Clarisse La Rue POV

Clarisse remembered the day Camp Half-Blood changed forever.

It had started like any other crisis. The sky had turned a sickly green, the ground had trembled beneath their feet, and the air had become wrong—thick, heavy, unnatural. At first, everyone had thought it was just another monster attack. Nothing they hadn’t handled before.

But it wasn’t just monsters this time.

There were demigods, too—campers who should have been standing beside them, but instead turned against them. Their eyes glowed with eerie, unnatural light, their movements stiff like puppets being yanked by invisible strings.

And then came the voice.

Clarisse didn’t hear it—not the way you hear someone speak. It was inside her head, slithering into her mind like a snake wrapping around its prey.

"Fight them."

At first, she’d resisted. Ares’ kids weren’t easy to control. She was Clarisse La Rue, daughter of war. No one gave her orders.

But the voice pushed.

"They left you."

Images flooded her mind—Percy Jackson, Thalia, Jason, and the others gone. The camp weakened. The ones who were supposed to protect it missing.

"They abandoned you."

Clarisse felt the rage bubbling inside her chest. It wasn’t hers, not really, but it felt real. It burned through her veins, clouded her thoughts.

She tried to fight it.

But then she saw campers—her friends—falling one by one. The attackers weren’t strangers. They were their own.

And Percy wasn’t there.

He was supposed to be.

"He left you to deal with this alone."

The voice slithered deeper into her mind, feeding the anger, twisting her emotions into something ugly.

"Strike them down."

Clarisse had drawn her weapon.

She wanted to stop. She knew this wasn’t her. But her body moved anyway, her grip tightening around her spear.

She had become one of them.

Then Percy returned.

She didn’t remember much of the battle—only flashes of steel, shouts, pain. And then, suddenly, he was gone again. Forced to flee.

And something inside her snapped.

The second he vanished beyond the borders, the haze shattered. The voice faltered.

She remembered.

She remembered who she was.

Clarisse La Rue did not take orders.

She did not turn on her own.

And she never let anyone use her.

But by the time she broke free, it was too late.

The camp was lost. The remaining demigods—those still themselves—were either scattered or captured.

Clarisse had barely escaped.

And from that day forward, she’d been searching.

For answers.

For revenge.