Eradication or Transformation

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/52843993.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: Multi
Fandoms: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, Young Justice
(Cartoon), Justice League - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Relationships: Diana (Wonder Woman) & Percy Jackson, Percy Jackson & Justice
League (DCU)
Characters: Percy Jackson, The Fates (Percy Jackson), Diana (Wonder Woman),
Bruce Wayne, Arthur Curry (DCU), Aqualad (DCU), Robin (DCU),
Clark Kent, Black Canary (DCU)
Additional Tags: Crossover, BAMF Percy Jackson, Alternate Universe - Canon
Divergence, Alternate Universe, Murder, References to Ancient Greek
Religion & Lore, set in the Young Justice universe, but hes not joining
young justice, percy accidentally binds himself to another universe, ship
is tbd, Bisexual Percy Jackson, violence is sorta graphic, jury's still out
on that one tho, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Angst,
Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2024-01-06 Updated: 2024-07-29 Words: 12,491 Chapters:
5/?
 Eradication or Transformation
by Tide_crusade

Summary

Percy Jackson, fresh from the second gigantomachy, finds himself lost in a strange world,
with unimaginable beings roaming the streets, and superpowered mortals fighting in
costumes.

The universe is different, that's all he knows. Well, he also knows one more thing.

He's 90% sure he's being stalked.

Notes

I blacked out listening to fame monster and ended up with this, you can tell where I ended up
going off the rails. Anyways...
 Transformation I

“Think percy,” he muttered lowly to himself, eyes darting wildly around, taking in the
multitude of buildings proudly displaying the city name. Metropolis. Metropolis with a
famous flying superhero, his crest on every poster within a 30 metre radius. Metropolis which
he had never heard of once in his life.

He reached into his pocket, lightly caressing the handy ballpoint pen that went wherever he
went. It was a nervous tick he had picked up, an attempt at comfort “Fuck okay, I’m in a
place I'm 70% sure doesn’t exist, Iris messaging doesn’t work, and there are aliens,” he was
listing everything he knew. It wasn’t much, but it did his haywire brain well to list out all of
the facts. “I'm so fucked.”

“Think Percy, let's cover our bases. Mom’s home phone went to some random person. I can’t
reach anyone from camp. I’m in a city that didn’t exist yesterday. Shit, whats the date?” he
muttered to himself. He kept his head low, hair obscuring his face as he stalked his way down
the street, searching for a newspaper agency. He was praying good old grandpa didn’t have
anything to do with this. One last great hurrah from beyond the grave.

His footsteps rang out against the cool pavement, clearly the city was more upscale and nicer
than what he was used to. No one was out and about, the streets weirdly devoid of life. He
supposed it could be because it was the middle of the night, but he knew cities better, the
bustle never stopped.

He continued forwards, eyes bouncing between closed shop fronts, searching for anything
that could be useful. A discarded newspaper, a dropped phone, any sign of life that would tell
him what the fuck was going on.

The fates, seemingly taking pity on him, sent a gust of particularly strong wind at him,
carrying a bundle of papers. The days- he hoped at least- newspaper. November 13th, 2010.
Not forward in time, not backwards in time. At least that was scrapped off the mental list of
what could have happened to him. And one less potential enemy that could have kidnapped
him.

He also took note of the recent headline. ‘Superman foils domestic terrorism attempt on
Cadmus, saves 1000’s’. Ah, no wonder the streets are empty, people are most likely shaken
up, spending time with family, finding comfort indoors.

He let it go, the wind taking it away, before hurrying forward, right hand gripping the
ballpoint pen, his left balled up in a tight fist, uncertainty, and righteous anger now coursing
through his veins. The fates really never stop messing with him.

He continued slithering through the streets, letting his instincts guide him to safety. Well,
relative safety, in the form of the ocean. He could practically feel it calling out to him, like a
siren luring him in. It felt off, not inherently bad, but different.
He was used to the pull of the sea, like a maternal figure resting her hand on his back after a
long day. But this was unfamiliar. When before the hand brought comfort and calmness, this
brought zapping power and promise. It felt as though it was more… unrestrained. Without a
god or a ruler keeping everything in order. It was pure potential.

It wasn’t too far as well, really only a few blocks before the overwhelming smell of salt,
seaweed and fish clung to the air, reminding him of home. It was nice. It released the tension
that had built up in his shoulders and clenching hand, letting him relax, his mind becoming
clearer.

Tall, upward-reaching sky scrapers turned into low, solid buildings. Parks and docks littered
the edge of the city, and he could see a multitude of massive boats still moving about.
Commercial ferries, and large cargo ships still hustling in and out of the harbour, manned by
sleepy workers practically dozing off on deck.

As quickly as possible, he slipped to the edge of the water, sticking to the darkest shadows
cast by trees and moonlight. He didn’t need any nosy dock workers questioning him, though,
at this time of the morning, he supposed they would probably be too tired.

He utilised the mass amounts of crates and and his heightened speed to dart between
structures, keeping an ear out for any approaching footsteps or voices. There was none. The
docks were fairly quiet, the soothing sounds of water beating concrete overtaking any quiet
conversations, creating bubbles of irreplicable intimacy. The kind only found hidden in the
slivers of the night.

The water itself was teeming with life, clearly not all that affected by the proximity to the
metropolitan. Curious schools of fish and pods of lobsters inhabited the fairly shallow regions
of the body. He could sense this from even the urban shoreline. His powers, or at least those
that correlated with his awareness of the sea and the creatures, were increased, that he was
sure of.

He tentatively reached a hesitant hand to the water, allowing it to breach the moving surface,
submerging it in icy coldness.

Electricity ran up his arms. Almost akin to when his cousin would give him a friendly shock
when he was being an idiot. Except this time the electricity did not mean to fry his nervous
system, instead it rejuvenated him.

The physical manifestation of this surprising reaction was a slight glow his arm emitted when
in steady contact with the water. This had never happened before. He was like some odd
bioluminescent creature, except only certain water triggered it. Or at least, wherever he was
now triggered it.

Cautiously, he submerged his other arm, seeing if the reaction could be replicated.

He felt it, the freezing sensation running up his arm, followed by jolts of something . Power,
perhaps. Like his other arm, this one lit up like the sky on new years, emitting a glow in the
otherwise inky darkness.
Taking a shuddering breath, he closed his eyes, before allowing the rest of his body to find
comfort in the harbours depths, instantly feeling his face, neck, shoulders, torso and legs jolt
with uncontained energy.

What was once a tug in his naval, evolved into a full body heaving sensation, feeling the sea
bend to his body’s will was an addicting rush. He had once heard that the first high was the
most impactful, that people will spend their lives chasing it, and he understood it. The feeling
of raw, unfiltered power coursing through his veins, lighting his very cells up, felt like no
other sensation. He could practically trace it, infecting his very being.

He felt every atom in his body supercharged, eroding, and reforming. What should have been
painful felt invigorating. Probably akin to what the transition between demi-god to god felt. It
wasn’t eradication, it was transformation.

His body trying to accommodate the newfound rush of power.

He could hear the deafening sound of waves, or his own blood, pounding in his ears, a stark
contrast to the calmness of before.

His fingers, tingling and shaking at the arsenal at his disposal, balled into tight fists at his
side, in a poor attempt to stop the full body shudders that had overtaken him. His eyes, once
closed, were now violently twitching uncontrollably.

His heart was stuttering, pounding out of his chests, skipping beats, practically sucking his
rib cage into it, like an all devouring black hole, ripping indiscriminately.

What was once addicting turned painful.

His lungs cracking, his bones burning, his muscles contracting so violently they felt as if they
were tearing themselves up. His blood was simultaneously ice and lava flowing through his
arteries, poisoning.

Amidst it all, he could vaguely feel a sharp something digging into his neck, scratching and
pushing down his back, separating every single disk in his spine. Pop. Pop. Pop. Tear. Tear.
Tear. Down. Down. Down.

He writhed and thrashed, trying to escape the hand of doom, but there was no getting away. It
was following him, never leaving his skin, pushing and clawing till it made it to the small of
his back.

Still highly sensitive from the invulnerability, no matter now that it’s gone.

He felt a bloodcurdling scream rip from his throat, shredding the inside of his mouth, feeling
warm, sticky crimson gurgle in his windpipe. The hand, seemingly finding its final
destination, started pushing through his skin, separating skin from skin, skin from muscle,
muscle from tendons, tendons from bones, bones from bone.

A hand of pure pain ripping his essence apart, reaching through his weak point, and slithering
up his torso, grabbing his heart and squeezing .
His eyes, now free from the rabid trembling, widened in unbridled pain and fury, seeing
everything and nothing. Being in a state of total awareness, yet not being able to focus on
anything but the torture his body was undergoing.

All at once, darkness crashed over him, his body, mind and soul succumbing to the grip of
fate, allowing a blanket of cold peace to settle over him. Unsettling in its abruptness and
unfamiliarity. Not quite right, like it was trying to replicate the feeling of comfort, yet only
ending up with a cheap imitation that set his nerves on edge.

Static rumbled deep in his ears, his body was numb, his mind quiet, save for one word, seeing
alien, like his brain couldn't quite process it.

ovem.

There was something inherently wrong.

oMev.

Something that was so out of touch.

Moev.

So close, on the tip of his tongue.

Move.

Huh?

move. move. move. move. move. move. move. move. move. move. move. move. move.

It was foreign, indecipherable, like looking at something for too long made it feel out of
place.

“Movɘ.” Tʜiƨ timɘ, wʜiƨqɘɿɘb in ʜiƨ ɘɒɿ, ʜɒɿƨʜ ɒnb bɘmɒnbinϱ. It ɿɘqɘɒtɘb, ɔʜɒntɘb
ovɘɿ ɒnb ovɘɿ ɒϱɒin, bɿowninϱ oυt tʜɘ ʇɒυx-qɘɒɔɘ. “Movɘ.” It tolb ʜim. Tʜɘγ tolb ʜim,
3 biƨtinɔtlγ inbiƨtinɔtivɘ voiɔɘƨ. “Movɘ”

What does that mean?

”evoM“ .seciov evitcnitsidni yltcnitsid 3 ,mih dlot yehT .mih dlot tI ”.evoM“ .ecaep-xuaf eht
tuo gninword ,niaga revo dna revo detnahc ,detaeper tI .gnidnamed dna hsrah ,rae sih ni
derepsihw ,emit sihT ”.evoM“

What?

“Move.” This time, whispered in his ear, harsh and demanding. It repeated, chanted over and
over again, drowning out the faux-peace. “Move.” It told him. They told him, 3 distinctly
indistinctive voices. “Move”

Oh.
He was limb locked, unable to force his legs or arms to do anything. His mind was still
unpleasantly foggy, yet the blanket had been given eye holes. This minute disruption to his
descent into . into . into .

His descent been veered off course, a sliver of reality slithering

into his consciousness, allowing for him to spread his senses - even if it felt like most of them
had been burnt to the nub and plucked out - to the surrounding indefinite space.

He had enough sense and control to be able to feel a faint heaving somewhere, like a
metaphorical tether, he reached out and grabbed onto it, plastering it around himself like a
constricting snake, tightening. Secure.

It seemed to cut through the forced senseless feeling, tugging and dragging him through the
space around him, that was once uninhabitable, and unrecognisable. Now he had the faintest
prickling, as his awareness settled in him once more.

Slowly, like holes had been made within the fabric of his confines, water trickled in, pooling
around his arms, easing him back into this reality, and away from wherever he had been
before.

His world materialised around him, crackling and twisting into his vision, which was slowly
returning. The first thing he noticed was brick, or stone, or something of the sort. Clearly
human altered with its meticulous line work, no matter how weathered it was.

The next? The staring face of his father, unblinking and unmoving, locking him in place.
 Transformation II
Chapter Summary

“Father, accept my offering,” he started, trying to remember anything to wish for that
wasn’t him, and the Olympians by extension, to stop meddling with his life. While
cursing out the god’s for putting him in yet another shitty position would be cathartic, it
also wouldn’t be any help. Well, at least he assumed it was them. “Grant me wisdom and
the knowledge of where I am. Give me guidance on how to return to my family, give me
assistance to get where I need to be.”

Chapter Notes

Updating twice in 1 week? Me? Unheard of. Unfortunately I am currently having a brain
rot for this crossover.

This hasn't been beta'd, nor have I read through it.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

It took him a few moments to differentiate life from imitation. Soul from art. Life: the fishes
staring at him cautiously, their murmurs drowned out by his staggering dizziness. Or perhaps
the bottom dwelling critters scurrying away from the predators lost in the sight of him.
Imitation: the masterfully carved scenes of battles, wars and tales of legends, not quite yet
beaten down by the harsh hammer of time. The stone eyes of his faux-father, proud and
strong bearing down on him, immortalised in art rather than power, to forever watch over his
abandoned kingdom.

It stood at around 10 feet tall, gripping its own algae-covered trident, reminiscent of what he
had looked like in Percy’s world? Time? Place? Except more headstrong, free from the
wrinkles of sun-beaten age, decorated in intricate armour. He looked more god than he had
seen him ever before.

Its body and face was splashed with the blue hue of his radiating form, the only light found at
these depths

At closer inspection at his surroundings, he found that he was in an open room of sorts.
Strong surface-reaching pillars of browned marble were arranged in a circle, the statue of his
father stationed in the middle. The floors held writing lost to the harsh waters, eroded away
long ago. At his fathers feet, a bowl carved into the floor itself, more of a divot than anything,
surrounded by beautiful patterns, intricate in their simplicity. He could just make out the form
of a crashing wave.

An altar of sorts. In much better shape than the one he found in new Rome.

But what was there to offer, certainly nothing from him. His clothes were shredded from the
melt down he had had minutes prior. The only valuable piece he had on him was riptide, and
even then he needed it. It was an extension of himself, dutifully serving him since he was 12.
A sword he vowed to honour ever since he was 14 and watching the light disappear from a
girl he held immense respect for’s eyes.

He moved around more, poking around the temple, or at least that's what he assumed it was,
to find something of decent value. A nice looking rock, skeletal remains of the priests that
once resided there, anything.

With a grim feeling haunting him, he contemplated grabbing the closest fish, some triggerfish
that looked like it wanted to bite him, and slicing its gut’s open, letting the crimson cloud
around the bowl, praying that the life of one of his subjects would gain Poseidon's attention.

He didn’t know how humane it was, or how wise it would be to kill one of his fathers
creatures to get his attention. Has anyone been cursed for doing that? No, he supposed they
wouldn’t. Surely, his father was the god of fishing, he would appreciate it.

Reaching out and feeling the molecules of water was certainly a new experience for him.
Being able to really feel the power that surrounded him, crackling with potential was a new
experience. He tried to ignore it, and instead focused on shifting the water around his poor
victim, coaxing it closer.

The fish, curious to get closer to the newcomer, had 1000 questions raging in it’s mind. Percy,
for the sake of his consciousness, decided to try and tune it out, instead bringing a calloused
hand to lightly scrape the fish’s scales.

He tried to exude calming energy, just as he had seen the Apollo campers do before
undergoing a life-saving surgery . Or when they had grabbed the hand of a camper, with a
calming smile on their faces, and led them to death, watching with tears rolling down their
face as they shepherded another one of their brethren to the afterlife.

He tried giving the innocent fish a calming smile. He doesn’t think it worked. It’s one thing to
take a monster's life, but it’s another to take the soul of a sentient creature and tear it from the
mortal realm with his bare hands.

Still, he needed answers, and safety, and to figure out how to get home to his mom, his
campers and his friends.

Gulping, the light strokes turned into a crushing grip around the creature's body, watching in
silent resignation as he watched it squirm and thrash. Its beady black eyes, shining blue in the
light, pleaded with him, watery in a way that most innocent creatures look.
He angled it so the fish was turning away from him, and with his free hand he gingerly
placed his fore finger in the right gill, and his middle in the left. His palm was placed on the
top of the fish, and he used his thumb as leverage as he quickly brought his wrist up.

He heard the sickening crunch and crack of bones breaking. The neck was broken.

He no longer had to tune the thoughts, there was none left to bother him. The fish’s mind
emptied quickly, as its soul was pulled away, no longer bound to its fishy confines.

Percy felt saliva pool in his otherwise dry mouth. He hated taking lives, especially when the
only person benefiting was him. It felt selfish, no matter how small the animal, it still felt
wrong on a moral level. He had witnessed death. Caused a lot of it too. How could he sleep at
night if he still had to keep adding to that death toll?

Regretfully he placed the fish's mangled body in the bowl.

“Father, accept my offering,” he started, trying to remember anything to wish for that wasn’t
him, and the Olympians by extension, to stop meddling with his life. While cursing out the
god’s for putting him in yet another shitty position would be cathartic, it also wouldn’t be any
help. Well, at least he assumed it was them. “Grant me wisdom and the knowledge of where I
am. Give me guidance on how to return to my family, give me assistance to get where I need
to be.”

He held his breath, expecting the fish’s body to burst into flame, or melt into the stone
beneath it. Anything to show that his offering had worked.

“Please,” he tried again, getting down on his knees, hands flat on the floor beside each side of
the bowl, parallel to his fathers standing form. “Give me a sign you can hear me, anything.”

He expected a fish to come bother him, maybe with a message that yes, his father can hear
him, and that no, he hasn’t abandoned him, he’s just busy.

There was nothing of the sort. He tried once more.

“Father please.” he begged. “Don’t ignore me, I need your help. Please. Fuck, just let me
know your listening, give me a gust of water, anything!” His voice was rising in volume,
desperation clinging to it. “Show me you’re here, dear gods, wasn’t it enough.” He doesn't
know if he was referring to the fish or his service to Olympus. He decided he didn’t care.

He let out one more plea. This one was silent. He didn’t need anyone to see him grovel, he
wouldn’t lower himself to that. Not yet.

There was silence. No response, not even the calming presence of the Greek magic at work to
ensure the offering had gone through. It was nothing like the shrine of Hermes down there .

It didn’t feel as though there was just no one listening, it felt as though -

There was no one to listen.

Panicking, he shot up. He needed to allow himself to retreat into his senses, trying to figure
out where the fuck he was. He had a plan, and he needed to find long island, find his camp,
and prove to himself that everything's fine. He’ll be back with his friends in no time.

He closed his eyes, willing his body to calm, and his mind to relax, before letting his senses
run free, zapping around.

He instinctively knew his location. Perks of being a son of Poseidon.

You know what wasn’t a perk? Being in the middle of the Atlantic ocean. He was at least
1500 miles offshore, which was surprising, as it felt as though he had only been moving for
minutes to get here.

He supposed time felt slower wherever he had descended into. He seriously doubted he
surpassed the speed of sound by what, 39, 40 times.

Whatever, he honed in on the direction he needed to go, casting a glance once at his father's
frozen face, still staring out into the open ocean. He didn’t know why he had expected it to
move, maybe it was some blind hope that the god had listened.

He then spared a glance to the fish laying uselessly in the bowl. Blood had begun leaking out
of a gash, perhaps where the spinal column had torn through muscle, clouding the water
around it. It looked blue in the light of his glowing. That brought him some comfort.

He allowed himself to float upwards, ascending in a diagonal manner, allowing his speed to
build up. What started as a glide, using the power of his legs to propel him forward, turned
into his manipulation of the water around him, allowing the heaving in his body to float into
the ocean surrounding him.

He felt every particle of water. He felt himself obstructive and unnatural in this form, only
disrupting the water, not truly flowing with it. Closing his eyes and furrowing his eyebrows,
he continued to force himself forward, splitting the surrounding water in 2.

Normally, he would feel invigorated doing this, at 1 with the water.

Now? He could feel his imperfections, his physical form, in its definite shape clashing with
the undefined shape of the water. He was not one with the water, instead, it curved around
him, accommodating his intrusion.

Faster and faster he went. Further his senses adventured.

He felt the inexactness of the water. He felt it in his fingertips. He yearned to feel as though
that was him. Undefined and mouldable. He was all rough edges and solidness, a being to be
touched and prodded without protection, harsh fingers jabbing softened skin.

He longed to have the freedom water did, not confined to anyone's will, yet moulding to the
will of the surrounding. It was contradictory, but still he desired it.

He wanted the water to infect his very being, eradicating his genetic makeup and taking its
place. Perhaps it would transform him, allow him to exist in this hanging space of constant
change.

He wished, and he wished, and he wished. He sensed, and he sensed, and he sensed. He
allowed the water in. He allowed it to touch his skin, he allowed it to conform to him, he
allowed himself to conform to it. A trade of some sorts.

He felt his form speed up. He felt his form melt away. There was no pain, no discomfort. His
mind maintained its composure, no strange peace like what had happened before. He existed
in sane mind, yet his body, tingling and heaving, faded.

He floated, moving faster than he had ever done before, warmness encroached on his mind,
and he moved.

Moved of free will, for minutes, or hours, existing only in thoughts and senses, feeling the
encroaching animals for only seconds before whizzing past them. Covering metres in
seconds, miles in minutes

Faster still, a singular thin jet stream, his surroundings blurry, and still only lit by his power,
which was still a pulsating blue.

It dawned on him, miles closer to the shore, familiar traces of mankind dotting the surface.
His senses reigned in, closer and closer, returning to their natural habitat, but finding nothing
but his presence. Glowing power, but not his physical body.

As quickly as he realised this, was as quickly the familiar arms and legs and hands and feet
reformed, growing and materialising in the water. Birthing him anew, yet returning his old
body just the way it was. Though this time it felt different. Perhaps it had been different since
he made first contact with the water. When he was irrevocably changed .

He was at more of an understanding with it now. It wasn’t just the water and the surrounding
that were charged with power, perhaps it was him too.

Whatever it was, he felt strange .

He stopped his thoughts from wandering, from ruminating, instead tuning back into his
surroundings, noting the definite change in scenery. The ocean bed lay 10’s of feet below
him, and slivers of golden rays illuminated the surrounding water. Calm and subdued in the
morning, its head barely peeking over the horizon.

The sky was cloudless, and he could sense the boats above him waking with the sun,
rumbling and moving a little faster under the safety of the rising sun.

He continued moving, growing closer and closer to his desired destination. A small-ish beach
generally hidden from the rest of the world. A reef guarded the bay, making it nearly
impossible to get in. Unless you knew the geography of the land beneath the water

He knew the exact path needed to be taken, following a crevice that allowed him to squeeze
past rock and wave, surpassing the dangerous predators that lurked there. They were not
 dangerous to him, they gazed upon him with shock and wonder, following his moves until it
was impossible to do so.

He darted through openings, careful to not graze the delicate reef before him. He was careful
to not break or touch anything, seeing the havoc it can cause.

He was through, though, closer and closer to home. To his friends. The stretch was barely
500 more metres, covered quickly. There were schools of fish that flocked to him, murmuring
and chattering, he tried to pay no mind.

‘It can’t be’. Was the resounding consensus from the fish, not boding well for him.

He dragged himself from the depths, clinging to the upward slope of the sand, before
hesitantly peeking his waterlogged head to the surface, hair sticking to his forehead. He
expected to see campers sitting on the sand, enjoying the sunny day. Perhaps campers milling
about on the grass behind it.

He knew for a fact that the beach offered a view of the climbing wall, and the volleyball
courts, and a cabin or 2.

He expected to find home.

The beach was deserted. Not a soul in sight. Not even a curious nereid had appeared before
him, something which had happened without fail every time he entered the camp half-blood
bay.

The land beyond the beach is when it finally hit him. Confirming his hypothesis.

Overgrown with trees and bushes, not a hint of human disturbance in sight. No trace of the
cabins he once slept in, the place he once ate at, no physical reminder of the places he had
spent countless hours laughing, smiling, sobbing and bleeding.

The soil was unmarred with the presence of blood and bodies.

He emerged from the water, glistening in the morning sun, now much higher in the sky,
gazing at a wasteland of natural forest, not a hint of Greek magic in sight.

Chapter End Notes

Hope that was okay, trying out something a bit different.

Trying to weave in Christian symbolism and maybe references to the birth of Venus. Idk
how well i did tho.

Sorry if this doesn't make sense

You can bother me on twitter: @TideCrusader

 Transformation III
Chapter Summary

“It is in their language that the ancient laws are decreed. And it seems with the arrival of
this Greek anomaly, another ancient law has been passed.” Diana said, eyes darting
between the 2 heroes before her. “It’s important that I find whatever has been deposited
here and see it returned to the realm of the gods, or at least, the closest place we have on
earth.”

Chapter Notes

Brainrotting so hard this is all I can write.

As always, this has been unbeta'd and not read through.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Grazed knees crashed onto damp sand, his arms hanging uselessly at his side while he stared
lifelessly into the spot where he should have found comfort. He could practically imagine the
different parts of camp, now nothing but overgrown bush and trees.

He heard the shouts of kids, war cries and shouts of delight alike. He heard the rambunctious
laughter of the hermes cabin after a successful prank, or the twinkling giggles of the
aphrodite cabin punishing the hermes spawn for said prank.

Memories and memories. All in one place, now ceased to exist. Or well, from the sight that
was before him, had never existed? At least not here, in this world, wherever he is. Whatever
that meant.

It seemed as though he was in an almost alternate reality to his own world, nearly a perfect
mirror, in terms of geography. A few different cities, but the lay of the land seemed similar.
For example, the distinctive rock on the distant cliff was visible to percy, a natural feature
that he had in common with his own world.

The beach was the same shape. The reefs were the same. He was sure he could find Zeus's
shit pile if he needed to. Or well, if he could brave walking through the desolate forest
without tearing up at the reality that home was gone.

He allowed himself to rest on his heels, hands fisting the wet sand. His head dropped, chin to
chest, and he breathed. Puffing sighs of pure emotion. Anger, sadness and fury were the most
prominent. Mostly sadness, a devastating sense of loss.

He didn’t want to give up, but it seemed as if he was completely cut off from his family.

And that fucking broke him.

They had become a solid constant in his otherwise tumultuous life. They were there for him
in his darkest, through thick and thin, through bloodshed and war, through shared laughter
and peace.

Chiron had been like a father to him, with a gentle, guiding hand, and his voice that was thick
was care and love. He held the utmost respect for the legendary centaur, and now what? He
would never see him again, never thank him properly for the love he had shown him.

All his friends. Connor, Travis, Will, Clarisse, Leo, Piper, Jason, Thalia. Frank. Nico. Hazel.
Grover.

Annabeth.

Oh Annabeth,

He allowed a single tear to escape his eye. His tether to the mortal plane, one of the only
reasons he’s still alive and kicking. One of the few reasons he's still mortal. His soulmate,
twin flame. His best friend. His love.

Gone in the blink of an eye, a flash of blinding light, a whisper of 3 deceiving voices luring
him away from his life.

He was torn away from the people he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. The people he
had the opportunity to live out til he was old and grey with. He fought war after war, battle
after battle, slayed monster after monster, and for what? He didn’t even get 2 months of
blissful peace and happiness. Of healing.

His hands clenched the ground harder at his side. He felt his emotions run amok. He didn’t
stop them. He didn’t want to stop them.

He wanted to feel the sadness crash down upon him, like a bucket of icy cold water as his
situation finally dawned on him. He wasn’t going home to his moms warm eyes, his partners
embrace, his friends laughter. He was stuck in the missile of an unknown world, unable to
contact anyone.

There was no confirmation that the Gods even had power in this world, considering the lack
of magic surrounding his earlier sacrifice, a sacrifice that would have easily been accepted
into his old world. There was no camp, and no monsters had reared their ugly faces, leading
him to believe that the Greek world was well and truly gone from there, the only remnants
and confirmation that they ever existed was from the mortal temples.

He felt a distant heave in his body. Painful in a way he hadn’t felt before. He felt it in his
soul.
The water that was lapping at his bare feet grew stronger, reaching well beyond his hands,
waves crashing louder and louder. The whitewash didn’t bother him, he was not swayed by
the pounding water increasing in intensity.

All around him the ocean grew more restless.

The sky did too, as thundering grey clouds materialised in the otherwise blue sky, forming a
near perfect circle above his location. The ground grew dark around him as the thick clouds
blocked out the light.

He heard thunder from above, lightning following fairly soon.

Still the waves grew stronger, attacking the beach and ripping chunks of sand, dragging them
to the depths. The water encroached on the grassy soil of the small field after the beach, the
field that lead to the towering forest.

Roots and plants were being ripped up, the debris making its way into the ocean, sullying the
priorly perfect bay. Globs of first and mud surfaced, scaring away the sea creatures trying to
probe into his mind.

The heavens opened up above him. Thousands of heavy droplets pouring down, whipping his
already soaked skin with icy cold pinpricks, fueling him only further into his destructive
rage.

The water level now reached the trees, as 20 foot waves smacked and splintered the growing
trees, most already weak from age and rot. They were easily uprooted and ripped from their
dirt confines, their journey out into the ocean made easier by the winds that had picked up.

Around him nature warred with itself. The water that had given life to the plants and animals
had now turned on them, attacking everything in sight, and ensuring they’d end up in the
murky depths. Wind battered the grounds, picking up clumps of dirt and other dead matter on
the ground and utilising them as deadly projectiles, launching them at trees and animals.

In the centre of all the destruction, Percy Jackson sat unharmed, salty tears mixing with the
surrounding water, broken sobs echoing in the bay, a haunted cry for help that remained
unanswered.

He had promised himself long ago he would not grovel, not beg the gods for anything, lest he
lose sight of his agency and his self-respect. Now he found himself breaking his unsaid code
of honour, in the most spectacularly undignifying way ever. And he did not spare a second
thought. “Let me go home.”

Let me go home reverberates off the trees and the hills, haunting any passerbys with the grim
tone and the overwhelming feeling of defeat.

There was no response. There would never be a response.

***

[The Watch Tower - 06:00 EST]

“Our satellites have picked up a sudden drop in atmospheric pressure and increase in seismic
activity along the coast of Long Island, much like what has been observed at these 2 locations
just a few hours prior,” Batman's gruff voice rang out, commanding the attention of the
occupants in the room, as he pointed to 2 separate locations, one in metropolis, the other in
the Atlantic.

“We have suspicion to believe that this has been caused by a meta human, or of something
similar sorts, and while the incidents have had no casualties, and very little urban damages, it
is imperative we find and secure the meta responsible, before something like this occurs in
densely populated areas and civilian casualties are much more likely to occur.” The briefing
was slow, both from lack of information, and confusion

“Wouldn’t this job be more suitable for Aquaman?” the alien asked, barely containing a
yawn. He understood the risks, and from an investigational standpoint, was fascinated by this
ability to create large weather events in the blink of an eye, though was still confused why
Aquaman didn’t have it handled. “And if it was so important, why not invite everyone?”

He gestured to the occupants, or more appropriately, the lack of occupants, in the room. It
was just Batman, himself and Wonder Woman, all gazing at the screen in slight trepidation.

“Aquaman has already been sent to investigate the original 2 sites, and found something that
might be of concern.”

Wonder woman cut in. “You said before, ‘something of the sort’, why would we not believe
it's a meta?”

Batman nodded gravely. “At the original site, in the metropolis harbour, a strange insignia
was burnt into the ground. It contained some ancient Greek symbols that were able to be
translated. The second site was revealed to be a temple. A temple of Poseidon.” He paused,
allowing the new information to sink in.

“Impossible, my world has been sealed from this reality.” Wonder woman said, her eyes
gaining a new sense of interest as she leant forward. “What was revealed in the insignia?”

“Not much, the only things we were able to get was sea and claiming, and beyond that, the
symbols were unrecognisable, not seen before.”

“Would this be more like something from my side of the park,” Superman asked, referring to
his outerspace birth.

“Not likely, but not impossible. However, the greek and the appearance at the temple is too
big of a connection to ignore. On top of this, these have occurred directly after the CADMUS
attack and subsequent escapes. We don’t have access to every one of their files, and it is very
possible that they have found a way to contact your world, and whatever they pulled into this
reality has escaped.” He said, gesturing to Diana.

“Are you implying that CADMUS managed to revive Poseidon?” Clark asked, hands
clenching at the seat elbow him, mindlessly crushing it. A back-from-the-dead greek god was
not something the league needed to deal with at this moment.
“Lord Poseidon has long faded,” Diana responded, looking uneasy. “But the greek writing
directly referencing the seas, the temple being his, and the clear power over water is
troubling.” Diana mused, tapping her vambraces in though. “Show me the insignia.”

The bat nodded sagely, before bringing up the pictures Aquaman had secured, showing the
blackened cracks in the sea floor, still bubbling and red in some places. Scorch marks littered
the rocks, making a lot of it unreadable.

The amazonian stood up, venturing closer to the screen, an uneasy frown marring her face.
This only deepened as she ran a careful hand along the LED’s, highlighting a certain section
that was mostly legible. Well, the symbols were able to be seen, but there were no records of
it ever being present in human history.

“Diana?” The bat questioned

“The language of the ancient ones.” She muttered, loud enough for the others to hear.

“The ancient ones,” Clark probed, himself getting up to join the other 2.

“Before the gods, you had titans, and their predecessors were the primordials. They
represented the fundamental forces and physical foundations of the world. Very little
scripture exists about them, but those that do exist on Themyscira. Those symbols are
familiar.”

“So it's not just a god, it's a primordial being,” Clark deadpanned.

“Can’t be. The primordials are fickle, a single thought could have ended the world. Their
power surpassed the gods sevenfold. The power level of these deities can barely be
comprehended by the mortal mind.”

“Why is their writing connected to this?” Bruce questioned, already ever present frown
getting deeper and deeper.

“It is in their language that the ancient laws are decreed. And it seems with the arrival of this
Greek anomaly, another ancient law has been passed.” Diana said, eyes darting between the 2
heroes before her. “It’s important that I find whatever has been deposited here and see it
returned to the realm of the gods, or atleast, the closest place we have on earth.”

“Themyscira?” The bat questioned.

Diana nodded, setting her jaw as the 3 stood in silence, apprehensive for what was to come

***

[Long Island Sounds - 06:30 EST]

Percy remained on the beach, shifting so he sat flat on his butt, gazing out at the sea and the
horizon. All around him was a ring of wreckage, fallen trees, uprooted plants, and random
divots and hills from where the ground had been torn and flung. The ocean in front of him
was far from the calm slice of heaven he had found earlier.
The water was grey and full of debris, choppy with obvious current.

The pounding waves had retreated, now the water was just lapping at his feet, lazily almost.
It was comforting, the way it seemed to stroke his skin, as if it were placating him.

Riptide, in its 3 foot bladed glory was clutched in his hand, the familiar leather strapping
providing comfort as he clenched his hand around it, grounding him almost. He felt safer
with it in his tight grip.

He also wasn’t 100% he wasn’t going to use it soon. On himself, most likely.

It was a startling thought, but it wasn’t out of the norm. He had long held deep thoughts
regarding his ties to living and life. Mostly he had others to keep him here, other times he had
duty to keep him going. Now?

Mostly it was guilt keeping him in place, remembering the 100’s of demigods that had died
fighting in a war he had inadvertently started, for the simple fact of him being born. Their
sacrifices tethered him to life, for what good would their death’s be if he was going to end up
dead anyways. The fact that it was by his own blade only added insult to injury.

On the other hand, he would not go down without a fight. He may not have anything now, but
he had survived a lot worse. Granted, he always had someone to keep him going, but now he
had to find his way back to them. Perhaps there was a secret portal that could send him back
to his own world.

Or maybe there were more like him, stranded from their own realities, desperately clawing at
any lead to return to those they love.

It was in these musings he almost missed the approaching being.

Key word being almost.

From the water, he could sense, was a creature. Not unlike the fish, but not exactly like them
either. He allowed his eyes to train onto where he could sense the life form, splitting through
the warring waves, still underwater.

Its power signature reminded him almost of the times he had met his half brother, triton. It
wasn’t quite the same as Poseidons, there was just something different. The incoming
creature, now slowing down with the increased proximity with the beach, reminded him of
that, mixed with something else. Something foreign. Something not quite merperson like.

The not-triton, not-merperson, now aware of Percy’s eyes trained on him, broke through the
surface, revealing something human looking. In the way that if Percy didn’t feel his power,
he would have assumed that he was human, with his blond hair and beard, and tanned skin.

Though, as he rose further and further, he revealed a bright orange shirt, dark green-almost-
black pants, all skin tight, and, most importantly, a massive fuck off trident clenched in his
dominant hand, glinting gold in the morning sun.
Chapter End Notes

Aquamans ready to throw hands he saw that dead fish at the altar and is out for blood.

We get a justice league interaction (!) and possible theory as to why he's here (!)

Oh no, I hope nothing goes wrong with their plan to get him out of this realm, I hope
nothing has complicted his arrival which greatly impacts his exit

As always, please feel free to bother me on twitter: @TideCrusader

 Transformation IV
Chapter Summary

“You don't scare me with your party tricks.” The older man gritted out, slamming his
trident into the earth. Water all around them raised in the sky, columns of the murky
depths erupting upwards, swirling behind the man. “I am Orin, King of Atlantis, ruler of
the 7 seas, oceanmaster. The ocean is my domain, and you will be coming with me!”

Chapter Notes

Oops. its been a while, don't mind the shoddy writing, i finally got something out. I cant
really write action, but oh well.

This hasn't been beta'd, nor have I read through it.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Percy still held his sword in his hand, staring wearily and the newcomer. He made no sudden
moves, keeping his eyes zeroed in on the emerging figure, darting between his? It’s? face,
filled with confusion and rage, and the trident, glowing gold against the rising sun. The fish-
person was intimidating, Percy could admit, with a power level that rivalled that of a minor
god, a weapon that could shish-kabob him, and biceps the size of tree trunks.

Percy still remained, feet stretched out, left hand drumming on his soaked, jean covered
thigh, right hand clenching the handle of riptide. His muscles tensed, ready to leap out of the
way if the strange fish-man decided to lunge at him, or make any sudden movements really.

The man stopped when the water was knee deep, willing the waves to cease completely, just
a still body of water surrounding the 2. His blonde hair shone in the light, and Percy could
see his lips twist into a frown beneath his well-trimmed facial hair.

His shoulders, which looked like they belonged to a rugby player, were hunched slightly,
confused at the sight before him. Percy supposed he wasn’t an intimidating sight, lounging on
the beach, eyes rimmed red from the tears, hair plastered to his forehead. Clarisse would joke
he looked like a drowned rat when he allowed himself to get wet. He wondered if that was
how he looked to the imposing figure in front of him.

“You are,” The man’s deep voice rang out, cutting through the eerie silence of the valley.
Even the fish’s probing had dwindled to nothing. “Just a boy.”
Percy looked between himself and the man in confusion. Was he surprised about his gender,
or his age? “I am.” He affirmed, confusion visible on his face. “Were you expecting someone
else? Something else?”

“Something along those lines,” The man nodded, still scanning Percy’s body, eyes lingering
in the sword. “You wield a beautiful sword.”

Percy narrowed his eyes, what was this guy getting at? “Yep!” he popped the p.

“You know how to use it?” The man probed.

Ah, he’s trying to understand who his opponent is, in an innocent, albeit obvious way. “I’ve
used it a few times.” A few thousand times. He didn’t need to know that though, best he
underestimates him.

“And you did all of this?” He gestured to all around them, the sheer destruction that Percy’s
emotions had caused.

“If I said no?” Percy questioned, smiling slightly to himself. The man smiled too, seemingly
amused by Percy's perceived daftness.

“I’ll say that it’s a big coincidence that you're sitting here.” he pointed first to percy, then to
the mass amounts of upturned trees. “Surrounded by all this.”

“It is a pretty big coincidence.” Percy affirmed, not yet moving from his place on the ground.
“But yeah, not me.” He could see a tanned hand grasping the trident a little bit harder, and a
well sculpted jaw clench. It seems that Percy’s playing dumb act was losing its charm very
quickly.

“Why are you here?” The man tried to keep his cool, not wanting to draw a child's blood, it
seemed.

“Beach day,” Percy volleyed back

“You’re certainly not dressed the part.” The man countered.

“I’m modest, I don't need anyone seeing my knees.” Percy chuckled, enjoying the encounter.
Most monsters didn’t get to this stage. After a few quips they quickly lose patience and try to
make him a Percy-sandwich. This was refreshing. And also telling, this man wasn’t a
monster, nor was he a greek god, which was apparent from him not knowing who percy was.

“Why are you here,” the man reiterated, clearly not talking about Percy’s peculiar choice of
long island, New York.

“No clue what you mean.” Percy’s tone was airy.

“You show up, with some weird Greek writing, head to one of my peoples' temples, a Greek
temple, might I add, murder a fish and use it as an offering, then decide to head to a random
beach.” The man wasn’t questioning, his voice not quite harsh, but not anything like the
curious tone it was before. “What are you doing here?”
“I- Hold on, your people?” Percy question, startled. He knew vaguely that the man in front of
him felt like a mer person, but this confirmed that there were actual mer-people on this earth.
Maybe some could help him get into contact with his father. “As in, mer-people.”

The man hesitantly nodded.

“Atlantis?”

He nodded again.

“Do they not adhere to Poseidon's ruling?”

“So you are of something greek?” This was the man’s ‘aha’ moment, but Percy didn’t care,
he needed answers.

“Answer the question” Percy insisted, back a little straighter now. Atlantis existed, and
clearly at some point Poseidon was revered as its king, or at least their patron god,
considering the giant statue and altar he found, yet it seemed as though that is no longer. He
knew his father would not abandon his people, the titan war taught him that well, so why?

“They don’t,” He said flatly. “Poseidon faded a long time ago.”

And oh. On some level, Percy knew this, or atleast, he had some inkling. The temples held
none of their signature presence, and the camp meant for the children of the gods seemingly
hadn’t even been built? But this confirmation, this harsh, flat confirmation hit him like a
bullet. If poseidon, one their strongest, has faded, then who’s to say the other gods haven’t
faded as well.

No Poseidon's kid? Camp half-blood still would have been built, barring cabin 3. But with no
demi-gods spawning, simply because the gods no longer existed? There was no need for a
camp. No demi-gods, no heroes, no one like him.

That reality washed over him like a bucket of cold water, icing his skin, making his
extremities numb. His senses faded slightly, retreating into his mind, ensuring it wouldn’t
shatter.

His hearing was the first to go, the soft humming of wind, and faint rustle of wildlife fading
away to make space for his forced emptiness. His vision, now hazy and tilting, fought tooth
and nail to stay, still aware of the danger in front of him.

That soon lost the battle, as he shut down, numbness creeping into every crevice, cold and
lonely, flooding his veins with the ice that he craved so deeply, yet abhorred so greatly.
Numbness was safe. Numbness was isolating.

His heart froze and cracked, fleshy meat turning to stone, slowly and quietly, like medusa
herself had wormed her way into his very being, infecting him from the inside out. He felt his
system slow down. Slow right down.

His pulse, which was hammering before, had come right down. Slowing and slowing until
finally.
It stopped. His body stopped. And for a beautiful, calming second. Numbness turned to bliss.

He was completely alone on this gods-forsaken earth. There was no one else like him. No one
else to understand his plight, nor share his burden. No one to know who Percy Jackson was,
his name not stained with bloodshed and expectation.

He had no brothers or sisters, not in spirit nor experience. There was simply no one. And it
hurt. It burnt and writhed and killed him and poisoned him. It freed him and left him light and
heavy all at the same time.

But then a spark. A singular, dwindling spark tapped into his heart, melting the stone in an
instant. The infection was replaced by a blazing fire. His pulse roared back to life, fueling the
heat.

It was an inferno now. His hearing had corrected itself, and his vision had locked back on to
the man in front of him, bringing him back from the brink. What was once ice turned to
melting hotness. What was once numbness turned to grief.

“You,” He let out a shaky breath. “No, fuck.” He denied it weakly. He knew in his heart that
it was true, that that was the damned truth, but grief clouded his mind, his rationality out the
window.

“Now lad,” the other man began, taking a hesitant step closer, holding his gloved hand out
like he was trying to coax a wild animal out of its hiding spot. Tentative and guarded, as if
expecting the other to lash out. “Come with me, I can help you.” He took another step closer,
heavy foot sinking into the soaked sand, crunching down.

Percy's eyes darted wildly between the man's outstretched hand, his trident, still grasped
tightly, and the ocean. There was a crazed glint ever present in the swirling whirlpools of his
irises, mania eating away at his psyche. “Dont,” he croaked out. “Don't you dare take another
step.”

The man's golden eyebrows raised, clearly taken aback. “It's okay,” he said gently. “I’m not
going to hurt you, I just want to help.”

“Don’t take another fucking step.” Percy reiterated shakily, hand latched onto riptide like a
lifeline, grounding him slightly. His other hand, palm down on the sand, felt the water around
him, a sea of untapped energy, calling out to him, begging to protect him.

“Calm down,” the mand tone was strong, though there was an undercurrent of unsureness.
The boy in front of him was strange. Dressed and speaking modernly, so normally, yet acting
as if he had been dropped out of the sky, knowing nothing of what really is common
knowledge. “I can help you.”

His boot moved out of the sand, rising to slowly, carefully, shuffle closer to the boy, who
resembled more of a stray cat at this point, muscles tensed, ready to run. “I just want to-”

He was cut off by Percy springing up, and launching himself forward, a lean, muscled
shoulder crashing into the broad chest of the golden haired man, sending him flying
backwards, back into the ocean.

“I said,” Percy spat, his face dark and stormy. The weather around them reflected this, a
maelstrom forming in both his eyes, and the water. “Stay away from me.”

The man shook off the shock at this, what he thought to be mortal, sending him flying with a
simple shoulder barge, and the way the depths of the ocean seemed to react to his emotions.
Not even the presence of the king of Atlantis himself seemed to placate the tides.

“Look lad, I tried to do this the easy way. Surrender, and we can help you. Dont, and,” The
threat hung in the air, forcing Percy to crack a smirk. He’d had plenty of people, mortal and
non-mortal, monster and non-monster, threaten him. It was almost a second language to him.
The violence and bloodshed was familiar. And god he needed something familiar right now.

He just tilted his head to the side, brought riptide up to point at the man in front of him. “You
won’t be doing anything, nor will you be taking me anywhere.”

The man sighed. “I don’t want to hurt a boy.” He smashed his trident against the ground.
“But you’ve left me no choice.”

He sprung himself out of the water, whipping winds granting him speed, his golden trident,
glowing in the misty haze, held high above his shoulder, poised to strike. His speed was
commendable for a mortal (?), though Percy anticipated it, and rolled to the side.

His shoulder hit the ground, wet sand clinging to his skin, the water seemingly disappearing,
his muscles soaking it in like a sponge.

The man's trident embedded itself into the sand, and Percy struck quickly, slashing like
lightning. The man, fortunately, foresaw this, and dodged, pulling his weapon free in the
process, bringing both hands to the shaft.

He lunged forward, striking and slashing, the 4 prongs glinting dangerously. The extra reach
of the trident, and the man's efficiency with it, left Percy swerving and blocking, calculating,
watching the man's movements with eagle eyes. His only experience against a trident had
been Polybotes, though that was a 30 foot giant, so not really comparable.

The clashing of metal rang out through the bay. Percys, slashing and stabbing, getting
intercepted by the trident's prongs, or its shaft batting away his strikes.

His dark eyebrows furrowed, eyes scanning the man's form. It was obvious he was well
practised with the 4 pronged shish-kabob-maker, his form practised as he rained sweeping
strikes upon stabbing attacks down upon him.

The man's strength was greater than what he had imagined, in fact, he sometimes found
himself unable to use sheer strength to block his attacks, instead resorting to deflections or
side steps.

Though, much to Percy's delight, the man seemed to be buckling under Percy's own strength.
Mad slashes and hacks forced the man to concede ground, and the angry crease in his
forehead told him that he was not expecting it.

Percy feinted left, leaning his body, putting his weight forward. The man expected his trick,
and did not fall for it, instead retreating further back, the water up to their mid calves.

He recentered himself, then cleaved downward at his head, but he wasn’t there. Percy's body
was propelled into the air as he catapulted over him, slashing as he came down. But the man
was just as quick, catching his blade by the shaft. What should have been a strike to the spine
was caught and redirected, sending Percy stumbling.

The other man, taking advantage of Percy's slip-up, pounced on the offensive, sending quick
successions of stabs to percy's midsection and side. Without a proper stance, Percy scrambled
to block the swift attacks, though it was no use.

A hooked prong caught him in the side, plunging into the skin, making him grit his teeth in
pain.

Warm blood flowed freely, soaking his skin, and the water around them. The air smelled of
copper, a hint of something else present, though Percy could not tell above the burning pain
and roaring in his ears.

He slashed again, though this time Percy could anticipate it. He deflected the trident, then
rushed in close. Slashing the man, catching him on the chest, ripping the scaly-orange suit,
slicing through skin.

The man hissed in pain, before retreating further. The water was up to just above their knees
now. “You have made a mistake boy.” The man roared. “You have no idea who you’re
dealing with.

“Don't call me boy.” Percy gritted out, the storm that had been brewing overhead reached its
climax, litres of rain bucketing down upon them, soothing the aching pain in his side.

“You don't scare me with your party tricks.” The older man gritted out, slamming his trident
into the earth. Water all around them raised in the sky, columns of the murky depths erupting
upwards, swirling behind the man. “I am Orin, King of Atlantis, ruler of the 7 seas,
oceanmaster. The ocean is my domain, and you will be coming with me!”

He slammed his trident once more, and the litres of water under his control slammed forward
at breakneck speeds, rushing all at once to the still figure of Percy Jackson.

The pressure of all that water at that speed would have obliterated a regular mortal. He would
be a spray of fine red mist, the water acting more as a shredder.

He was not a regular mortal.

He let the water hit him, though instead of sending him flying back, it simply glanced off his
body, circling around. The continuous stream followed suit, doing no harm to the heir of the
sea. Percy barely had to twitch a finger.
 100s of litres of water, circling him, clinging to his skin, raising him up on an unholy twister
of destruction. It melted down his body, pooling at his feet, leaving him towering above the
other man. Orin.

His face was a max of disbelief and horror. Seeing the boy in front of him command his
water, emerging from the depths like a gruesome sea monster, framed by destruction and
misery.

“I am Percy Jackson,” He started simply, “and I am the rightful son of the sea.”

He launched himself forward, the twister crashing back down to join the rest of the ocean
below. Percy's body soared through the air, riptide held high above his head as he hurtled
closer to Orin.

Wind and rain whipped his soaked skin, and his muscles tightened as he brought his
legendary blade down upon the other man's trident.

The reverberating sound of metals clashing, and the unmistakable sound of metal wrenching
apart echoed across the sea.

Orins trident, snapped in 2 through the brute strength of his strike. The man, dazed and hurt,
could only stumble backwards, trying to reclaim his broken weapon.

Percy dropped his own and, as quick as a viper, grabbed the other man by his neck, lifting
him up with 1 hand, as if it were effortless. As if Orin weighed nothing at all.

His grip was tight around his throat, tanned finger crushing into his windpipe, choking him.
Tick red blood oozed from various cuts on his face, staining Percy's hand.

“You claim this is your domain, but I fear you are mistaken. I am the son of the sea, and this
is mine to inherit.” He spat out. “You have felt only a fraction of my power. Mark my words
King of Atlantis, try to come near me, and I will end you.”

He dropped the battered man into the water, before wading deeper into the ocean, not sparing
a glance to the broken king. He returned to the inky depths, his mind numb from battle and
isolation.

He was truly alone in this world, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Chapter End Notes

Im not dead, nor was this discontinued, life stuff just happened.

Sorry it took so long, but here it is, Aquaman vs Percy except I cant write action.

As always, please feel free to bother me on twitter: @TideCrusader

 Transformation V
Chapter Summary

“I love you,” he didn’t know who it was aimed at. Annabeth, his mom, or the plethora of
friends no longer here. Perhaps all of them at once. For now he grieved the living. It was
odd, they were probably alive in their world, living day by day, and here he was,
mourning their lives. Pining for the memories yet to be made. Yearning for the life he
was promised.

Chapter Notes

Damn, you guys are getting spoiled, 2 updates back to back? unheard of.

As always, this hasn't been beta'd, nor have I read through it.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

[The Watch Tower - 09:00 EST]

“He’s certainly volatile,” the caped crusader began, looking at the broken form of his
comrade with a certain disassociated interest. He scanned the king's body, taking note of the
already purpling bruising covering most of his upper torso, and the ring of finger marks
around his neck. The fact that this being managed to leave Orin with lasting injuries, despite
his durability, was a major cause for concern. Aquaman had survived seemingly much more
dangerous opponents, with less visible wounds. This boy has done what many powerful
supervillains had failed to do, incapacitated a heavy-hitting, founding justice league member.

He prodded the long slice across the other man's chest, ignoring the wince of pain he let out.
Curiously, the man possessed a blade that managed to not only pierce the superhumans skin,
but also seemed to negate his advanced healing factor.

It also brought new factors into the field. This being was able to match the abilities of
Aquaman himself, and not only in his control over water. In strength, stamina, speed and
reflexes, this boy seemed to have all of it and more. And of course, the troubling fact that
Aquaman's hydrokinesis had no impact on the boy, instead, he took control over it, turning
the water into a twister of destruction.

They assumed he only had some control over the weather, with strange meteorological events
surrounding him, though they were not so sure anymore. Was he controlling the water, like
Aquaman, and so many atlantean mages, or did he simply take control and turn it into another
spectacular weather event. Could he move water with his mind? Or only command
spectacular disasters? Batman needed to know the extent of the boys, Percy Jacksons, power.

It was almost as if he was the anti-aquaman. Orin said the boy claimed to be the son of the
sea, so perhaps he felt the domain was rightfully his. Batman did not want to admit, but there
was a twinge of relief, he seemed to hold no grudges against the land, and a small part of him
hoped that his qualms remained with the ocean and its ruling. They did not need a powerful,
unknown, Greek being reigning terror on the surface.

“The son of the sea,” he started tentatively, testing the sounds. “Diana, any ideas?”

The woman shook her head, a storm of trouble brewing in her eyes. “It could be anything.
The seas are a vast domain, with many rulers and claims to its ownership.” She frowned.

“At least it rules out the big sea gods,” Superman chipped in, trying to bring a sort of
lightness to the situation. "No Poseidons seeking revenge."

“You are not wrong there, per se. We know it's not an ancient seafaring god, but perhaps one
of their offspring.” She played with her bands, crease forming between her eyebrows.
“Though you said you shared some banter?”

“He was not hostile at first, only once I informed him the Gods had faded. He was witty, I’ll
give him that.” Aquaman confirmed, recalling the banter the boy had and he had shared.

“Gods are not banterful, they wouldn't associate themselves with lesser beings, not like that.”
Diana started. “Son of the sea.” she thought for a few moments. “Triton is most obvious,
though you said he was fully human, yes?”

Aquaman only nodded, he very much had human legs, he felt them kick him extremely hard,
probably breaking a few ribs.

“He also had a sword, not a trident. Triton wields a trident, much like many patrons of the
sea.” Diana mused, starting to pace.

“Are we even sure he’s a god?” Orin began. “He was powerful, yes, but he bleeds all the
same.”

Batman sighed, not needing an unknown godly being roaming the earth, motives unclear.
“We operate under the assumption that he’s from a different world. We know nothing about
this world, nor the gods that rule it. All we know is that he's powerful enough that CADMUS
took an interest in him, and has the ability to take out one of our strongest members.” He
stated it flatly, his voice rough and hard, stress colouring his psyche. “Diana, you’re taking
point on this. You’ve killed a God before, I trust you can do it again.”

Diana hesitated, before nodding, looking back towards the satellite imaging they managed to
capture of the boy. There was something about his eyes, the way they broke in real time, the
pain that haunted sea green, a heavy burden clearly weighing him down. He looked so old yet
so young at the same time, and it was a strange juxtaposition she had only seen in one other
person.
Herself.

[34, -60 - 09:00 EST]

Percy kneeled at the altar, his fathers marble eyes watching over him. It was comforting,
almost, to have his immortal stare fixed on him, so stony and unforgiving, yet Percy could
almost imagine the love they once held. The brightness that he saw reflected in his own.
“Forgive me father,” He mumbled humorously. “For I have sinned.”

His head was bowed, and his skin still lit up a soft blue. Hundreds of fish and micro-
organisms clamoured to his presence, watching this faux-god bow down before their creator.
To them, he felt like The Father, almost, but not quite. The sea certainly flowed through his
veins, the mark of Poseidon branded him, in both flesh, and in his very soul.

“It’s finally sunk in.” He started, tears welling up behind closed eyelids. “I am alone, simply
and utterly alone. No mom, no you, no,” He gulped, swallowing his poisonous sorrow. “No
Annabeth.” He felt something so familiar, yet he could not fathom the waves of emotions that
constantly bombarded him. He felt grief. He was mourning a life he could have had.

“I don't think,” His voice cracked. “I don't think there's any going home. I won’t stop trying,
but, Gods, there's nothing like me here. I even tried praying to the fates, though they owed
me a few. It seems that they’ve also faded.”

He laughed, a humorless bitter sound. “I always thought of forsaking the Gods, never thought
I'd be in a world where the Gods have forsaken me.”

He reached into his pocket, deep into the recesses of his jeans. A small rock was there,
shaped vaguely like a heart. a pebble that was barely the size of the top knuckle of his pinky.
Him and Annabeth had picked it up, barely a few days after the war had finished. They found
more comfort in each other's presence, doing menial tasks and activities, recovering from the
horrors they saw. Not only on the battlefield, but also down there. It was the type of
companionship reached only when you loved someone so fiercely, in so many different ways,
you would tear your soul from your body for them. Annabeth wasn't just his girlfriend, she
was his soulmate, both platonically, and romantically.

They were sitting on the beach, sifting through the sand, appreciating nature for its beauty,
when Annabeth spotted it. As tiny as a firefly, it was small and stupid and Percy loved it.
Loved the tenderness which Annabeth picked it up with. Loved the rueful smile on her face
when she handed it to him.

Now it sat in his hands, a hairline fracture marring the middle. The only physical reminder he
had of Annabeth, cradled delicately between calloused palms. He raised it slowly up to his
lips, pressing them to the smooth, curved surface, before gently placing it in his pocket once
more.

“I love you,” he didn’t know who it was aimed at. Annabeth, his mom, or the plethora of
friends no longer here. Perhaps all of them at once. For now he grieved the living. It was odd,
they were probably alive in their world, living day by day, and here he was, mourning their
lives. Pining for the memories yet to be made. Yearning for the life he was promised.
Hope was hard to come by now he knew that there wasn’t anyone to share his burden. All his
life he has had someone in his corner, cheering him on, there when life kicked the shit out of
him. His mom was the first, the only constant, who would sing him to sleep every night, the
scent of her baking enveloping him in a cocoon of warmth.

Grover and Annabeth, his best friends in the world. There for every quest, every perilous
journey, every stupid mistake, every win and every loss. He watched them grow from hard-
headed 12 year olds to the strong, capable people of the present. Or well, past now.

They watched him evolve, no longer the same stupid 12 year old kid. They saw Percy at his
lowest, and didn’t think of him as the saviour of Olympus. He was just Percy. He wasn’t the
fearless hero, nor did he have the weight of the world on his shoulders when they were there,
holding it up with him.

“I love you,” His voice didn’t shake this time. “Thank you.”

His vision traced his fathers statue, up his legs, robed torso, broad shoulders. Past his beard,
and finally onto his face. He stared and stared, almost willing the statue to move. To come to
life. To do something. To assure him that everything will be right. To give him a fatherly
embrace and take all his pain away.

That would never happen. Stone stayed cold and immovable, eyes firmly surveying his fallen
kingdom, trident gripped firmly in unfamiliar hands. This was not his father, merely a cheap
imitation, though Percy found a semblance of comfort all the same.

He turned his own stony gaze out, watching the congregation of sea creatures that had
gathered before him. Hundreds of different species stared unblinkingly back at him, beady
black eyes following every minute movement he made. It was unnerving, being observed by
so many living beings, their minds probing him. He did not allow their voices to break
through into his mind, he didn’t need the questioning.

He rose from his place on the floor, slowly making his way to his viewers. They did not seem
to shrink away in fear, rather, seemed to be basking in the light he provided. Fish clambered
to him, rubbing against his jeans and arm as if they were house cats, finding comfort in the
power that radiated off of him.

He let a small smile split his face at their domestic nature, allowing a calloused hand to stroke
a particularly brave fish. These species were not found this deep, his knowledge of his fathers
subjects was a genetic gift, a gift which told him that none of these creatures should naturally
be here.

They were called here.

By him.

He walked forward again, the creatures splitting, allowing him to move forward
unobstructed. It was whimsical, almost, seeing them here. All species, known and unknown
to humans, congregating around him. Some bioluminescent organisms even managed the
journey, lighting up his surroundings even more.
He turned to his right, and an eel stared back at him, its wiry teeth pulled up in a sort of grin
as it contorted its body, in a sort of bow. Its voice managed to pierce through his mind shield,
filling his head with its serpentine voice.

Welcome home, Lord. Son of sea, Heir to the Ocean.

Welcome, My king.

[ Unknown - 22:00 EST ]

A cloaked figure buried quickly through the city, hood pulled firmly up, shrouding his face in
darkness. The only distinguishing feature present were the dorsal fins on his back, a certain
evolution made by his species of atlantean.

He held a message for his leader, sent by one of their scouts further north.

He gripped the parchment tightly in his hands, sending a nervous, paranoid look around,
before slipping quietly into an alley. It was dingy and dirty, and all the same, unassuming and
perfect. A metal door was stationed at the dead end, where he knew a man was standing
guard on the other side.

He raised a shaky hand, rapping 3 times in quick succession. He gulped, turning behind him
to ensure he wasn’t being followed.

The screeching sound of metal grinding on metal filled his ears, and he could only wince
from not only its disgusting noise, but also its sheer volume.

“What is your business,” A deep and grumbly voice echoed out.

“I,” The man began, before clearing his throat. “A miracle has happened.” He squeaked.

He didn’t get a response, and for a long, stretching moment, it was dead silent. Not even the
bottom dwelling-night stalkers disturbed the peace. It was unnerving and unnatural. Creating
an atmosphere far too dark for his liking.

Before he could do anything, the rusted hinges squeaked as the door was hauled open,
revealing a man he had become acquainted with. A usual member that joined not long after
him.

He nodded his head, tattoos covering a fair portion of dark skin. His hair was buzzed short,
like many of the kingdom's warriors. He wore similar attire to him, long, draping robes,
though he refrained from wearing the hood. He was not afraid of his identity as one of them,
not like he was. Though he supposed, with his news, he should not be ashamed anymore.

He nodded back, though it was difficult to see from under his facial covering. He hurried
forward, anxious hand treading water, needing something to do, or he might crush the letter
completely, out of nervousness or excitement, he wasn’t quite sure.

Murmuring whispers reached his ears, as he entered their common room. A range of people
sat, lounging on arm chairs, sitting on mats. A large portion sat at the back, heads deep in
 prayer, surrounding a statue.

He kept his head down, briskly striding towards a man standing at a lectern, convening lowly
with his peers. His garments were different to theirs. Instead of the dark blues of their
common robes, his held fine golden embroidering. He didn’t wear a hood, instead, a mask
covered his face. Elegantly simple, yet signifying of his status. He was the master, the chosen
mouthpiece of the true lords.

“Master,” Be began, bowing shortly.

He looked at him with a tilted head, his true emotions hidden beneath the facial covering.

“I come bearing news,” The man stuttered, before a wide grin overtook his face. “Wonderful
news master. Your visions were true!” He exclaimed slowly. “Not that I doubted them of
course,” He added in hastily, bowing once again. He did not mean to imply that the master
was lying. “Oh it’s wonderful. The lord,” He began, thrusting the letter into his master's
gloved hand. “The lord has risen!”

He couldn’t hide his excitement any more, garnering the attention of the surrounding
atlanteans. A collective gasp was heard around the room, and mutterings soon broke out.

“The lord has risen, and the glory days shall be upon us!”

Chapter End Notes

Shorter chappter, sort of filler imo, but oh well. Just needed so sow some seeds.

Sorry for the shoddy writing, I'm trying, I swear.

As always, please feel free to bother me on twitter: @TideCrusader

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