Four and a half pages long, guys. This is Camp Half-Blood-two special editon-ish POVs, because one was promised and one was necessary. You guys are still getting a POV from Thalia, too, so don't worry about that.

Oh, and guys, before you read on: I am really, really sorry about this.

Enjoy the chapter!

Chapter CVII

Rachel

Rachel spits a strand of hair out of her mouth, irritated at the constant wind, and continues her drawing.

This particular one is of Percy and Annabeth-they're in some dark place, with low, burning red light, and her natural assumption is that it's Tartarus. And her assumptions are usually right.

Her drawings are her only link to the oracle any more. When the spirit of Delphi does speak through her now, every time, it nearly kills her. It feels as if her life force is being pulled out forcefully through her mouth with each prophetic word she speaks.

She has no idea why it's been happening. Her only link is a vague gut feeling that it has something to do with Gaea-maybe the goddess is blocking the spirit somehow? She shouldn't have the power to do that, and obviously she hasn't been too successful, but it's possible.

It's early morning, now-still dark outside, but Rachel can see the gray light of twilight seeping in at the edges of the sky.

She pauses for a moment in her drawing to close her eyes, bracing herself for the day.

Today is August 1st. The Feast of Spes-the day the world will end. Or the day it will be saved.

Either way, she'll lose some friends today. She's become close to nearly everyone at camp, and there's no way they'll make it through the day without a single casualty. It's impossible, especially after even catching a glimpse of the army gathered on the opposite side of Half-Blood Hill, with only a slight shield caused by the Roman forces.

They've been slowly taking the soldiers into camp, a few dozen at a time, withdrawing their camp bit by bit so the monster army doesn't immediately notice. They have to be gathered together if they're going to win this thing.

A feverish feeling suddenly grips Rachel, and she violently turns the page of her sketchbook, picking up her charcoal pencil and pressing it to the page so hard she almost breaks it in half. Her hand scribbles quickly across the page-hard, sharp lines with dark, violent edges. It's rough, but after a minute or so the lines start to form a picture...

"Rachel." A voice calls quietly outside her cave, startling her so that her lead and her concentration both break. Within the next millisecond, the fevered feeling that clung to her is gone, leaving her with a sketch that fills her with dread and horror.

"Rachel, can I come in?" The voice comes again, muffled by the curtain hanging over the entrance to her cave.

She sighs, pressing her charcoal smudged palms against her eyes, uncaring of any resulting marks on her face. "Sure, Will, come in."

She hears him enter, and there's a certain sound in the way his attire rustles and moves that tells her he's wearing his armor, no doubt with his weapons already strapped to his belt.

"Are you okay?" He asks softly, and she smiles at that, at his concern for her, pulling her hands away from her eyes and turning to face him.

"Yeah, Will, I'm fine." She reassures him. Then she closes her eyes again, irritated at the small untruth. Will, being a child of the god of truths, knows she's not being entirely truthful, and walks over to stand next to her.

"What is it?" He says questioningly, and she has to turn away from his messy blonde hair and bright eyes and the slight upturned nose-

She breaks off her thoughts, shaking her head, and points wordlessly to where her sketchbook lies open on the table. He follows her gesture, and blinks once, hard.

"Oh." Is all he says, his voice small. She nods, and puts her head in her hands. A moment later, she feels him set his hand tentatively on her shoulder-a comforting warmth when the rest of the world is anything but. "Do you know who it is?"

She shakes her head. "No." But there's a small feeling inside of her, one that she doesn't want to acknowledge, and almost against her will, her hand reaches out, her fingers brushing against the messy hair, the sharp, hard line of his shoulders... "No, I don't know. But I think it's Percy."

She hears Will's sharp intake of breath, the brief flash of pain in his eyes-Percy saved his life more than once-but he quickly squares his shoulders, his jaw setting in a determined line.

"Is there any way to stop it?" He asks.

Rachel slowly shakes her head, eyes still riveted on the drawing, the same way people can't seem to tear their eyes from scenes of horror and destruction. "No." Her voice is barely a whisper. "I don't think so."

They both start at the sound of yelling outside-they're readying themselves for war.

Rachel stands-she won't be fighting, since she has no idea how, really, but she made them promise to let her help in the infirmary. She's going to help retrieve the wounded from the battlefield, as well-they haven't allowed her that, yet, but she can be very persuasive when she's determined to do something. They aren't prepared to deal with her particular level of stubbornness.

"Come on, Will." She says, with one last long look at her drawing. "They need us down there."

He meets her green eyes with his dark blue ones-with his features, some say he and Jason look a bit alike, but Rachel doesn't see it. They're built differently, they have different ways of conducting themselves. It's obvious to her how different they are.

"It'll be okay." He tells her, his words firm, and gently grabs her hand, squeezing it once before letting it fall away. He knows he shouldn't keep on, or show any outward signs of affection for her, but Rachel doesn't think he can help it.

But then, it's not like she can either.

"I know." She replies, drawing in a breath and summoning a smile, tightening the hand he held into a fist. "Let's go, Mr. Ray of Sunshine."

He flashes a small smile at her attempt at humor, and then they head out together to get things started.

[TIME LAPSE]

Rachel grabs a wad of bandages and a tube of antiseptic from the cabinet before heading back over to the injured camper-Pollux-and starting to wrap his burnt leg. He flinches as she touches it, ruining her wrapping job, and she has to start all over again.

"How'd you manage to do this anyway?" She asks crossly, cutting a sharp glance at him.

"Mishap with some Greek fire." He mutters, and winces as she rubs the antiseptic into his inflamed skin.

"Hold still." She scolds, and he apologizes, holding himself stone-still until she's done wrapping. She sits back, satisfied. "There. That should hold you until we can get an Apollo camper over here to look at it."

Some of the wounds have been more serious than they'd normally be-some underhanded trick by Gaea's army, no doubt. It's caused some problems-the nectar and ambrosia's healing powers tend to make it worse when they try to heal it. Like when you give a camper ambrosia for a broken bone before setting it-if you don't get it splinted soon, the bone fuses incorrectly. So they've been just bandaging and taking care of wounds the old-fashioned way until one of the healers running around everywhere can get to it.

Rachel blows out a breath in a heavy sigh, and stands up from her seat next to Pollux's cot. "Someone will be here soon to look at that properly and give you some ambrosia if it turns out it's okay. Try not to bite their head off if they're Roman, okay?"

Pollux nods, and she feels a flush of relief. What with the treaty and all, you wouldn't think there'd be too many problems with the campers getting along, but it's been an issue with some of them. A few people-on both sides-think they're showing too much faith in each other to collect their wounded together and share their healers. But that's what allies-and friends-do.

A vision strikes through her suddenly, filling her vision, and she staggers back, trying to find something to steady herself on and finding nothing. All she can see are flames, blood, weapons striking out at each other-then, a girl's voice, screaming "Chris!" The next second, she sees the son of Hermes give her one small, sad smile before his eyes close-

Rachel's senses return abruptly, with a hard jerk in her chest that causes her knees to buckle-people grab her arms on either side, holding her up, and she looks up with hazy, horror-filled eyes, registering in a slightly detached way that her helpers are Butch and Clovis-who, miraculously, doesn't look the least bit tired. But then the vision, the flames, Chris' sad smile-it all flashes back to her, and she stumbles back to her feet, ignoring the weakness in her legs, and pulls out of their grip.

"I need-I have to-Chris-he's in trouble-" She gasps, her head spinning dizzily, and Clovis and Butch exchanged alarmed looks. Before she can take a step, though, Butch grabs her wrist to stop her.

"You can't go-Rachel, you need to sit down." He tells her, his tone concerned, but the slightest bit uncertain.

She yanks her arms out of his grip, shaking her head. "No, no, I'm fine-I have to go!" And, before he can stop her a second time, she runs out the door and towards Half-Blood Hill, bracing herself for the destruction awaiting her on the other side. The Athena Parthenos still stands tall over the camp, her dress shimmering and wavering in the overwhelming sunlight.

A few people call after her in alarm, but she ignores them, focusing only on getting to the others as fast as possible, before something horrible happens. She sprints so fast that she feels like her feet have wings, but even with that, a sense of dread curls in her stomach that she's going to be too late.

Chris

Chris is fighting by Clarisse's side-well, beside her and slightly behind her. He'd learned the hard way that it's better to keep a safe distance from Clarisse while she's fighting, even if you're a friend. You might not survive it.

He takes out a hellhound that's trying to sneak up on her from behind without a second glance, pulling his blade free of the monster as it crumbles to dust and focusing only on the next opponent-as long as he can help it, he won't let a single monster so much as touch his girlfriend. She's done too much for him.

Something in his peripheral vision catches his attention, and he turns ever so slightly to see what it is-it's a camper. A girl, with an awfully familiar thatch of messy hair...

Lacy, he thinks. What's she doing here? She's always been like a sister to him-but she's not even twelve years old. She shouldn't be within a hundred yards of this battle, let alone participating.

And yet, there she is, with a shield on one arm and a deadly dagger in the other, wearing armor a few sizes too big for her small frame and standing protectively over a wounded camper while a Cyclops jabs at her with a spear.

If Chris had to guess, he'd assume she came to help the wounded kid off of the battlefield and down to the infirmary, out of harm's way-a lot of the younger kids were doing that. They were made to wear armor and carry a shield when they went down into the chaos, and if the others saw them, they were supposed to make way and keep them protected-but there isn't anyone near Lacy, and she's fending monsters off with nothing but that knife. Which looks infinitely small next to the wicked, jagged tip of the Cyclops' giant spear.

Tyson is on the other side of the field, leading a legion of his cousins in a wedge formation to break the enemy line-he would've been Chris' first choice to protect Lacy. The big guy is invincible. But he's too far away.

Chris looks over at Clarisse, who's still cutting her way through the enemies, trying to get to Pelorus-the giant is standing irritatedly back, watching the destruction with a sadistic smile on his face. Her only sign of combat is a slight scratch on her left arm, and smudges of ash and monster dust on her skin and in her hair.

"Clarisse, I have to go!" He yells over the sounds of battle, decapitating a dracaenae even as he says it. "Lacy needs help!"

She just barely glances sideways, over at him, and then to where Lacy is stumbling away from the Cyclops as it stabs down at her. "Go!" She shouts back. "I'll be there as soon as I can!"

Before she even finishes speaking, Chris is running.

Too slow, too slow, too slow. His footsteps pound into the ground. A hellhound lunges at him, teeth snapping for his throat, but he thrusts his sword up and into the creature's chest without a second's hesitation before running on.

Lacy is scrambling backwards as fast as she can, trying to stay out of the Cyclops' range while still attempting to shield the wounded camper. The camper himself is trying to struggle to his feet-he can see that she's in danger and wants to help her, that much is obvious, but he's badly injured and there's no way he can do anything. Chris is surprised he isn't already unconscious.

The Cyclops starts to aim a downward thrust at the camper's throat while he's down, but Lacy leaps forward and slashes her dagger across his chest while it's exposed-he roars in pain and nearly drops his spear, closing his eye in pain. Lacy uses that as an opening to pull her knife back and stab him in the stomach with it-then she leaps quickly back as the Cyclops swings out blindly, trying to knock her away. He doesn't hit her, miraculously, but then he blinks twice, clearing his vision, and tightens his grip on his spear.

Chris knows what's going to happen next, but he can't stop it. He's still too far away by over a dozen yards, and he knows he's not going to make it to her in time, and his every breath hurts with it.

The Cyclops thrusts at her with his spear, and she deflects the blow with her shield, but the next second, he rips the shield from her arm with his free hand and knocks her backward so hard that she lands two yards away on her back.

Chris is so close he hears her breath leave her lips in one massive oompf. But not close enough.

So he's forced to watch as the Cyclops roars in rage at her feeble attempts of escape and stomps forward to hover directly over her, looming, making her look so infinitely small next to his huge body.

And then he has to watch the point of the spear as it arcs downward and buries itself in Lacy's stomach.

She gives a little gasp-and Chris fills with a rage so huge that it comes out of him in one massive, defiant yell as he tackles the Cyclops sideways, ripping the spear from Lacy's stomach, and plunges his sword through the monster's neck.

He doesn't even bother to wait for it to crumble to dust. He leaves his sword where it is and turns back to Lacy, kneeling next to her.

"Lacy," He says, urgently, "Lacy, can you hear me?"

Her eyes open, and she looks up at him with wide blue eyes, filled with barely-concealed pain. When she sees him, her eyes close halfway, and she relaxes-a little more than he'd like her to.

"Hi, Chris." She tells him, her voice soft. "Coming to save me?"

"You bet, little sister." He replies, forcing a smile.

"Let's go, big bro." She chants, and then giggles. Her laughter quickly turns into coughing, and she grimaces as more blood pours from the gaping wound in her abdomen.

Chris doesn't wait for her coughing to stop. He heaves her up to her feet, pulling one of her arms around his waist-she's too small for it to reach his shoulders-and supports her carefully, looking for a clear path back into camp and to the infirmary.

"Chris." She murmurs, trying to tighten her grip on his shirt with her tiny, blood-stained fingers. "Make sure Drew doesn't keep telling her lies. Silena was always right."

"You can make sure of that yourself, Lace, 'soon as this is all over." Chris tells her, trying to sound upbeat.

She just looks up at him, her eyes twin pools of sadness. "Promise?" She asks, her voice small.

He nods. "Promise."

"Pinky swear?" She insists, pulling insistently on the strap of his armor.

He starts walking along the easiest path back up the hill, and the campers part for him as he passes, closing ranks after he does to protect him from the enemy. Even the Romans lock shields to block monsters from them-Chris and Lacy might not be their own, but they still have honor to respect and protect an injured child.

They make it past the rear end of their own allies, and start struggling up the hill, passing close to the trees. Lacy's eyes start to droop, and her weight gets heavier with every step.

"C'mon, Lacy." Chris encourages. "We're almost there."

She pulls herself back awake, trying to help him more, but it takes too much out of her and part of him just wants to pull her up into his arms and carry her the rest of the way. But this way keeps her awake-he doubts he can run while carrying her, and that's the only way he'd be able to make it to the infirmary in time for her.

They are literally feet away from the border of camp when a telkhine suddenly erupts from the trees next to them and bares dog-like teeth at Chris. He turns to face it, swinging Lacy to the opposite side, and tries to draw his sword before remembering he left it back on the battlefield, on top of a pile of monster dust.

He reaches instead for his dagger, but before another moment passes to give him the chance to unsheathe it, three more telkhine step from the woods.

That guerilla unit isn't doing their job very well. He thinks fleetingly, but of course they're focusing on the battle itself right now.

His dagger is in his hand and flashing across the nearest telkhine's neck before the rest have time to react-he has to protect Lacy. He dispatches two more in quick succession, leaving only the first one that emerged from the woods.

When he turns to face it, though, the hybrid is holding a jar of Greek fire in its flipper-like hands.

Chris stumbles back, leaning to his left-still trying to get to the border. But he can't outrun an explosion, and he knows it, and Lacy knows it, and she buries her head against his chest in a hug as he swings her away, turning his back to the telkhine just as it raises its arm to throw the jar against the ground.

"CHRIS!" Clarisse's voice screams, raw and despairing, and he lifts his head, finds her in the crowd of people, some watching with horror-filled eyes, some too busy battling to notice what's happening.

Clarisse is trying to get to him, shoving people and monsters alike out of her way. Her eyes are wild and pained-she knows that she can't stop what's going to happen next, just as he knew, and the pain of the thought of losing him shows on her face.

He winces at his own pain-a core of twisted heat in his chest. But he smiles sadly at her and tightens his arms around Lacy, tucking her to his chest, her head resting right where the pain resides.

The entire exchange happens in seconds.

"Will it hurt?" Lacy's voice quivers, and he just holds her closer, feeling her tears and her blood staining his clothes. He opens his mouth to answer.

"I don't kn-"

And then the Greek fire explodes all around them. He just feels Lacy's small hand slip into his hand before the flames wash over them and he's simply

Rachel

Rachel is close enough to see every second of what happens at the top of Half-Blood Hill.

Chris killing the telkhines while holding Lacy protectively to his side.

The last telkhine revealing the Greek fire.

Chris' last sad smile at Clarisse before curling back around Lacy as the jar shatters on the ground.

Close enough to see him open his mouth right before it happens, his lips starting to form words. He looked up midsentence-just a glance, he didn't move his head, but Rachel's sure he saw her in the last seconds before the flames washed over him.

And she's closed enough to get blasted back by the force of the explosion as the fire sears her skin-she hits the ground hard and tumbles backwards, landing hard on her left shoulder. She stops rolling on her stomach, her ears ringing and her mind already dissolving into unconsciousness from the repeated hits it took coming down the hill.

Her last thought is of Chris and his last stand-his desperate desire to save Lacy. So determined he'd risk death for her life.

As her eyes close and she falls into darkness, a single tear traces its way down her burning cheek and falls into the grass.

Too late.

Gone. That the word you were looking for there, Chris?

Sorry about my An Imperial Affliction bit up there. I couldn't help myself.

Minor character deaths are so sad. :'(

But anyway-I love you; RIP, Lacy and Chris; try not to cry; and sorry. Well, no, not really. HAHAHAHA.