A Moment of Stars || PJO Chaos [REWRITE]

Not Okay pt. 2

Percy clenches his jaw as he narrowly avoids the thin edge of a flying knife. The thrower gives him a bright smile while twirling another small blade between his fingers.

Today's sparring session is with Saros. Again.

It's been a few days since his last...episode, and despite Saros' vehement suggestions for him to rest(as well as the pounding headache he's been trying to get rid of for two days now), he's been restless without a break.

He blames the ADHD.

Even as he's dodging knives in the middle of their session, Percy can't help but let his mind wander elsewhere.

Like to the place of how he wants to ask how Saros learned to fight the way he does, because although Chaos had nearly bragged about the Advising General's skill, he wasn't expecting this.

The thing with Saros is that even though Percy can beat him at close combat, that doesn't matter when he can't get close enough to him without nearly taking a flying knife to the throat—something he prefers to not do.

He ducks under another blade as sweat trails down the side of his face from the heat of the two afternoon suns beaming on their bodies. He adjusts the grip he has on his sword and observes Saros' movements.

Even though it was difficult, he knows there will eventually be an opening in the general's defenses. Throwing knives can only hold him off for so long before Percy finds the space to attack. He winces as he rolls his shoulders and circles the Advising General like a predator cornering a prey. Saros' eyes shine with playfulness, as if he weren't trying to leave Percy lying in a pool of his own blood.

He readjusts his grip on the silver sword—a custom weapon created by Galexia's sector once he tested into the Zeroth rank. With a deep breath, he moves.

Percy closes in on Saros, bringing his sword down in a lethal slash. Saros lifts one of his knives to intercept the attack. Percy's arms tremble slightly from the clash and dives under his other knife headed towards his face. The world sways for a second before coming back into focus.

He doesn't want to tell Saros, but he's been feeling weak.

His muscles hurt constantly, and his head pounds to the rhythm of his overworked heart. His eyes burn from the Aevum suns. The sides of his spine throb like bruises. He's tired, but no amount of sleep he has gotten has helped.

So he pushes himself; might as well continue to refine his skills if rest won't even give him the comfort that he seeks.

His breathing becomes mechanical as his attacks become heavier. With each step he takes forward, Saros takes three back. The Advising General's grin falters slightly with the effort of keeping up with the death-bitten demigod. Percy continues to press on.

Eventually, both freeze as the tip of Percy's sword presses into Saros' abdomen. Sweat trickles into his eyes from this long unkempt hair.

Saros lets out a puff of air and chuckles. "I think that was the best one yet." Percy agrees—he's starting to get the hang of understanding Saros' fighting style.

He lowers his weapon, trying to hide the subtle trembling in his arm. They both make their way under one of the tents in an attempt to shield themselves from the unforgiving suns. They grab their water bottles and start wrapping up.

"Where's the General?" Percy asks, watching as Saros cleans his knives with a silver cloth. "She's missed three of our sparring sessions." It's not to say that he actually missed sparring with her, but he's found it odd that she suddenly went MIA for the past few days. She doesn't seem like the type to pass up lopping his head off(and yes, he's still salty about that).