Okay, time budget for A/N. Supernatural is on in ten minutes.

I really tried to create suspense and a feeling of danger in this chapter. Hopefully I succeeded. I think it's a good chapter because this, for once, is kind of a second draft, cuz I wrote a 'first draft' in classes today. I knew I'd be on a time budget tonight and it saves time, and also improves my writing, so yay!

Guys, I LOVE REVIEWS! Will you please review? PLEEEEAAASE? Isn't this chapter worthy of one?

And you AMAZING people reviewing and saying things like it's the best story you've ever read, or that I sound like Rick Riordan himself, you DO NOT understand how happy that makes me. IT WARMS MY PRECIOUS NERDY LITTLE HEART!

Gotta go watch Supernatural! CASS IS BACK! (Guys, seriously, NO ONE stays dead in this show (unless they're a love interest). It's hilarious. Cass has blown up AT LEAST twice, possibly a third time I can't remember. There's one episode where one of the main character's dies like fifteen times. Both main characters have now gone to hell and back. One just got back from DEMON HELL (purgatory). Yeah. SO now when a character dies, I'm unconcerned, and when they come back, I crack up.)

You should all watch it. Seasons 1-7 are on Netflix! :D

Gotta go watch it!

Disclaimer: ...

READ ON!

I hate Hollywood.

I've seen my fair share of war movies, or films with epic battle scenes. Hollywood had this choreographed way of making battles seem graceful and predictable, like a deadly dance.

In real life, it's not like that. It's not even a slaughterhouse. Slaughterhouses are more organized than this. There was no rhyme or reason to the battle that I plunged myself into. There is just blazing swords, coated in liquid rust.

That's another thing. Blood is not a bold red. It's a horrid, dark rust color.

The people in battle looked different here to, compared to the movies. Okay, granted, most wars weren't fought by teenagers, but it wasn't just that. In the movies it's this fierce pride and determination, a fearlessness, a recklessness. We had some of that. I mean, demigods are nothing if not prideful, reckless, and determined. But fearless?

Hollywood has skewed the definition of bravery. Bravery is not acting on fearlessness, it's acting despite the fear you feel. The kids around me, some were sobbing as they fought. Some were screaming. It didn't matter though, because they were fighting. And damn well, too. Amen to them.

Also, true, honest to gods, fearing for your life fear is impossible to replicate.

Screw Hollywood. These kids, some no older than ten, were twelve times braver than any man claiming to be 'fearless'.

Blood, sweat, and sand from the bay coated our faces. Everyone had cuts and scratches and bruises. Most obtained from enemies, but not all. In a real battle, where swords were flashing and slashing all around you, your friends and allies might accidentally take a swipe at you, momentarily thinking you're a monster or just catching you while they're swinging backwards or dodging a monster.

I am unsure how long I slashed and dodged and fought. I'm unsure how many monsters I fought. I kind of went from battle to battle, helping when help is needed. I know I personally dusted at least 8 monsters, and aided in the killing of more.

But I had yet to find the monster I was searching for. The Memory Monster.

I saw a girl clothed in silver fire an arrow at a hellhound and kill it, then turn in search of her next target. I grabbed her arm and she jumped. When she saw it was me she frowned. "What?" She demanded.

"Where is it?" I asked.

Her eyes darted from monster to monster. "What?" she repeated.

"The Memory Monster!" I shouted, exasperated.

The Hunter shakily pointed west, where the sun was beginning to set. "Thalia went to take it on."

I swallowed and nodded, feeling fear start to shake me. "Thanks," I choked out.

The girl grabbed my wrist before I could dart away. "Be very aware." She warned. "It may not make you bleed, but it will hurt you in a way you cannot fathom."

I swallowed again. "Believe me, I know." I then ran away as quickly as I could, trying not to think about what I was doing and trying not to notice the unusual chill in the California air.

I was scared shitless, was I ever, but I was acting. I was doing. I was being brave, truly and wholly, for perhaps the first time.

The battles with the common monsters faded and dwindled, making me feel oddly exposed. I shivered and felt my gaze dart to all corners of my vision, on high alert.

A long-built-in instinct, animalistic and more alive than ever, buzzed in sudden warning. Without proper logic or reason I flung myself to my right and watched as a hellhound soared over my head.

"Di immortals." I muttered. I was no stranger to hellhounds, seeing as how they were Hades' lapdogs, but seeing them here, without the unseen chains leading back to the god of the Underworld, was unnerving. The hellhound growled and I sneered in response. "Come at me you gods forsaken bitch." I challenged.

It obliged, lunging at me with full force. I swung my sword, ignoring the soreness that had set in from fighting of monster after monster for I-don't-know-how-long. The beast ungracefully dodged, sliding for a moment before regaining its balance.

For a moment we just glared at one another. I felt every cut and bruise and sore muscle in my body. I wasn't sure how much longer I could stand, much less fight, but I knew I wouldn't be one to lie down until I was dead.

I started feeling…I'm not sure as I briefly thought of Zack, and his unwavering loyalty.

That's when the hellhound decided to attack, as if it could sense my momentary weakness.

I yelped in surprise and lunged to the side, but not quite enough. The claws of the hellhound racked against my left side and upper thigh. I gasped and grunted in pain, but managed not to scream. Gods it hurt. I blinked tears out of my eyes, not being able to afford not being able to see. The hellhound was pacing nervously, wary of me.

I took the moment to my advantage and pressed my hand to my side wound. I hissed in pain, felt a scream rise in my throat, but stopped it. I pulled my hand away and it was solidly coated in liquid rust, and giving off a grotesque metallic smell. I felt like vomiting.

As I stared at the hellhound, I felt a dizzying feeling set in, as well as a new, gut-heavy fear.

My eyes flicked to the bay water. There lied my salvation. The question was if I could reach it in my wounded state and with a hellhound out to kill me.

With my bloodied and shaking left hand I reached for one of my three remaining throwing knives. The hellhound pounced at me again and I lazily swung my sword. It wasn't a strong swing, but the hellhound growled and jumped away.

I managed to stand, but it was much harder than usual. The hellhound began to charge at me again and I threw my knife. The hellhound dodged it swiftly and ran a half circle around me. I stumbled to follow it, refusing to let my back face the monster.

My breaths were labored and my face felt chilled. The earth teetered below me and the sky spun above. My blood dripped down my side and leg, sticking to my clothes. An unnerving numbness had set in.

I was dying. Bleeding out. Slowly, but surely.

I needed the water, now.

I shakily reached for another knife. One way or another, this would end soon.

The beast charged and I threw my knife, my aim skewed by my dizziness. The hellhound veered out of the knife's path with ease. As quick as I could manage I drew my last knife and threw it, to no avail. The hellhound swerved out of danger.

I gripped my sword tight, noting how heavier it felt than usual. I stared the hellhound in the eye, as if it was Death itself. If I was to die here, I would go out bravely and with style.

I felt a pang of guilt as I thought of Zack, and raised my sword. "I'm sorry." I whispered as I raised my sword…

And watch as the beast turned to dust.

In that instant, I didn't wonder what happened. I didn't question how. I just dropped my sword, and fell to my knees exhausted, gripping my wounds in pain, and marveled at the fact that, for this moment, I was alive.

I focused on my breathing, but that was a bad idea. All I did was notice how much shallower my breaths were.

I saw someone drop in front of me and felt them cup my face on their hands, lean their forehead against my own. Zack.

"Are you okay?" He asked. I shook my head, as I looked up, removing my hands from my wounds. His eyes widened in horror as he took in the extent of my injuries.

"Water," I croaked.

He swallowed. "Water." He agreed, looking out to the bay.

I clenched my teeth together as he picked me up, bridal style, to keep from screaming. "I'm sorry, Silena." He apologized.

If I had opened my mouth to reply, all that would have come out would have been a blood curdling, pain inducing scream. So, instead, I kept my mouth forcibly shut and suffered in silence.

Zack waded in the water until he was hip-deep. My breath was slowing, as was my heartbeat, which I was painfully aware of.

Zack lowered me into the water, tears falling silently from his beautiful eyes. That's when I realized something. For the first time since I was young, I didn't want to die.

I wanted to live.

I had faced death before and fought with a sense of self-torture and vengeance. I didn't deserve to die, I deserved to rot in the hell that life is, and I needed to avenge my parents.

Now, as I gripped tightly onto Zack's shirt, feeling the life flow out of me, it wasn't like that. I wanted to live. I didn't want to die, because I wasn't done living. Hell, it felt like I had just begun. Back off Death, my number's not up. I have a future, dammit, and I'm not letting Death take that. It's taken far too much from me already.

But I fretted whether or not I could stop Death. My parents hadn't been able to.

Sure, the water was healing me, as if life was flowing back into me.

But life was still flowing out of me, perhaps too quickly. And it was staining the water the color of rust.

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