AN: Feel free to chuck potatoes at me. Oh yeah, and except for this chapter, the rest of the story is going to be told in third person, because I'm getting confused trying to track who said what. Damn school.

Disclaimer: I don't own PJO. WELL DUH.

Alex looked at Maddie, curious. "So what do you think of him?"

The three of them were perched in the loft of the Demeter cabin, where they cared for the plants that had to be kept in the dark. The place was airy and spacious enough for three people to sit comfortably, and there they were, sprawled on the floor except for Maddie, who sat cross-legged, sewing at a small piece of cloth. There was also Alex, a shaggy, red-haired boy whose legs were halfway up the wall, head leaned comfortably against his arms, and Sam, who was curled up, side touching the floor. Her hands moved slightly, trying to catch the dust motes that swirled in the lone shaft of sunlight permeating the loft.

Maddie brushed a strand of her straggly brown hair behind her and looked up blankly.

"Who?"

Sam groaned and stretched slightly. "Perseus Jackson, Mad. Why do you have to do that sewing thing now, anyway?"

"Unlike you, some people actually have homework." Maddie huffed, weaving the needle in and out of the fabric.

"Anyway...," followed Alex. "What do you think of him?"

Maddie shrugged. "Scary?" She put down her sewing. "Really intimidating, I guess. He wasn't even scared of Thalia!"

Sam sat up and idly pulled on her camp necklace, examining the beads. "I heard they were friends, way before World War Three. Best friends. Her, that Di Angelo boy and Annabeth. Seth told me he was the camp leader too. Fought Kronos and all that. Way before we three were even born."

Alex's brown eyes refocused, and he grinned. "Heard all the Aphrodite girls talking about him. Tall, mysterious and handsome, " He mimicked in a falsetto voice. He snorted. "Idiots. Did they see his sword skills and the way he creamed Clarisse? That was awesome!"

"Looks like someone's fangirling," Maddie laughed, poking his ribs.

Sam untucked her hair from her ears, letting it cascade over her face in short black waves.

"He is scary though. And you can practically feel the hate between him and Thalia."

"Mmmhmm. Anyway...," Alex trailed off, "I gotta go."

"Beth again?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

Alex blushed. "Yeah."

"Right. You coming, Mads?"

"Yup."

Percy opened the door of the big house silently. The ragged edges of his cloak fluttered as he turned to close it, and he walked up the stairs, a thudding in his chest. He hadn't meant to kiss her, of all things, it just ...sort of... happened. He could smell her lemon shampoo and the smell of hot strawberries in her hair and couldn't resist. She hadn't resisted either. In fact, she could still feel his hands drag through her hair, their lips together, going in deeper. In a way, he was reminded of that vampire in that movie Annabeth had brought him to see, all those years ago. Twilight something-or-other. The one where the vampires sparkled. He snorted. Mortals these days. They had laughed over it, mimicking the lines and clutching at their hearts. It hadn't been a proper date that time, as Annabeth had insisted it wasn't a movie good enough for a date, so they had invited Nico and Thalia to tag along. He sighed.

This ...nostalgia wasn't something he had planned on when he returned to camp. Suddenly, he paused on a step, head tilted slightly to the right. He sensed something was...wrong, as if the air somehow had shifted, turned menacing. He quickened his pace, the black cloth of his cloak trailing on the steps, and he shifted his body ever so slightly into a defensive crouch. He padded to their door, which was slightly ajar. That was when he knew something was definitely wrong.

They would never leave the door half open, for fear someone might hear them, especially with the younger ones. He whipped through the door, drawing both of his swords, and glanced around the room. It was empty, though it showed signs of a scuffle. There was drops of red liquid on the otherwise blue bed sheets, and there were crayons trampled into the carpet, as well as a discarded IPod and sketchpad. Sheets of ripped paper were strewn across the room, and weapons lay on the beds, abandoned. His fingers wept up a few stray hairs off the pillow and turned them in his hand. No doubt the dog's fur. He turned from one to the other, searching for something, anything, nothing. That was when he saw the note. It was crisp and white, with gold letters carving across it, bearing elegant, spiky script. He turned it over, and there was no signature. He focused on the words again, and hissed under his breath as he read them.

Don't bother, Perseus. I've disposed of their bodies for you.

An owl hooted at the window sill, staring at him with amber eyes, as if mocking him, before diving into the night.

"No." She couldn't. They couldn't. They couldn't have sunk so low as to kill his siblings. Their quarrel was with him, not them. No. It started with Poseidon. The with him, because he had fought back. But they hadn't done anything. Nothing, except to go to this camp and seek protection.

And now, he would never see them again.

Never.

He was immortal, and even if he tried to get to the underworld, Hades would kill him first. He would never see their smiles, their laughter. His heart stung as he remembered Max and Kassie, the youngest of the group. The gods killed children.

They couldn't have done.

They could.

Don't be an idiot, Percy. You saw what happened to Calypso all those years ago.

In his heart, he screamed in despair.

Chiron had been in the middle of archery class, when Percy swept up out of nowhere and growled something in his ear. He looked strange, standing silently in the middle of the range in his shadowy black cloak among all the bright orange individuals that laughed and shot and argued about who missed what. His searching stare hushed everyone as most of them lowered their gaze, frightened of the cold, yellow-green, hungry eyes, but some narrowed their eyes and stared back challengingly. He turned his back and looked at Chiron, as if waiting for a reaction. Chiron looked sorrowful, and shook his head. Percy whispered something indistinguishable to the centaur and whipped his hood up, stalking off. His hell hounds leapt up at the sight of their master, but backed down with whimpers and whines when they sensed his feelings.

The campers in his way parted as he walked past, their eyes fastened on him, his dogs, the ripple of his cloak and the gleam of his swords. Some looked pitying, some angry, some curious. He ignored them.

Nothing mattered to him now. Nothing but revenge.

The teenagers clutch each other, frightened and startled, as they are pushed through a doorway. Their hands grasp at gray cloth as they look at their garments. Long, dark gray cloaks for the eldest, light grey gossamer cloaks for the youngest. They clutch their throats, aghast, as they find out they can only speak in whispers. They look back, only to find that the door has vanished into darkness. In fact, the whole place is in darkness. They look forward, and a man steps out from the shadows, as if expecting them, and sighs. He looks rather strange, they notice, dressed in a silk Italian suit with polished black shoes and tortoiseshell shades.

"No payment for you, " he says softly, pityingly, and he beckons them to a boat moored on a lake, both which hadn't been there before. The youngest children cry out, and the others reach out their arms, cradling them, pressing them close, as if fearful of the man.

"Come." His voice is now tinged with the slightest edge of impatience, and they stumble warily down to the boat, recoiling as a step sends the boat rocking from side to side. Once the man stepped on, his suit morphed into inky black cloth, swathing his whole body in folds of darkness. A pole appears in his hand, and he pushes off the shores, nudging the boat down the just-then non-existent river. They sit at the back of the boat in different shades of gray, huddled together, trying to keep away the chill that floats off the water.

Strange, random things begin to float past, a torn teddy bear, a gold medal, a wrinkled blue paper with two words, too faded to see. A bag of blue jellybeans appear, and a child reaches out, only to have his hand snatched away, the elder ones now realizing where they are. What they are. How they got here. Their voices grow frantic, and they hold each others' hands for comfort.

Finally, the boat is tied down and they step off, clinging to each other, and are shepherded by the ferryman past the ghosts, too many to count. They see lost people, speaking in the same whisper, searching for their loved ones, not realizing they have gone. So many people, so many faces, until they don't remember anything except each other. They are led to a platform, where they stand in a line, looking at three people in eerie gold masks. They are deciding, picking out memories from their minds like documents from a folder, and speak. "Elysium. We have decided on Elysium."

The eight of them let out a breath of relief, and gather up their robes, when the temperature drops ten degrees. Another person appears from the shadows. He has a crown on his head, one moment a wreath of black fire, another a crown of bones. His face is as pale as bone, and his hair lies limp and oily. He glides to the front of the judges, and the children cower, feeling nothing but fear.

"No. The Fields of Punishment."

The judges rise suddenly, and shout incoherently at the man, pointing their fingers and waving their arms. They sound enraged, but the noise dies down as the man summons a staff, and the judges yelp and grab at their throats, making no sound. He turns to the eight, and the youngest boy clings to the robes of an older sibling, trembling. The man takes a step towards them, before a faint glow alerts them to another presence. A beautiful thing appears, clothed in a black tunic and winged in striking colors, feathers shining blue and purple and black in the gray environment. His skin is as dark as honey, his hair black and soft. He turns his strange gold eyes to them, then the god standing in front of him.

'You can't do this. They are innocent, Hades." His dark fingers gesture to them.

"You won't gain anything from this." He takes a step forward, challenging. Hades snarls, and his eyes glow red with rage, his staff spitting out a ball of black fire directed at the eight. The angel spreads his wings to shield them, and Hades lifts his staff, face twisted with fury.

"Take them! GO!" Thanatos yells at an unseen person, and darkness sweeps up the eight and carries them away.

AN: CLIFF-FAY! WOOT! I LOVE ALL THE REVIEWERS, FAVORITERS AND FOLLOWERS! YOU GUYS RULE! NOW GO REVIEW! NOW!