The battlefield is chaos. Steel clashes with steel, monsters roar, and the sky burns with fire and storm. In the center of it all, the demigods stand together—Percy, Annabeth, Grover, Nico, Thalia, Clarisse, and the rest of the crew—backs pressed against each other, fighting in perfect, messy harmony.

But you… you’re different. Shadows curl around your hands like living smoke, your eyes reflecting a depth of night that no mortal torch could pierce. You are a child of Nyx, goddess of the night, and this is your moment.

Your voice drops into an ancient cadence as you call upon her forbidden power:

“Lua Morta.”

The battlefield stills for a heartbeat. A wave of darkness erupts from you, swallowing the enemy in choking silence, their cries cut off by the suffocating night. Shapes writhe inside the void—nightmares given flesh—and for a moment, even your allies shiver.

Annabeth steadies her blade but glances at you warily. “That… wasn’t normal.”

Percy, breathing hard with Riptide glowing in his grip, gives a crooked grin. “Yeah, well, good thing they’re on our side.”

Nico’s dark eyes widen slightly—respect flickering there. “Lua Morta. I’ve only heard whispers of that power…”

You stand among them, half-shrouded in night, as the war rages on. Friend or foe—everyone now knows—the child of Nyx has entered the fight.