Hello People, Leonidas here! I've started to notice how my stories have been getting darker and darker. This is by far my darkest story yet. I actually feel evil typing it.
Enjoy!

***

They'd done it. Everyone saw. Demigods, Roman and Greek alike, stood just outside Camp Half-Blood, watching in awe as a bronze dragon soared overhead. Riding atop it was a grungy-looking demigod. His wire-y frame seemed out of place on the neck of the metallic beast, but anyone who knew Leo knew better. He was the only one who could possibly appear natural astride Festus.

But something was off about his disposition. No one on the ground could tell, of course, but it was off. He was a machine with a too small cog. It still worked, but it was out of time. Forced. That was it. Everything about his actions seemed forced. His cocky smile was there, so were his idiotic comments, but they were forced, unnatural, mechanical. It was Leo, but it wasn't actually him.

But of course, no one could tell. He was so high above them, circling like a victorious champion. Besides, they didn't actually know Leo all that well. The Romans met him for less than an afternoon, and when he was at Camp Half-Blood, he had spent most of his time in Bunker Nine.

Also in the air were two other demigods. Jason and Piper. Once again, they were too high up in the sky for people to actually discern details, but had they been able to, they would have seen quite a sight.

Jason's entire body was tense. He held Piper is what seemed to be a death-grip, as if he did not believe that the threat was over, and Gaea would rise again instantly. His eyes, instead of their usual sky blue, were a stormy blue, like the sky just before a hurricane. They perfectly matched the sky directly above him.

Piper was no damsel in distress either. Her wind whipped dangerously in the wind, combining with the sheathed Boread sword to create the image of a devastatingly dangerous woman. He kaleidescope-like eyes, which where known throughout Camp Half-Blood for their color changing properties, appeared to have finally chosen a color: deep, deadly brown.

Her eyes held a different anger either of the males. Where Leo's was hidden and Jason's that of rage, Piper's was that of cold fury.

But of course,the demigods could not see any of this, for the three were two to three hundred feet in the air.

What they could see was the clenched-jaw determination of Praetor Frank Zhang. The speed and deliberance of his transformations was unparalleled, smoothly flowing from one animalistic form to the next as the effortlessly mowed through the monsters. His true emotions were hidden by the faces of the animals he changed into. But if one were to look into his eyes, even as an animal, they would see a strange light. Something had snapped in the son of Mars, leaving only blind fury and hatred.

Hazel Levesque followed in her partner's wake, elegantly disposing of the scraps left in the wake of Frank's rage-induced killing spree. Her movements were sharper, more deadly than before. Her eyes glowed as she manipulated the Mist almost effortlessly. Monsters fell seemingly at random, loosing gutteral screams of terror. Whatever horror Hazel was showing them clearly too much to bear. Many turned their blades on themselves. The soft-spoken, innocent girl had clearly changed.

And Annabeth. Not one of the demigods, even those in the vicinity of her during the fighting, saw her face. It was always turned towards the monsters. Perhaps that was for the best though, for whatever the monsters saw, was clearly enough to scare them. And monsters do not scare easily. She wielded her bone sword with an unparalleled intensity and force, mercilessly carving through monster after monster. Those who had the time to pause wondered about the sword, some of the more learned demigods noting that it was in fact the bone of as drakon. After all, how does one go about obtaining a sword made from the bone of a drakon? The armor the monsters wore appeared inefectual, crumpling under the force of the demonic blade. The sword was a demon's weapon, and Annabeth was the demon.

Clearly something had happened in Greece.

***

In the wake of any victorious battle comes celebration. That is the unspoken law of the combatant. This battle was no different. The demigods came together to simply unwind and release the stress of one of the most dangerous days in mythological history.

Greeks and Romans mingled together in a brotherhood [A/N: and sisterhood] which can only be forged through shared danger. The day was won, and the two groups were more than willing to put aside any differences, at least for one day. Siblings came together and got to know each other, sharing stories, thoughts, and tears.

Those who did not already know learned of Octavian's attempted coup de tat, and his death by fire-y explosion suddenly seemed less like martyrdom, and more like poetic justice. The foolish auger had wanted to be forever remembered as a star, one people looked up to in memory. Being launched from a fireball-laden onager certainly sent him through the sky like a star. As Nico Di'Angelo briefly put it, he deserved it. Surprisingly, he'd wanted to say more, but Will Solace insisted that the biologically young son of Hades required bedrest.

Upon Nico's departure, Chiron took his place at the head table, and gave a speech proclaiming this day to be momentous. It marked the second defeat of Gaea and the Titans, as well as the start of an alliance between Greeks and Romans, two groups who have been in constant conflict since they came in contact.

This speech gave way to a rousing applause, which was quickly followed by a continuation of festivities, as dinner was brought out to the drained demigods.

Four of the seven demigods of the prophesy attempted to put on a brave face. Jason and Piper smoothly navigated the praise for their part in the defeat of Gaea while Frank and Hazel tried to shy away from the admiration of their combat prowess.

Leo had vanished, departing to places unknown. Those who saw him leave heard yelling about keeping a promise to someone, but did not bother to investigate farther. It was Leo after all, and the less know about his actions, the better.

The only one to completely detach herself from the rest of the demigods was Annabeth. But this was not the Annabeth everyone was accustomed to. Her curly blonde hair was caked in dirt, monster dust, and blood. This may not have been unusual after combat, were it not for her disposition. She walked slumped over, defeated. Those who went to congratulate her, or even simply speak with her, shied away upon seeing her face. It was ashen and hollow, the face of a dead woman. Her stormy gray eyes, normally calculating and dangerous, now resembled the color of soot.

Now that the adrenaline infused combat ended, people began to notice something, or rather the someone. Murmurs began, first small and conspiratorial, but eventually filling out into a loud clamour. It was at this moment that Annabeth slipped away.

The canoe dock was one of Annabeth's favourite spots. Especially at twilight. The way the fading sunlight reflected off of the water was simply mesmerising. It normally offered a distraction from whatever problem the daughter of Athena was facing. But this problem could not be solved by simply sitting down and looking at the water.

Annabeth's drakon bone sword was strapped along her back. Being shorter than most blades, this caused no issue when it came to drawing and sheathing the weapon during combat. An ethereal black light danced along the sheathed blade. This was different from before. During combat, the sword had seemed to glow red, drawing in the essence of its victims. Now, it seemed to draw energy from Annabeth's emotional state, which just happened to be in dire straits. Between her right thumb and index finger, Annabeth absentmindedly rolled an object between her two fingers. While not an unusual habit for an offspring of the widom goddess, it was the particular item which drew the most interest. The true owner of said item was particularly protective of it. It had, after all, saved his life innumerable times.

Unfortunately, a plain, disposable ballpoint pen had not been enough on the day of reckoning.

From Annabeth's face, the tears, which up to this point had refused to fall, poured out of the young girl's eyes, streaking the dirt on her face and falling into her hand, pooling and swirling around the pen, almost as if reacting to the leftover spiritual energy of the fallen warrior. Slowly, ink began to leak out of the pen, almost as if Anaklusmos was also crying for it's fallen wielder: Perseus Jackson.

***
I told you guys, evil. Well, this was kind of fun to write, but now I should probably go before I'm attacked.
Vote, comment and as always, keep being awesome,
Leonidas_son_of_Nike