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Watching Percy Jackson fight was akin to watching a ballerina on the stage. Since the age of twelve, the powers that be had thrust a sword into his hands and pitted him against enemies much stronger than he. Three years later, Percy had mastered the art of fighting and his form was something to behold. Graceful and lithe; every inch of baby fat burned away to muscle. All of his emotions were carefully locked away except for one - rage - and it twisted his features into something bone-chilling.
Antaeus had no idea what he was up against, fighting his little demigod half-brother. He thought that Percy’s mortal blood was weakness, that his size meant he would be easily crushed. He thought that Percy’s youth and inexperience would work against him, that his distracted ADHD brain would betray him.
The truth was that when it came to fighting, Percy soaked up knowledge like a sponge. If he couldn’t get the upper hand physically, he would needle his way under his opponents skin until they were so flustered and upset that Percy could make his move. Tricks worked on him once and if you were unfortunate enough to fight him more than one time, they would likely be used against you.
It was almost funny how quickly Antaeus was hanging by his loincloth, bleeding out into the dirt and unable to heal himself because his double divine blood needed to touch the earth to mend him.
Percy had flare when he fought - stabbing Ares through the heel, hanging Antaeus by the skulls of his victims - and the way his expression shifted said that he knew it.
Percy got close enough to deliver a killing blow, speed up the slow trickle of sandy blood spilling out of Antaeus.
That’s when Antaeus backhanded him; a final bit of revenge that he didn’t live to see.
Percy went flying, as was wont to happen when backhanded by a giant. Even a dying one was dangerous and deceptively strong. He crashed into a wall of bones. He was still on his feet, head bowed toward his chest.
It’s about time someone took care of the runt, Kronos’ voice said in my head. He’s been trouble since he was placed on the chessboard.
I watched without comment, waiting for Percy to peel himself away from the wall. It was nice of him to take care of Antaeus for us; that was one thing I wouldn’t have to worry about now.
Percy didn’t move. Even from where I sat, I could see his chest rising and falling, so he wasn’t dead.
The army stood unsure of what happened now. They looked between the son of Poseidon and me, waiting for an order or a fight - something.
I flicked my gaze to Annabeth and the redhead mortal girl. They both looked at Percy with expressions of absolute terror. The mortal girl’s face was pale. Annabeth looked like she was going to cry. She caught my eye and jerked her chin in Percy’s direction; silently pleading with me to check on him.
I sighed as I got to my feet. Some things were too dangerous to think about directly but I still felt them at the edges of my consciousness, frayed bits of thought and hopes I couldn’t put into proper prayer. It seemed unlikely that Percy would have been fatally wounded. Hades, he could be playing possum and waiting for an idiot - me - to check on him. I glanced at the sand where the sword, Riptide, still lay. That was how he’d conned Antaeus; the sword always returned to Percy’s pocket and Antaeus hadn’t known that. “You dead?” I asked, mentally wincing at how cold my voice sounded.
Percy lifted his head. There was blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “Not that lucky,” he deadpanned.
I raised an eyebrow. “In case you forgot how this goes, there are no timeouts in war.” Not that he would really know that. It was Percy’s first - and last - war.
Kill him, Kronos ordered, sounding for all the world like an old man impatiently waiting for his breakfast at a restaurant.
With what? I thought irritably. Kronos lost his gods-damned mind if he thought I was going to kill Percy with my bare hands and it wasn’t like I had Backbiter with me.
Percy smiled faintly. “Alright, alright. Give me space.” He made a small shooing motion.
I took a step backwards and waited, eyebrow still raised in a challenge.
Percy pushed off the wall. There was a wet, squelching noise as he did. His hand immediately went to his pocket; the pen sword was back in his possession. “So am I going to fight you next?” Percy asked. His voice wavered just the slightest bit when he said you.
I snorted. “You aren’t worth my time.” My heart felt like another piece was being torn away. There was a wide disconnect between the things I wanted to say and what actually came out of my mouth. “The army can deal with you.” I moved to turn my back on him, a dangerous gamble.
Percy took one step and let out a surprised gasp. His legs buckled.
I caught him on instinct - Kronos couldn’t completely erase the past fifteen years of my life - and felt something wet against the arm on his back. Lifting my hand, I saw that it was covered in blood. I glanced down and my heart skipped a beat.
Blood soaked through Percy’s shirt and there was a deep red hole above his kidneys. When was he stabbed? I looked at the wall, saw a broken radial bone glistening with Percy’s blood.
Percy tried to push away from me. His face was suddenly ashen and sweaty. “Leggo,” Percy hissed.
“You’ve been stabbed,” I said numbly. The blood of demigods hurt me to see. Looking at it made my limbs tingly and cold. Percy’s blood, especially, was horrific to look at.
“No I haven’t!” Percy growled as he tried to escape my arms. "I'm fine!"
Was he just stupid? Did he want to die? What could I do about it anyway? Kronos didn’t want or need Percy alive. I let him go.
Percy almost impaled himself a second time, pushing himself away from me with both hands against my chest. He made a soft whimpering noise that I hadn’t heard in years - not since he was twelve and realized I was trying to kill him - and dug into his pocket. I expected Riptide, but Percy pulled out a long, thin thing made of ice. He put it to his lips and blew. No sound came out and the ice shattered.
A chill went down my spine; I’d seen dog whistles before. I didn’t want to imagine what kind of dog would come when called by that thing.
Percy met my gaze and licked the blood at the corner of his mouth. He looked exhausted and those green eyes of his held terrible, painful knowledge. He looked like an old man.
A Hellhound the size of an elephant crashed into the arena and in the chaos, Percy and his friends slipped away. Looking at the dark blood on my hand, I wasn’t sure how far he would get.
The army looked for him, of course, but the Labyrinth hid him from them. I didn’t bother looking; my job now was mostly to look intimidating and make sure no one got killed by the Labyrinth before they could get to Camp Half-Blood. I found some water and washed Percy’s blood away. I hoped without hoping that Percy made it and that he remembered I cared.