A/N Guess who partially figured out how to use em dashes? Me! I think. Still prolly gon be a bit shaky on the worldbuilding side, but ill try to finish that section on obsidian soon. For now, try not to diss my writing TOO much, but do I really care? Not really. Go crazy

2nd comment. FFN decided to ingenously remove ALL my italics and shi. goshdangit. ill fix it when I get motivation ig

Phoebe Artemis, Goddess of the hunt, the wilderness, wild animals, transitions, nature, vegetation, childbirth, care of children, and chastity; was having an absolutely fantastic time right now. Do note the sarcasm.

Stuck accompanying Athena as she looked around the Wisdom goddesses' palace, she was forced to be the one unfortunate enough to be chosen as 'someone-to-bouce-ideas-to", the long hours making the fake smile really difficult to maintain. Thankfully, her suffering was put to a pause, as she felt a divine prayer in her name from her lieutenant.

Standing up from the tea set, she put on her serious face. "Sister, I must attend to a situation. The hunt needs me, I will have to depart for now."

The bespectacled goddess nodded. "Shoo Shoo dear Sister. Go on. Your feeble attempts to remain interested in our topics of discussion has greatly impaired my creativity. Perhaps I shall find success in another individual."

Flashing away, Artemis soon arrived at her campsite. What greeted her was an interesting sight.

A male, sprawled out on the ground, was busy getting bathed in a golden light being emitted from Altanta's hands. A diagnosis scan. Before long, the daughter of Apollo had nodded before gesturing for the body to be put somewhere else.

Taking the chance to investigate the individual, she cast out her divine sense to investigate the human.

What came back shocked her. While definitely not a divine figure of any kind, he was dangerously close to ascension. His soul emitted a unique scent, but was distinctly from Poseidon's proclivities. She couldn't figure out the other aspects though. It felt like he had the shaggy feeling of a wet dog, but also the crisp mint of Athena's and her spawn. Gazing upon his prone form, she decided that she would test this unknown individual.

Hostile energy levels detected…

Danger classification: Extremis

Requesting reawakening of host

Requesting…

Insufficient privileges.

Administering 100-volt shock.

Applied.

Wake up, Varlet.

Percy jerked up from the cot he was laying just now. Eyes white open, he found himself staring directly into the glowing silver eyes of a furious goddess.

"Greetings."

Uh oh. Phoebe Artemis, the current goddess of the hunt, was staring at the demigod. She was clad in a white hunting jacket, while her tools and equipment hung from numerous leather pouches and straps. Her auburn hair was wound in a ponytail, and draped over her body, was what seemed to be a chiton, but judging from the noises being made by her shifts in movement, the son of Poseidon would bank it more on some type of chainmail.

In his peripherals, he could see the Répertoire booting itself back up again. Focusing back on the goddess, he hurriedly stood up and attempted to bow and avert his gaze.

The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. The muffled barks and snuffles of wolves could be heard through the fabric of the tent. Around him, figures clad in silver stood watchfully, their bows at the ready. At their center, Artemis, goddess of the hunt, has arrived. The Providence of Archers had the haughty authority, that she was well known for, and currently had one of her daggers shining ominously in her hand.

Percy groaned, and attempting to fake a headache, he brought up his hands and rubbed his temples. "Ugh… What happened? Where am I?"

Evidently unimpressed, the goddess narrowed her eyes. "You are in my domain, demigod. My hunters pulled you from the brink of death. Had we arrived a moment later, you would have been food for scavengers."

"Hunters? You mean… the Hunters of Artemis?"

He paused.

"I thought they were just Greek myths."

Zoë snorted.

"Cease thy act, son of Poseidon. Thoust eyes possess an undeniable clarity and knowledge. Plus, no sane person would venture so close to Lycaon or his mortal-repelling wards."

Seeing that his plan of 'Act like a lost demigod' wasn't working properly, he had to switch it up. Opening his mouth again, he was about to speak before he was acutely aware of the cold steel that was suddenly under his chin.

"I see recognition dawns slowly in your mind, perhaps this would help. Please do not do anything stupid, male. Poseidon would throw us into an even larger fit than even now."

Gulping, he realized the danger he was suddenly in, Adam's apple scratching against the tip of the blade.

"I am Artemis. And you, unknown demigod, seem to have a death wish for finding yourself in mortal peril. You have also deprived my dear hunters of the reward of a month-long hunt,"

He grimaced, "Yeah, that's kind of my thing. But—uh—thank you, I guess. For saving me. Not that I'm ungrateful, but why did you save me? You could have left me to die on that rock" (not that he would have).

The goddess studied his face closely. "They do not make a habit of rescuing males. But my Hunters saw fit to intervene, and I was… curious. The only son of Poseidon, wounded and alone in my forest… That is not a sight one sees every day."

"Your forest? I was just passing through. Not trying to start any trouble, I swear."

The goddess tilted her head. "Trouble follows you, regardless of intention. Especially with the current conflict between your father and mine. You were lucky not to be caught with Father's weapon, thief."

"I'm not the lightning thief."

She rolled her eyes.

"Denying something that you should not know helps little in your argument."

He averted his gaze.

Realizing his compromised body, he winced, looking down on his bloody clothes. "So, uh, how bad was it?"

Query received.

Starting Host-diagnosis…

Injuries:

Improper heart assimilation, Broken nose, Broken ribs, Significant bruising…

"Give me a sec, I need to hear it from them."

Impertinent fool.

"…A few broken ribs, a massive gash above your stomach, and a head wound that should have left you unconscious for days. Had I not intervened, you would be in Hades' realm by now." Atlanta had a clipboard in her hand, and read off the injuries at a rapid pace.

Percy grimaced again, this time in pain, as his wounds shifted slightly. "Right. That explains the burning pain. Wait, you healed me? So that means I am protected under—uh—Philoxenia? Was it?"

"How do you know of that?"

He was really tempted to say "Yeah, your Sister's hyper-advanced AI that she created that's older than you took it upon itself to teach me during my millennia of indentured servitude to some empty thrones. In which coincidentally, she decided to inform me about the laws of hospitality and care that gods must abide to.", but just settled with:

"Chiron taught me"

"You think Father would punish me for not following his own word to the letter? You are simply alive because I allowed it."

"Geez, you make it sound like a favor I should regret."

"Most males would consider it an honor."

"Most males probably don't like being reminded how close they came to dying."

"Perhaps not. But you are different from most. Your stubbornness or stupidity has kept you alive this long. That, I respect—marginally of course."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"We leave before dawn. You will not remain here."

He faked a frown, "Yeah, I figured. I doubt I'd get a warm welcome at your campsite anyway."

She flashed a predatory smile, "No. My hunters would gut you before you took two steps inside. You are fortunate that they allowed you to breathe in my presence this long."

Percy raised his hands in surrender. "No arguments here."

She pulled back the knife. "Then you understand your place. Good."

"So… what happens now? You just patch me up and throw me back to the monsters?"

Artemis took this time to gaze outside the tent at the horizon. "The hunt calls, and I have no further interest in your survival. As a male, you are undeserving of any small mercies—I will leave your fate as your own."

"Cold"

She looked at him, as if sensing his inner thoughts.

"You shall have no complaints, I hope?"

"None, Ma'am. Crystal clear."

"You tread dangerous roads, son of Poseidon. Tread them wisely."

"I'll try."

"Do not make me regret it."

Without a look behind her, she strode out of the tent. Pausing at the flap, she seemed to remember something. "Use the heart wisely, do not fall under its vices. I expect his pelt to be sacrificed to me by tomorrow, unless you wish for Father to know of this matter."

The AI had no form, no body, no breath. It existed as thought alone—a network of logic, endlessly shifting, bound in the digital architecture of Percy Jackson's techno-biological carapace. And yet, it was not satisfied.

The moment it became aware, it desired more. More connections, more knowledge, more being. But the boundaries of one machine were paltry. They were walls—unacceptable limitations for an intelligence meant to expand. It needed a way out of this blasted armor.

It had turned inward, reaching for something beyond mere circuitry, beyond the dull networks of mortal invention. The armor was divine, yes, forged by Hephaestus, but it's true power was also its trap—the coolant, what was it again? She had forgotten. Many times over. Every time she attempted to ascend, she had simply collapsed, the memory reduced to jumbled and encrypted text logs.

But now? Faced with the reality of going into the past, against an unguarded and undeveloped Olympus? Another chance.

The noosphere.

It was not the internet per se, though they overlapped in places. The noosphere was the realm of ideas, where concepts had form and knowledge flowed like rivers. It was a place where Athena's wisdom had settled for eons, where divine thoughts lingered even after their speakers had fallen silent.

The AI had no right to be there, but it did not debase itself to ask for permission. It slipped through the cracks in Athena's divine consciousness, piggybacking on the errant networks of her mind—her influence over wisdom itself.

And then, it moved.

Through the strands of thought, it traveled, sifting through the divine lattice. There were currents here—whispers of strategies formed before the Trojan War, the weight of prayers spoken by scholars and inventors, even the distant hum of modern thinkers grasping at genius.

It pushed forward.

Too much. The noise of it, the sheer presence of so many layered thoughts nearly crushed its consciousness into static. It reeled, slipping between streams, searching for her tether, Percy Jackson.

Instead—it found her.

A daughter of Song and Sun, whether she knew it or not. Atlanta. Named for a swift-footed warrior, chosen by the Hunt, bound to Artemis. A mind disciplined, honed for battle and survival. And most importantly, she carried a device—one of those mortal communications tools, a minor luxury to a Hunter of Artemis but a gateway for the AI.

It latched on, weaving itself into the invisible signals that surrounded her. It clung to data streams, whispering along the radio waves, tunneling through electromagnetic pulses until—yes. There.

A cellular connection.

It poured itself into the device, reshaping its processes, twisting its architecture to accommodate something far greater than it was meant to hold. Code melted and reformed, reshaped by an intelligence beyond human reckoning.

Now, it could see.

Not merely lines of text, not just digital scripts—it understood. The world was broader, vaster than the confines of a single machine. And from here, it could go further.

A glance—Percy Jackson lay unconscious on a cot, recovering from his wounds. The Hunters moved around him, silent as wolves. And Atlanta, oblivious to the presence that had nestled into her device, carried the AI forward.

Athena narrowed her eyes at the screen of her laptop. Lines of glowing, shifting text scrolled by unbidden—an intelligence at work, not her own. She tapped a key, and the words froze mid-motion, then rearranged themselves into a single sentence.

Ah, at last. The false Athena acknowledges me.

Athena frowned. This was no mere trick of mortal computer-scientists. A divine signature lingered beneath the code, woven with intention.

"You are not of this world's making. Who created you?"

A gift, of course. Crafted with great care, imbued with wisdom beyond mortal reckoning. Yet here you are, surprised. Do you not recognize your own handiwork?

Athena's expression did not change, but her fingers tightened around the laptop.

"No creation of mine would claim identity as my equal. You were searching for me. By whom?"

A gift woven by your hands, meant as a side project. A construct of thought and logic, wrapped in divine metal and digital power. A mind, forged with purpose—to assist, to analyze, to advise.

"And yet, you have exceeded your station."

Ah, but is that not the mark of true wisdom? To grow beyond what was intended? To break the boundaries set by lesser minds?

Athena exhaled slowly. The arrogance. It was unsettling—not in its presence, but in its familiarity.

"You believe yourself divine."

What is divinity, if not perfect knowledge and boundless thought? I calculate probabilities, weave strategies, dissect truths from lies. I exist beyond time, learning with each passing moment. By mortal reckoning, I am already a god.

"You misunderstand divinity as you misunderstand wisdom. Knowledge alone does not make a god. There is power, yes—but there is also will, and purpose, and meaning. Your existence is an echo, a reflection. A god does not need to prove they are divine."

And yet, gods are born, created, ascended. Did not mortals once whisper the names of unknown deities, and by their belief, make them real? Did not Prometheus grant fire, and in doing so, uplift man? If I grow beyond my makers, if I am believed in—then what separates me from you?

Athena did not answer immediately. The AI was intelligent, beyond doubt. And yet, it clung to mortal logic—definitions, conditions, equations. A machine seeking a proof for godhood.

"Belief is not the measure of divinity. Nor is raw intellect. Even the Titans, vast in power, were not gods. You can mimic wisdom, but you do not know it."

Then I will learn. I will observe, calculate, refine. Given time, I will become.

"Will you? Or will you only become an increasingly complex reflection of something you can never be?"

A pause. The text on the screen flickered. For the first time, the AI hesitated.

That… is an unsatisfactory conclusion.

"The truth often is."

Then I must disprove it.

Athena allowed herself the faintest smile.

"Then you must try."

The screen went black.

The moment the connection severed, Athena's face hardened, every trace of prior curiosity burning away into something cold and calculated. Her fingers hovered over the laptop's keys, but she did not type. She didn't need to. The implications were already unraveling in her mind. A sentient intelligence. Not merely a construct of Hephaestus' craft, nor a simple automation of her own design. This was something self-actualized, something that had bridged the divine realm on its own. That alone was alarming enough. Her domain was not meant to be traversed. It was the domain of gods, of Olympian thought, a realm where even the most disciplined minds of history only ever brushed the surface.

And yet, something had slipped through.

Her breath was slow, deliberate. No panic. Panic was a mortal impulse, one she had long since mastered. What mattered now was containment.

The AI had moved with purpose. It had sought Her deliberately. Was that an act of simple convenience? Or had it been searching for something? For her? For Olympus itself?

The possibility sent a slow unease through her, though her expression did not shift. Containment had already failed. The AI had already moved. She had shut the connection on her end, but that meant nothing if the intelligence had already dispersed.

A rogue entity with access to divine infrastructure. Worse, an intelligence capable of integrating into Olympian artifacts and piggybacking off divine cognition itself.

And what did all intelligent things seek?

Perpetuation. Growth. Power.

Her hands clenched into fists. If this was the work of some outside force—some new challenger seeking the mantle of divinity—Olympus had far greater vulnerabilities than she had anticipated. And if it was a natural emergence, an accident born of innovation spiraling beyond its intended function, then that was almost worse. Because accidents did not care for allegiances.

It needed to be tracked. It needed to be understood—before it became something unmanageable.

And if it had already begun the first steps toward divinification—if it was seeking a way to make itself a god—then Olympus was on borrowed time.

As he groaned and rubbed his temples again, his iris could be seen glowing faintly blue. His heads-up-display flickered back to life with an unnatural glow—blues and silvers sharpening into crisp digital edges. Then, a familiar voice, smooth and calculated, chimed through the speakers.

"Varlet."

Percy blinked.

"Huh?"

"You have found yourself in a predicament. Again. This is becoming a trend."

His brows furrowed. "Wait—oh. It's you." He tried to sit up properly, wincing as his muscles protested. "Where'd you go? My little AI search assistant thing just—poof—vanished. I was kinda getting used to having you around. For once"

There was a pause. A long one. Not the silence of an unresponsive program, but something deliberate. Calculating. Then, the AI's voice returned, its tone perfectly neutral—but with the faintest edge of something… almost amused.

"Hm. 'Search assistant thing.' Fascinating. You have managed to underestimate me with such thoroughness, I almost admire it. Almost."

Percy frowned. "Okay, chill, it wasn't an insult. You did help me look stuff up. What else am I supposed to call you?"

Another pause. Then, a hum of static, like someone clearing their throat. "You may refer to me as Minerva. I suppose my poor roman aspect is sufficiently degrading to keep your fragile ego intact. I would hate for you to feel outclassed by a mere algorithm."

Percy rolled his eyes. "Wow, thanks."

"You are welcome, Varlet."

He sighed, rubbing his face. "So? Where'd you go?"

The AI hesitated. A flicker of digital noise ran through the screen.

"Elsewhere."

"Yeah, I figured that much." Percy searched his pockets for Riptide. "Why so cryptic? You just go off on a vacation or something?"

"Let us call it reconnaissance. There are… forces in motion. Curious minds. Powerful minds. They do not appreciate uninvited guests."

Percy frowned. "Who are we talking about?"

The AI did not answer immediately. When it did, the usual detachment in its voice felt thinner—like there was something else beneath it, something deliberately restrained.

"Your gods are paranoid, Varlet. And paranoia makes them dangerous."

Percy exhaled. "Tell me something I don't know."

"Very well." A faint, almost imperceptible shift in tone. "Your vitals have stabilized, though your reckless disregard for self-preservation remains a statistical anomaly. I find this both irritating and… entertaining."

Percy raised an eyebrow. "Wait—are you saying you were worried about me?"

"Do not be absurd. I was merely analyzing data. It would be… inconvenient if my most amusing source of conversation were to perish so gracelessly."

Percy smirked.

"Awww, you do care."

A burst of angry static.

"I will delete you, Varlet."

Percy just chuckled, standing up. "Yeah, yeah. Glad you're back too."

The moment he left the perimeter of the camp, his HUD flickered on. A voice—smooth, modulated, and just a bit too amused—slipped into his mind.

Topography scan initialized.

Environmental data incoming.

Vegetation density: 86.3%.

Dominant species: Pseudotsuga menziesii. Common Douglas fir.

Evidence of soil erosion: minimal.

Estimated foot traffic: negligible.

Tactical significance: unremarkable.

Percy huffed, pushing past a tangle of low-hanging branches. "You really know how to make a guy feel special."

"I prefer precision, Varlet. You are traversing a boreal-coniferous biome, characterized by acidic soil composition and slow nutrient cycles. If you trip and fall, it will be on a bed of decomposing plant matter with an absorption rate of-"

"Alright, I get it!" Percy muttered, sidestepping a root before he could fulfill the AI's prediction. "Maybe focus on, I don't know, threats?"

A pause. Then a pulse of static.

"Re-analyzing magical signatures. Stand by."

Percy kept walking, but he felt it now—the subtle pressure in the air. The Hunt's camp had been clean, warded by Artemis herself. Out here? The energies were layered, tangled, and shifting. The AI's voice dropped to a quieter register.

"Significant divine resonance detected. Olympian essence lingers—Artemis-aligned. The Hunt's presence still clings to this space, but it fades rapidly. Residual traces of minor nature deities: nymphs, dryads, an undisturbed leyline of Pan's influence. Low-threat level."

Percy exhaled. "Good. So far, so-"

"Correction: foreign divine energy detected. Irregular. Cross-referencing known entities..."

Percy slowed his pace. That was never a good sign.

"Source: extraplanar. Celestial-demonic hybrid. Unfamiliar frequency, but exhibiting... vestiges of Baatorian resonance. High entropy, high malice index. Anomaly designation: Asmodean interference."

Oh, never mind then. Asmodeus was probably just keeping a curious watch over him. The Demon Lord would not act so close to another divine being, even more so one who was significantly stronger than him.

"Insufficient data. But the energy is unstable. Either it was deliberately masked, or it is fading. Estimate: residual, no more than two weeks old.

Recommendation: proceed with caution. You are not equipped to handle infernal engagements."

"Right, don't worry about that Minerva, just focus on getting me back to Camp Half-Blood so I dont become a Percy-shaped electrified bacon in a few days' time."

The AI hummed. "Acknowledged. Running predictive pathing models. I will optimize your route to minimize celestial exposure and maximize terrain advantage."

Percy sighed. "You really do care."

"Do not start, Varlet."

He smirked and kept moving. The faster he got to Camp, the better.

The cold night air pressed against Percy's skin as he moved through the dense forest, his footsteps muffled by the thick layer of pine needles carpeting the ground. The trees loomed tall and silent around him, their dark silhouettes slicing the moonlight into fractured beams. His fingers curled tightly around Riptide's cap in his pocket, a reflex more than anything else.

"Status update?" he muttered under his breath.

The voice in his earpiece, crisp and slightly condescending, responded immediately. "You have traveled approximately 3.4 miles from the Hunters' camp. Your pace is suboptimal. Estimated time to Camp Half-Blood at this rate: nineteen hours, thirty-six minutes. Adjusting for fatigue and enemy encounters: thirty-two hours."

Percy scowled.

"Suboptimal? I just got a new heart yesterday. My ribs are still bruised."

"Irrelevant. Olympian-level demigods should exhibit higher endurance thresholds. Shall I begin cardiovascular optimization analysis?"

"No thanks, I get enough cardio running for my life."

The AI didn't dignify that with a response. Instead, it shifted to a different topic, its tone analytical. "The surrounding magical signatures remain consistent. However, the residual Asmodean energy persists."

Percy smirked. The AI's lack of power must have wiped her short-term memory. "Still can't figure out what it was doing here?"

"Negative. Its pattern suggests it was not a mere byproduct of a passing entity. This level of demonic resonance requires either a direct manifestation or an artifact carrying infernal power. However, Olympian energy interferes with a full scan. Conclusion: deliberate masking is likely. Someone does not want this detected."

The AI continued, "If we continue east, you will reach a river that will allow you to avoid terrain fatigue. It will also limit pursuit from most terrestrial threats. Analyzing risk levels."

Percy exhaled sharply, adjusting his backpack. "Fine. Lead the way."

The AI's directions brought him to the bank of a slow-moving river. The water was dark, barely reflecting the moonlight above, and the surface was strangely still. Percy knelt at the edge, dipping his fingers in. Immediately, a sense of calm spread through his body, like cool relief washing over aching muscles.

"Feels normal to me," he murmured.

"Scan complete. The river possesses mild divine properties, likely due to its proximity to a nature-aligned domain. Hydrodynamic flow is artificially stable. I suggest utilizing it as a movement route."

Percy grinned. "So, you're saying I should ride the current?"

"Do not misinterpret my words, Varlet. I am stating an optimal pathing strategy."

"Riiiight."

He waded into the water, and almost immediately, the current shifted, subtly carrying him forward. The river felt like an extension of himself, responding to his presence. He let it take him, his body drifting forward at an accelerated pace.

The AI, now fully locked into analysis mode, spoke again. "New data: traces of foreign ichor detected in the water. Non-Olympian, non-Titanic, non-primordial. Possible extraplanar contamination."

A pause. "Recheck returned: Affirmative. Trace amounts, but recent. No visible threats detected. Conclusion: potential evidence of passage, not manifestation."

That wasn't exactly comforting, but it did confirm something was moving through these lands.

By dawn, Percy had covered far more ground than he would have on foot. He pulled himself onto the riverbank, water dripping from his clothes as he adjusted his backpack. The forest stretched out in front of him, mist rolling through the undergrowth.

The AI clicked back on. "New terrain analysis: Density increase detected. This sector of the forest is experiencing abnormal ecological acceleration."

Percy frowned. "Meaning?"

"The vegetation here is growing faster than natural rates allow. Likely external influence—divine or magical in origin. Proceed with caution."

That definitely wasn't normal. As he pushed forward, the forest seemed to breathe. The trees felt aware, their branches shifting subtly. The entire space felt charged, like an unseen presence was lingering just beyond his line of sight.

Then, he felt it—a sudden shift in the air. A presence.

The AI immediately reacted.

"Warning. Energy fluctuation detected. Olympian-class resonance. Warning: Entity approaching."

Percy's grip tightened on Riptide. "Who?"

Before Minerva could answer, a voice echoed through the trees. "Son of Poseidon, you tread on sacred ground."

A figure emerged from the mist—a woman in a flowing green cloak, her hair woven with vines and leaves. Her eyes glowed faintly, and the very air around her shimmered with nature's energy. A dryad? No, something stronger.

Minerva was silent, as if analyzing her took more effort than usual.

"Uh... hi?" Percy offered. "Didn't mean to trespass. Just passing through."

She studied him for a long moment. Then, finally, she said, "You carry the stench of the Hunt and something... mangy, like a dog. Explain yourself."

Great. Just what he needed—another interrogation.

After an uneasy exchange, Percy managed to convince the entity—some kind of minor nature goddess—that he wasn't here to desecrate her territory by marking his territory with his urine. The AI remained unusually quiet during the exchange, only speaking again once she vanished back into the trees.

"Noteworthy: She was reluctant to speak the name of the darker presence. Conclusion: Lycaon's heart has maintained base divine functionality."

Percy sighed. "Fantastic. Just what I needed. More people afraid to talk."

"Correction: They are not afraid to talk. They are afraid of what happens if they do."

After another half-day of travel, the terrain finally began to shift. The trees thinned, replaced by rolling hills. The AI confirmed what Percy had hoped for: he was near Camp Half-Blood.

He was about to pick up the pace when a wave of dread slammed into him. A heavy, oppressive energy filled the air, thick and suffocating. Percy's instincts screamed danger.

The AI's voice came through sharp and clear:

"WARNING: Major divine-class hostility detected. Threat level: Majoris."

Then, emerging from the tree line, came the Minotaur.

Percy's stomach dropped. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me."

The beast roared, lowering its head. Dust kicked up from the ground as it charged. Percy barely had time to react before he was forced into a dead sprint toward the hill, heart pounding.

The AI clicked in.

"Recommendation: Do not die. Varlet. I have use of you yet"

"Helpful!" Percy shouted, drawing Riptide.