Percy blinked.
He had no idea what just transpired, only that Annabeth was now a prisoner of war and had just killed roughly 39 teenagers in less than two minutes. It was a new record and everything. Nico, who had lain sobbing after being both rejected and traumatised, had ventured back to see what the chanting was and whether he could join in. He had tried and failed to contain his grin, but whether it was about all the death or the fact that Percy's one love may have just disappeared forever, nobody had any idea.
"Well, looks like the only person you ever really loved is dead now. I guess that just means there's a vacancy," he said with a very drawn-out laugh "heh hehhh heeh hehh".
"WE'RE GONNA LEAVE HER TO HER FATE NOW, RIGHT?" Shouted the vertically challenged Michael, who had a voice that more than made up for it.
"Dude, no, we're gonna save her. We're heroes and stuff." Was Percy's unsure reply. A loud scream pierced the silence – undoubtedly Annabeth's – and Percy winced. He moved towards the cabin anyway, his loyal followers behind him, like an unenthusiastic Jesus. They traversed the small hills dramatically, marched across plains, hiked through forests and generally acted like it was a montage from Lord Of The Rings. The fact that the cabin was, like, 30 meters away from them kind of ruined the effect. When they arrived, Percy made a series of rapid hand movements. Everyone just stared at him while he appeared to do some form of the Macarena. Rolling his eyes, Percy told them to "sit down and shut the hell up" causing the others to nod aggressively and sit down like puppies before their master. The perks of being a son of Poseidon.
Ducking down below the window, he exhaled. They almost saw him. Percy risked another glance and gasped at what he saw – the window was a doorway to another world. Everywhere he looked, clothes were neatly folded, beds were made, and everything was so excessively tidy that it burnt his teenage eyes to look. Or maybe that was the tear gas level hairspray they were using on Annabeth. She was strapped to what looked like an altar, symbols painted around it in, oh god, blood? Wait, no, lipstick. They had managed to confiscate her knife, but not before she got to use it. A lot, by the looks of it.
"Prepare the eyeliner!" a voice cried, and Percy swept his eyes around in an effort to find the speaker. She stood, in her special make-over robes, a high priestess in this temple of pain. Silena, holding a can of deodorant like a sceptre, was advancing towards Annabeth. To think, that Percy had trusted her.
There was one thing for it, he decided. He was going to stand up tall, look Silena in the eye – no matter how scared he got – and run away. Yeah, that was a good plan, Percy smiled to himself. He stood up, however, his legs were weak and would barely support him. Must be because of all the perfume, he decided.
As he stood, a wave of nausea from the hairspray drifting through the window hit him like a punch to the face. He toppled, crashed elegantly through the window, and all eyes darted and locked onto his face. He slowly got to his knees, looking up into the eyes of Annabeth. Taking his feet dramatically, he turned to the window – his escape. Several of the Aphrodite kids screamed in pure rage and charged him, faster than any demigod should. Percy's legs seemed to be moving in slow motion, disobeying him stubbornly. The things sprinting at their prey dived, flying through the air exactlythe way a brick wouldn't. The son of Poseidon stubbed his toe on a cabinet, and collapsed. Too late, the things jumping at him shrieked, full-on colliding in mid-air. They dropped to the floor beside him, and Percy (once he had finished hopping around clasping his toe) drew his sword. Surveying the room with a cool confidence, he smirked.
"Come on then, I wouldn't want to get bored."