When all the fighting stopped.. Percy was tied to a post in as was Scott. Two natural born leaders. To make the spell work. Percy's lip was bleeding and Scott had a cut on his cheek. The blood drop fell. Then the ground began to shake.

~An hour or so before~

Percy's pov.
A girl ran behind me and grabbed my arms. She was shaking in fear.

"Behind you! Percy!" Annabeth shouted. Just a little to late.

I saw them then. Silent as beetles, two men scuttled toward him.

More followed, slipping from behind the trees and corners. Under cover of the rain and fog, they had stalked in, unseen, converging from three directions. They were dark and deadly, from the dark words they tossed back and forth. They carried knives and clubs and chains. These were vermin that worked for the evil man that I came here to fight today, there eyes were deadly and cold as hell . They'd sent the girl as a trap to hold me while the gang closed in. She'd smiled at him while she was planning to watch him die.

"Run from me." I let her loose. "Run fast."

But she backed away, wide eyed, breathing hard. "How? Nobody knows I'm here." That was shock in her voice and fear. She turned in a circle, looking for a hole in the net closing round them. And I then knew she was no part of this. No decoy. A victim as any of us.

"More of them down that way. A baker's dozen." Annabeth dropped out of the fog, into her usual place, taking the left. They were two against that many. Long odds.

I picked a target--one in front, where his friends would see him die--and struck. The bravo collapsed with a sucking, bubbling neck wound. The familiar stink of death rose in the forest. I pulled back my sword.

The thugs hesitated, sending glances back and forth, fingering blade and cudgel. Attack or retreat. It could go either way. They could win or die trying.

Then one man broke ranks and lunged for the girl.

She was fast as a little cat. He'd give her that. Cat quick, writhing, she bit the filthy arm that held her and knocked a knife aside and wrenched loose. She skipped back, clutching a long shallow cut on her forearm. "Not hurt. I'm not hurt."

No tears, no screams. Pluck to the backbone. She was also damnably in my way. I shoved her behind him, between me and Annabeth. Protected as she could be.

If this lasts long, she'll get killed. "Mine on the right." I struck out and my blade hit badly and glanced off a collar bone. One man down. One wounded. So they were either part magic or part monster. "Did they have a deal on evil cloaks at the evil as can be store?" I taunted.

I pulled knife from my boot. Not for throwing. This one was for killing up close. A backup for his sword.

I forced my mind to the pattern the attackers wove, trying to spot the leader. Kill the leader and the others might scatter. Annabeth danced a path through the bullyboys, killing them with that deathly knife of hers.

No way to get the small girl to safety. She stayed in his shadow, using me as a shield, white-faced. She's been in monster fights before.

Then I didn't think about her at all. Chain whistled past. I grabbed it and jerked the man off balance and drove his knife through a gap in the leather waistcoat, up under the breastbone, to the heart.

For an instant I stood locked, face to face, with the man I'd just killed--a thickset red-head with pale skin and vicious, gleeful, mad blue eyes. Outrage and disbelief pulsed out at him . . . and drained away. The eyes went blank. The man turned to dust. My sword fell with him.

No time to get it back. A crowbar cracked down on my shoulder with a bright, sour, copper pain. I fell, dodged a boot, and rolled away as Annabeth took down her attacker.

The girl screamed.

Up. I had to get up. I was on my feet, shaking my head, trying to see through a black haze. The girl was stretched between two men, being dragged away. I staggered through madness and confusion, fog and pain. Annabeth was swearing a blue streak.

Under the chaos, I saw the girl tore loose, leaving her cloak behind. She reeled straight into the path of the dark cloaked men and slipped on wet forest floor. She had a split second to look up and see them coming for her. Her face was a mask of raw terror.

I launched myself toward her. Too late. I knew I'd be too late.
The men wrenched on the back surprised.

Frantic, she jack-knifed away from the men. She was so close to scrambling to safety . . .

She slipped on the rain-slick forest floor. The wagon skidded. One man hit her on the side of her head with a soft, horrible thud. She whipped around, and wavered upright for an instant, and slumped to the dirty rocks of the forest. I continued to fight and many men went down dying and turning to golden dust.

The men broke out. Shouts back and forth. Limping, dragging their wounded with them, the gang retreated.

I stepped over a dying body and ran to the girl.

She lay huddled on her side, as if sleeping, covered with blood and mud, her pretty dress torn halfway off her. Her hand lay upcurled on the forest floor, open to the falling rain.
I then turned to the main man. The man that caused this death. The man that began all our problems.

Dimly aware of the hush that befell the crowd, I faced my opponent and waited. I would let the man make the first move.

Don't lose don't lose don't lose.

Everyone retreated to make room for the battle that had just begun.

He moved.

I jerked back, aside. The blow meant for his jaw whizzed by in a blur of knuckles. From the corner of his eye, I saw my opponent's other arm begin an upward trajectory. I ducked this time, and felt my hair ruffle with the force of it.

Drop to the floor. Roll clear, stand. Don't let him connect. Draw it out.

He charged with a roar like a bull. I sidestepped, whirled to face him. My opponent lunged. I avoided one flying fist, only to collide with another.

The blow glanced off my ribcage, a sharp sting fading fast. In front of him, he grinned and jabbed again at my midsection.

Block. Shove away. Back off.

Avoidance was simple, but it couldn't last forever. We had came to end this. Minutes passed with no contact, and I felt pressure emanating from all sides, a nearly audible chant: punch-kick-strike-hurt.

I went on the offensive. I lashed out, aiming for my opponent's gut. He proved equally effective at defense, and my fist met a meaty forearm. I tried again with both hands—and this time connected.

Felt like punching flesh-covered steel. The man moved, damned fast. So fast that I nearly missed seeing it. My body seemed to react on its own, without conscious thought. I slid to my right, opposite to the direction I had been circling as the man rushed him. My vision blurred as the battle resumed.

The man threw a block with his left hand, tried to hook my left leg with his own, trying to throw me to the ground. I turned forward and to his right, slapping my left hand against the middle of my opponent's back as he slid past. The blow caught his opponent between his shoulder blades. I felt the his body flex, then he turned quickly around and punched me right in my lip. Blushing it. The next thing I see is one of the last blacked cloaked figures that stayed shooting me in the back with multiple darts. I was to focused in on the fight to know is that everyone else had already fallen to the darts. My vision went black and I feel to my knees. All I heard was the crud laughter of my enemy.
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Tell me what you think guys... anyway thank you for reading
Love you guys
~Cj out