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He looked like a god.
Annabeth should be focusing on making a coordinated defense with the Apollo cabin, but she couldn't stop staring at Percy. He tore through the enemy lines like a hurricane, fast and destructive. His sword was a bronze blur, slicing the air and cutting armor like they were made of paper, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake. Nothing could touch him — claws, fangs and blades alike shattered when they made contact with his skin. He laughed, deep and rumbling and more than a little crazy, and it sounded completely foreign to Annabeth’s ears.
His clothes were ripped and torn, but he didn’t have a single scratch. He was covered in monster dust, and the way it mixed with his sweat, it was almost like he was bleeding ichor.
The defense line was forgotten and the campers attacked instead, driven by a battle frenzy awakened by Percy’s success. The Apollo cabin made arrows rain over the enemies trying to retreat and disbanded every attempt of regrouping. Against all odds, they were actually succeeding in driving the enemy back to the Brooklyn side of the bridge.
But they couldn’t lose focus. As good as this victory felt, the sensible thing to do now was to retreat and regroup, not spread their meager forces even more. To make matters worse, she spotted some monsters running to the base of the bridge, to their reinforcement.
Annabeth put her Yankees cap on and advanced, looking for weak spots on the enemy’s armors and causing general mayhem where she passed, clearing a path towards Percy until she was close enough for him to hear her.
“Pull back! We’re overextended!”
For a second, it seemed like he was going to protest. Then he looked at the other end of the bridge, where the enemy was regrouping and a small force of demigods from the Titan Army arrived mounted in black skeleton horses. The leader of the group trotted forward and removed his helmet, and Annabeth’s heart almost stopped.
It was Luke. No, not Luke — Kronos. Even from this distance, she could see his golden eyes. Even if he was wearing Luke’s face, everything about his appearance seemed wrong. He looked leaner, his features sharper and more cold, and there was an inexplicable eeriness about the way he moved. The titan lord drew his scythe, the mismatched metals gleaming, and his army followed his example, drawing their weapons and charging towards them a second later.
Annabeth had seen a lot of scary things in all of her years being a demigod, but enemies coming towards you in large, undead horses invoked a specific type of fear that made her want to turn her back and run in the opposite direction. She knew it was useless, though, they would be upon them faster than they could cross the bridge.
“Retreat!” Percy yelled as he planted his feet and faced the army. “I’ll hold them.”
The Apollo campers tried to fall back, covering each other and still shooting arrows whenever they could, but Annabeth stayed by Percy’s side. She drew her sword, favoring its length over the stealth of her dagger, and together they tried to hold their ground.
It was difficult, though. Whatever bloodlust had possessed Percy earlier, it had faded. They weren’t facing monsters anymore, half of the enemy’s force was made of demigods. They all wore dark armor and helmets, she couldn’t see their faces while they fought, but she probably knew some of them. Percy seemed aware of that too, because he targeted the horses and hit the demigods with the flat of his sword, avoiding fatal spots.
That slowed them down, and soon they were surrounded. Percy and Annabeth were shoulder to shoulder now, guarding each other’s backs like they have done many times before. The slow clop clop of Kronos’ horse was getting closer, and the enemies were all around them, blocking every direction. To drive them back, sometimes she had to distance herself from Percy a few steps. Annabeth knew that was exactly what her opponents wanted, but they were too many.
She was fending off a tall demigod with a spear when she spotted another one approaching in her peripheral vision. He wasn’t coming for her, though — he was aiming his knife straight at Percy’s open back, the spot she was supposed to guard.
If asked, Annabeth would not be able to say what made her act the way she did. She had just witnessed Percy fighting alone among hundreds of monsters and coming out unscathed, a single knife couldn’t do any damage. But a cold feeling washed over her and, without thinking, she abandoned her current opponent and shoved herself between the blade and Percy.
She didn’t have time to raise her shield, or to draw her dagger and block the strike. The knife grazed her armor and the momentum carried the blade until it found a soft spot to bury itself in, the unprotected place between her chest and her shoulder.
The pain didn’t hit her right away, Annabeth was more shocked than anything else when she raised her eyes to face her attacker. One of his eyes was wide, seemingly as surprised as her, the other one was covered with an eye patch. Ethan Nakamura.
He pulled the knife back, and that’s when the pain hit her. Annabeth felt dizzy and her knees buckled, but Percy was there to break her fall. He’d let go of Riptide, and groggily, she thought your sword! Don’t drop your sword in the middle of a battle, you idiot!
Percy gently laid her on the ground and pounced on Ethan, punching his face with so much force the helm dented and he had to take a step back to regain balance. Percy pulled him back by the straps of his armor and hit him again with his elbow, then a second and third time before letting go. Ethan staggered back, blood pouring from the front of his helm, and Percy grabbed Riptide from the ground.
“Get back!” he snarled, slashing the sword in a wide arc, driving the rest of the demigods away from Annabeth. “No one touches her!”
They were still close, though, looking for an opportunity to attack. Behind her, Kronos’ tall figure loomed over them.
“Bravely fought, Percy Jackson, but it’s time to surrender — or the girl dies.”
Annabeth tried to tell him to run, to retreat, and regroup with their forces somewhere else. She wasn’t worth losing the whole war for. But she barely managed a groan, her tongue felt heavy inside her mouth. The other campers, who at this point had almost managed to leave the bridge, came running back, shooting their remaining arrows at their enemies and drawing their short swords, forming a circle around her and Percy.
He whistled for Blackjack and kneeled beside her, ripping off a strip of his shirt to press over her wound. The blood soaked the fabric, pouring over his fingers, and he tore the hem with his own teeth, fractically trying to staunch the blood.
Annabeth was only vaguely aware of her surroundings. All around her, her friends were doing their best to keep their small circle of protection as the lord of the Titans himself dismounted his horse and came to fight. A large, black figure landed near them, and she felt herself being lifted on Percy’s arms. He put her on top of Blackjack, and distantly, she heard him talking to the pegasus. “Take her somewhere safe. Don’t drop her.”
Annabeth tried to hold on, but she couldn’t lift her arms. She probably passed out several times on the way, because every time she opened her eyes, she was in a different place — flying over the bridge, seeing a blur of gray buildings, landing on a terrace — and Blackjack’s nervous neighing filled her ears.
She blacked out again, and when she came to, a few demigods were fussing around her. Annabeth recognized Silena’s voice, the Stoll brothers running around, getting clean water, ripping sheets to press over her wounds, bringing bandages. Malcolm gave her water and asked what happened, but Annabeth couldn’t answer.
Something was very wrong. She wasn’t a stranger to stab wounds, but this one — it burned, a hot, insistent ache. She chanced a look at it while they were trying to wash it and noticed a foul smell coming from it, pus leaking along with the blood, and her flesh had a concerning greenish tone.
There was poison on Ethan’s knife.
Annabeth looked away, resisting the urge to vomit. Her eyes fell on the door instead, where she spotted Percy making his way towards her and dragging Wil Solace along. Relief flooded her. If Percy was here, that meant they had managed to push Kronos’ army away, at least for now.
Will kneeled next to her and unwrapped her bandages to get a better look at her wound.
Percy’s eyes widened when he saw it. “Annabeth…”
“Poison on the dagger. Pretty stupid of me, huh?”
He didn’t laugh. His eyebrows were drawn together and he sat next to her as Will washed her cut with nectar and did his son-of-Apollo healing magic mumbling words in ancient Greek. It hurt, it felt like each drop of poison was being dragged away kicking and screaming from her body. But Annabeth stayed still and gripped Percy’s hand for support, trying to focus on something other than her pain.
“That should do it,’’ Will said after a while, looking as drained as Annabeth felt. But he also looked relieved, so did the other campers that were hovering near her chair. The Stoll brothers promised to come back with medical supplies, Silena left for her mission to change Clarisse’s mind, and Will left to tend to the other wounded, and one by one, the campers shuffled back inside the plaza.
Percy stayed, though.
He kneeled beside her and put a hand on her forehead before grabbing Silena’s abandoned cloth, dipping it in the water and using it to wipe the sweat off her forehead. It felt cool and soothing against her skin, but she still felt a little feverish. Maybe that was to blame for the words that came out of her mouth.
“You’re cute when you’re worried. Your eyebrows get all scrunched together,” she said, lifting her good hand to smooth the spot.
‘'You are not going to die while I owe you a favour,’ he countered, dropping the cloth. "Why did you take that knife?’'
It seemed dumb, in retrospect. Distantly, Annabeth wondered what her mother would think of this. Percy was invulnerable… and, according to the prophecy, marked to die in less than a week. It made no sense for her to hold on like this, to put herself in harm’s way just to see him live another day. And yet, she didn’t hesitate. She would do it all over again.
“You would’ve done the same for me.”
“How did you know?
It was her time to frown. How did she know he would’ve done the same? “Know what?”
Percy licked his lips and looked around, then he leaned closer. For a crazy moment, she thought he was going to kiss her, but instead he whispered: ‘’My Achilles spot. If you hadn’t taken that knife, I would’ve died.’’
Annabeth stared into the distance. So she hadn’t been so dumb, after all. Her instincts were right.
“I don’t know, Percy. I just had this feeling you were in danger. Where – where is the spot?’’
As soon as she asked that, she felt silly. That was personal, of course he wouldn’t tell her where—
‘’On my back.”
“Where? Here?”
She put her hand on his back, over his spine. Percy reached around and guided her hand down, under the hem of his tattered shirt and paused at the small of his back. Something took over her — a feeling very alike the one that alerted her that Percy was in danger, like a cold wave washing over her. Annabeth remembered then, waking up with a jolt in the middle of the night two days ago, after a strange dream where she and Percy were chilling at the lake.
The hair on her arms stood on end, and so did Percy’s. His pupils were a little blown, and she knew that whatever had come over her affected him as well.
“You saved me,’ he said, voice still barely above a whisper. “Thanks.”
Annabeth felt suddenly overwhelmed. Her heart was racing while she tried to process everything. The most powerful demigod of this generation was kneeling beside her and basically handed to her the knowledge of how to destroy him. It was too much.
She removed her hand from his back, fingers still tingling. “Why that spot?”
Percy lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Seemed like a good idea at the time. My back is well guarded when I’m wearing my armor—”
“Which you were not,” Annabeth huffed, frustrated. But before she could admonish him for going to a battle wearing a shirt, he said:
“—and, well… that’s where you usually are.’’
Annabeth didn’t have an answer for that, so she tightened her grip on his hand. Hers were cold, but Percy’s were always warm and a little rough from the calluses he got from gripping his sword. The sun was rising on the horizon, painting the sky with beautiful shades of pink, purple and orange, and painting the boy before her in a warm light, softening his features. His face was dirty with soot and golden monster dust still, but now there was also dried blood under his fingernails, smeared across his cheeks and neck. Red, not gold like ichor. Her blood. He didn’t look like a minor god in disguise anymore. He just looked like her best friend.
A confusing mix of emotions swelled inside her chest: a sense of pride that he trusted her so much, an unbearable fondness for the sheepish way he confessed that, and crippling guilt. Because it didn’t matter that she saved his life now. She’d had a chance to end this war before it even began, of postponing the prophecy enough that maybe it wouldn’t be about him anymore and he could live past the age of sixteen — and she didn’t take it. She’d let it walk away with his white flag and talks about the old times.
Annabeth should tell Percy. She would. But bringing up Luke always put him on edge, and she didn’t want to fight right now, so she allowed herself a few more moments of this peaceful interlude before reality came crashing down again.