I don't own Percy Jackson, it belongs to Rick Riordan and A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thones belongs to George R. R. Martin, as well as any other items that appear here, credits to their respective creators
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"Characters speaking"
"Character thinking"
"{Characters speaking in another language}"
Well, this chapter doesn't have much dialogue, but it's Roman Percy, who at 36 is a veteran demigod and is analyzing the situation he's gotten himself into on the frozen land he crashed into within the sea of monsters (the lands beyond the wall).
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Previously
And in no way would it be like fixing some problem that human-made vehicles had. Although it seemed that the chariot of the sun was still working and he could use it to try to return home, but Neptune's son preferred not to risk it, and to increase his chances he could try to fix what he could, however little that helped.
But first the veteran demigod would try to get as close as possible to the entrance of the sea of monsters before using Apollo's chariot, that is why Perseus was traveling southwest which is where he thought he had come in Apollo's flying vehicle or at least from the west, only now Jackson stopped when he heard a soft noise that would be imperceptible to the hearing of a normal human.
Jackson calmly looked around for any danger, nothing happened for a moment, but then the noise repeated again with a little more force which helped him realize that it was coming behind him.
"Great," said Neptune's son dryly as he realized that the noise was not about a branch breaking and falling to the ground, snow falling from a tree, the sound of cold wind or this stirring the frozen leaves of the trees, but it was about hurried steps in the snow.
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Thanks to his heritage as a son of Neptune and being blessed in his late teen years by the eldest daughter of Saturn, Percy Jackson not only possessed physical prowess above normal for a son of the Big Three, he also possessed keener and better senses than human, even beyond what most demigods possess.
It wasn't just a matter of sight or hearing: his perception of the environment had been honed over a decade among the Romans and almost two as a marine, constant training and the various encounters he had with monsters, since his father left him with the goddess Lupa, so Percy had learned to hear or feel the world in a different way than humans.
So when the crunching of snow grew louder in the distance, he knew it was no small feat. It was not the heavy gait of a large animal like a bear, nor the stealthy pace of a hunting wolf, nor the firm, confident step of an experienced explorer.
What Jackson heard... It was the chaotic sound of frightened and desperate flight.
Within two or three seconds he could begin to hear muffled gasps, along with small screams as the erratic echo of footsteps sinking uncoordinated into the deep snow, followed by something else.
But the Roman demigod had the feeling that it was something else that didn't quite belong to the human world and not just because he was within the sea of monsters was that he had that feeling, one way he could describe it would be as if there was a faint vibration in the air, like a warning suspended between the trees covered with nine and some ice in some cases.
Percy narrowed his eyes and stood completely still, his breath coming out in thin clouds that dissolved into the icy air while the forest until an instant ago, if the wind was discarded, was as silent as a well-sealed grave, but now it was beginning to stir with the footsteps and voices that were rapidly approaching, breaking the tranquility
He knew that sound, he had heard it many times on the battlefields in some of the Navy operations on foreign soil, sounds of people running, many of them, at least more than a dozen, but completely disorganized and terrified.
The logical part of his mind, the one that had survived countless situations and learned to analyze before acting, was already calculating escape routes, possible threats, better lines of sight. But another, older, more visceral part he had inherited from his father, tensed like a spring ready to leap into combat.
Something was coming and it wasn't just refugees.
But as his attention remained fixed on the path he had come, every muscle in his body ready to react to the slightest movement out of place and his breath came out in thin clouds from his nose, dissolving into the icy air like smoke from a freshly extinguished candle, at the same time that his fighting instincts tingled under his skin.
The footsteps were getting louder, more frantic, no longer just the crunching of snow under flailing feet, but the clashing of bodies with low-hanging branches, the growing panting of exertion as the screams also increased in volume so loud a normal human could now distinguish them.
The son of the sea still had his eyes squinted because visibility was almost as useless as most gods in a crisis. Too many pines and other trees, too much frozen foliage blocking what little the sun offered through the thick clouds that fewer and fewer rays of light managed to sneak through the treetops, casting long, misshapen shadows on the snow as the day was darkened by icy clouds.
Still, Jackson saw the silhouettes.
They moved clumsily, like cornered animals and he was right, there were more than a dozen, all poorly dressed for such brutal weather. He could vaguely make out that they were carrying wooden spears and weapons that looked more like makeshift tools than actual combat gear, but what was most striking, however, was the clothing: thick, large animal skins that he thought had been sewn together in haste, hanging awkwardly from their bodies in a desperate attempt to fend off the cold.
And from the way they looked back too often and their breath ragged, Percy didn't need any oracle or augur to know: they were fleeing something far worse than the horrible weather.
Jackson knew too many creatures capable of lurking in a place like this cold, dense, too inhospitable place to live without an adequate source of adequate resources, but the list was longer than expected and not at all encouraging: spectres, ancient beasts, monsters half forgotten by the gods... and that's not counting the more humane threats, which as a Marine he had learned that more often than he liked, turned out to be worse.
Uncertainty wasn't something he liked, but it wasn't a luxury he could avoid, so Neptune's son let his experience, more weathered than his favorite combat armor, speak for him.
He had two options...
Option one: advance to the clearing a few meters ahead, an open field covered with snow, without trees to obstruct the view.
There the demigod could see what was approaching clearly and face it on clear ground. In addition, there was good visibility, as well as more than enough room to move around, dodge or strike without worrying about tripping over a treacherous root, but he would also be completely exposed, no cover and nothing to protect him if things went wrong.
Option two: climb one of the nearby pines, take advantage of the height and concealment, from there he could observe undetected, perhaps even have the benefit of the first move if the opportunity presented itself.
The price, of course, was mobility, fighting from a tree was a bad idea, unless you had wings or an unconscious desire to die in style, but he had ways of avoiding that, so the advantage of the surprise factor could tip the scales in his favor... if what was coming was susceptible to an ambush.
Both options were valid, as well as both had their own risks, but the time to decide was running out and fast, so the veteran demigod of the sea and member of the Navy Seals narrowed his eyes, analyzing the terrain with calculated precision.
Every detail counted: the distances, the condition of the trees, the distribution of the terrain under the snow cover, in addition to the fact that it was much easier for him to recognize the state of the pines than that of the other trees, it did not matter that these pines were not Mediterranean or from the Balkans; a pine tree was still a pine tree.
The bond with his father, Neptune, was so deep that even the sacred trees of his lineage occasionally seemed to speak to him in a way that few understood, one of the pines to his right was especially useful: it had thick, icy branches, but strong and firm, which would allow him to climb it in less than ten seconds.
His training, without hesitation, kicked in faster than any boost he could have had. In situations like this, emotions didn't matter; only calculated action and experience.
In a move that would be impossible for an ordinary human, the demigod blessed by Vesta took a step back and leapt, reaching for the tree with an agility and speed that belied his size and build.
In the blink of an eye, he was already climbing the pine tree, feeling the cold digging into his fingers, but it was nothing he couldn't stand or bothered him like a child of the sea, plus his muscles were still cool from the walk along with the residual warmth of Vesta's blessing gave him and helped him stay focused, as well as improve their resistance to the elements.
Within seconds, he was already on the most stable branch, about five meters above the ground, with a clear view of the clearing and snowy field, as well as the interior of the forest.
With one hand still clinging to the bark of the tree, his other hand stroked the ring in his hand that was his disguised gladius, while the divine metal ring conveyed to him a comforting familiarity, like an extension of himself. There he stood, motionless, like a hunter waiting for his prey, the icy wind whipping his face, but he didn't feel it, nor did he care, only the silence.
The kind of silence that precedes something important, the silence before the storm.
It was almost a minute before the running figures became fully distinguishable among the trees and when they finally emerged in his field of vision, the Hestia champion's eyes widened in confusion and surprise.
They were not soldiers, or scouts, or even an organized patrol. They were men, women and children with faces weathered by the icy wind, their cheeks cracked, their lips bruised, they were dirty, some looked wounded, but all were exhausted and still... they did not stop.
There was a raw determination in their trembling bodies, an animal will to keep fleeing no matter the pain.
"They look wild" thought Hestia's champion without irony. The demigod didn't know their names, or what clan or culture they belonged to, but the thought just fitted.
It wasn't that Jackson was judging, it was a practical fact because some, as he had managed to distinguish, even vaguely from a distance, held weapons of stone, wood, and bone, and all of them were dressed in thick, poorly sewn skins, as if they had been torn from an Ice Age tribe and thrown straight into this frozen land. They weren't Romans, they weren't Greeks either, and they definitely weren't ordinary mortals, because they were so out of place for the 21st century, they looked like they're from another time or another world.
He had assumed that they would be monsters using animal skins or perhaps the low possibility of some of Circe's surviving apprentices, according to what Reyna told him before joining the Huntresses and he left the legion, the apprentices that Bellona's daughter had met before his greek half-sister arrived on the island and freed Blackbeard so that she could escape along with Minerva's Greek daughter.
Percy didn't expect to find any more humans... on the other hand, the demigod was somewhere in the sea of monsters, where only the gods know how many vessels have been lost in thousands of years, especially when the sea of monsters was still in the Mediterranean until more than 2 centuries ago... perhaps they were descendants of some ship that managed to survive by sailing in these waters.
The first man, crossed about twenty meters from his position, without looking up, then another, a child to be more specific, barely covered with a cloak of threadbare skin, along with a woman who did not seem able to move an arm, then came two men who quickly closed the distance with the child and the woman, even while one was limping.
Several more were running, but they were all looking back every few steps, with fear and terror covering their faces, as if waiting for death to emerge from the forest behind them.
Percy slid silently down the branches, being careful not to stir the snow too much on them so as not to give away his position and keeping out of the natives' field of vision while his hand was prepared to unfold his hidden Gladius like a ring, just one thought was enough and the blade would be in his hand, ready for action.
"They're running from something or someone," he murmured quietly, barely louder than the whisper of the wind through the branches. "But what are they running from?" he said himself, looking back into the forest where he could make out more silhouettes approaching
He stood still, his body tense, causing the snow on the branch to rustle slightly against his boots, while the forest seemed to hold its breath with him... and then... he heard it.
A dry and unnatural sound, like wet bones sliding on brittle ice, a murmur that belonged neither to the wind, nor to the trees, nor to the usual rustling of the forest, but an icy whisper that vibrated in the air itself, making each snowflake seem to hold a shiver.
But Percy stood completely still, waiting for them to come closer, having to wait another minute to see the possible culprit or cause of that sound
The first ones Jackson could best distinguish were three figures that emerged from the thickness of the forest like shadows that the world refused to swallow, they weren't human... at least, not quite because there was something deeply wrong with the way they moved: slow, rigid, unwavering, as if they were lifeless. Their bodies were pale as corpses, their skin almost translucent in the few light of day, but they all had blue, intense, inhumanly bright eyes, as cold as the Arctic sea, but empty of soul.
One still had remnants of rotten leather clothing or protection, hanging from his body, another had a broken arrow stuck in his neck, right in his windpipe... and yet he walked, indifferent to the damage and the third had hardly any flesh in his jaw with the bones were exposed.
Percy didn't move, didn't breathe, didn't even blink for a long moment. "What the... fuck...?" he muttered, more of a voiced thought than an actual reaction.
They were not illusions, they were not ghosts, they were not specters or curses cast by resentful gods, he knew the many monsters of the Greco-Roman pantheon: gorgons, giants, immortal beings and more. And he had had the occasional encounter with other divine pantheons, but walking corpses, he rarely encountered anything like that, but it didn't resemble those experiences either because there was no aura or familiar feeling in those corpses.
This was not from his pantheon... and that did that made him keep his guard, because being unknown creatures, despite the similarities, he was unaware of their weaknesses
From his perched position on the pine branch, the demigod kept his gaze fixed on each step of the creatures with sniper-like precision, counting those that appeared after those three "seventeen, eighteen, nineteen..."
Each one was in similar condition, body damage like missing different parts: jaw, eyes, nose, arm, etc.; or there were still those body parts but they were shattered.
It was a sight that would terrify anyone, but American demigod was not just anyone, Jackson had seen things that would have frozen the most hardened soldier in fear. He had fought dracaenae, wild cyclops, lestrygonian giants, hellhounds, as well as several more monsters, faced lesser titans on Mount Othrys, and giants due to the Alaskan quest, seen some of the creatures under the ocean on some of the few visits he made to Atlantis, so those things didn't scare him.
These bodies walked without soul, without rage or will, not like the skeletons that Nico Di Angelo, the Greek son of Pluto, who could order them to rise from the depths of the underworld.
But these, on the other hand, were cold. Not only because of the climate: cold inside.
"This is not Greek magic" thought Hestia's blessed half-blood "Not even Greek, nor is it Egyptian, nor from any other I have come across... Oh, Neptune... what is in this place?"
For the next few seconds, Neptune's son could feel his annoyance against the gods return, especially with the twin of the goddess Diana because it was because of his stolen chariot that he ended up in this place, because it is always up to the half-bloods to fix the problems of the gods instead of the damned slackers doing it themselves.
But he held back his anger, because not even his father or the other gods of Atlantis know much about the sea of monsters as it is out of his control unlike the Mediterranean Sea, most of the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. Basically, the sea of monsters was like the sea near the coast of Alaska, the land beyond the gods, or the territories of the other pantheons, where the authority and control over the water of the aquatic deities decreases at various levels depending on the location.
So Perseus concentrated on remembering and what he could draw from his past experiences to analyze these things, such as when he had been in the presence of Pluto while his uncle emanated a pressure of his power that caused the atmosphere itself to feel as if it was filled with lead when he had to go and find Jupiter's stolen master ray with Jason and they both ended up surrounded by the different guards of the underworld in Pluto's palace.
Jackson had also felt the power of Nico DiAngelo... well, the last time he felt the power of the Greek son of the Underworld, DiAngelo had an aura that froze the blood when he summoned skeletons or ghosts, like a mixture of sadness and authority, although it was quite brief and only noticeable if he was looking; but the point was that the dead they controlled knew who was in charge
But these corpses, there seemed to be no sign of who or what created them, so perhaps they had long ago been created or were created by someone less powerful than a child of the Underworld, so Percy closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated, using his instinct and supernatural demigod senses, that strange mixture of magical/divine perception and tactical sense that he had developed, as well as honed over the years to try to find the culprit.
There was no divine or magic pressure, no mark of a god or a powerful entity, no spark of the Mist, no kind of magical sensation that he was accustomed to or recognized.
He opened them again, just in time to see how one of the corpses tripped over a root half buried in the snow that caused him to fall, he got up again somewhat slowly, but without making a sound, without even a whimper.
"They don't have pain... They are not afraid... they are mere puppets... but where is the puppeteer?" thought the son of the sea to himself as he settled better into the branch he was on, although the branch and snow on it creaked slightly under its weight as it moved, but the walking corpses did not react
"There is no intelligence" Jackson thought at the lack of perception of such things because not a single one raised his head, they did not smell it as almost all the monsters he has known do, nor did they feel it as the gods do, and as the son of one of the big three, Percy was not exactly discreet with his aura or demigod smell, even when he's learned to control it over the years, because to most monsters he was like a beacon in the dark, but several of the monsters had learned to avoid it by recognizing that they could not defeat him or mistook him for some lesser god because of the strong divinity in his blood, at least several of the Greco-Roman monsters did so.
But these monsters... they didn't have any reaction he expected.
"Or they are blind and deaf because they do not seem to seek a greater meaning like the dracaeneas with their tongue or like the wild cyclops with their ears... or they seem to walk because someone or something forces them and does not want them to stop following those natives" The son of Neptune continued to analyze the situation, trying to determine the capabilities of these creatures, but he was also focused on feeling and trying to find where what created and controlled those things came from, which thanks to his instincts he is sure is further back where he has been walking the last two days.
Whatever it was was weaker than the son of Hades and was far from giving him the same feeling as a lesser god, it was weaker than a Nereid or an Oceanid, but perhaps stronger than a naiad and apparently had been following his trail, just like the natives.
"They must have mistaken me for a meteorite" Jackson thought, remembering the collision he had in the carriage of the sun
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Well, here we have that Neptune's son already knows that it was humans who came after him, who were chased by reanimated corpses, although he has no idea that the mortals who live in those lands are members of the free folk, nor how they call monsters.
We also see that this 36-year-old Percy thinks more like a trained soldier than his teenage counterpart in the books, with Jackson climbing up and watching from a tree, noting that these creatures don't show pain, fear, intelligence, nor perception like some of the monsters he has faced and do not react to his presence/aura/divinity of a demigod as some of the immortals do.
So Jackson comes to the conclusion that they are like puppets controlled by something or someone weaker than a relevant god, possibly similar or stronger than a minor nymph thanks to Percy analyzing the situation to determine the abilities of the creatures and trying to determine the origin of them as best he can.
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If you are interested in reading more chapters of this fanfic or the other fanfics, before they are published here on fanfiction, AO3 and Wattpad
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