As always, these characters do not belong to me.
Readers be advised: Violence, themes and coarse language
Chapter Twenty-Two
"Hunters!" Octavian called out towards the walls of the village. "It is time you accepted the new regime!"
Octavian hadn't changed since the last time Annabeth had seen him. If anything, he appeared to have come into his own with the outpouring of support from his increased number of followers. He had an air of smugness as he stared towards the Hunter's village, standing upon a dais that raised him and only a select few above the army that surrounded him.
Among those that were on the dais was a small, rattish looking man with armour too big for his frame. He appeared anxious, fidgeting constantly, his hands either going to the hilt of his sword or adjusting the crude metal crown fixed to his brow. The Bandit King glanced nervously to his towering bodyguards, then back to Octavian, who all but ignored his presence.
"Cowardice," Lady Artemis fumed under her breath.
"At least we know why the bandits are working with Octavian," Piper muttered dryly.
Percy shot a warning glare in her direction; which Annabeth saw from the corner of her eyes was responded with an eye roll. He was right to be wary, considering they were in earshot of a lot of bandits who would question their loyalty if they heard Piper's derisive tone about their so-called 'King'.
Annabeth tugged at her cloak, making sure that it concealed the Hunter's armour she wore underneath. She blinked, trying not to rub the black war paint she and Piper smeared across their eyes, hoping it would help conceal their identities and blend in. The three of them kept their hoods up, adding to the mystique of the bandits tasked with guarding their most prized prisoner. Since arriving at the army, they had been able to move unhindered towards the dais, though they had yet to see any of the other prisoners.
Annabeth knew her fidgeting was due to her nerves. The original plan they had in place had to be scrapped and they were depending solely on her quickly conceived alterations. It was crude, with a lot of factors that she hadn't included, and they all knew that the plan teetered on a knife's edge of success. In reality, they were basically going in blind, and hoping it all worked out in their favour. Yeah, Annabeth could see several things going wrong; she just hoped the consequences weren't too dire.
The gates to the Hunter's village opened, and a precession of soldiers marched forward. They stretched out in half a dozen lines, covering at least half the front walls. The gates closed as the last of the Hunter's army moved into line, their silence against the usurper deafening. Thalia was no where to be seen, and judging by the smirk Octavian was showing, he truly believed they were about to surrender.
Annabeth frowned at the Hunter's display, wondering what Thalia and Reyna were planning. She wasn't concerned, not when it came to Reyna, who basically knew everything there was to know about Octavian, but theatrics weren't her forte. She looked across, her eyes finding Percy's green ones peeking out from his cowl and hood, hoping he would have some sort of reassurance or idea of what was happening. Instead of the nagging worry that had caused her to look in his direction, her mind recalled their last conversation.
"I need to tell you something," she told him, drawing him away as Piper, Silena and Lady Artemis was preparing for their deception. She took a deep breath. "I think I'm in love with you," she stated boldly. His eyes widened. "And I know it's considered bad luck to declare something of this scale before heading into battle but I needed you to know that this thing between us is significant to me and if we get out of this, I want to explore it further, with you."
Percy didn't answer straight away, and those seconds of silence had Annabeth on the verge of panic, but that swiftly dissolved when he placed his hands on either side of her jaw, tilting her head as he brought his down, kissing her once, then twice, pulling away just enough to gaze into her eyes. His lips quirked, eyes crinkling with the tender smile he gave her before wrapping her in a tight hug.
"I love you too," he murmured in his ear.
Those words echoed in Annabeth's mind as she stared into his green eyes and she had the troubling thought that it may be for the last time. She shook her head, banishing the absurd thought as Octavian started to speak.
"Standing before you is the new order," Octavian declared. "We, together as one, will rid the world of false idealisations and selfish leaders." Lady Artemis bristled. "I have been called by a higher power to deliver this message and I am here to liberate you from the bonds you have been kept in!" Octavian's followers cheered loudly, and he absorbed their adoration with raised hands. "And yet," he continued once the cheering had stopped. "There are those who resist our way forward into the light, refusing the call of the higher power and shun our new order. They will not be forgotten, oh no. No, they will be an offering to the higher power and be reborn! Bring the heathens forward!" he shouted over another loud cry from his audience.
From the other side of the dais, a brutish bandit clad head to toe in black and covered in jagged pieces of metal jutting out from his armour, made his way forward. He was carrying a thick chain and attached to the chain came several scruffy and hooded prisoners with four more bandits escorting them on either side. The prisoners were forced to kneel behind Octavian, their hoods roughly removed to reveal friends, and surprisingly, foes.
Luke's face displayed only inhuman rage as he was knelt beside Ethan. Both he and Ethan looked like they had been quite the struggle, with their Elite armour and army gone. On his other side another woman in Hunter's armour that must have been Zoë, followed by Clarisse, Chris, Will and Nico. Annabeth could feel the tension emanating from her three companions as the bandits jeered at the prisoners. Chris was bleeding, Clarisse had several cuts to her face and neck, with Nico and Will coloured similarly with bruises, but they were all alive.
"Ah, here they come to submit to my power!" Octavian gloated, gesturing towards the Hunter's village.
The gates opened once more, Thalia making her forward on horseback. Her armour was gleaming, a shield and spear strapped to her back as she made her way to the front of the army. She had a circlet on her head, and it gleamed when the sunlight reached it through the tree canopies. Percy's eyes widened, Piper gasped and even Annabeth was a little awed by the display, but Thalia's presence had more of an effect on the captured Hunter's. Beside them Lady Artemis gave a tiny sigh and even Zoë straightened a little in her knelt stance, bowing her head just that little bit in acknowledgement of the leader of the Hunters. Octavian's smile lost a little of its sheen.
"These lands are under the protection and ownership of Lady Artemis," Thalia said in a loud and stern voice. "You are not welcome here."
"I am welcome wherever my feet decide to take me," Octavian countered, smiling at her. "I could declare that you, and the people beside you, are trespassing on my lands."
Thalia's eyes narrowed at the statement, a bristle of anger rippling through the Hunter's army. Lady Artemis looked murderous, and Annabeth hoped she had enough restraint not to break the façade.
"You need not worry about such trivial things as territory," Octavian continued. "Soon, it will all become one under my rulership and, and …" Octavian faltered as the gate opened once more to let another rider come forward.
Reyna directed her horse beside Thalia, her eyes fixed on her foe. He appeared to pale under her stare, and just as anger rippled through one side, anxiety went through the other at the presence of the She-Wolf. Sitting proud in her saddle, if Thalia defined leadership, then Reyna defined strength. She wore the cloak and cowl she had been wearing when Annabeth had first met her, though the cowl had been pushed down to her throat so her entire face was visible. She had painted her face and forearms in the tribal colours of her clan, the first clan Octavian had destroyed with his toxic manipulation. She was ready to end her blood vengeance; one way or the other.
Octavian cleared his throat, recovering from his lapse. "All you need to do is bow to me, accept my rule and your lives will be spared."
"Somehow the army of bandits at your side suggests another path," Thalia replied.
"They are only here as witnesses, and to show you proof of what surrender truly looks like."
Reyna leaned over and whispered something in Thalia's ear, keeping her eyes trained on Octavian. His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing when Thalia, to everyone's surprise, chuckled. Her look was smug when she faced Octavian again, but before anything could be said she glanced back to Reyna, chuckling again and shaking her head. The Bandit King looked nervously between the two other leaders, ringing his hands together.
"What, pray tell, is so amusing?" Octavian asked, trying to control his annoyance but failing.
"You, of course," Thalia said with a snort. "Do you really think we are going to hand over the Crystal to you after the one who was destined to wield it already has it in her possession?"
Outrage and unease stirred through the cultists. Octavian silenced them with a raised hand, but he was slowly losing control of his emotions. Annabeth tried not to shift uncomfortably, or check that her face was still covered.
"What is she doing?" Piper hissed.
"What she does best," Percy murmured back. "Stir the pot."
"That is a lie," Octavian said, his voice straining to remain calm. "She is nothing but an imposter, claiming false idealisations. Her and her sacrificial companion!"
"Funny, I could say the same about you," Thalia said. "You are only the true leader if you are in possession of the Crystal. Isn't that what you claimed?"
Luke shifted in his binds, his eyes narrowing even further in his rage, but he was otherwise ignored. He must have been told the Crystal in his possession was a fake, and now both he and Octavian believed she took the real one for herself. His presence could prove problematic, Annabeth thought, realising she would have to steer clear of him, or kill him.
"Lies," Octavian hissed scathingly. "Where is she? Where is the thief?"
Thalia smiled, snaring her prey. "You'll never find her, and you'll never get your hands on the Crystal. It was not meant for you."
"It is mine!" he roared. The cultists shrank back, bowing in reverence to their leader. It was a sickening display of mislead loyalty. Even the bandits appeared taken aback by the reaction. "And I will have it! But it seems in order for you to understand just how powerful I am, you must be shown proof. Bring the first prisoner forward to be sacrificed."
Ethan struggled initially but with his hands bound and mouth gagged, he could do little as he was dragged, pushed and shoved forward. He was forced to kneel beside Octavian, who grabbed his hair and pulled his head back, so he could stare into his eyes.
"I'm merciful," Octavian said to him. "Pledge loyalty to me, and you will live."
Ethan answered with a murderous snarl and a futile attempt to free his hands at his back. Octavian sighed, gesturing to one of his followers to execute him. The follower bowed, grabbing a broad axe from the edge of the dais. He stalked forward, the other prisoners moving restlessly but they were all interrupted when a bandit guarding the prisoners intercepted him, turning to Octavian. He threw back his hood. The Bandit King flinched in surprise, whimpering at his bandit's intrusion.
"My Lord," the bandit started, holding his hands out placatingly.
Recognition shot through Annabeth. "Malcolm," she breathed, causing Percy and Piper to start in surprise.
"My Lord," Malcolm repeated. "If you could but wait one more moment. We should barter these prisoner's lives for submission."
"Barter?" Octavian repeated dangerously. "I do not barter with no one." He turned back to his follower. "It is my word or death! Do as I command!"
Annabeth's heart started to race, and she desperately wanted Malcolm to stop, to pull back into line. They had a plan, a flimsy one but a plan, nonetheless. She begged he looked over, pleaded that he see her and stop. Octavian was unstable, teetering on madness and about to be too unpredictable for even Athena herself to strategize against.
"The Huntress will see reason if we come at this another way," Malcolm suggested. "We can –."
"Enough!" Octavian scathed, lashing out with his impatience and irritability. "My word is law and must be obeyed!"
Annabeth didn't see the knife Octavian was carrying, but she saw the blood arc from Malcolm's chest. He grunted in surprise, his hands going to the front of his chest as he staggered back a step. Octavian strode to the Bandit King and grabbed him by the front of his armour, kicking Ethan back towards the prisoners as he went.
"Keep your bandits in line or I will be forced to find them a new King," Octavian scathed, only loud enough for those closest to hear, but Annabeth found herself unable to focus on what was happening.
Her mind was screaming, and it was only from years of control that she didn't voice her pain and rage aloud. It could not be true; it simply could not have happened. She watched, frozen, as Malcolm's body fell to the dais. His face was turned away from her, which she couldn't decide whether that was a blessing or an even bigger blow. Octavian gazed down at his body with indifference, stepping over him as if he were nothing.
The edges of Annabeth's vision were hazing with a red tinge as her body shook, from either grief or fury or both. She had felt this only once before; when Percy was on the verge of death with her helplessness turning into rage. She had saved him, so why couldn't she have saved Malcolm? Her fury grew with the injustice. She had only just met him, only just started to have a relationship with her brother. They were free of Arachne; why couldn't she have the time they missed?
It wasn't fair. If she wasn't allowed to have a life with her brother, then none of them, none of the idiotic, fanatical followers should live either. Starting with the one that took her brother from her. Her fury was burning white hot, settling deep in her core, deep within the process of her thoughts. She didn't care that she wasn't at full strength. She didn't care that this battle may very well kill her; all that mattered was that she took as many of them to their deaths with her. She would become a messenger of death. She would be a wrath of destruction.
With her purpose resolved, only then did she feel the vice-like grip on her arm. She glanced down, seeing Piper's knuckles white with strain as she tried to keep Annabeth from flying off the handle and ruining their plan with her vengeance. With slow, careful movements, Annabeth placed a calming hand on Piper's, letting her know she was staying put, even as the sight of Malcolm's blood dripping down the dais threatened to break her control.
Piper's grip didn't ease, but Annabeth forced her focus back onto Octavian, who was done with formalities and requested the main trump card. The bandits and followers alike stood aside, creating a path for the leader of the Hunters. If any questioned the lack of bandits in the guard, it wasn't voiced, not when a low chanting began to echo from the cultists. Lady Artemis kept her head aloft, ignoring the grins and sneers from the bandits as she made her way towards the dais.
Thalia, much to her credit, remained impassive, her eyes narrowing to slits. She quieted those Hunters who voiced their outrage, sharing a look with Reyna. Octavian's look of triumph was marred when the reaction fell short of his expectations. He puzzled at their lack of emotion as the three 'bandits' escorted Lady Artemis through the crowd.
Annabeth was shaking, her breaths erratic as they reached the dais stairs. She tried not to look to where her brother lay, or break away and kill Octavian herself. Why couldn't she? Maybe then it will all end. The answer was, of course, the dozen of his most devoted at his side. Six cultists met them at the bottom of the stairs, taking the chain from Percy's hands. Piper and Annabeth shared a look as Percy appeared to consider resisting, but after a subtle glance to the captive, who bowed her head in a subtle acknowledgement, let the chain slip from his fingers.
The three of them remained by the stairs, eyes trained on Lady Artemis as she was brought to Octavian's side. The prisoners stationed at the back of the dais had to be settled as they struggled against the binds. Nico, at the end closest to the stairs happened to glance their way, eyes widening as Percy dipped his cowl, revealing his identity. He nudged Will at his side, who followed his gaze, passing the message onto Chris, then Clarisse, who grinned around her bit, realising the deception.
"I'm surprised at you," Octavian said to Thalia, casually placing the knife he used to kill Malcolm towards Lady Artemis. Annabeth growled angrily causing Piper to grab her wrist and Percy to thread his fingers through hers on the other side. "I'm about to kill your leader and yet you stand there, silent? Do you not see there is only one option for you?"
Thalia glared at Octavian before facing her leader, her eyes softening as she brought her fist to her chest, bowing. "My Lady, forgive me," she said softly.
Lady Artemis nodded, understanding her forgiveness was not about the choice before her, but for Thalia not leading the search for her leader and instead sending others in her stead. Thalia's shoulders dropped a fraction, resolve stealing her statue. It had an effect throughout the army, with Hunters gripping weapons, tensions climbing. Octavian sighed, dramatically raising the knife as a low chant started around him and throughout the followers.
There was one prisoner who had not received the message, had not realised a plan was in place, had not caught the hidden message in the words spoken between her leader and the temporary leader of the Hunters. There was a flash of silver as Zoë somehow broke from her shackles and charged towards Octavian. Ethan, chained to her, was pulled forward as she moved, not appearing to hinder her advance. Two cultists were bolstered aside as her need to protect her leader proved too strong a motivation for any barrier. She reached Octavian, but as he reared back to avoid being struck, he lashed out with his other hand; the hand holding the knife. There was a wet sucking sound and a heavy grunt as the knife was driven into her chest. There was silence on both sides and then the plan completely fell apart.
The Hunters didn't have Annabeth's restraint. They watched as their second-in-command fell to her knees, her hands reaching for the bloodstain quickly spreading across her chest. Her head was bowed and with what sounded like a sigh, she toppled to the dais floor. Lady Artemis' grief acted as the signal as her scream echoed across the plain. She pulled her arms free of the flimsy restraints, reaching, not for the knife she was given to kill Octavian, but instead for her concealed bow. She fired three arrows simultaneously towards Octavian, who pulled the closest person in front of him to meet the arrows instead. Ethan didn't even have time to blink before death claimed him.
Annabeth ripped the bandit cloak from her shoulders, freeing her arms as she drew her knife. She glanced up towards the dais, meeting Octavian's surprised gaze, that soon narrowed to a glare. Annabeth's gaze was just as hard, maybe more so with her revenge ready to be unleashed. She was no one's sacrifice, and she was no one's puppet, not anymore. She slashed at the closest bandit as Octavian barked orders to capture her. At this, a volley of arrows flew from the trees, their marks slumping as the rallying cry from the allies followed that of their leader.
It was pandemonium, bodies pushing and bumping into each other as the frontal assault, led by Thalia and Reyna, charged forward to engage with the army of the followers of Octavian and bandits. Octavian screamed orders, grabbing his spear as Artemis fired arrow after arrow towards the leaders on the dais, each intercepted either by a body of a devoted follower or hastily raised shields. The Bandit King scurried behind his guards and their shield wall, whimpering rather than relaying orders to his people. Fire arrows lit up the sky, herding the surviving bandits and cultists inwards towards the dais and preventing them for circling around the assault team.
Annabeth fought beside Piper, who spun, parried and slashed at the oncoming threats. Annabeth pulled her aside from the oncoming tide of bodies and together they backed up onto the first couple of steps to avoid being trampled. Annabeth dodged a spear that was thrown her way, retaliating by leaping off the stair towards him, knife out and driving into his chest with a snarl, before she pulled it free, spinning and slashing across the back of the closest enemy, backpedalling to stay between them and the dais. The two women held the stairs of the dais, protecting the backs of Lady Artemis and Percy, who had followed the Huntress onto the dais to free the remaining prisoners.
Clarisse cried jovially as her shackles fell from her wrists, barrelling into three cultists with her bare hands before grabbing a heavy mace, bellowing a challenge as she jumped from the platform and smashed her way through as many as she could. Will, who won himself a bow, fired effortlessly into the crowd from his vantage point, Nico darting around and protecting his flank. Percy yelled something to Chris, who leapt from the dais towards Clarisse, and together they disappeared amongst the crowd. Nico and Will, after another shouted conversation between Percy, followed suit, clearing a path as a volley of arrows darkened the sky. Luke, after a hard glare in Annabeth's direction, rolled off the dais and vanished.
There was only one thought Annabeth had as she continued to fight: death and destruction. There was no plan for her to follow, no person she was trying to protect. It was simply finding the next bandit or follower who dared think they could either capture or kill her and make them regret that decision. She charged headlong into the bulk of the army, uncaring that her decision, considering the allies were on the opposite side of the army, was suicide. She would be a force to be feared as her fought in her brother's name, and she didn't care that it would mean she would die alone.
But she wasn't alone. Not when she glanced over and saw Piper fighting three beside her, desperately parrying and darting back to avoid getting struck. Annabeth growled in annoyance and changed course, kicking away her next would-be kill and tackling one of Piper's opponents, knocking the follower aside. She sliced off the hand of the second, driving her knife into the back of his throat after he fell to his knees with a pain-stricken yell. She turned back to the follower she tackled and stabbed her in the heart before she could rise as Piper struck down the third.
"Retreat to the reinforcements at the Hunter's walls," she told Piper, yelling over the noise.
"No!" she yelled back.
Annabeth rounded to her, parrying a strike and punching out a follower without looking at them. "Piper, go!" she ordered.
"No!" she repeated, ducking and slashing out. Piper moved so she was in front of Annabeth's face, forcing her to face her. "I know what you're trying to do, Annabeth. What you think you have to do. So," she panted, backstepping as Annabeth finished off a bandit aiming to decapitate her. "If you're going to do this, I'm doing it with you."
Annabeth took her frustration out on the next follower that crossed their path before she met Piper's stubbornly defiant gaze. She wasn't bluffing. If Annabeth was prepared to sacrifice herself recklessly fighting without abandon, then Piper would stay at her side and go down fighting as well. Was Annabeth truly prepared to lose someone else? The answer was painful, but also straightforward.
Six more bandits swarmed towards them and Annabeth took the brunt of the assault, slashing and ducking under arms and swings, incapacitating them and leaving them for Piper to finish. She wasn't about to let another person she loved die in front of her, not when she had only just found a family worth fighting for. She faced Piper again, letting her know she understood. There was some relief in Piper's eyes as she nodded, bracing herself for the next attack.
Annabeth stood at her shoulder, pulling her second knife free, yelling instructions on what they needed to do to keep them at bay enough for the allies to break through and join them. She whistled loudly and a volley of arrows flew overhead and cleared a path. She glanced at Piper, who nodded, bracing herself for the next fight. She couldn't save Malcolm, couldn't protect him anymore, but she could protect Piper and the others. It was only then she realised that Percy was nowhere to be seen.
Percy was buffeted aside as a sword slammed into his shield. He absorbed the blow, waiting for the next strike before smashing the sword away, driving his own deep into the chest of the bandit, before sweeping his sword in an arc towards the next charging follower, a spray of blood following his sword's trail. He glanced up briefly, summing up the situation as quickly as he could before acting.
While the allies had the element of surprise and their plan to bottleneck Octavian's army was somewhat successful, they were losing numbers at a rate they had not encountered. There were small patches of allies separated from the main defensive core and while they were holding their ground, fatigue and overwhelming numbers would eventually succumb them. He and Lady Artemis had been buffeted from the dais almost as soon as the prisoners had been freed, but she was lethal with the bow, disappearing into the army without a scratch. She moved faster than he had seen anyone move, taking down bandit after bandit, follower after follower, somehow also rallying the other archers in the trees to aim for certain hotspots.
Percy felled a screaming follower, lurching his shield up to block a spear thrown at his head. He swivelled ready to face another when it was intercepted. The Huntress sprang forward, rolling to her feet gracefully as she brought up her spear, meeting the assault. She turned, her electric blue eyes surveying Percy with a small grin, hefting up her shield as a volley of arrows took down another four nearby.
"How's your day been so far?" Thalia yelled sarcastically, spearing a bandit in the back.
Percy ducked, slashing wildly to give himself some space before his shield was rattled by another blow. He grunted, rolling with his shield firmly between him and the attacker before bringing his sword across and driving it forward. "Did Silena make it?" he asked.
"Of course she did! Who do you think had the idea for my grand entrance? She always had this ridiculous need to be theatric – wait a sec," she added, rushing forward and killing three in quick succession, turning to face Percy and throwing her spear in one motion, spearing the charging bandit aiming for his back.
"Show off," he muttered.
Thalia grinned as walked back to him and grabbed her weapon. It was only then that she glanced around, noticing he was alone. "Where's Annabeth?"
"We got separated," he panted with a shake of his head.
His heart ached and he tried to keep her absence from distracting him, but it was costing him a lot to do so. He had seen the look in her eyes when Malcolm was killed, seen the gleam of revenge harden and settle deep. It scared him how little she appeared to care for anything else but acting upon her grief. He had been there before, and he knew from experience that his own life meant very little to him in that state. He had desperately wanted to search the battleground for her, but he knew it would be near impossible to reach her. Piper was missing as well and he had to trust that she was with Annabeth, and that she would prevent her from doing something reckless.
"We need to get back into some formation," Thalia was saying, half as a distraction, half as a plan. "If we keep getting picked off into smaller groups, we will be overwh –."
Thalia's sentence was cut off by a challenging bellow. The two true-borns turned, balking slightly as a brutish bandit trudged forward, flanked on either side by jeering bandits. They looked like children compared to the bulk giganticness of their challenger. His muscles were thicker than Thalia's frame and their weight appeared to hunker his shoulders. In his left hand he dragged a club that looked as though it was once a small tree, chopped haphazardly into a crude club shape. Scars marred the entirety of his body and with only a small chest plate covering the centre of his upper abdomen, there was a lot of skin to beheld.
He yelled again, pointing the club at Percy and Thalia, a toothless grin appearing on his face. Percy took a deep breath, testing both the grip on his shield and his sword. He planted his feet, steadying his resolve. They could do this. He had fought successfully with Thalia on a number of occasions and one brute compared to an entire army was doable.
Thalia shared a look with Percy, before hefting up her spear and shield. "Well, I hope your armour will hold because this is going to be fucking nuts."
Together, they charged forward, meeting the challenge of the brute, who did the same. Percy took the first blow to his shield while Thalia darted around, looking for an opening. The brute turned quickly, surprising them both and forcing Thalia to dive aside and Percy to drive in on the offensive. He was about to stab the brute in the abdomen, but his sword arm was intercepted by a bandit who saw it coming. Percy had to backpedal, finish the rogue bandit and then dodge the barrelling swing of the club. Thalia, from what Percy could see, was having a similar problem, having to fend off other bandits while trying to stay out of range of the club.
The two fighters adjusted to the assault, and it was clear who the superior fighters were. Percy and Thalia moved in sync, able to sense the other and know what they were about to do without having to voice it aloud. Despite their duel skill, the champion brute was bound to get lucky; and he did. Percy, knowing that they couldn't keep battling on two fronts, took on the brute head on, ducking under a swing, darting to the side as the club was brought up. He leapt forward and he struck, his sword burying deep into the brute's hip. He screamed in pain, lashing out wildly and while he missed Percy, Thalia, who had darted in for the killing blow, copped the brunt.
The brute grabbed Thalia by the throat with his free hand, lifting her from her feet. Thalia dropped her spear, the wind choked from her as she was lifted up to the snarling face of the brute. She tried feebly to beat herself free with her shield but to no avail. Percy desperately tried to get the brute to release her, seeing her eyes starting to roll into the back of her head, but the brute, now only having to focus on one opponent, dodged every strike. Thalia's hand on the brute's started to slip and Percy watched as she pulled what appeared to be a needle from inside her bracer, stabbing it into the brute's hand.
The brute yelled, and Percy charged in while he was distracted, slicing deftly at his exposed hamstrings, crippling him. With that, Thalia fell from his grip, sucking in a scratchy breath as she tried to get clear of the rampaging brute. She picked up her spear and drove it through the brute's gut, wedging it in and then driving it up under his ribs. He grunted, his eyes zeroing in on Thalia as a bullock might glare at an annoying insect.
Percy tried to finish him, but at the moment he ran forward the brute swung out and backhanded him, flinging him through the air with surprising speed. Before he had a second to catch his breath, his upper back smashed against the trunk of a hearty tree, and his body whiplashed backwards around the trunk. His armour crumpled and creaked with the impact, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he collapsed at its base, darkness taking over as he lost consciousness.
Annabeth had been in plenty of battles before, but the sheer scale of the Hunters and Cultists battle had them all beat. She would incapacitate three, only to turn and another three charging forward to take their place. Faces were blurs, her only focus on where she could drive her knife, where she could cut at the right angle to take down her opponent as quickly as possible without the chance they could rise and attack her from behind. Allies darted in and out of her line of sight, Hunters with their swift footedness and grace, mercenaries with their distinct armour compared to the haphazard collection on the bandits. Reyna's contacts, or at least some of them, had come through.
While groups of allies came and went, there was one who was a constant at Annabeth's side. Piper was relentless, keeping pace with Annabeth as they took down group after group. She had been struck a couple of times, but the injuries were superficial, with Annabeth stepping before they became mortal. As such, Piper was bleeding from her nose and on her arm, her armour dinted in places, but she didn't hesitate when Annabeth ploughed forward, taking on the next bandit who attempted to subdue them.
The longer their fight continued, Annabeth could see that the sheer number of enemies was starting to take its toll. She gritted her teeth, sliding under a blade, rising in the next fluid motion and slicing the cultist's exposed back. Parrying the next attack meant for her neck, she backstepped, darting to the side as another follower drove a spear in her direction, and then having to duck and sidestep yet another follower. She backed up, the three advancing on her, thinking they had the numbers to take her down. Annabeth almost smiled at their naivety and as she twirled the second knife in her left hand. She feinted one way, before beheading one, and leaving the other two without appendages and several stab wounds to vital organs, executing perfect fighter techniques in the process.
Annabeth stowed away her second knife, eyes always searching for the next threat. Piper was a few metres away, fighting deftly against a larger bandit. From the corner of her eye, Annabeth saw movement, turning towards it and half raising her knife in preparation, only to find herself staring down an arrow shaft. In the second she took to register the arrow, it was released and embedding deep into her left shoulder. Her body arced with the blow and she couldn't help her scream. Piper, having slashed the throat of her opponent, turned at the noise, eyes wide in fear as Annabeth staggered. Finding the archer, Piper tossed her sword in his direction, the blade slicing through bow, skin, muscle and bone before he could aim an arrow at her.
Pain laced through Annabeth's body, her shoulder throbbing as Piper grabbed her, almost dragging her from the fight and to safety. She chose a large tree on a small hill, pulling Annabeth down behind the tree's hearty roots, hidden from the sight of the bandits and cultists. Annabeth was wheezing heavily through her teeth, trying to prevent any further screams. Her eyes welled with tears, but she blinked them away furiously as Piper inspected the wound.
"The arrow's gone straight through," Piper informed her. "The arrow tip has jagged edges, like teeth."
"That's because it's designed for long-range hunting," Annabeth replied, having seen it before it hit her. She growled angrily. "If he wasn't dead already, I would have returned the favour by stabbing him through his eyes." She hit the back of her head lightly against the tree root in frustration. "He must've have taken it from one of the Hunters," she said bleakly.
Getting angry wasn't going to help anyone, Annabeth knew that, so she tried to steady her breaths and ignore the throbbing pain. Having no supplies with them, Annabeth was going to have to just bear it. She peaked over the roots towards the battle, assuring herself they weren't about to be attacked.
Turning her attention towards the arrow, Annabeth could see it pierced the armour, which was understandable given the type of arrow and the short firing distance. With the jagged arrow tip, it was designed to stay embedded in the animal, meaning to remove the shaft, it would have to be pushed through; though that would be severely hindered by the armour. Annabeth deduced it was going to be too hard and time consuming to remove it completely. She relayed this to Piper, who, after a grimace and a steely nod, broke the arrow shaft close to the skin. Annabeth grunted at the aggravated pain.
"We should get you to the healers," Piper insisted, as Annabeth placed a hand to her shoulder, pressing her armour in a bit tighter to hopefully slow down the bleeding.
"There's no time," Annabeth stated.
Her breaths were heavy, and the small reprieve they had taken for Annabeth's injury only pronounced her quickly spreading fatigue. While she was moving, she could keep her body from thinking about its exhaustion, from telling her to stop and take a break before she keeled over. She ignored that message, she had to. She had to keep fighting, she could keep fighting. Only when she was unable to stand, to lift her knife, then, maybe then, she would stop.
Piper looked like she wanted to argue but said instead. "What's your plan?"
Annabeth gave her a tiny grateful smile before she glanced back over the tree roots. Fighters were everywhere. The clash of steel, screams and shouts filled the air, mixing with the smell of sweat, blood and dirt. Allied bodies were few and far between with the largest procession of bodies crowded around the dais, where Octavian still towered over them all, spearing any that got too close. Lady Artemis was a light in the middle of the darkness, but that light was spluttering under the sheer numbers Octavian kept throwing in the way. Hunters rallied to their leader's side, but it wouldn't be enough.
"We need to create a path for Artemis to get to Octavian. If we stop him, his followers won't know what to do."
Annabeth rose to a crouch, ignoring the flare of pain in her shoulder from the movement. Adrenaline would take care of that soon enough. Annabeth traced the skirmishes with a strategic mind, drafting a path for the two fighters to take. Piper also rose to her feet.
"I need a sword. I threw mine at the archer and I doubt you want to take a detour to get it back."
"Take the knife at my back," Annabeth replied. "My left arm is pretty much useless now."
Piper grabbed the knife that was shown to her. Annabeth watched as she inspected the blade, her eyes lighting in awe despite the coating of blood on the blade. "Wow," she breathed. "The craftmanship is beautiful."
"If we survive this, it's yours," Annabeth promised, giving her stunned look a grin. Drawing her own knife, she gave Piper one last glance before charging back into the fray.
The fight had a different air to it when Annabeth and Piper returned to the bloody fray. The bandits could sense the shift of power going their way, and they fought with the hint of victory in their sights. Annabeth had a very different idea for their fate and as she parried one sword, ducking under a second, punching a third bandit with the butt of her knife before slashing across their exposed neck, there was no sign of hindrance in her attack. Piper fought deftly at her side, but even she was no match for Annabeth's level of lethal determination.
The Hunters and their allies fighting near Annabeth and Piper rallied to their side as the bandit and cultist bodies were left sprawled or screaming in their wake, creating the path Annabeth envisioned. She lost herself in the fight, in the single-minded goal of reaching the dais, so much so that she couldn't feel the arrow in her shoulder, not even when she brought her arm up to block a secondary strike towards her head with her bracer. She kicked out, dove aside, spun and darted around her enemies, creating openings for either her blade, or the blades of others to strike them down. She raised her gaze at a shout from Piper; the dais was within reach.
Annabeth yelled a charging cry to the allies that flanked her, gesturing towards the dais with her knife. The allies returned her cry as the bandits and cultists flocked to fortify their position and protect their leaders. Blood rained across the fighters and splattered on the ground as the allies fought their way through, Annabeth falling slightly behind after an ally bumped the arrow in her shoulder as they ran past. She grimaced, darting aside and driving her knife into the neck of a bandit that approached her, arcing back and parrying several attempts from a spearman who then received several arrows to the chest for his trouble.
Her shoulder was on fire, disrupting her carefully laid thoughts of distraction, but she had to keep moving. Piper was missing, or at least not in Annabeth's line of vision as she ducked under the swing of a broad axe, sidestepping the next attack before leaping up onto the brute's back, driving her knife down once, then twice into the crook of his shoulder. She rolled away from the falling brute, thrusting her knife up and into the stomach of a cultist who tried to help the brute, grunting at the impact the roll had on her shoulder. She staggered to her feet, fatigue now starting to weigh heavily on her. She pushed it aside, she had to. She had to keep fighting, had to end it if she could.
Picking her next target, she ran forward, only to be hindered by another arrow, this time in her right quad. She stumbled but managed to stay on her feet, the arrow piercing the side of her leg. She faced the archer, whose expression turned fearful as she stalked her way towards them, pulling the arrow out of her leg as she did. They knocked another arrow shakily, letting it fly before truly aiming at Annabeth. It struck, but just above her hip, where her armour took the brunt, but not all, the blow. The second hit to the right leg caused it to give way and she fell, grimacing in pain. The archer tried her luck for a third time, but a well-aimed arrow to her forehead ended that idea.
The arrow at her hip took her several attempts to dislodge and an equal amount of pain. Her left hand was shaky and covered in a mix of her blood and others as she brought it to the entry point, her blood trickling over her fingers and armour as the shaft came free. She had to get to her feet, she couldn't be stuck, not when she was so close.
If she raised her head, the dais was right there, twenty or so metres away. Victory was within her grasp if she could only get up. She tried to get her feet under her, but her right slipped and she staggered, almost losing the grip on her knife. Her vision was blurring a little, the blood loss starting to become a factor. She thought she heard her name, but she couldn't be sure what was real and what was due to the blood loss.
Annabeth forced her left hand to press tighter on her hip, causing more pain and bleeding from her shoulder. She was taking in deep, but restrained breaths, panting in-between. She raised her head again, only to watch the approach of her death race towards her in the means of bandits and cultists. She gripped her knife, raising it in front of her, bracing her weight on her left leg, ready for one last fight.
Percy wasn't sure how long he had been unconsciousness, but he was shaken awake by Thalia, whose concerned gaze was the first thing he saw.
"You can't die just yet, Pirate Prince," Thalia remarked. "Not when we have a fight still to win."
Taking Thalia's offering hand, Percy rose groggily to his feet, searching for his sword, only to find it being offered from Thalia's other hand. Taking his familiar weapon, he shook his head, trying to clear the ringing in his ears from the blow he copped. Spitting out the remaining blood that coated his mouth, he wiped at the blood also covering his lips and cheeks, and the rest that coated one side of his head, trickling down his ear. Remembering the cause, he looked to where he last saw the brute, only to find a crumpled corpse in his place.
"Told you it would be fucking nuts," she commented, seeing where Percy gaze had gone.
Percy couldn't help the grin he shared with Thalia, before taking stock of the battle in front of them. It was clear they were losing, the enemy numbers just too overwhelming for the allies to contain. Arrows from the trees were sporadic and it appeared some of the bandits had managed to secure bows, and firing, though ill-aimed, back towards the clusters of resistance. His thoughts went fleetingly towards Annabeth, and whether she was still alive and fighting.
"Something's happening on the other side of the dais," Thalia noted. "Look, they're pulling reinforcements to that side."
Thalia was right. The Bandit King, who had been relatively silent beside Octavian's shouted orders, was gesturing to his people to swarm the other side. Someone must have rallied the allies and was attempting to charge the dais, ending the battle with the death of the leaders. It was a sound tactic if they could reach the dais before being overwhelmed, but with the number of bandits heading that way, he wasn't sure if the allies would survive. It was time for their extra assistance.
"Good, let's chop in at them from behind," Percy said. He whistled a four noted tune and Blackjack came flying in.
Percy leapt on, raising his sword into the air with a bellowing cry, drawing attention to his position. He even made Blackjack rear for the full effect, which was then followed by the collective sound of galloping hooves and wooden wheels. Thalia stepped aside and then joined Silena's charging chariot as the small cavalry party charged in, crushing bandits and cultists under hoof and wheel. Clarisse yelled defiantly as she cut into the unsuspecting bandits, Chris deftly steering the chariot to avoid being upended with her enthusiastic swinging. Nico steered the third chariot with more grace, Will firing left and right and finding his mark as only he could.
Blackjack didn't need much instruction from his rider, knowing exactly where to run and move, bucking and kicking when a bandit tried to grab at Percy from behind. Confidence grew within the allies and a renewed energy flowed through the battlefield as the chariots continued to charge and cleave through the overwhelming numbers. With the extra height, Percy searched the battlefield, scanning for the flash of blonde hair but he found someone else instead.
He urged Blackjack forward, trampling and slashing at more bandits who couldn't get out of the way fast enough, whistling out to signal his arrival. Reyna twirled her spear, slashing at several in front of her as Percy chopped at those at her flank, despatching them before they realised the threat. Percy grabbed at her outstretched arm and hoisted her up onto Blackjack behind them, continuing to chop at the swarming bodies. But the bandits had clued on to fighting a mounted rider, and soon Blackjack was forced back by a wall of cultist and bandits.
"I need to get to the dais!" Reyna shouted in Percy's ear, gesturing with her spear to Octavian forty or so metres from them.
Percy kicked away a charging cultist, glancing towards the dais, where Octavian met their collective gaze. He was livid, madness encroaching on his usually controlled façade. He snarled at them for the briefest of seconds, but Percy could see the fear as well, the fear of the She-Wolf nipping at his heels. He couldn't outrun her, not this time and despite the bodies he was throwing towards her, she had still persevered. It was either Lady Artemis or Reyna who could finish this, Percy knew that and without any sight of the Huntress, he had to give Reyna every chance to do so.
He slipped down from Blackjack, kicking away and stabbing at two who tried to get to him. He glanced up at Reyna, giving her frown a soft smile, raising his sword and picking up a discarded shield.
"Then go," he told her.
He deliberately walked in between her and the bandit wall, dropping to a fighting stance. The bandits stared first at Reyna on Blackjack and then to Percy, bloodied but steady on his feet, waiting for their approach. Collectively, they charged towards him, leaving Reyna to fight through on the small section of cultists on the other side. He took a breath, before he too, closed the distance between him and the bandits, his sword up and arcing, ready to spill blood.
Annabeth watched the bandits race towards her, preparing to face them for one final stand when they were cut down by a volley of arrows. She looked around, seeing Will and Nico on a chariot race past her and circling the remaining fighters like a hawk. Chris and Clarisse on another followed in behind, yelling encouragement to the allies they passed. She got to her feet, taking a few heavy steps forward, forcing deep breaths into her lungs as a few bandit stragglers stumbled in her direction, pulling out arrows and raising weapons. Her agility was sluggish, her attack slow but she managed to out manoeuvre her attackers, singling them out and despatching them one by one.
With a soft exhausted cry, Annabeth slashed once, twice across the chest of the last bandit, spinning and twirling the knife in her hand so the blade ran along her arm. Stepping back, she drove the knife backwards into the bandit's chest to finish him, pulling it out, spinning and ducking to drive it into the bandit trying to rise to kill her. She watched the bandit fall back to the bloodied ground, happening to glance up towards the dais as she sucked in more deep breaths, just in time to see Reyna launch herself onto the platform from the opposite end, her eyes only on the cultist that took everything from her.
The battle seemed to pause as the She-Wolf raised her spear and stalked towards Octavian, knocking aside the Bandit King as if he were nothing more than an inconvenience. The fanatic advisors were next, trying in vain to protect their leader from her wrath. They were no match; nothing was stopping her when she was so close. With a snarl and what Annabeth supposed was intended as an intimidating yell, Octavian grabbed his spear and met Reyna head on, and while it was clear he had some skill with the spear, Reyna's passion and desire for revenge was just too strong.
An overstretched lunge spelled the end of Octavian as Reyna sidestepped clear of the strike, bringing her spear around and striking at his exposed arm. His spear, as well as his arm from elbow down, fell to the platform, but she was not finished. In the same motion, she spun, twirling her spear around her body before she drove the tip right through his chest, breaking muscle and bone as it pierced his heart and exited through his back with a bloody finality. Her victory came in seconds, so quickly that Octavian didn't even have time to feel the loss of his limb. He stared wide-eyed at the spear jutting into his chest, blood pouring from his mouth as he slumped over the spear shaft, never to speak his poison again. An anguish cry escaped Reyna's lips, voicing the pain and rage she had bottled up for years in anticipation of that moment.
A collective cry echoed around the battlefield, raising the hairs on Annabeth's arms. She turned, lifting her knife, ready to protect herself, only to lower it again. The remaining cultists had fallen to their knees, weeping for their fallen leader. Watching the display, Annabeth felt a tinge of pity for the brain-washed that quickly turned to horrified disgust when one by one they pulled a small knife from their belts, cutting their throats or stabbing their chest, sacrificing their lives for their leader.
Annabeth watched as the wailing turned to gurgles, their voices crying out to their dead leader as they joined him in whatever life came next. It was the action of the devoted that wearied Annabeth the most, thinking it to be such a waste of life. She stowed away her knife, breathing a struggle as she looked towards the dais, before taking limping, ginger steps in that direction. If the battle was continuing, then she was somehow spared from its wrath. Her fatigue was catching up with her, her injuries, even the ones she hadn't realised had occurred, were starting to make themselves known, but she pushed them aside.
Jumping onto the dais, Annabeth had roll to make it up with her injured leg. Suppressing her grunt of pain, she gripped her shoulder as she sidestepped and stepped over bodies, stumbling ever few steps when her injured leg gave way. She passed Reyna, who had fallen to her knees at the completion of her blood vengeance, her head bowed in reverence or relief or some other emotion Annabeth was too tired to examine at length. Reaching her destination, tears blurred her vision as she got to her knees with an ungraceful shakiness.
Annabeth let her tears fall, staring at the lifeless body of her brother, unsure what she should do. She reached out with a tentative hand, her fingers shaking as they touched his shoulder. It shouldn't have been him, she thought silently. Life had been so unfair to them both, robbing them of their childhood, of the chance to get to know each other. She had no anger left to give, nothing but sadness and the thoughts of what could've been.
Gripping his shoulder, she placed all her strength into rolling him over. It took a few seconds to get a good grip with her hand, a grunted sob escaping her lips from the effort. She wanted to see his face, at least once before he was taken away. She had hoped it would be peaceful, so far from what they had experienced. A wet and rasping breath tore through the silence, startling Annabeth onto her haunches.
Malcolm twitched, his fingers spasming with the movement as he took another haggard breath. Shocked, but only for a second, Annabeth leant back over him, touching her cheek, calling his name gently as she glanced down his body. The wound she thought fatal, starting from his left collarbone and working its way down to the top of his right hip, wasn't as deep as she had imagined, and the fact that he had fallen face down helped to congeal the blood. It had re-opened with the movement and Annabeth scrambled to try and stop any further blood loss, her eyes on the slow rise and fall of his chest.
"Help," she said, before repeating it louder. Her eyes were wild as she searched for the medics, her voice even more so when no one responded. She placed her hands over his wound, trying to keep the pressure there to prevent more blood loss. She was about to shout again when two hunters met her on the platform. Instead of going to her brother, they started to place hands on her shoulders and face.
"No, not me! Him! Help him!" she yelled, pushing away their helping hands.
There was a growling challenge that split Annabeth's attention from Malcolm and luckily that it did. She turned towards the noise, raising her knife instinctively. The axe collided with her knife, the jolt causing her to lose her grip, her knife toppling off the side of the dais. Without her knife, she raised her hands as the next axe swing was aimed at splitting her skull. She grabbed the shaft of the axe, her left arm buckling under the force. The bandit tried to drive the axe down, bearing all her weight into the blade as Annabeth, teeth gritted, struggled. She grunted in effort, getting her feet under her to then be able to shift the bandit's weight sideways.
The axe dropped to the dais and Annabeth wasted no time in forcing the bandit back with a kick from her right leg, which proved not as powerful thanks to her injury. The bandit collided with another that had leapt up onto the stage to protect their king but three more were advancing. Annabeth dodged one, two, slashes of a sword before sidestepping and grabbing the wrist of the bandit, twisting and disarming him before turning the sword on the owner, stabbing his stomach before opening him up to his sternum. She spun the sword in her hands, pushing away a spear attack as she twirled and twisted the sword in an arc, snapping the spear in two and driving her shoulder into the bandit to give herself some space.
"Get him out of here, now!" she shouted to the hunters, facing them for the briefest of seconds to make sure they were still alive and tending to Malcolm.
That second almost cost her. She turned back to the bandits, only to cop a blow to her jaw from a staff strike. Annabeth spat out blood and grunted as she stumbled and fell on her bad leg. She brought the sword up but only managed to partly deflect the blow. She almost screamed as the staff struck her bad shoulder, the sword clattering to the ground. Blinded by tears and desperate to keep them at bay, Annabeth dived away as the blow intended for her head smashed into the dais.
She reached out for a weapon, her fingers closing in on Octavian's spear and thrusting it up as the bandit swarmed for her, instantly impaling herself on the spear. Annabeth grabbed her staff as she dropped it, meeting the strike of the next bandit as she spluttered and choked in pain. She swung wildly, her boots slipping on blood but managed to strike the bandit on the jaw, shattering it as she fell. She rolled away, arcing the staff up as she did to finish the bandit. She glanced up, then pulled Octavian's spear free, the bandit gurgling and collapsing at being released, throwing it deftly into the back of the bandit who was approaching the hunters, but there was another still advancing, going for the second hunter still with Malcolm.
Out of weapons, Annabeth recklessly raced forward, tackling the final bandit off the dais. She struggled to get up, exhaustion, pain and blood loss weighing on her heavily. She stumbled, her boots unable to find grip, her entire body screaming at her, but she couldn't stop, not when Malcolm needed her. She picked up a fallen sword, slashing at the bandit who was trying to get to her. He fell, but so did Annabeth, her balance failing. She lost the sword, but that didn't matter, not when she lunged across a dead body and grabbed another. She lurched to her feet, her vision starting to blur, her muscles weak. She tried to blot that out, tried to ignore it as she yelled out a challenge for the bandits. Come to me, she was saying, come and face me and leave everyone else.
Come they did. But Annabeth persevered. She slashed at one, spun and drove an axe down the chest of another, shoving one away so she could stab him. With each kill she cried, grunted, yelled, trying to muster the energy for just one more kill, one more incapacitation. She received several more slashes, more cuts to her body but they were all blending in together, causing a numbing effect as exhaustion set in. She pushed away from one bandit, happening to set her eyes upon the dais at the same moment several things happened.
The Bandit King, recovered from his knock, rose to his feet, calling for a sword. He stalked towards Reyna, who had not moved from her kneeling position. With her back exposed, the Bandit King raised the sword over his head, ready to drive it down, but it never would. Lady Artemis, her armour shining, and her hair askew, gracefully landed on the platform her bow drawn and an arrow ready. The sword slipped from his grip as the Bandit King stared down at the four arrows that pierced his chest, glancing up in time to see Lady Artemis stride forward and slash his throat, thus ending his reign. The bandits, with no leader, scattered in earnest, as victory cheers masked their hurried departure.
Annabeth had nothing left. Probably hadn't for a while. Unable to move, unable to speak, she fell to her knees, not even able to feel the dull flicker of pain in her leg anymore. Her head bowed, and she could hear this strange haggard wheezing in her ears, realising feebly that it was her own breathing. Her blinking was lethargic as bloodied drool ran from her numb lips, onto her legs and the already soiled ground under her. Dolefully she tried to wipe it with a shaking hand, but it was futile.
It was in that moment that Annabeth realised she was dying, and that she was okay with it. She was the reason they were attacked. She was the reason Octavian had joined forces with bandits, she was the reason so many of their people had to fight and die. It was her fault, so it was only fair she joined their brethren in death. She had saved the Hunters, had given Malcolm a chance at living, and that was what mattered.
There was one thought that ran through her mind at that moment. More of a regret, and maybe that made her silly and girlish, and if anyone found out, they could proclaim her to be shallow, but she only wished to see Percy one last time. To see his smile, to see his eyes light up with his laugh, to see him sleep peacefully at her side. She wished she could reach out and grasp his hand and feel its comforting warmth as she drifted off.
Annabeth was ready. She was ready to move on to whatever came next. She was about to close her eyes for the final time when she dully felt an indentation in the ground in front of her. Soft hands rested under her chin, forcing her head up. Percy? It took a few seconds but then Piper's face came into view. Annabeth blinked dolefully at her friend, who was shouting something over her shoulder that Annabeth couldn't hear with the strange fuzz in her ears. It was hard to concentrate, hard for her brain to communicate with her as to what she was seeing, but she tried, if only to see her friend one last time.
Piper's eyes were filled with tears, her face constricted in a desperate worry as she surveyed Annabeth's state and realising it was almost beyond healing capabilities. She tried to smile, to show Annabeth something encouraging but it was marred by her tears.
"Annabeth," she said quietly, choking up a little. "Please don't give up now."
Annabeth didn't want her to be upset, didn't want her to be in pain. If this was how it had to be, then this was what had to happen. She wanted to tell Piper that, wanted to tell her it was okay, but she only managed to splutter up more blood, her chest constricting with her struggling breaths. Piper's eyes glistened as she softly pulled Annabeth into a hug, careful not to injure her further. Annabeth's forehead fell against Piper's shoulder as she was cradled.
It had to be this way, didn't it? Her mind went to someone else. A black haired, green eyed man. He was smiling at her, offering her his hand. Maybe … maybe, she could hold on for just a little bit longer, for Piper, for Percy.
With her last remaining energy, Annabeth lifted her bloodied right arm to hug Piper back.
Percy surveyed the bandits he had dispatched so Reyna could reach the dais, his breathing heavy as more approached. He prepared himself for the assault when a cry echoed from above him. He turned in time to see Reyna pierce Octavian through the chest with her father's spear, her blood vengeance fulfilled. His heart went out to his mercenary companion, seeing her finally free of the terrible burden she had spent years trying to enact.
A rampaging bandit snagged his attention from Reyna, having to parry the blow aimed for his own chest. He turned in one fluid motion, gutting another that tried to strike at his exposed back. He took a back step, darting to the side and slashing once, twice and then a third for good measure at the bandit. Sensing movement to his left, Percy spun, readying his sword to take the blow but the cultist had no interest in him. She had fallen to her knees with a pain-stricken cry, her hands raised towards the dais where Octavian had been slain, tears running down her face.
Percy didn't know how to comfort her, especially considering he was still her enemy. But her wailing was so terrible, he had to somehow help her. He lowered his sword, taking a step towards her when she grabbed a knife and brought it to her neck. Percy cried out as she sliced her own neck, her blood spilling down the front of her chest, her hands still outstretched imploringly to her dead leader. Gazing around, he watched in revulsion as several other cultists nearby followed suit, taking their own lives, hands raised and heads bowed in reverence and prayer.
Percy took several backsteps in disbelief, but he had no time to dwell on the horror he had witnessed. The bandits had no interest in the death of the lead cultist, and having no need to share the spoils, they could see victory in sight. Percy dived aside, thrusting upward as he rose to his feet, gutting one bandit before turning and slashing the chest of the other. He parried a sword, ducked under an axe, stabbed the chest of another, parried the sword again, darted to the side and beheaded the axeman and drove his sword through the back of the swordswoman. Adrenaline surged through his veins, as he found himself surrounded. One ally against a dozen or so bandits, all ready to take his head off.
Picking up another shield, Percy held them at bay, picking one off at a time. He copped several slashes, but most were on his armour. Hunters and mercenaries darted in and out of his vision as he swerved and dodged attacks, trying not to stumble or trip over the bodies of the dead that lay strewn across the bloodied ground. There was a cry, a yell of defiance, fatigue and surprisingly, a challenge, that broke Percy's concentration for a split second. He raised his shield, protecting his face as another challenging cry echoed across the field. Whoever it was, they were still fighting, still demanding blood. Percy had the strangest urge to find the fighter…
But he couldn't, not when he was desperately trying not to get too outnumbered. His armour was taking a serious belting and the shield he took was splintering in places and would soon be useless, but still he attacked, still he defended, withstanding the assault. The bandits were falling back, trying to converge on him together but unable to decisively come together. He struck down another, turning to meet the next opponent … and was met by a charging Luke, who pierced Percy's side with a broken spear shaft.
Percy's yelled in pain and anger, meeting Luke's gaze with a snarl. He wasn't sure what had happened to Luke after the ambush at the Elite camp, but none of it appeared to be good. He had no armour, but he never had any need of it being as skilled as he was with the sword. If he was on a mission, he was near unstoppable and it appeared Luke had been. He was covered head to toe in blood, his eyes stark against the crimson and crazed as they stared into Percy's. His hand pressed the spear shaft in deeper, to emphasis his power and control.
"I should've left you chained on that dais," Percy growled, pushing away and swinging wildly, creating a surging pain in his side. He fell to his hands and knees, his sword tumbling away.
"Where's my Crystal?" Luke demanded, sounding utterly deranged.
Percy choked out an incredulous laugh, pushing himself back onto his haunches with shaking arms. He spat out a mixture of blood and saliva before he looked at Luke, who towered over him.
"So, this is what it comes to," Percy muttered to himself.
"I know that plate Annabeth gave me was a fake," Luke repeated again in a hard voice. "You will tell me where my Crystal is, and I'll make your death as painless as possible."
"She never took it from that Cave," Percy replied. He grinned at the surprise on Luke's face. "Even back then, she realised no one, but especially you, shouldn't have control of that artefact." Percy continued to state at Luke. "You've lost everything to your greed, Luke. Can't you see that?"
"I haven't lost anything," he seethed. "But soon, you will. I will show –."
Luke spluttered, then choked and coughed out blood. He looked confused as he fell to his knees opposite Percy, bringing a hand to his chest. His eyes met Percy's and just for a moment, a fraction of a second, Percy could see the old Luke, vulnerable but honest, staring back at him before his eyes glassed over and he fell sideways, the axe that ended his life stuck in his spine. Percy grieved for the Luke he used to know, the one that helped him when he was a child, that was his friend, but he had more pressing problems.
His hands went to the shaft sticking out of his body, testing its depth. He couldn't remove it, not without risking further damage, but he couldn't move. Even as he shifted, pain laced up his side, almost causing him to black out. He gritted his teeth, ready to try when Thalia appeared out of nowhere. She cradled one of her arms against her chest, her eyes full of concern as he smiled tiredly at her.
"What took you so long?" he asked, spitting out the blood pooling in his mouth.
"Oh, you know, just had to get past some bandits that wanted to take my head off," she answered lightly, placing a feather touch on the shaft but pulling back the moment he winced.
"Always so dramatic," he commented. "There was probably only one."
"Seven actually," she corrected. "Hang on," she told him, her voice turning serious as she placed a bloodied hand to his cheek. He nodded and with her good arm, she whistled.
Percy's head bowed, but Thalia rested her forehead against his, murmuring words of encouragement as the familiar sound of horses came towards them. Silena was out of the chariot before it had time to stop, her arm circling under Percy's as she and Thalia hoisted him to his feet. He grunted at the pain, his vision darkening for the briefest of seconds.
"Fuck, you're heavy," Thalia grunted. "You should consider losing weight before I have to carry you anywhere again."
"It's, not nice," Percy panted, as the two of them half dragged, half carried him to the chariot. "Calling a, dead man, fat."
There was a cheer that erupted around the battlefield. Victory, then? Well, he wasn't sure how they pulled it off, but they must have won. He sighed in fatigue.
"You're not dead yet, Princeling," said Thalia, crouching down beside him as Silena hastened towards the front gate. "And you can't die on me. Not when you owe me coin."
"Since, when?"
"I can't remember when, but you definitely owe me."
Percy chuckled, it quickly turning to a grimace and groan as they sped through the crowd. Thalia looked up, yelling at Hunters to clear a path, periodically glancing back down at him. He hadn't seen her so worried and despite their constant bickering, he knew they loved each other deeply. He reached out and took her hand, giving her a soft smile when she glanced at him. She gave him a faint smile in return, more like a twitch of her lips, her fingers squeezing his.
As the minutes trickled by, Percy could feel himself growing sleepy. He knew that meant death was closing in and despite knowing it was pointless, his hands pressed deeper against the wound. He let his eyes drift shut, preferring the last thing he was to see being someone he loved.
He remembered the way her curls turned golden in the sunlight, the colour of her eyes and how they changed colour depending on what she wore. She had so many different smiles. One when she was exasperated; he saw that a lot. One that was reserved when she was around strangers. Another given to children who asked too many questions and the one that lingered after she laughed. And the rarest one; the smile she gave to those she loved.
Oh, that smile changed his life. She changed his life. Never did he think he would love with the same intensity Silena had once described to him. He had loved Rachel and had other flings after her, but with Annabeth … How could everything revolve around one person after only knowing them for a couple of months? He had considered her terribly stubborn and too proud when he had first met her. He wasn't wrong but had come to accept they were part of her, and he wouldn't change that, or anything about her.
Thalia was calling to him, but she sounded so far away, and he was ready. Ready to finally rest after being at war for so long. Surely, he deserved a break by now? His body felt weightless, and he was floating, was he? It was an odd sensation, but somewhat familiar. Not floating, being carried. More voices mingled with Thalia's. Voices of friends, of family. He couldn't leave them, didn't want to leave them but it was so hard to stay. Annabeth came back to his mind. He had lost her in the battle and what if she was waiting for him to wake up? It was going to be tough, going to hurt terribly, but he would hold on, he would stay, for his family, for her. He could hold on for just a little bit longer.