The man’s face contorts, grief and fury, wet with blood and tears, “I’m not leaving. He waves her over, with another demand for some clean surgical tools. Will shouts for attention and gestures to a girl who was feeding ambrosia to another injured boy. Will can’t see the exact injury at first, she’d been makeshift bandaged around her torso, but even before Percy lowers her along the bodies of the other wounded, he sees the amount of red that soaks through, that’s smeared on her arm, staining her jeans, covering Percy. “Will! Help her!” He makes a noise, high and agonized. Their numbers were too few, the enemy too many.Īnd now his friend is staggering at him, carrying his wife bridal style over the demarcation from battle ground to infirmary. They had rallied, strategized in the chaos, sent mortals and children– their own children– to safety.īut Will saw this coming before the moment was upon them an enemy from the sky. Percy and Annabeth, both in their work clothes, his friends. Evil, with precision and glee, has made the park it’s playground and its cries of laughter are constant and piercing and people are dying.Įvery fighting demigod within radius has come, and at the lead: the son of the sea, the daughter of wisdom. With wings and claws and numbers– overwhelming numbers.
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