And at long last a legitimate update. It has been such a long time, and I can't keep apologizing because one can get sick of that. As I have. Let's just say I got 'side tracked'. Anyway, I have a question for you guys. I'm thinking about opening a Roleplay forum that crosses with Avengers and PJO. Am I allowed to do that? I've never seen any forum crossovers. Just thought I'd ask.

Disclaimer – I'm getting sick of stating the obvious here…

…

The storm was attacking the helicarrier.

Such a thing was assumed to be impossible. How could a storm, a hurricane, intentionally attack an aircraft? There were no stray flashes of lighting, no random gusts of wind. Every bolt hit mark, every howling flurry battered directly. This was no standard storm.

Steve Rogers grasped the latch to a locked door to steady himself as the helicarrier shook from suffering yet another direct hit of lightning. The channeling rods that were mean to absorb the bolts didn't seem to work at all, they didn't even so much as attract the lighting, as electricity generally should. Steve knew that much of science to gather that this storm was much, much more then it seemed.

Rob Herling was shouting into his comm, something about securing the prisoner.

Jackson, Steve thought as he dashed further up the hall, only to be stalled by another jolt that made the ship lurch violently, could he have something to do with this?

The thought almost seemed ridiculous. Not even Thor in a crappy mood could muster a storm like this. Last time he conjured something remotely relative to something of the likes of this, the god had taken to eating five full orders of Schwarma. Not even Banner, who had a whole beast to feed, could amount to that much Mexican fast-food.

Have I changed that much? To the point of now calling Thor a god?

The helicarrier was leaking. Rainwater was already pouring from the cracks and seams in the ceiling, some trickled, and others were torrents.

"Herling," Leaning against the wall, Steve faced the op, "Herling, help me with this."

With the strength of six men, the five supplied by Steve, the two ops pried open a jammed, sensorated door. Steve Rogers propped the door open with his shield so they, including other trapped and frantic staff, could slip through onto safer grounds. As the last man, a technician, rushed though the slim opening, the captain pulled his shield from between the slideable door so it could move back into place. The technician, whose nametag read 'Bert', slid the titanium floodlock.

The hall they were now in still leaked, but only mildly. Staff were already running down the corridor, dozens, if not tens of dozens, crowding the hall. Steve didn't find any use in running, this whole airborne container they were in was in danger. Running wouldn't help at all.

Steve Rogers stopped in mid-stride. His hair suddenly stood on end and a scent filled his nostrils. A scent so powerful that he was compelled to cover his nose. The captain fought the urge, instead taking in a deep whiff.

Was that… ozone?

Before Steve could shout a warning, two technicians and a pilot were thrown back off their feet after the clasping sound of a thunderclap filled the air. Steve Rogers ducked and rolled aside to dodge a scorched corpse, lifting his shield to deflect a concentrated blow of electricity.

A creature made of mist stood at the end of the hallway, it must've formed from the very air. Agents ducked into flanking rooms to dodge electrified attacks that streamed out of the creature's body, whipping out hand guns. A nurse was scorched down to the bone as she turned to run, her scream haunting Steve's ear.

Steve stood straight and stared. The creature wasn't made of any sustaining substance, and now that he could see it clearly, wasn't of mist. The figure was a storm cloud, man-shaped, with swirling little maelstroms that must've been the eyes.

"Show me the Exiled Prince so I may end him," The creature hissed, "I am Aeorus, servant to the Sky God. And I have come to end what-,"

Aeorus' dialogue was interrupted by a star spangled Frisbee to the face. The shield passed right through that face, which dissipated upon contact. Steve felt a moment's triumph. That is, until Aeorus' head reformed as though nothing had happened.

Lightning crackled in the creature's eyes, "You will pay for that, mort-."

As Aeorus spoke, the shield rebounded off the far wall and came whizzing back, passing through the creature's head yet again with the same ease as before. The head dissolved, and just as before, reformed.

"Cursed mortal!" He – it – shrieked, "Your blood will boil!"

Blue electricity sparked along Aeorus' twister-like arms. As twin bolts of lightning sprung from the end of those arms, Steve rose his shield. The force of the attack sent Rogers flying backward down the corridor. He slammed into the floodlocked door, grunting as the air was forced from his lungs. Steve dropped to the floor, rolling forward to retrieve his shield, and came up into a crouched stance just in time to deflect another fleck of lightning. The captain gritted his teeth and dug in his heels from the effort to withstand his defensive stance.

The lightning kept coming, like a sparking river of white doom spilling from Aeorus' wispy fingertips. Steve was reminded of a movie he watched a few weeks back with Tony Stark. Star Wars? Yes, Star Wars. Aeorus, at this moment, resembled the cackling Emperor as he tortured Luke whilst the young Jedi screamed for his father's aid.

I am changing, Steve mused as he hurled his shield, Stark's a bad influence on me.

Captain America charged the storm-creature-thing. Aeorus fired lightning (the guy could be more creative in his attacks) and Steve leapt, braced his boot against the wall, and pushed, flipping over the creature entirely. The captain landed just in time to catch the shield he had thrown and spun, blocking yet another blast from Aeorus, who hissed in frustration.

"You are a waste of my time," the creature spat disdainfully as it rose both arms over its head.

A blast of wind so utterly overwhelming slammed into Rogers, hurtling him backwards into the far wall. Steve groaned, rolling on his back, head ringing. That hurt.

"The Exiled Prince,"

The air around Steve became constricting, wrapping around his chest and throat like an icy vice grip. Aeorus hoisted the captain off his feet effortlessly, bringing his face dangerously close.

"Where is he?"

Steve choked, clawing at the misty fingers around his throat, "Wh-Who-?"

He was slammed back into the wall. Steve crumpled to the floor, gasping desperately for breath. "Who..?"

Lightning jolted up Steve Roger's spine as he was dragged from the floor and hung in the air again.

"The Exiled Prince! The child banished from death!" Screeched Aeorus, "Where is he?!"

Steve was slammed against the wall yet again. There he was pinned, life slowly slipping away.

"Where is Perseus Jackson?!"

…

Perseus Jackson was dying.

This the demigod knew, and this he accepted. But he would have preferred to die peacefully, maybe surrounded by people who didn't hate him. That list was smaller than he'd hoped. But this, the feeling of dying, it was excruciatingly painful.

The med system that had supported his blood flow and injected medicine had died. Thanks a lot, blasted storm. And now Percy was surviving only by the bandages blocking the blood. And yet he still felt his life slipping, edging to escape from this living hell. The alarms in the helicarrier were growing monotonous, it was already pretty obvious that the sky was attacking them, no need to scream it in his face. Percy could feel him, Zeus, he could feel the rage of the god surround the ship, squeezing it like an ever tightening noose.

The ship lurched and the Exiled Prince was thrown off his cot. He hit the floor, groaning. His restrains had been removed a while ago. Emily, the ever cheerful nurse, was not so cheerful at the moment. She grabbed him under the arms, shouting, begging for him to keep breathing.

"Have you ever loved somebody?" Emily dabbed the sweat from Percy's forehead. Tears were in her eyes. "A mother? Father? Maybe some siblings, a girlfriend, a wife? Try thinking about them, Jackson, can you do that? Please picture them."

The alarms were fading. No, Percy was fading. He tried to picture them, he really did. Frank's goofy smile, Leo's snarky comments, Jason's pat on the shoulder. All those memories, they seemed so distant, so utterly out of reach. So utterly hopeless to relive.

"Annabeth," Percy choked. He coughed out some blood and breathed in with rasp.

Emily's smile brightened and a tear ran down her cheek. What must this be like for her? Percy mused distantly, she must know she's going to die.

"Yes, yes, Mr. Jackson. Annabeth, tell me about Annabeth." She wiped at his bloody lips.

"W… W-Why?"

"Because, honey," the nurse stroked his brow, "A man's last thoughts should be of those he treasures the most."

So she knew he was dying.

"Wise words from… from a nurse."

"I'm also a psychologist."

Percy's thoughts drifted to Annabeth. Her white smile, her endearing obsession of agriculture, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear… It was all just as far as Piper's quips, his father's embrace, and the Stoll brothers' pranks.

Percy was crying. He knew this, he felt the tears trickle from the corners of his eyes. Since he was laying back in Emily's arms, the tears fell back to the floor instead of running down his cheeks. He didn't know why he was crying, maybe it was the emptiness he felt, the longing. All of it, all of his friends, all of the laughter and the pranks and the embraces were gone. He knew and accepted this long ago. But why did he cry?

"She's blonde," Percy croaked, "Like, really blonde. Not bleached blonde but… blonde blonde. Like… like silky gold blonde."

He couldn't believe he was saying this. Percy had vowed to never so much as think about her ever again. And yet here he lay, dying, and relaying his once-loved to a nurse he barely even knew.

"She sounds beautiful," Emily smiled tearfully, "Was she funny? Cranky?"

"Both," Percy's laugh turned into a cough, "Sometimes she'd switch from one to the other so fast I'd wonder what… what I did wrong…"

The nurse nodded as she cradled the dying prince in her arms. "Can you let her go, Mr. Jackson?"

Percy wanted to, he really did. He didn't want to cling to the past, to live it and mourn over things far beyond his reach. He was hated now, hated and despised and never welcome back into his once-love's arms.

He lost that, all of it. Why couldn't he let it go? Why…?

Because you still love her.

Percy barked a bitter laugh at the realization.

Because you still love her. Despite all the trouble running, despite all the effort you put in trying to hate, trying to fill your feelings for her with abhorrence, you still love her.

You are a fool, Percy.

The helicarrier pitched and a bag slid from the table over Emily. She nurse ducked, clinging to Percy as the worn bag slid across the floor and came to a slow halt. The bag was beige and old, slightly charred. Percy Jackson knew what filled it. He thought it burned in the fire that had reduced his shack a charred pile of ash. The agents must have found it at the sight.

A chance to live.

The Exiled Prince pried Emily's hands from his shoulders and rolled from the nurse, clawing inch-by-inch toward the fallen bag.

"Jackson, please, you must stay still," the nurse rushed to him, her voice was becoming an echo. "Please, Jackson!"

With a prima growl, Percy shot out his arm and grabbed the bag. Blackness was clouding the corners of his vision, ever swallowing his consciousness, his life.

"Frank, Jason, Leo," With trembling hands he unzipped the bag, "Piper, Grover, Hazel," he thrust his hand into the charred back, "Chiron… Clarisse… Stolls…" His hands grasped something, a bottle, "Rachel… Beckondorf… Annabeth…" He rose the bottle to his lips.

"… Annabeth…" The nectar scorched his throat as he downed the entire body. The scorching sensation spread, like a greedy wildfire, consuming his body with unbelievable pain. Percy grimaced. "Annabeth…"

Then the Exiled Prince screamed, throwing his head back. Emily jumped back, startled. The fire raged within, growing, sweltering his body from the inside. Nectar was supposed to be drunk by careful sips. Percy had downed the entire bottle.

"Annabeth!"

The lights in the room died, the faint red glow showing through Percy's chest.

Darkness claimed. Breath stopped. The heart broke.

Annabeth.

The Exiled Prince lay face first on the floor as he died.

Emily stumbled as the helicarrier pitched, trying to find balance on her high heels. She moaned, holding her face in her hands. I'm going to die. Emily grabbed the table for support and her fingers brushed against something. A pen, golden in the darkness. It shown like a star.

The nurse watched as the pen fell of the edge of the table and fell, plinking against the floor. As the airborne ship rocked in the air against the storm, the pen rolled. Until it lay against the hand of a dead man.

The dead man grunted as the alarms died. The helicarrier had lost electricity, an explosion shook the entire ship as it began to descend to the swallowing sea below.

Emily looked on in utter disbelief as Perseus Jackson stood, the golden pen grasped in his pen.

The Exiled Prince stared down at the little trinket in his hand.

And clicked the head.

From the top of that pen sprung a long, majestic sword of Greek craft, glowing bronze and bathing his face in ghostly light. He stared at the blade for a long while, and then closed his eyes.

The power struck him like a tidal wave. Percy did not stumble. No, he stood taller, stronger, and suddenly he felt it. He knew exactly were they were over the sea, the exact coordinates. Forty clicks east from Virginia Beach. He felt the sea churning below the helicarrier, aching to swallow the entire ship and crush it in her depths.

Power howled under Percy's veins, yearning to strip him of what made him human. Urging him to peel away his mortal identity, to become a wild deity all would fear. Even the gods would kneel.

They banished you for this, the power. They grew to fear you, Percy. To hate you. They almost cowered before your shine. And yet they give it back? What threatens Olympus so direly that they would call upon forces they betrayed?

Thunder clapped as Percy Jackson snapped open his now glowing eyes. Sea-green eyes that pulsed and churned with overwhelming power. He promptly turned to the shocked nursed.

"Can you swim?"

…

Like it? Hate it? Well go ahead and lemme know in the comments, will ya?

Anyhow, if any of you find this confusing, I'd like to shed some light on the subject. Percy got his powers back because they were stripped from him and imprisoned within Riptide. So uncapping the pen made those powers flood his inner-being. Got that? Good.