I usually hate it when people portray Reyna as being all sad and broken without relaying just how strong she is... But this idea popped in my head where she became just a bit like Luke (with his depressing outlook on half-blood life and all), and I couldn't resist. Hope you enjoy. Reviews feed my soul.

He kills her with tears on his face.

Not in cold blood, like all the others before him. Her demise doesn't sate any kind of bloodlust or hunger. All it does is put an end to hers.

Her death won't bring him power.

It'll open up her rank, sure. Octavian will likely take her place, even if there is no evidence or confession, he will be blamed. His entire kind will be blamed. The identity of her killer will fuel the Roman's hatred toward the Greeks. It will be the turning point in the war, when the Romans conquer yet another empire, when the rage fuels the soldiers into a frenzy the Greeks cannot compete with. For Reyna, their great praetor, has been slain.

She must be avenged. Camp Half-Blood must fall. To Hades with Gaea or the end of the world or any more important problems. She knew. And she knew they couldn't win the war against Gaea. And she just didn't have any strength left anymore.

But Percy Jackson has nothing to gain from killing her. He still does it anyway.

It wasn't petty. She did not attack his beloved Annabeth, or anyone else he cared about. Though Reyna supposed she could've, then he would've killed her with little remorse.

No, she came to him during a break in the fire. A calm in the clanging or swords, shields, and spears. And she begged him to end her.

For she was so, very, tired.

And it was all so, very, pointless.

She gave up. She finally gave up. She couldn't fight any more. And again, she felt like the little girl on Circe's island, her home stolen away.

He protested of course.

"Do you even know what you're asking me to do? I can't kill you! Kill a friend! Are you crazy?!" He exclaimed. It's a wonder both armies didn't hear him.

She laughed a little at this. "Maybe. But don't you understand how useless it all is. The best we'll ever get is a story. Our endings are not pretty. I refuse to be a pawn. I want to choose my death. For it to be at the hands of someone I trust. And I don't even trust myself." She said it with her usual conviction. But he knew she was terrified. He knew the mask too well.

"I can't. You sound so much like-... Like an old friend. Who died. And as long as the gods remain schizophrenic, his death still means nothing. Just another war. I can't, Reyna, I can't." He pleaded with her.

And just like that, the mask cracked.

"Please," she whispered. And she sounded like a young girl again. She walked toward him, and placed her sword in his hand, pushing the point slightly into her neck. "Please."

Tears stream down his face as she begs him, he shakes his head, trying to refuse, but she won't let him. His "no" is mantra, and so his her "please." But her pleading is louder than his.

So he does it. He puts her out of her misery like she's a horse with a broken leg.

He cleans up her blood afterward, crawls into a corner of the half-destroyed-from-the-blasts Poseidon cabin, and rocks himself into madness.

It seems, his fatal flaw had failed him. He sacrificed a friend, and the world would be destroyed.

And he knew, when Annabeth would knock on the door in the morning to prepare him for the day's battle, the real hell would begin.