August 2nd, 2011

"Have a great day!" the woman called out in the sweet bubbly tone that had proven effective in earning a substantial amount of tips. As she finished collecting the money left by the previous round of customers, the woman took a subtle glance around the room and, after ensuring no one was looking, her smile fell and she dropped her facade.

Doing the work of mortals and being forced to put on false smiles day in and day out was proving to be a draining affair on its own. The moments after her creation and subsequent release into the world had been some of the most liberating and memorable experiences she'd had in an eternity. It was quite a thing, to see the world with your own eyes for the first time in thousands of years. She had spent a substantial amount of time simply admiring the world of man from up close after spending so long observing from the shadows.

The allure of freedom had quickly dissipated when she was forced to obtain employment or risk starvation and homelessness. More than once, she cursed the feeble, insignificant shell that she was confined to. Still, in all things, give and take. She would have no need of it when things were wrapped up here.

The woman felt her breath hitch as an almost jolt of electricity ran through her. She closed her eyes, delving deep into her metaphorical senses, and almost cried out in joy at what she "saw".

Finally, the son of Poseidon was on the move.

It was time.

"Excuse me," a quiet, tentative voice called, interrupting her thoughts. The woman looked up, lips already contorting into a smile as she mechanically went through the motions of providing great customer service.

"Welcome in," she greeted warmly. "What can I get for you today?"

The man palmed his wrist and smiled awkwardly. "Ah, nothing actually," he said, looking everywhere but her eyes. "I just wanted to ask you a question." A timid blush overcame his face as his gaze fell to his feet.

Oh.

The woman inwardly groaned as she began to think of a way to reject the man's advances in the nicest way possible. This was the eighth bachelor in three days. Perhaps she had been wrong in going all out in this vessel's creation? It worked well in the art of persuasion, typically among males, and was a crucial reason why she'd been able to survive amongst the mortals without documentation in the first place.

A demure smile grew on the woman's face. "Well, you see….I'm taken…" she said, inwardly sighing in relief as her would-be admirer's face fell. "Sorry," she added.

As the sullen and dejected customer left in defeat, the woman's gaze grew cold and hard. It wouldn't be long now.

A new era was arriving. Her era. In the coming future, all would tremble before the name Nyx.

Poseidon sat in the darkness of his study, anger simmering in his veins and berating himself for his foolishness. A bottle of rum, Olympus' finest, sat empty off to the side.

He should have been watching Perseus. Should have known that Zeus would be waiting for the exact moment he took his eyes off his son for the barest of minutes. And because of his carelessness and haste to protect him from his brother's wrath, Athena's daughter had paid the price. It was truly unfortunate that the lightning had sought her out after he'd haphazardly diverted it. Any hope of rekindling amicable relations with the goddess of wisdom was long gone now. After all these years, her hatred of him over the Troy incident was finally starting to cease, probably due to his son. Poseidon had taken that progress and shattered it like glass on stone.

Still, in spite of all this, at least his son was safe for now. Scarred, yes, and probably baring an immense hatred inside of him, but safe.

That was all that mattered.

The door to his chambers swung open on silent, well-oiled hinges that made nay a sound except to only the most perceptive. Cold, deft fingers pressed into his shoulders softly, easing the tense and wiry muscles that had grown that way due to stress. Poseidon let out a pleasant sigh and relaxed into the contact, already knowing who it was. There was only one being in existence he allowed to touch him so casually.

"Amphitrite," Poseidon greeted her, trying to restrain himself from groaning under the pleasurable assault. "What is it?"

His wife leaned in close, breath tickling his skin. "You've been busy," she whispered evenly in his ear. Poseidon thought he could hear a slight pout in her tone.

"Yes," Poseidon ground out. "Certain...matters on Olympus have required my attention as of late. It hasn't been of my own will to neglect you."

His breath hitched as Amphitrite found the one spot that never ceased to coax a groan out of him. All of his troubles seemed to fade away under his wife's—quite literally—magic touch. Poseidon would make sure to ask where she learned her technique later.

"It isn't that I'm lonely," Amphitrite said breathily, softly. "Just that I can sense something weighing on your conscience. Care to reveal what that is?"

Poseidon turned to face his wife as tired green eyes met concerned black. He sighed. "Zeus has been acting strange as of late," he said. "Unpredictable. I fear certain developments may have caused him to forsake rationality."

Amphitrite's stern and demanding gaze forced him to continue. "There is also another matter," Poseidon admitted, carefully explaining the events leading to the attempt on his son's life. His wife listened attentively as he told his tale, starting from when he bore his first mortal son, Ophronys, all the way up to the current events. And, what she would be forced to become should she stay by his side. It was a lot to reveal but he did it anyway.

There. The entirety of his problems laid bare. Liberation, in the purest sense of the word.

Amphitrite was silent, eyes overshadowed by her hair as she hung her head low. Poseidon reached out a hand to comfort her only to recoil when it was slapped away. She held a look of fury—like no other he'd seen before—that sullied her usual immaculate beauty. Then, without a word, Amphitrite rose abruptly and headed for the door.

As she left, Poseidon sighed and slumped into his seat. He understood her anger. By informing his wife of the truth, he was quite literally asking her to choose between him and the rest of her family that supported Olympus. Poseidon doubted he could control his emotions if the situation were reversed.

He was glad that at least, Amphriti hadn't had a problem with Perseus. His son—the mortal ones—were living proof of his infidelity and no matter how many times Poseidon had explained their necessity, it had taken centuries before his wife had grown to tolerate their presence. She and Hera were alike in that regard, although the latter could never manage to get over her anger and jealousy. Olympus needed strong warriors to fight where the gods could not. Mortals fit that role quite nicely, having all but proved as much during Gaea's war.

A knock at his door roused him from his thoughts. Poseidon sighed, feeling like he'd had enough. "Enter," he bade. It was his son—the other one.

"Father," Triton greeted respectfully. "Is everything alright? Mother seemed distraught and when I asked what was the bother, she told me to come to you."

"Fine," Poseidon grunted in a brusque manner. He really was in no mood for company right now.

Silence reigned as Triton seemed took take the hint and left, leaving Poseidon to stew in his anger. There was so, so much to do and so little time to attend to them all. He needed to begin the preparation of his army and reinstate the draft amongst Atlantis. The soldiers had grown fat and complacent after the numerous victories they had obtained. When he was finished with them, The army would be a force to be reckoned with.

And he would need to recruit Perseus, or at least, keep him somewhere safe while he waged war. As much as Poseidon didn't want to pull his son away from his studies and into harm's way, it was a necessity. He wouldn't have Zeus striking from behind while he was preoccupied with other matters.

Speaking of which, his younger brother would need to be reminded of his place again. He'd grown arrogant in his time as King of Olympus and had forgotten the fact that out of the three brothers, Zeus was the second-weakest. Poseidon had only feigned inferiority over the years out of respect and gratitude at being freed from their father. It was time to remind the world why the Earthshaker and Stormbringer prevailed over lightning.

The mere thought of Zeus attacking his son was enough to make him want to destroy something in a fit of rage. Poseidon breathed in deeply and then out, repeating the process until eventually, he calmed down. By being under the sway of his emotions, he would play right into his conniving brother's hands. Clearer heads prevailed, as the saying went.

But as he looked up, his fury was reignited once more.

Triton was still standing there. His other son, who'd been alive long enough to know when his father craved silence, was still there. Poseidon felt a vein in his temple bulge furiously and it took every ounce of his patience not to lash out at the blatant inability to read the room.

"Yes?" Poseidon asked thinly. "What is it?"

His other son stepped nervously from foot-to-foot, seemingly unsure of what to say.

"Out with it!" Poseidon demanded, patience near gone.

Triton took a deep breath and then looked him in the eyes. "Father if I may," he began tentatively. "Who exactly are we facing? I've given the orders to increase arms production as you asked and then men have been training hard—far harder than they were before. But, I'm afraid, I cannot in good faith order them to continue without knowing the scope of what we're dealing with."

Suddenly, Poseidon was made aware that he had neglected to inform his soldiers that they would be considered rebels from now on. For a brief moment, he considered lying, only to utterly squash the notion. He was different from Zeus—from all of them—and wouldn't mislead the men who had put their lives on the line for him.

"Our enemies," Poseidon paused, taking in a great inhale. "Are Zeus, my brother, and the entirety of Olympus. From this moment on, all who fight under my banner will be tried for treason should we fail."

The color drained from his other son's face as he took in the enormity of the situation. "I understand the desire for peace," Poseidon said, sensing his fear. "If any refuse to fight, I will not hold it against you."

"S—sir," Triton stuttered, legs trembling beneath him. "Are we... attempting a coup?"

That was a rather...harsh way to put it, but he supposed it made no difference. The end result would be the same regardless of what he called it.

Poseidon nodded grimly.

That was the final nail in the coffin. Whatever conviction Triton had left died the moment he heard those words. His other son took a few, slow steps backward and then made haste for the door. After muttering a small farewell, he was left in solitude once more.

Mood worsening by the second, Poseidon conjured another drink in his hand and downed it one go.

Sparing his son, revealing his sins, preparing for war against his own family...it was almost crushing. Still, no matter how much he wanted to abandon his duties and vacation on a beach in the middle of nowhere, he couldn't. Who would protect Perseus if not him? Who would end the vicious cycle of parent killing child and vice-versa? No, it had to be him. There was no one else with the strength and conviction needed to challenge the current system. Hades, that sly devil, was just as cunning as Zeus and given the opportunity, would stab him in the back to take power for himself in the aftermath.

He could not disregard Athena's penchant for retaliation either. Poseidon suspected that Zeus had already downplayed his involvement in her daughter's injuries and had pinned the blame on him. He was already counting the minutes until the goddess of wisdom came down upon him with vengeance.

Poseidon slammed a fist down upon the table, sending the empty bottle flying. Time, he decided, was what he needed. Time to plot and plan and time for the completion of the Armor of Tou Pantodýnamos. With it, he would be nigh-invincible, just as the pale monstrosity it was harvested from was all those years ago.

Then, no one could take from him again.

Poseidon sighed wearily and summoned another bottle of rum, this time savoring it by taking slow sips. He truly feared the coming future.

Brittni sighed in boredom as she attended to the near-empty hotel lobby. It was a little past two in the morning, which certainly explained the state of things. The only company present at this time of night was the occasional lost and drunk tourist or one of the many homeless residents of Manhattan looking for shelter. Both of which, were beneath her time.

She sighed again. If only something interesting would happen. Maybe in a few years' time, there would be another hotshot with a vendetta against the gods who was willing to start something again. It would certainly kill the mind-numbing boredom that had befallen the mortal world after the defeat of Gaea and Kronos. If she'd known it was this bad, perhaps she would've stayed in Tartarus after all.

Brittni paused as she smelled...something wafting its way through the air. She sniffed again, perking up. Ah, a sense of recognition flashed through her mind, a Demigod. And such a powerful one outside that pitiful little camp of theirs? Truly a treat.

She hurried back to her desk as the scent got closer and tried to look at least occupied. It had to have been the offspring of Poseidon, she decided. Nearing maturity but not quite there yet. That ripe, sea-salt smell was unmistakable even in a field of pigs' piss. Brittni licked her lips. Teenagers—especially those born from the big three—were always delicious.

Her eyes widened as the hotel's automatic doors slid open and the boy, no, man strode through them. The tantalizing scent, like no other she'd smelled before, hit her in full blast and it took every ounce of control not to leap over the counter and devour him on the spot.

Brittni forced a smile as he stepped up. "Can I help you, sir?" she asked invitingly.

The boy—man mirrored her smile and reached into his jacket. "I'd like a room, please," he said wearily, not bothering to hide his exhaustion. "For one. And only for tonight."

Brittni smiled wider. "Of course," she said.

The man nodded and withdrew an envelope that contained so much money, it looked like it was about to burst. Brittni stopped him as he moved to pay. "Oh that won't be necessary," she said offhandedly with a wave. "Since you're only staying the night, it would be too much of a hassle to go through the process of payment."

At the man's hesitance and confusion, she added, "I insist."

Slowly the man relaxed and put his money away, although there was still a lingering distrust in his eyes. Smart, Brittni thought as she reached under the counter to grab a pair of room keys. Perhaps Percy Jackson would live up to the rumors after all.

Brittni withdrew the keys and gestured to the hallway around the corner. "If you'll follow me, I can escort you to the room personally," she offered.

The man nodded agreement and moved to follow in her steps. Perfect.

As she led the unsuspecting demigod up a flight of stairs, Brittni noticed something odd about the scent permeating her nostrils. It wasn't bad, per se, but strange. Different. Like all children of Poseidon, there was a hint of the sea, almost heavenly so, and something else underneath that. Like smoke and ash. He smelled like, she sniffed the air, another of her kind?

Brittni frowned. That was impossible. Admittedly, she had left Tartarus long ago and was more than ignorant of how the place had changed, but even she knew there was no way a mortal could smell of monsters. Not unless they rubbed themselves in the entrails of one beforehand. From what little whispers and sidenotes she'd heard floating around, Percy Jackson was powerful, but still very much sane.

She spared a glance backwards only to notice that the demigod was staring intensely at her back. When their eyes met, he quickly looked away, a bit of red tinging his cheeks.

Brittni held back a laugh. She had to admit, for someone who was about to be eaten, he was cute. In another lifetime maybe, they wouldn't be enemies, though the thought of regarding a mortal as anything other than food left a bad aftertaste in her mouth.

Ah, here they were. Floor six, or as she liked to call it, "the feeding grounds." It was where she could consume her kills—both human and demigod—in peace without fear of discovery from the staff or guests. Through some rather simple manipulation of the mist, Brittni had made it so that no one—not the cleaning staff, or guests—ventured past the fifth floor. Furthermore, she had convinced the manager of the establishment to deem the rooms unsuitable for occupation and to bar any entry into the place. It was really the ideal spot for her.

With a simple twist of the keys and a bit of force applied, Brittni opened the door and flipped on the light, watching as the formerly dead hallway came to life. "Right this way," she called over her shoulder, leading Percy Jackson to a room in the far corner. The shuffle of footsteps behind her told her that she still hadn't been suspected yet. Brittni smiled.

She could barely contain her excitement as she opened the door and crossed the threshold in the room. Yes, just a little longer. A few more moments and she'd have a powerful demigod for dinner, the first in almost a year.

It was a little disappointing, Brittni thought as her fangs elongated and her tail revealed itself, that it had been this easy. She hadn't participated in either of the wars between mortal and monster, but she'd heard the stories. Every monster, even the ones who lived under rocks, knew the name Percy Jackson. His legend had only grown since then and the mere mention of him was enough to leave most quivering in their boots. A shame, she frowned, that it would end this way.

"Now," Brittni growled in the low, guttural sound her kind were known for. "You are mine!"

With that, she spun around, only to be met with the oddest of sensations. Brittni blinked, confused as to why she couldn't move and then let out a wet gurgle as a blade—she hadn't even heard it unsheath— became acquainted with her throat. She could do naught but flail her arms in vain as Percy Jackson rammed the blade deeper. Then, everything went dark and she felt her soul returning return back to the one place she dreaded above all else: home.

Percy absently wiped the monster dust off of Riptide as he limped his way through the cool night of Manhattan. He ignored the bewildered stares and strange looks he got from the passersby—normal people—as he did. To them, it looked like he was cleaning a baseball bat or a club while walking down the street in the middle of the night. It was strange and out of the ordinary, but certainly not a cause for suspicion. New York had more than its fair share of nutjobs walking around.

After that incident at the hotel, Percy had decided to phone his mother and let her know that he was coming home one last time before heading off to California. Predictably though, she hadn't answered. It was late, too late for her to be awake, but he had no choice. Staying at another hotel was out of the question and he couldn't risk sleeping just anywhere for fear of monsters. His body craved rest after the events of the previous day. All those years living amongst the protection of his more-than-capable friends and family had made him forget how dangerous it was to be alone.

A jolt of pain arching from his leg almost made him cry out. Percy stumbled, reaching out a hand, and steadied himself against a nearby wall. He still hadn't healed from being clipped by Zeus' bolt, even with the nectar and Ambrosia he'd scarfed down before leaving camp. When the Apollo kids had tried to give him treatment, he'd refused it then out of anger. Now, he had learned a valuable lesson: never do anything on an empty stomach. He felt like hitting himself for making such a stupid mistake.

Percy increased his pace as he rounded the corner of his former street. It would be, to say the least, challenging to figure out a way to take down Zeus, even with Nyx's help. She had said to go to the North Pole when he was ready, as he vaguely remembered it. After what had happened the previous day, Percy had never been more ready in his life. He would just have to trust she had something in mind.

That took care of the What. How, and When were the questions at hand. He had ruled out going by air since Zeus would kill him and everyone else in the plane the moment it took off. His best bet would be to take a bus to Brooklynn or Long Island and then buy passage up through the Atlantic Ocean and go from there.

Doubt and indecision began to creep up on him. With the money he'd gotten from Poseidon, Percy knew he could afford transportation. No, the problem was how long it would take him to get going in the first place. The hotel fiasco had probably set him back hours if not more so needed to hurry. Every second wasted on the details was a second more that Camp Half-Blood remained in danger.

Perhaps he could take a boat to the Canadian border? Then, taking advantage of his lineage, he would swim ashore—past border security—and then do what he did best: wing it from there.

Percy sighed. That would have to do. As of now, he really couldn't afford to wait any longer. If only he had Nico or Hazel's help. Shadow-Travel and with their proficiency with it, would get him the North Pole and back in less than a few days.

As Percy climbed the steps to his mother's apartment, a visceral disgust began to build in his chest at what he was about to do. At the same time, he was both disgusted with himself, wracked with guilt, and unremorseful at having to lie to the woman who raised him. She couldn't know what he was doing. No one could. Not until it was over and maybe, not even after that.

Percy paused just before the door. Taking a deep breath, he tapped his knuckles gently, but loudly against the metal.

They said that mothers always knew their children the best. Sally found she agreed with this sentiment. Which is why when she opened the door to see who could possibly want something this early in the day, she immediately noticed something was wrong with her son.

"Percy," she greeted sleepily in surprise. "What's wrong? I thought you'd be on the road by now."

Her son smiled uneasily and avoided her eyes—a clear sign that something was definitely wrong.

"About that..." Percy trailed off. "Can I come in?"

Sally held the door open for her son as he made his way inside. She yawned, fighting off the pull of sleep and moved to turn on a light. "So what's this about?" she asked. "I have to be up for work in a few hours."

Percy winced. "Sorry about that, mom," he said apologetically. Sally waved him off.

Her son sighed tiredly, mirroring her fatigue. At that, Sally frowned, gradually becoming aware of Percy's current state and her motherly instincts kicked in. Her son's clothes were singed black and covered in various dark splotches of dirt, an oddity. Small, almost innumerable cuts stained his skin followed by a red, sweltering rash on his arm. And his hair was a mess, she noted. He looked like he was running from something. Or someone.

Sally swore and rushed forward, taking her son's bag off of his shoulder and helping him move to the couch.

"Thanks," Percy muttered under his breath. Sally eased him down gently, careful not to exacerbate the injuries that she could see, and the ones that she couldn't. She took a moment to study him further after he'd settled in. At what she saw, her concern turned to anger.

"What happened?" Sally half-asked, half-demanded.

Percy sat up, wincing as he did so, and sighed. "We were attacked by monsters," he said through grit teeth. "Annabeth and I. After we'd left Camp. I managed to fend most of them off, but Annabeth…" Her son swallowed. "She didn't bring any weapons. Right now she's recovering from her injuries in the camp infirmary."

Sally gasped. Admittedly, she didn't know much about Greek mythology, just little footnotes on things she'd researched on her own time. But it didn't take much to know that anything that could give her son—the strongest in his peer group—trouble was not good news in the slightest.

"Is there anything I can do?" Sally asked, trying to be of some use. "Anything at all, just tell me."

Percy grimaced and moved to lie back down. "Food, please," he requested weakly. "I haven't eaten anything in hours."

Sally nodded and hurried to the kitchen taking out a loaf of bread and meat from the fridge. The food would help him regain his strength and act as fuel for his healing factor, which probably had been depleted hours ago. She should know after all, since more than once, her son had returned from battle or some quest and then proceeded to empty her cabinets of the contents inside.

After Percy had eaten, Sally looped one of her shoulders under his arms to help him stand. It was time for a shower. "Come on," she grunted as they went up the stairs—he was heavier than she remembered—"let's get you under some water."

As her son freshened up and recovered from his wounds, Sally closed the door to give him some privacy and crept towards her bedroom. Paul was awake and waiting for her when she got there. He shot her a worried look, having no doubt heard everything from the conversation downstairs.

Sally stiffened and then relaxed as a comforting hand laid itself on her thigh. She exhaled a shaky breath. It was always difficult to see the ones you loved hurting, knowing there was nothing you could do. Not for the first time, she lamented that she didn't have the strength needed to keep her son out of harm's way.

She was but a mere mortal. Powerless and reduced to sitting on the sidelines while the ones she cared about were off saving the world.

"You must become one with mist," Hecate lectured after she'd failed for the fifth time. They sat in the darkness of a cave deep underground, far too deep to be of man's creation. A small fire in the center maintained by some unseen force was their only source of light. It was a strange place to hold to a training session, but nothing she hadn't seen before.

"I know, I know," Hazel grumbled.

"Do not sass me, child," Hecate snapped. "If you knew these things, I wouldn't have bothered to teach them in the first place."

Hazel nodded and closed her eyes. Right, she thought. She had asked the goddess of magic to take time out of her busy schedule for personal lessons. This wasn't the time to act ungrateful.

She breathed in deeply, then out, then in again. Feel the mist. Create the mist. Be the mist. That was the key here.

"Now focus," Hecate ordered. "Can you feel them? There should be enough in the surrounding area for even your fledgling senses to pick up."

Hazel frowned in concentration. She could feel—and honestly, feel was more of an overstatement—something in the darkness around them. No, it was more like she just...knew they were there.

"Have you sensed them?" Hecate asked from somewhere in front of her.

Hazel nodded. Sensed what? she wanted to ask, but held her tongue.

"Good," Hecate said. And then, with a wave of her hand, the goddess illuminated their surroundings fully, leaving no corner untouched.

Hazel opened her eyes and almost screamed at what she saw.

They were creatures born from a nightmare, of that she was certain. They were short, gangly things with arms too long for their bodies. So much so that their hands dragged along the ground. They had rotting, grey skin like the ones from those zombie movies, and bellies that looked painfully engorged and bloated like the victims of extreme starvation. Or worse; a meal.

"What are those?" Hazel asked in disgust, holding her nose. How had she not smelled them earlier?

"Cave-Dwellers," Hecate answered simply, unfazed by the things' ugliness. "Once the bane of civilizations across the world, their original name has been lost with time. Now they reside here, forever banished to the darkness of this pit, and are no doubt hungering for human flesh. The perfect exercise."

Hazel stared at her in confusion.

"Your task is simple," Hecate explained. "Eliminate them in any way you see fit until none are left. Your newfound ability should prove itself useful in that regard. After that, proceed to the surface to begin further instruction. I will be waiting for you at The Dawn of the Ouroboros."

The goddess began to glow with inner golden light, signaling her departure.

"Wait!" Hazel cried out desperately. Again with the cryptic and vague instructions. What the hell was "The Dawn of the Ouroboros"?

Hazel reached out a hand to stop Hecate, only for it to drift through her like smoke as the goddess of magic vanished in a flash of light.

Hazel swallowed nervously and turned to the very hungry-looking crowd monsters. There had to be dozens of them. Her hand inched toward her back, expecting to find her Spatha, only to close around thin air. She must have forgotten it in her haste to answer Hecate's summons.

"Shit," Hazel cursed as the first monster began to close in.

August 3rd, 2011

Percy stepped off the bus that had taken him from Manhattan to Long Island, feeling glad that the worst seemed to be behind him. Taking public transportation in New York, he had found, was not a good idea. You were often smooshed together with people who didn't know the definition of personal hygiene. The few hours that it took to get here had been amongst the most grueling he'd ever experienced.

He pulled out the map he'd gotten from a tourist station along the way, making sure to keep a wary eye on his surroundings. Now, that he was alone in unfamiliar territory, it would pay to be vigilant. Sometimes, monsters weren't great dragons or vicious, hulking beasts. Many of them often wore human skin and pretended to fit in with the rest of the population, only to reveal their true colors when it was convenient.

For this very reason, Percy had bought a small pocket knife from one of the various local businesses that littered the area, since Riptide would be useless against normal people. For personal defense, a gun would've worked better than a knife or sword, hence the saying, but Percy didn't have the time nor patience to learn how to use one. And he wouldn't dare try to do so without training. For now, it was best to stick with what he knew.

Percy snapped out of his thoughts as something—a dark-skinned woman about a head taller than him—took hold of his arm and roughly pulled him forward.

"Hey! What are you—" Percy shouted, struggling furiously against the woman's grip. He was about to protest further until the stranger held a finger to her lips in a motion for silence.

"Hang on tight," was all she said before a familiar sense of vertigo overcame him.

A/N:

Wow, what an overwhelming response to the last chapter, I didn't expect that in the slightest. Thank you all for the support.

Since we're coming up on, I believe, five months now? I have a question. Should this story still be rated M? I've been considering lowering it to T for quite some time now because I know some might shy away from reading because of the rating.

When I began writing the story, I gave it an M rating because I had a very different idea of what it was supposed to be. "Necessity" was originally meant to be completely in Tartarus where Percy would do anything to survive, hence the name and beginning. It was going to be filled with its fair share of violence and horror, essentially how you'd imagine being trapped in a hellish nightmare with no hope of rescue would be.

Obviously, things turned out much different than I had initially planned. I don't think the violence so far has been graphic enough to warrant the maximum rating nor are intimate scenes(if there are any) going to be heavy. Any romance like that will be strictly implied since I know it makes some folks uncomfortable(myself included). Let me know what you think.

A bit of background on the side characters is long overdue, I know. I would've liked to add these sections somewhere during the last three chapters, but I feared it would mess with the pacing and I didn't want them to be too long. Chapter 10 contained the most words by far and was a pain to edit in a timely manner. Therefore, I'm only saving long chapters like that for intense moments in the story.

A shorter chapter this time. The good news is that the next one is already a third or so? written. I really want to get back to weekly releases.