Someone stumbled out of the brush. I squeaked and snapped my fingers again, causing this unknown person to fly up into the air, hoisted upside-down by the ankle. At first I wondered if this guy was just extremely clumsy, or if he or she tripped, or what.
Okay, a little backstory of why I'm so paranoid. The war between Kronos and those monsters and demigods really got me scared of everything. I've been so scared that non-repentant demigods that were on Kronos' side might all of a sudden create a "Reformation-of-Kronos-Party," or some psycho monsters would revolt or something. End of story.
I moved closer and realized this person was from our team, seeing the blue plume on his or her helmet. I gasped, then, because I lost my concentration on the vines, I dropped the poor mystery dude on his or her face. Mystery Dude groaned and then jumped up so fast he or she knocked me off guard. I looked up to realize it was Lance Evans, child of Nemesis, goddess of balance. He was a repentant demigod who decided to come to Camp-Half Blood after the war against the Titans. Of course, I was thinking all of this while he was trying to chop off my head with his sword.
"Evans!" I shouted, parrying his strikes the best I could "I'm on your team!"
Lance lowered his sword. Realization dawned on his face. He stepped away from me and sheathed his sword.
"What the..." he muttered. "Delaney..."
"Delana," I corrected. "Delana Harvestman, remember me?"
Lance shook his head yes. He didn't seem all that pleased to re-meet me.
What a dork. I thought.
See, during the final battle of the Titan War, I fought Lance personally when we were fighting Kronos' demigods. Let's just say I kicked his butt.
"What are you..." he started. just then 4 campers from the Ares cabin runs toward us, shouting and grinning evilly. I noticed there where only a few demigods on defense in our plans, the part that I listened to during the meeting told me that much. I groaned and prepared myself to be pounded into the ground. Not Lance. He readied his sword and yelled, "Come and get it suckers!"
You have to admit. The guy has some guts.
"Ah!" I yelled, and drove into battle.
I really didn't do that much. Lance did most of it. He fought like a demon. He knocked into campers, sending them sprawling, then knocked them out with the butt of his sword.
What was I doing during this heroic moment of Lance's life? Trying to not get slaughtered by the biggest camper in the bunch, his name was Hammy Buckwell. Hammy was built like a pro-wrestler, in fact he actually did wrestle at one point in his life. I dodged and rolled, parried and squeaked (I know, I know, so heroic, right?).
Even though it was just a game, and maiming and killing wasn't aloud (thank the gods), there wasn't anything in the rules that said "Thou shalt not maketh a large dent on thy enemy's helm," and I was pretty sure that what Hammy was planning on doing. He made a big arch up over his head and brought it down, intended to knock my lights out. Somehow, I managed to get inside his strike, whirl around behind him and hit my sword butt against his helmet as hard as I could. He crumpled to the ground.
"Yes!" I muttered. I looked aroung to find Lance standing there, arms crossed, looking amused.
"Not bad for a girl I suppose," he admitted.
I grinned.