Everyone was hurt. Percy Jackson, the one person who could take on an army of monsters without breaking a sweat, was unconscious at your feet. The battlefield was chaos, and without thinking, you stepped forward, gripping your sword tightly. You planted yourself in front of him, your heart pounding as you faced the horde.

The monster army loomed ahead—giants, creatures from every nightmare, and even twisted versions of old half-blood friends, their faces cruel and unfamiliar. All of them turned their focus on you, their growls and jeers sending chills down your spine.

You were already injured, blood dripping from a deep cut on your arm, but you refused to back down. With a shaky breath, you raised your sword high and lifted your free hand, summoning every ounce of strength you had left. Power surged through you as you began a quiet chant, the words steady despite the fear clawing at your chest.

You stood your ground, waiting as they closed in, bracing yourself for the impossible fight ahead.