Percy held his arm stretched out and felt the cold, cruel feeling of power send tingles down his spine. He sneered, letting his victim be only a puppet with him controlling the strings. He wanted this pitiful god to know just how much control he had, just how much power he had.

Annabeth stepped back alarmed, surprised, the ground sending up clouds of scarlet dust left to hang suspended in the musty land of Tartarus. This wasn't the Percy she knew. This wasn't him. It couldn't be him. She flinched as he flexed his fingers, feeling the blood rush through the veins of his victim-a victim? Then what does that make Percy? – and bending the body to his will.

No, she thought, this wasn't the Percy she knew. But, no. She didn't think he changed. And her gut wrenched at the idea that maybe she was too blind to see this part of him, the cruel and ruthless side, the side where all his anger, rage and frustrations were channelled. Or maybe she just didn't want to see. And now, she wasn't sure if she could handle this side.

"Stop this, Percy. This isn't you." She choked out through the hazy atmosphere doubt and fear coiling in her chest like a leech, planting doubts where she didn't want them. Gods, she didn't know what to think.

Green eyes flashed with surprise and recognition, and he let his hand fall to his side. He gasped in surprise and fell in unison to the unconscious god he had taken out his anger on. He stayed on the ground with his fists driving into the crusty, morbid looking dirt. His raven hair fell in a curtain over his distraught face. She felt the rage coming from him, now directed at her instead of the goddess.

"This isn't me? You don't know me, you haven't seen what I've seen or felt what I have felt. Can you not accept this side of me? Am I not worthy of being with you? Or better yet, are you scared?"

"Do not expect that after everything, I am not yet tainted by blood and by the bitter taste of war and humanity. Do not think that I am a hero, because I am not. Do not think those thoughts, because you do not know."

Silence.

"Do not think that I have not been broken."

She stepped forward, hands reaching forward to reach out to him. "Please don't."

Annabeth traced the shaking figure with wary eyes. "Are you going to run away?"

"Where would I run to?"

"Are you going to fight?"

"Is it worth it?"

"What are you fighting for?"

He pondered on that for a while, before saying in a soft voice.

"I'm fighting for those who have yet to live; I am fighting for a future I will not be a part of. I'm fighting, so that maybe, no one will have to feel the way I'm feeling ever again."

"But, remember this. I am not a hero, there are no such things as heroes."