A/N: Uh...so, I lied. There isn't going to be only three chapters to this like I had originally planned. There's still going to be three parts, but the next chapter would be like 'Saving: Part II' and then the last chapter would follow that. So I guess there would be a total of four chapters. Depends.

Just so there's no confusion, the setting revolves around a second war (not the first one) between the Romans and the Greeks. It's just a plot line I made up because I wanted a war, and this event is not in the PJO series, or The Lost Hero, or any other of Rick Riordan's stories.

Because there was a war, Annabeth, Thalia, Clarisse, and Silena offered to be spies. They spied at the Roman Camp Half-Blood, but they were found out and taken to an prison camp. The Romans didn't throw Silena in the prison cell with the rest of the girls, because they wanted to hold Silena as hostage, so that the other girls wouldn't want to try anything risky. Annabeth, Thalia, and Clarisse also work various jobs at the prison camp, just like slaves. Sorry, I didn't know my chapter had been confusing as to how the girls got captured in the first place. XD


Saving: Part I

The air was thick with smoke and blood.

It was everywhere. He realized that it would be inescapable in war, and he was foolish to even think so. Everywhere Percy turned, swords, spears, and arrows tore ruthlessly into living human flesh. Dead bodies loitered the ground, and he was sure that he had stepped on them in attempts to avoid getting killed himself. He easily swung Riptide across an unnamed Roman demigod's neck, completely severing the head from the body.

He turned his head away, only to get a slight fraction of the warm blood that sprayed out, and snapped his sword back up, blocking an incoming attack.

The Roman Camp Half-blood was torn to shatters; a once beautiful camp that had hidden a much more harsh reality was burning at the seams. Percy had never fought such opponents before in his life. He had never gone to measures as to kill with much so damage before now. The war with the Titans last year was nothing compared to this insanity. Lupa and her demigods were all savages. They killed without thinking and their intentions were only dark and malignant.

Percy felt a large hand squeeze at his shoulder tightly, and at the corner of his eyes, he saw it was another enemy. Turning around with agile, he quickly wielded his sword and struck it right through the person's neck. He watched with careless scrutiny of the red blood that filtered out from the boy's neck and mouth, the sword still wedged in his esophagus, blocking any airway passages. His sword freed itself from its hold, his opponent going down, dead, as Percy lunged in near violence at his next opponent.

Arching his hand, he whirled and slammed the hilt of his sword roughly into the face of another Roman demigod, giving no glance back as the body stumbled to the ground and was eventually slain by Will Solace. Another noise alerted Percy and in minor defense, he swung his fist at his attacker, his hard knuckles landing right on his opponent's jaws. The crunching of the bones caused some uneasiness in Percy, before he kicked at the Roman's knees, sending him onto his back. He then plunged Riptide though his opponent's chest, gripping the sword hardly as he brought it through thick armor and chain mail, releasing a short breath when the tip of his sword encountered the broken spine.

The Roman struggled violently against the hold, howling with pain to feel cold steel in his body. His ceaseless wiggling only prompted Percy to dig the sword in deeper, sure enough that it touched the ground below. The Roman blew his last breath, freezing on the spot, his body turning cold. He pulled his sword out swiftly, gleaming obscenely not only with the blood of his recent victim, but with the blood of the many others Percy had slain that day.

There was a loud cry to his left, and a slight figure hurled onto the ground, draping over the body that Percy had just killed seconds ago. The figure took off the helmet, revealing long, brown-colored hair in the lightest shade, and a slim, oval-shaped face. The female Roman demigod had tears streaming down her eyes, sobbing over her fallen friend, or lover, or whatever he was to this girl.

Percy's instincts told him to kill this one too, before she did first. The girl cried, no indication that she knew that Percy was watching her. In desperation, she stood up shakily, gripping her spear, and turned to Percy, attacking him with a wild scream.

Instantly, Percy brought his sword up, the sound making him sure that the sharp tip had found its mark. He heard her drop her spear in surprise. His blade was embedded deep in her abdomen and had gone through her back, sparkling crimson against the light of the early dawn. Resigned shock was written on the girl's face, and it would stay that after she died in that singular minute.

Instead of letting her fall like he did to the rest of his opponents, Percy took out his sword and caught the girl by her arms before she dropped. Gently, he lowered her down, laying her out until she was resting right beside her friend— he later supposed the boy had been the girl's lover. With his fingers, Percy closed both of their eyes. In the midst of this chaos, the boy and the girl looked as though they were sleeping peacefully, despite their bodies being drenched in dirt and blood and other human waste.

It seemed to go on forever, becoming a sick, inhuman routine. He would strike, and then there would be blood. Strike, blood. Strike. Blood. Strike. Blood. Strike. Blood. It was a never ending cycle, and he was sure it would go on forever.

Most cabins that belonged to the Roman camp were hastily burning, the flags of the respective gods catching on fire as well, blowing away with the wind. The numbers were starting to dwindle, and some of the Romans were already surrendering, the cause of war taking such a tremendous toll on their young lives. After months of fighting, the Romans surrendered. This battle, which had started in the afternoon of the previous day, was the last battle of the war, ending at dawn of the next day.

For now, the Romans who surrendered were taken in as prisoners. Percy and the rest of the Head Counselors would have to decide what to do with them later on. Percy took the time to lean on his sword idly, watching the rest of his surroundings.

A few meters away, Grover and Juniper were reunited with each other, after sensing safe that the battle was over. In all naturally, both were genuinely happy to see the other again. Of course, Juniper had yelled his name out loud and jumped on him, bringing him to the ground in pure joy. Grover and Juniper were pretty much the last people you'd see in out on a battlefield, but they had still fought for what they believed in.

The image of the couple hardened Percy. Where was his girl?

Oh, right, he remembered. She was at some prison camp that he still couldn't fucking find. Percy had been looking for Thalia—his girlfriend—the moment she had been captured for espionage. He had objected the idea of her being a spy in the first place. He had gone through all the maps he had stolen from the Romans, every file—anything that could give him at least a clue on where they were hiding her and the other girls.

And still, nothing.

Near the trees at the edge of the woods, a dark figure was heading that way. And no one was paying attention to the figure either. The figure was completely conspicuous, all dark-hooded an all. But beyond that, Percy managed to see something glinting in the light. It was white, having an almost silvery effect. The white hair was unmistakable and Percy knew exactly who that was trying to escape.

Percy's blood boiled at the thought of the person, and all he saw was red. The next moment, he was running straight for the figure, hurling himself fully at it until both their bodies collided. He was taller, giving him an advantage, and he used his weight to slam the figure against one of the thick trees. He wretched the dark hood back, pulling the figure's face up so that Percy could see the face, and his hand constricted against the pale neck, squeezing so tightly, the figure's breathing continued in strangled gasps.

"Lupa," he gritted though his tightly clenched teeth.

"P-Perseus…" she whispered, coughing. Her face was starting to turn purple. Percy gave some pity on her and loosened his hold on her, but Riptide was firmly placed under her neck.

He raised an eyebrow. "Going somewhere?"

"Come to boast have you?" Lupa narrowed her eyes, and even though her side had just lost the war, she was still the same haughty woman as ever. "In case you haven't noticed, you've won, son of Poseidon. Does that make you happy?"

Percy's answer was an angry swipe across her chin, causing her to wince in pain. His sword created a thin, deep line that ran across the bottom of her chin to the hollow of her left cheek. Lupa sneered at him then, but her former confidence had lowered down a notch, and Percy hadn't missed that fact.

"You think I enjoy this?" Percy incredulously responded, his voice dangerously low. "You think I like watching the ones I care about die? You think I like watching everyone I love get taken away from me?" his grip on her neck hardened, and Lupa instinctively shrunk back against the bark of the tree.

A feral grin marred his handsome face. "You sadistic bitch," he snarled, his hand reaching up to the deep roots of her long, silver hair and yanking it up. Satisfaction welled inside him when Lupa flinched. "Where is she?"

Defiance overtook Lupa. "I don't know what you are talking about."

Percy shook his head, smiling to himself. Fine. If that's how it was going to be…

He let Riptide skim the other woman's arm, the cold blade unwilling giving shivers to Lupa. If she felt anything, she didn't show it. She was the head of the Romans, and she was strong. Lupa's cold eyes stared back, daring the boy.

In one quick motion, quicker than anything Lupa's ever seen before, Percy had brought the tip of his sword into Lupa's skin, digging into her outer exterior. She bit her lip from crying out as he dragged the blade down, stalling the anguished moments, before peeling off a large chunk of her flesh. Her arm began to burn, and she willed herself to look at the damage. Where her skin had been perfectly intact, there was an abundant, bloody hole. Percy made it so that her white bone appeared in plain view from the jagged and ripped body tissue.

The side of the blade was smacked vehemently against her cheek, leaving quite a mark, and forcing her to stare right into his seawater eyes. The hue of his eyes was so beautiful, so captivating, but Lupa could also see the murderous, lethal intent hidden within his dark pupils.

"Thalia. Annabeth. Clarisse. Silena," he enunciated every name slowly, as if talking to a little child. "Where are they?"

"Oh, them." Lupa had the nerve to laugh, given the state she was in. Percy tensed, digging the tip deeper against her neck, puncturing it lightly, droplets of blood spilling out. "Don't waste your time, dear Perseus."

"Why?"

"It's been a while since they've first arrived there, hasn't it?" Lupa asked. "Too long if you ask me. Don't you realize that they're dead now?"

Lupa actually cried out this time, unprepared when Percy brought his sword down upon her other hand, his blade crashing atop the crease of her elbow. He put so much force that he amputated her lower arm. Lupa suffocated in her agonized gasps, her widened eyes staring at the ground, where her severed arm was laying about bloodily, and she turned her head to see her arm, which was now a stump, the liquid bleeding excessively, painting bright crimson on the grounds of the earth.

She glared at him, baring her teeth. "You—"

"Oops," Percy casually responded, waving his sword to flick off the new blood that coated the blade. Unmindful of her, he kicked away her arm, the both of them watching as it rolled as a useless item.

Lupa seethed, but the pain was overwhelming. She looked back up at him, her eyes dark. "You're a hypocrite, Perseus."

"Really?" Percy was unaffected by her words.

"You're disgusted by us Romans," she continued, her voice informally slow. "You hate the way we fight, and you hate the way we live. But you are just like us." Percy opened his mouth to speak but she continued. "You're a brutal savage, just like us. Any other Greek soldier would have caught me and thrown me in jail like the rest of army. But you," her eyes sparkled with disturbing knowledge, "take matters into your own hands."

A red spark flitted in Percy's eyes. "I'm not like you."

"Deny all you can," she teased him. "Pity you're a Greek. You would have made a brilliant Rom—"

Lupa never finished her sentence, for Percy had already cut her off, his sword plunged deep in her chest, right where her beating heart lay. She paled, feeling the blood rise up her throat until she was choking on it, some of the thick wetness trickling from the corners of her mouth. She still moved, and Percy dug the sword in deeper, hitting the end of the blade against the other side, stapling her against the bark of the tree. He made a large enough hole so that if Percy looked, he could roughly see the outline of his blade hitting past her organs, and at her lifeless heart.

Her listless head was bowed, hanging limply off her shoulder. Blood ran down her mouth and her nose, and also her arm and her newly acquired stump. With his sword holding her in place, her dead weight sagged against it, the sharp blade peeling off some more of her skin away as well.

"I'm not a Roman," he told her conversationally, but she was already dead. Yes, he had done some ruthless things in this war, but it was only because Lupa deserved it all.

"Hey," Percy whistled and called at a boy not too far away. He was twelve, too young to be in the war, but he was one of the volunteers who helped cleaned up. When the boy came, he nodded over at Lupa. "Make sure she's dead. When you're done, clean my sword. Can you do that?"

The boy nodded, determined. Percy grinned, clapping the boy on his shoulder. "Thanks."

When Percy was twelve, he was attacked by Mrs. Dodds, who actually turned out to be a Fury. Because of that incident, Percy had found out that not only was he a demigod, but that he was the son of one of the Big Three. From then on, his life had never been normal again.

He thought that maybe after the second Titan war, he might just get some of the peace that he had wanted since he had been claimed as Poseidon's son. This twelve year old boy was nothing like Percy had been. He was still innocent, not yet knowing the ugly horrors of war and how it corrupted people. This boy was completely pure by far, something that Percy envied him for. After this bloody massacre of a war, Percy was far from being pure.

That night, the Greek demigods hosted one of their largest celebrations to date. The Roman camp was nothing but charred debris now, but they had managed to make a large bonfire with food, loud music, and alcohol.

The Roman prisoners were all held on the ship, always having more than three dozen pairs of eyes on them. Chiron was in charge of watching over them, since he was the only Greek who didn't want to kill a Roman in sight. The war may have been over, but they still carried a grudge. The Greeks weren't as vulgar as the Romans were, and they agreed to give food to their prisoners.

Percy remembered the first time he drank ale. It had been a couple years ago, when he was fourteen. Three sips of it had him emptying the contents of his stomach into a toilet bowl. He had a stronger alcohol tolerance now, once that was heavily needed during the stresses of war that was brought on him. He leaned against a broken pillar that had belonged to one of the cabins, watching the Greeks dance around jovially. He smiled at Grover's happy little dance, a humorous take to it, before lifting to cup to his lips again.

"How come you're the only one not celebrating?"

Percy grinned, knowing who it was without turning around. "Rachel."

The Oracle of Delphi waltzed over to stand on Percy's side, watching the events unfold. "You're not dancing."

"I think I'll pass on that," he replied good-naturedly. He shifted, his eyes averted. "Besides, you know I only dance with her. No one else."

"Even if she told you to dance with someone else, and that she claimed that she was perfectly okay with it?" Rachel inquired. "Would you do it?"

"Not even then."

A wide grin spread on Rachel's face. "You really love her, don't you?"

"I do," he murmured quietly. The fact that Thalia wasn't here, celebrating beside him lessened his spirit, bringing even more pain to strike at his heart. It wasn't fair.

They curiously watched Travis Stoll twirl an ecstatic Katie Gardner in his arms. Katie laughed then, leaning in to kiss Travis, and at that moment, Percy looked away. He looked away to give them some sort of privacy...and for other reasons that didn't need to be explained. Rachel noticed this, and she softened her gaze, her hand reaching to touch his one of his shoulders.

She squeezed it. "Do you want to find her?"

Percy blinked. "W-What?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. Sometimes, Percy really did have seaweed brain. "Do you want to find her?" she repeated. "Do you want Thalia back? How about Annabeth, Clarisse, or Silena?"

"Now?"

"Yes, now." A thrill of excitement rushed into her and thrummed inside her system. "Our group will have to be small, and we can't take a whole lot of people. We just need enough to fight the guards and liberate the prisoners."

Percy dropped his cup of ale. "You know where they are?"

"I just found out this morning," Rachel nodded. "I had a vision and it showed me where they were. They're located at a prison camp in Colorado, near Amherst."