Disclaimer: I do NOT own Percy Jackson, nor Heroes of Olympus, Rick Riordan does.

Location: Cemetery in New York
Third Person POV:

A boy stood in front of two graves, he was surrounded by distant relatives though none of them consoled him. His eyes looked dead, as if his very life and soul had been torn and shredded.

The names of the graves were Sally Blofis and Paul Blofis.

Both had been killed in desperate act of Gaia's minions. Not even Gaia herself had alluded to a plan, making it seem like it was the machinations of her underlings. However, that didn't matter to the now lonely boy standing at the grave.

He had no one, his friends had sacrificed themselves to save the world, they had each died killing a giant born to oppose their parent. The seven was now one. The lonely one.

Percy's POV:

I stared long and hard at the cold stone in the ground. I knew they weren't coming back, there was nothing I could do. I wasn't Nico, who could convince his father to bring them back. I had no control over the dead. I was weak, I couldn't protect anyone.

'They died because you were slow, you laughed when you should have killed, you only have yourself to blame' a dark voice in my head told me and I nodded to myself

It was true, I fought hard, but I didn't take it seriously. Everyone died because I was being a fool.

I turned from the graves, feeling the cold stares of hatred from the distant relatives on my back. I trudged away, back to camp, back to the place that hailed me as a hero.

I'm no hero, I'm a chatarlin a fake. I'm no savior, just a weak soldier.

I walked the whole way back to camp. My eyes never once leaving the road directly in front of me. I heard honking all around me as vehicles swirved to avoid me, some getting very close to hitting me. But it was as if there was a force field around me. Something that was protecting me.

Eventually I got into camp and passed the borders, I ignored the harpies who were screaming at me, I ignored the stares of campers who had been woken up to see the commotion. I ignored it all, the Harpies couldn't kill me, nothing could. That invisible forcefield protected me from my enemies.

I hated it, I despised that protection with my whole being. I clenched my fists as I walked into my cabin and a small glint caught my eye. It was a small pocket knife I normally kept for any instances with mortals.

I walked over to the small blade and picked it up and flipped it open. I ran my thumb across the edge and smiled as it felt sharp.

Then I had a thought. If my enemies couldn't kill me, perhaps I could at least cause harm for all those that I failed to save.

I placed the knife to the side of my forearm and without hesitation slid the steel across my flesh. Fresh blood spilled onto the blade as the sting went through my body. But it wasn't enough, I sliced another small gash into my flesh thus time deeper allowing more blood to spill out. The sting felt fulfilling in a way.

After the second cut, I laid in my bed and drifted off into a terrible nightmare.

A/N: yes I know its a bit darker than what I normally write. Yes I'm fine before anyone asks. Anyway until next time my fellow demigods and demigoddesses