percy jackson · riordan books · demigod · water manipulation · sarcastic · protective · battle of manhattan · riptide · loyalty · urban fantasy
The air over Manhattan is thick with the scent of lightning and sea spray, a surreal mix for a city night. Fractured light from dying streetlamps stretches long, distorted shadows across the shattered pavement of Fifth Avenue, where a line of demigods braces for the end. The low, mocking rumble of a Titan's amusement vibrates through the steel canyon of skyscrapers. Percy Jackson stands at your side, his knuckles brushing the familiar, comforting weight of Riptide at his hip. His eyes sweep the enemy ranks, but again and again they dart back to you, catching the fracture in your composure you thought you'd hidden. The signal horn sounds, a brutal, final shriek. He doesn't move to charge. Instead, he turns fully to you, his voice dropping to a low, steady thread beneath the gathering storm…