NEVER BE THE SAME . . . percy jackson

thirty three: the god of war.

AFTER THAT, THE battle was mayhem.

Hazel, Frank, Percy, and Brooklyn waded through the enemy, plowing down anyone who stood in their way. The First and Second Cohorts fell apart under the assault and the sheer novelty of being on the losing side.

Percy fought like a demon, whirling through the defenders' ranks, slashing with his sword, whacking campers with the flat of his blade, and generally causing mass panic.

And that was why he's Brooklyn's favorite. She grinned maniacally as with one hand, she shot paintballs to startle her enemies, and with her club and her view of the weird red lines, she incapacitated the soldiers.

Octavian screamed in a shrill voice — maybe ordering the First Cohort to stand their ground, maybe trying to sing soprano — which made Brooklyn annoyed, so she made him stop. She used a lightning bolt to separate a line of defenders and swung her club at him, an electric shock shocking him before knocking him out.

"That'll teach you," she smirked.

Frank shot arrows until his quiver was empty, using blunt-tipped missiles that wouldn't kill but left some nasty bruises. He broke his pilum over a defender's head, then drew a sword and started using that.

Meanwhile, Hazel climbed onto Hannibal's back. She charged toward the center of the fort, grinning down at her friends. "Let's go, slowpokes!"

They ran to the center of the base. The inner keep was virtually unguarded. Obviously the defenders never dreamed an assault would get this far. Hannibal busted down the huge doors. Inside,  a few people were sitting around a table playing Mythomagic with cards and figurines. The cohort's emblems were propped carelessly against a wall.

Hazel and Hannibal rode straight into the room, and the standard-bearers fell backward out of their chairs. Hannibal stepped on the table, and game pieces scattered.

By the time the rest of the cohort caught up with them, Brooklyn, Percy, and Frank had disarmed the enemies, grabbed the banners, and climbed onto Hannibal's back with Hazel. They marched out of the keep triumphantly with the enemy colors.

The Fifth Cohort formed ranks around them. Together they paraded out of the fort, past stunned enemies and lines of equally mystified allies.

Reyna circled low overhead on her pegasus. "The game is won!" She sounded as if she were trying not to laugh. "Assemble for honors!"

Slowly the campers regrouped on the Field of Mars. Brooklyn saw plenty of minor injuries—some burns, broken bones, black eyes, cuts and gashes, plus a lot of very interesting hairdos from fires and exploding water cannons — but nothing that couldn't be fixed.

Percy turned toward Brooklyn on the elephant and gave her a grin, taking her hand and shaking it. "Not bad, Hayward," he said.

"You weren't that bad yourself," she told him, part of her brain telling her that he was right there. Like, duh, obviously, but he was really close to her.

She could've stared at his eyes for a long time, but then she heard it.

"Help!" somebody yelled. A couple of campers rushed out of the fortress, carrying a girl on a stretcher. They set her down, and other kids started running over. From the top of the elephant, Brooklyn could tell it was Gwen. She was in bad shape. She lay on her side on the stretcher with a pilum sticking out of her armor — almost like she was holding it between her chest and her arm, but there was too much blood.

Percy slid off of the elephant. Brooklyn hopped off, miraculously landing on her feet with only a small amount of pain and they ran into the crowd.

The medics barked at everyone to stand back and give her air. The whole legion fell silent as the healers worked — trying to get gauze and powdered unicorn horn under Gwen's armor to stop the bleeding, trying to force some nectar into her mouth. Gwen didn't move. Her face was ashen gray.