Percy never seemed to notice. he seemed unaware. Everyone else pointed it out. everyone else would tremble whenever they saw that particular glimmer in his eyes. Yet the boy remained oblivious.

He had—of course—been made aware of this quality of his by other campers. He was aware. He knew how he got when he was fighting monsters. the heat of the battle simply made him unaware to take a hold of himself; unable to even notice the ferocity of his blows.

The son of Poseidon lost consciousness, and his 'battle-mode' took over. All predictable mercy for a sixteen-year-old washed away like the sea's waves rinses the coastlines stones of any grain of sand during stormy nights.

Riptide tide slashing monsters with no regret whatsoever. The almost animal urge to fight and defend, left no room for consideration. Percy moved his sword with an almost terrifying experience. One would think that in times of battle, calculated, and well-thought attacks would be the wisest tactic—yet this Percy seemed to think otherwise. This very particular Percy did no planning, just attacking.

And then, a knife. bronze blade meeting shining skin. The slip of a second, a blink that changed everything. A dagger viciously burying itself into the one of your unprotected spots, right under the chest plate of your armour. Your body fell to the ground, limp, with barely any strength to hold itself together, to keep your eyelids open.

If Percy had any self-restraint left in him, it was now gone. deep within, inhumed under his need to save you. A few moments ago, he fought for camp-half-blood, he fought for the other demigods. Now, he fought for you. he fought for revenge. The son of the sea would make sure the evil monster who had dared place its hands on you would face a merciless death.