"The Revolutionary"
His shirt sleeve had been ripped away during his struggle, revealing his metal armband that could change into his celestial bronze spear at a moment's notice. The arm holding this band was also covered in beautiful crimson and scrapes from trying to fight off the pursuers with no avail. Blaine couldn't bear the pain that his body would soon give up to. Through his blurred vision he saw two grounds that never seemed to be stable and, looking up, two skies with the same mindset. His moaned racked through his body as his right hand gave out and his face fell into the small puddle caused by the liquid crimson. Blaine's eyes slowly rolled back and closed as his vision...began to...dim...
But he refused to die right here outside of camp where he lay so vulnerable, so open to attack by the ancient predators that roamed these borders. His dark eyes crept their way back open to take in another glance of his doubled surroundings. He could see two of Thalia's Trees about thirty yards to his left, overlapping each other in some sort of translucent tango. To his right, two hills sloping down and inward towards camp as an invitation towards the Big House, whose peeling roof was the only thing of it visible to the 18-year-old. Another groan that turned into a wet cough came from the boy who gathered enough strength to roll to the side facing the Big House's doubled roofs.
A strain for help, and another series of coughs. The boy had experienced quite his share of internal damage as well as external, leaving him unable to call for anything at all. He just had to wait, for his consciousness was beginning to slip anyway. His shaky breaths caused his bony chest to tremble as they entered and exited. The night went on, turning from evening to nearly curfew, and he was still out here on the border barely hanging on. At about a quarter til 11:00 (seeing as he arrived at 8 PM) he began to let it go. He relaxed and let his mind rest. Maybe giving up would just be altogether better and less painful.
Yet his heart still pumped fresh blood through his veins and the young man's thread, despite how much he didn't want it to be, was still holding strong. He wasn't finished yet.