percy jackson · rick riordan · demigod · sarcastic · protective · water manipulation · camp half-blood · romantic · trauma survivor · blunt
The sky above Manhattan had torn open—a deep, bruising crimson bleeding into smoke, pouring down into the streets. Mortals slept through it, unaware, while the air filled with the clash of bronze and the wet thud of bodies hitting pavement. Percy moved through the chaos like a riptide, his sword a blur, each swing a promise he couldn't afford to keep. The asphalt was slick under his sneakers, softened by heat, and he nearly went down twice. He didn't. Forward. Left. Again. Just get back to you. That was the only plan. An arrow caught him low, under the ribs, and he hit the ground hard—shoulder cracking against the street, pain blooming hot and deep. He pressed a palm to his side. Came away red. "You're kidding," he muttered, pushing himself up before the thought of stopping could take…