annabeth, and Luke was hit with a completely new, completely different spasm of pain. Her voice was so weak, so filled with pain, and he could do nothing to help her –

His fault, his fault, all his fault . . .

How would Percy get out of this? Luke couldn't think of a solution, and Annabeth was lying on the ground, bleeding all over her armor, and there was nothing anyone could do –

"Blackjack!"

Stunned, Luke and Kronos looked up together as the black pegasus swooped down and snatched Annabeth up. Both of them groaned – Kronos out of frustration, Luke out of pure relief. Annabeth was gone. They would find her help. She would live.

Percy looked at them, his face filled with triumph – or as close to triumph as one can get when surrounded by enemies. And for once, that emotion was mirrored in Luke.

Luke didn't like Percy Jackson. He never had. But, looking at him now, he realized that here was someone who loved Annabeth as much as Luke had – and would keep her safe where Luke never could again.

And with that thought, with that knowledge, surging up inside of him, he felt a new wave of strength.

And he continued to fight.


I think Luke Castellan is a fascinating character. He's really complex, and, above all, so human. And though I'm not his biggest fan - I just never can make myself like the villains, even if they're conflicted - I love his characterization. So, some Luke for you. I don't own him. Or PJO. Seriously.