LUNACY; percy jackson

chapter 1

    Without waiting, without any ounce of hesitation, she launched forward, Mania in hand. No matter how she felt, no matter how much she wished to lay down and go to sleep, she would protect this place. She would protect her home. Her friend's home.

    She raised her sword, just as she slid under the belly of the first bull, the blade digging deep into the organs—or whatever the insides were—of the creature. She was, however, caught off guard as something grappled against her legs, tugging and throwing her across the way, tossing her a large distance away. She rolled, hitting the ground hard, feeling sticks and rocks, and whatever else lingered in the grass, digging into her skin, littering her body with cuts.

     Just as she pushed up onto her knees, she looked towards the crest of the hill, only to find Clarisse La Rue and several others running up the hill towards the bulls and herself, clothed in their bronze armor. Typically, Clarisse was not so open in showing emotions other than her anger, but it was clear by her expression, from what Andromeda could see, that she was worried. Concerned. Possibly afraid.

    Andromeda had no armor of any kind on and with just her sword as a weapon. She had a long, bloody cut across her forehead, and several bruises that were already visible on her arms.

    But with her back turned, with her attention solely on the charging bulls and the fighting demigods, she hadn't noticed the three new bodies across the hill.

    Just there, across the way, Pery Jackson, Annabeth Chase, and Tyson had gotten out of their Gray Sisters Taxi.

    "Oh, man," said Annabeth, looking at the battle raging on the hill, drawing the attention to the fighting—to their friends.

    What worried them most weren't the bulls themselves. Or the ten heroes in full battle armor who were getting beat down. What worried them was that the bulls were ranging all over the hill, even around the back side of the pine tree. That shouldn't have been possible, not at all. The camp's magic boundaries didn't allow monsters to cross past Thalia's tree. But the metal bulls were doing it anyway.

    One of the heroes shouted, "Border patrol, to me!" A girl's voice—gruff and familiar.

    Another one followed, a little low and a raspy, with a slight twinge of an accent, somewhat southern. They couldn't quite piece together what was said, just that it was something akin to a cry for help. But they knew that voice. They knew it well.

    "It's Clarisse and Andy," Annabeth pointed out, turning back towards the two boys. "Come on, we have to help them."

    Typically, Percy would not have chosen to rush straight to Clarisse's aid. To help her, especially when she hadn't asked for it. But he knew, even if, consciously, he didn't necessarily want to, he needed to do the right thing. He needed to help—he needed to help her, he needed to help everyone else who fought on that hill.

    But his attention, he found, was more focused on someone else. A familiar head of red hair—hair that nearly reached her waist. Tan skin. Amethyst eyes. Andromeda. Lea.

    Her shirt was charred and torn, marks on her exposed skin. Bruises and cuts littered her arms, and the cut on her forehead had bled so much it was dripping down the side of her face, almost like facepaint. She spun Mania in her hand, the muscles of her arms flexing as she did. But she seemed as though she was in pain. Like she was hurting, somewhere under the surface.

    He uncapped his ballpoint pen. It shimmered, growing longer and heavier until he held the bronze sword, Anaklusmos, in his hands. "Tyson, stay here. I don't want you taking any more chances."

    "No!" Annabeth said. "We need him."

    He stared at her. "He's mortal. He got lucky with the dodge balls but he can't—"