The Remembrance of Chaos (PJO)

Chapter 19

Reforming was a simple process: turning into whatever dead form your immortal body wished to be in; your conscious magically disappearing into nothingness; and, lastly, your non-disintegrated body and mind meet at a predetermined safe location which was decided subconsciously, giving you back control . . . 

At least, that's how Percy thought it would be like that.

But he found himself lying on the wooden floor of the inn, impossibly not dying from his injuries. He could feel the pain of the daggers piercing his heart and stomach, but he couldn't feel the . . . deadliness.    

His heart was beating fiercely—with adrenaline or something else, he did not know. In theory, that would make him die faster, since all the blood would be pumped out of his bodies, but apparently his body did not care about common sense. If anything, his body was running fine.

Mostly fine, with two daggers in his chest. 

Come on you absurdly useful pump, Percy groaned in his mind. Just let me die already. I know you don't want to die, but think about this: you'll have another body to pump silver blood into, the same one, but in better health! What do you say?

Not surprisingly, his heart didn't respond, and stubbornly kept pumping—which, in the right mind, was what it was supposed to do. But when you were in intense pain—and an immortal—any amazing feat would be torture. 

"Why am I this healthy?" Percy moaned out loud in pain. "Someone just kill me. I need a new, healthy body."

An idea suddenly flashed into his mind: was Artemis alive? If so, was she in good enough shape to stab him a couple more times? He was sure that she would not say "no," since she liked stabbing things, especially humans.

Fueled by the idea of a new, healthy body without pain, Percy painfully turned his weakened body towards the area he had last seen Artemis. Since he was gravely injured, the process took minutes, Percy's body screaming at him to stop moving and let him die of blood loss, whenever that may be.

But Percy was determined. He didn't know how long it would take him to die of blood loss (it had been minutes, and his body kept on magically having enough blood to sustain itself, even though there were two foreign objects in his bloodstream) but he knew he didn't have the patience to wait that long, even though it would stop the extreme agony his body was in.

With a final grunt of pain, Percy was lying on his side, looking at where Artemis had fallen . . . only to see a pile of gold dust.

What help you are Artemis, Percy thought. The first time I want you to stab me, you're conveniently not there.

But since he was busy cursing Artemis, he didn't realize one thing: while Artemis had been killed by one godly blade, Percy was still alive—barely—even with two blades in his body. Plus, both of them were sacred weapons. Again, instead of being amazed, he was . . . less than pleased.

Since Percy didn't have anymore ideas, he did what was easiest: lie on the ground, somewhat painfully, thinking about a better life that didn't involve Artemis nor sword fighting, especially not both of them combined.

After five minutes, Percy closed his eyes, trying to tune out the pain.

After ten minutes, Percy was finally starting to get tired. His eyelids drooped, and his breathing slowed down. Finally, his body relaxed, and the world was slowly quieting down . . . 

Only to be disturbed by the inn's front doors crashing open.

Why does everybody disturb me when I try to go to sleep? Percy wondered, all the sleep dissipating away. Just because they don't sleep doesn't mean they can take my sleep away!

Percy was tempted to give them a piece of his mind, but a part of his mind—a minuscule part—stopped him from doing so, suspecting foul play.

Sure enough, a voice rang out. A very familiar, commanding voice. "Fan out and look for them!" The voice shouted. "I want every room cleared!"

End, Percy thought worriedly. End's similar to a bear, right? Unforgiving and intimidating. That means I can 'play dead' and she'll walk right past me. Hopefully.

Percy did just that, relaxing his body in what he thought a dead body would do, and slowed down his breathing to a small movement. The only things that were moving were his eyes, he opened them enough that he could see out, but they were closed enough that it wasn't obvious his eyes were open.

And what he saw worried him. The bulky wooden doors of the inn were lying on the ground, broken off their hinges. There were ten soldiers, armed with swords and bows searching the space in case if Percy and Artemis had hid.

Behind them, close to the entrance, was End herself. She had her arms crossed, surveying the scene exactly like a manager would. 

Suddenly, she turned her head and focused where Percy was lying down. He was protected from sight by tables all around him—the only way she could see him was if she was lying down, which was exactly how Percy could see.

Nevertheless, Percy held his breath. He knew that it wouldn't help, but it reassured his body that he was doing everything he could. In hindsight, End was probably just looking at all the upturned chairs next to Percy and wondering what had happened.

Fortunately, all of them were at least a few dozen yards away from him—it was a very big space, which was fortunate for Percy, but unfortunate for the soldiers.

Percy was so focused on and worried about End that he completely forgot about the soldiers. 

"He's here!" A soldier yelled from behind him. "He looks gravely injured!"

Smart observations, Einstein, Percy thought sarcastically. He closed his eyes: since the soldier was so close, he didn't want to risk anything. What gave it away: the silver puddle of blood? the knifes sticking out of my body? Percy internally sighed. He heard multiple footsteps running closer towards him. This isn't going to go well.