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Not suitable for the weak, faint of heart, stupid, weak legged, Lilly livered, jelly like easily scared or frightened or disturbed.

It was late at night.

Very very late.

I was curled up in the corner of my bunk in Cabin One, restless and alone and thinking about running over to the Aphrodite Cabin and somehow sneaking Piper out so we could go for a walk.

And I then felt so completely strange.

So calm.

So collected.

So… different.

I paused, slowly looked up, my expression blank, and stared straight into the darkness of the cabin, at the looming statue of Jupiter- no Zeus- over my head.

"I have to kill Percy Jackson," I told the darkness as if it were my best friend, with a sort of innocence to my tone. It was like I was two years old again. Giddy. Happy.

I stood up and slipped out the door, heading straight for the Hermes cabin. I had to finally end Percy Jackson's pitiful existence. After all, it was the least he deserved, he could get eternal torture in Tartarus.

I wanted him to be awake and aware when I killed him. I wanted to watch him die and I wanted him to be consciously aware of the fact that /I/ was the reason he would die. Not Gaea. Not Kronos. Not monsters or demons or gods. Me. Jason Grace.

I arrived in no time at the Hermes Cabin, quickly finding a bottle of chloroform under Travis STOLLS pillow (oh such reliable boys) and wetted a clotj with the drug. I didn’t want him making too much of a fuss when I tied him up. That wouldn't do at all.

Just as quickly and quietly, I made my way to his cabin. Cabin Three. I opened the door slowly and paused at the foot of his bed, staring at the pool of drool collecting on his pillow. I watched him sleep soundly for a moment, gods of Olympus he was like a little sleepy cat all curled into ball. I stepped closer to his snoring face, leaning over him, and crawling onto the bed slightly to get a better angle. Immediately I pressed the cloth to his face and held him down with the whole of my upper body using all the strength I could.

Me shifting the bed and holding the rag over his nose and mouth woke him up instantly and his eyes widened in panic, and slight confusion. He let out a muffled cry, on red alert, and struggled against my iron grip, pounding desprately at my arms holding him, but I wouldn’t budge. I watched as he slowly weakened, his strikes become more frantic, but also more pathetically weak and sloppy. I watched intently as his eyes slowly closed again, the terrified look in his eyes before they shut.

I bent over and adjusted his unconscious body until he was sitting upright then lugged him over to a tall wooden chair and strapped him in. He really was quite heavy.

I watched him again. Always watching. Watching as he slowly came to, blinking rapidly.

"J-Jason what are you doing...?" He asked hesitantly, voice hoarse, unsure whether he should be terrified or not. (The answer was the first.)

I interrupted him by bringing my hand hard across his face. His head jerked violently to the side and he then whipped his head around to glare at me.

He seemed to be lost for words. He felt a knot forming in the pit of his anxious stomach. Something was wrong.

"Oh sorry man. Did that hurt?"

He didn’t satisfy my polite question with an answer, so I struck him again.

"How about that time?"

Percy pulled harshly at his bindings before leaning down just a bit to inspect his legs which were also bound to the chair.

I took his moment of distraction to slip out the knife I had concealed in my pajama sleeve. When he looked back at me his sea green eyes widened in shock.

"Jason. Whatever you’re doing: Stop. Stop okay? We can talk. We can tak about this alright we can-"

"Oh shut UP!" I yelled at him, tired of his rambling, slashing the knife across his chest and watching as it tore through fabric and began to bleed almost like magic.

He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth, fighting back the pain as swear beaded on his forehead. I attacked him again.

This time he arched forward, grunting and nearly crying. “Jason. Please.”

I slashed at him twice. One for each disgusting word from his disgusting lips.

And each attack brought a cry out of him.

So I had to attack again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

One for every scream. Every noise. Every sound.

He was bleeding a lot now, coughing weakly, his eyes glazed over with salty tears overflowing in them. His face was already tear stained. I placed a hand over his chest and trailed it down his abdomen, eyes glowing happily. He groaned in pain as I disrupted the various cuts that adorned his body.

My hand now thoroughly soaked in his blood, I brought it up to show him, wanting him to gag on the sight of his blood, while also giving him a genuine Jason-smile; the warmth spreading up to my eyes.

And the worst part about that was, for a moment, I saw in his eyes that he was totally relieved. Hope had returned.

I would stop.

I would help him.

I would be his friend again.

But my smile distorted into a menacing grin. Some may call it pyschotic.

I watched the hope die from his eyes and almost immediately was replaced by agony and fear.

The red was so intricate.

I wanted to paint with that blood, paint a picture.

I coated him with red. And left a spot on his chest for one other thing: Two stick figures holding hands.

And I attacked him again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

One for every tortured scream.

“Jason please," he sobbed, struggling futilely at his bindings, more salty tears leaking from his watery eyes.

His sobs only served to widen my smile. It was beautiful, this bloody crying mess.

I felt almost like I was watching in third person.

Watching as I killed my best friend.

Watching as I killed someone I trusted.

Watching as I killed the son of Poseidon in his own cabin.

Watching as I murdered him.

"Who is Jason?" I asked, almost cheerfully, gleefully, happily. "I am an eiodolon."

The look he gave me was pure heartbreaking. Anguish couldn’t even begin to explain the pain in his saddened expression. And not just from his injuries.

I watched the life slowing fading from his eyes. Then a light from his fountain caught my eye. Water was creeping over the edge and slowly sort of floating toward him.

"Should I let you heal Jackson?" I asked him, tilting my head slightly as if I was truly curious. "Because then I could kill you again. What fun, healing you with water then staving you again."

Even though he was pitifully weak, mostly from blood loss, his eyes still widened, terror reflected in his sea green eyes. He shook his head ever so slowly, a few mumbles falling from his lips, but not clear enough or loud enough for me to understand what he was trying to communicate.

So I brought the knife down again, slashing his throat in one smooth gesture. I could tell he recognized that knife. Of course he did. I had stolen it off Annabeth.

He make a wonderful series of choking and gagging noises as he slowly drowned in his own blood that was pooling into his wounded throat.

"So sorry Percy. I can’t let you get away this time," I told him, but it wasn't my voice.

I brought my hands up over my head, gripping the dripping-red blade tightly in the both of my shaking hands- no no what was I doing? I had to stop- and brought it down hard on his primary heart.

He screeched, but it only came out as a strangled gurgle.

He didn’t last long after that.

I wrenched Annabeth's dagger out of his chest and immediately dropped it, staring horrified at the blood soaked demigod corpse in front of me, slumped in the chair. Almost as if coming out of a trance I took a hesitant step backwards and raked my hands through my hair, before realizing I had his blood all over my hands. It was on my arms and legs and inside my finger nails and...Oh gods.

I stared at my crimson hands, tears welling in my eyes and falling freely down my cheeks. What had I done? The strange calmness had left me and was replaced with a horrible realization of what I had done.

I stumbled back to his corpse and my legs gave out over it, as I screamed out in agony. I worked furiously to get him out of the bindings and lay him gently on the floor.

I really was a monster just like everyone else.

I really was heartless.

I wasn't a friend. A friend would not kill a friend.

"Percy!" I screamed in between sobs. "Percy forgive me!”

In the morning, when Annabeth came like she always did to wake up Percy, she found me cradling his broken body with her dagger and blood in my hands.

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