"Heroism isn't anything you can describe. It doesn't contain selfishness or selflessness, like everybody says. It doesn't contain independence or dependence, like others tell. It doesn't contain even the amount of goodness you can share to each other. It doesn't have anything to do with jealousy, or aggregation, or loneliness, or rejection. Those are all different things. You can't find true heroism in a fairy tale, because fairytales are just another story. You can't smell the satisfaction, or see it, or taste it, because the act of doing the right thing can only be felt by you. Life is a mystery to be uncovered, yes, but the truth is that sometimes you don't want to uncover it. Sometimes you want to leave it a mystery, because the only thing you can find in life that stops us from heroism is hate. Hate, the one that can be found anywhere. People don't want to admit it, because they want to stick to their morals, but life just isn't perfect. It can't be perfect. Perfection doesn't exist," Luke's voice echoed against the red skies as twenty-five dizzy, worn-out, and fearful demigods looked away from him with big eyes. He knew he should've waited another hour – waited for everybody to get settled, to calm everybody down. But how long could he do that? They had all appeared slowly within the last few hours, two or three at a time. He had to talk to them sometime.
"Why should we trust you?" He knew somebody was going to ask that. He tempted a sigh, but he couldn't show his impatience yet. His eyes searched the crowd. The voice came from the back, but he could see him clearly. His name was Ethan, he remembered. Guilt stirred in his stomach, as flashes went through his head.
"Look around you Ethan," He heard Percy's voice choke. "The end of the world. Is this the reward you want? Do you really want everything destroyed—the good with the bad? Everything?" Though his attention should've been toward Annabeth, because gods knows she deserved it, but she was merely blurs as hisattention was forced on Ethan.
"There is no throne to Nemesis," Ethan said in a low voice, "No throne to my mother."
"That's right!" He– No, Kronos – struggled. His body was scrambled helplessly on the ground, as blood oozed across his body. "Strike them down! They deserve to suffer!"
"You said your mom is the goddess of balance!" Percy mimicked, and a thrust of hatred ran through Luke's veins. "The minor gods deserve better, Ethan, but total destruction isn't balance. Kronos doesn't build, he only destroys."
And then all he remember retaining is Ethan running toward him. He remembered the blaze in Ethan's one eye, the blaze of pride. The blaze of something Luke once was. Luke saw myself in him.
He thought he touched him. He thought that's how it happened. Kronos snarled something, and suddenly his sword busted through Ethan's chest. A part of him sucked in a cold breath, yet a darker part of him was proud. The moment he saw he wasn't dead yet – that he was struggling to survive still – he crushed him and threw him toward the mountain. To his death.
"So much for him," He heard his mouth say, "Now for the rest of you." And as he forced his eyes to look back at Ethan, hoping to let his own emotions take over and feel regret, all he felt was satisfaction. All he felt was a wave of satisfaction going through him. Happiness.
His eyes ran back to Ethan, burning for a moment.
"Because you have full will. I'm not going to manipulate you, or give you reasons to stay. I'm just going to say that the Underworld needs us. Because we still have chances to be heroes again. We have a chance to change the world for the better," His voice cracked, "I ask you, beg you, to help me." He tried to use different words than he used before when recruiting demigods, but in all honesty it sounded the same. The same speech just in different words.
He ran his hand through his hair which was, amazingly enough, still sticky from blood and grime. But that wasn't unusual – many other demigods still showed signs of their once-injuries too. Forming scars, blood, battle wounds. He wondered if they'd ever go away. For what he saw, none of them had any real issues, but because their battle wounds were so crucial to their death they would always seem like real wounds.
"But we can go back to Elysium right? You know, rest in peace?" A small girl asked in the back. His jaw clenched. Did they understand at all? They were young. They could still live. They didn't need to rest in peace yet.
"Look, this isn't going to be like Camp Half-Blood. Some of you were on Camp Half-Blood's team, and I couldn't root for you more. If I could do it again, I'd support you guys. But for the people I betrayed – the people I convinced to be on my side– we can do it right. We can have a camp that isn't prejudice or discriminating or anything like that. Here we aren't categorized as a 'demigod'. We are categorized by the morals and rules we set upon ourselves. We are individuals. That's all we ever wanted, right?" Slowly, people started to finally look at him. Their eyes, which most were either on the screaming dead below them or picking at their wounds, finally fell into his blue eyes.
"I understand you hate me," his voice cracked, "I would too. But I think I finally found a way to pay all of you back."
"I'm not fighting with you," Ethan finally answered, crossing his arms stubbornly. Many murmured under their breath in agreement. Luke's not-really-beating-heart-thumped. This was his only chance to make something right.
"Then don't fight with me. Protect with me." Luke took a risky step toward the group. "We blamed our problems on the Gods. We told ourselves that we needed a label to make us feel like we were a part of something. But the truth is, we didn't fit in the mortal world or the demigod world. Not because we were the underdogs, but because that wasn't the reason we were born. If you ask me, this is why we were born. To make our own legends, to make our own society, and to create balance. Both in life and death."
At first everybody was silent, even Ethan. Forty-nine eyes stared at him, blinking. But then, as if a god was finally listening to him, people started standing up, nodding, agreeing.
And at that moment, Luke didn't feel like he was making some revolutionary change. This time, Luke believed he was finally encouraging something he didn't think he would ever encourage during death – Life.
(insert three dashes)
Before Luke had a heart attack, his day was doing pretty good. There was no true time-span in Camp Asphodel, but somehow in the first few days of Camp Asphodel Beckendorf and some other Hephaestus kids were able to create their own version of how time would be counted. And if they were to calculate their way, it was exactly a year.
For some odd reason, this made Luke nervous. Anniversaries never did anything good for him. Birthdays, holidays, all of them ended badly.
"Hey, Luke!" A voice shouted. He swerved around. Immediately, a warm smile spread across his face. It was Silena Beauregard. He wasn't into her or anything, but the fact that she finally began to trust him again made him feel like a million dollars. At first she didn't trust him at all. In the beginning she only joined because Beckendorf was crazy about the idea. But through time she began to trust him again.
"Yeah?" He called back, but she simply waved him over to her tent.
There were an infinite amount of tents. Originally, they made twelve for the Olympians. But then people like Ethan peeked up and brought up the fact that the minor gods were being rejected yet again. So he did something different – they made their own homes. Now about twenty tents ran together. They were all about the size of a cabin. Some only had one person; some had up to five and six. But the thing was, it didn't matter. Every day they gained more demigods. What was it now? Forty-three?
As he approached her tent, he couldn't help but snicker. Somehow somebody managed to get a hold of pink dye, and dyed the entire thing pink. Then some brave soul decided to snag some flowers from Persephone's garden. They were lucky that they were already dead. But that wasn't the only tent that was decorated. Many tents had created mascots for themselves, decorating their tent based upon that. Other people made signs like 'keep out' or 'Beware! Hellhound sleeping!'.
He zipped through the tent and he exhaled. It smelled of sunflowers and perfume. There was no electricity in Camp Asphodel, but they managed to make candles that could last for days without having to be relit. Silena's entire cabin was decorated with different colored candles, spreading different colors along the walls. They also put up souvenirs that they have collected throughout the year; artifacts from the River of the Styx, rewards for dealing with Hades' crap, stuff like that.
"Do you like it?" Silena asked. Somewhere behind him near the other beds, Beckendorf snorted. Luke maintained his smile.
"Beautiful Silena," he laughed.
"I could do it to your tent if you-"
"HELP!" The word interrupted her with a screech. Luke didn't hesitate – he swerved on his immediately, bolting out of the tent and toward what the kids call the "dining pavilion", but then his feet froze. Somewhere behind him he felt somebody grope his arm.
Fifteen feet away from him a girl, mangled and distraught, lay on the black gravel. Her yellow-blonde curls bounced around her face and as she reached for them with her pale hands her grey eyes flickered. They were so grey he could see it from where he was standing, like thundering storms trying to reach him. Slowly, his breath shaking, he stepped closer. He could feel more kids swarm around them, but freezing immediately. Because they knew who she was. His hands tingled as he approached the girl slowly, unsure how to respond.
"Help," She gargled, her hand reaching out toward him again. His eyes burned with tears as his body shook again in horror.
"Annabeth," He breathed, stepping down, and stroking her scarred face softly, "Is that…" But no, she looked different. A replica, a double-ganger, but yet at the same time he could tell it was somebody else.
"My name…is Claire," she breathed, " The Roman daughter of Apollo, honorable demigod of the Fifth Cohort, and three-year member of the Roman Legion. Help me. Please."
-(three dashes)-
Okay, I'm trying to see if anybody will give this another chance. It's a rough start, yeah. It's still boring and bland. But if anybody reads this, send a review. Because I'll only add more if you review.