Demigods after Tartarus [1/4]
Percy Jackson noticed a shift in his powers since emerging from Tartarus. Well, if he was being technical, it started from Akhlys.
When he had defeated her by controlling her poison, heâd felt something inside of him crack before the liquid bent to his will. Though the broken edges began to smooth as Annabeth calmed him and told him that some things werenât meant to be controlled, shattered glass couldnât be pieced together again.
All around him he felt water begging for his attention, even from the most unassuming and mundane things. It drove him crazy. It kept calling, shouting, screaming his name and he had to have had the most self-control in the world to be able to ignore it after knowing what wielding it felt like.
The warmth that flooded through him. The all-encompassing power he felt from even just his fingertips. The thrill of watching it bend to his will. The tingle he felt all over his body afterwards.
He gave in. âJust one time.â He said that last time, it became a pastime. It was a drug and he was an addict.
It started with plants. They called to him the most. It was easy to find a patch of grass and sneak off alone. It was just as easy to control the water from the grass; he hardly had to lift a finger. With the tiniest of summons, the water drew to him like he was a magnet. And, oh, did it feel good. He grinned as water rose from each plant and formed a bubble in front of his eyes. He laughed as he made it dance with him, and though he was a little sorry for the patch of dead yellow he left, it was nothing compared to the rush he felt. He found himself caring less and less about the dried out grass, only really feeling sorry for himself when there wasnât a single blade of green left to suck the water out of.
It came all too natural to him now, and at one point, he accidentally turned a grape into a raisin by just a touch.
The air was next. If he concentrated enough, he could feel every little molecule of water just sitting there in his reach. It was difficult at first, getting the microscopic particles to join together and create even a single visible drop. But practicing so often, it got easier and easier as the water became more and more willing to listen to him. Like a moth to a flame. He didnât even need bodies of water at his disposal now, he could pull streams from thin air.
The more he controlled water in unnatural ways, the stronger he felt the call. Soon enough, he realized even animals had water in them.
It was a New York City street and he was sitting at an outside table of a cafe, waiting for Annabeth to meet him. He sensed a group of water scurry directly below him. On instinct, he commanded it to stop and it did, though it took more willpower than any plant nor even the air needed. He forced the water to move into his line of vision and it did, slowly. His powers dragged a petrified rat from under the chair and at once he let go from shock. Dumbfounded, he watched it scamper away faster than heâd ever seen any rat move. Later on, with light research, he found out blood was made up of 55% plasma, and water formed over 90% of plasma. He was never considered a smart kid in his life, but even he knew what that meant.
The first time he bended blood was an accident. The second time was an experiment.
In the middle of the night, he racked his entire brain to focus on his right pinky finger. He caught hint of the tiniest trace of water from the blood circulating within. And then, all at once, everything flooded in like a broken dam. Every drop of blood in his body seemed to visualize in his head, he could probably map out his entire circulatory system if he tried. It was all right there. How he couldnât feel it before, he didnât know. He forced his finger to raise using his powers. It did. He tried to force his finger down using his brain. It didnât. He let go of the water and instantly regained control.
He couldnât sleep that nightâpartially due to the insane discovery, but mostly due to the voices. It had been fine when it was just the plants. It was bearable when it was the air. But now with his own body joining the choir? It was impossible to tune out.
The third time he bended blood was, again, an accident. A much more unfortunate one.
He was sparring with Annabeth on a Saturday morning, getting a bit of exercise and training in for the day. Accidentally, he grazed her arm. Annabeth only smiled and looked impressed while he apologized, saying it wasnât a big deal and that he barely scratched her. Not a second after, the faint white line turned red as blood seeped through the skin. The moment he focused his eyes on it, he could feel the water from the emerging blood, then from every drop in Annabethâs body.
It was a different experience, feeling blood circulate through someone other than himself. It was like seeing her from an entirely new perspective. She felt less like a person with skin, features, and body parts; Annabeth seemed more like a constant stream of blood begging to be controlled.
Human beings were never meant to be aware of the insides of another human being, that much was clear to Percy. It genuinely made him feel sick just looking at her. There were so many components to it: it felt like an invasion of her privacy knowing her inner bodily workings, it grossed him out a bit to look at her and be able to see the blood circulating beneath her skin so clearly, it drove him mental to have so much untouched water right there in his grasp if he so much as flicked his wrist.
Annabeth caught on to Percyâs painfully obvious avoidances rather quickly.
âPercyâhey where are you going? Hey! Stop! Percy! Youâre avoiding me on purpose arenât you? Stop walking away! Whatâs the matter with you? Did I do something? Whatâs wrong? Percy, please, just look at me. Could you just look at me? Percy! This isnât funny. I donât know what I did, but I-I can fix it, just tell me? yeah? Please just stop walking away? Percy!â
âStop following me.â
He didnât mean to. He swears he didnât mean to. It was an accident, he hadnât even realized what happened until it was too late. Annabeth was unnaturally still, mid-step. Her very muscles locked up, body frigid and tense like she was a part of Medusaâs garden emporium. She couldâve been mistaken for a statue if you looked at her anywhere except her eyes. Oh, her eyes.
Annabethâs eyes always contained storms fierce enough to wipe out cities and wreck fleets of ships. Percy had never seen them clear up since he first caught sight of them at 12 years old. He fell in love with those stormsâthey were his beacon of hope, his rock that kept him steady, his everything. If eyes were truly windows to the soul, Annabethâs storms would tell you she was a fighter down to her bones. Even in the darkest of times, Percy could just cast a glance at them and know Annabeth wasnât giving up, so he wasnât either. When he was frightened or unsure, with just a peek, he could feel in his core things were going to be okay because he and Annabeth would fight til the end to make it that way. He had been through literal hell and back with those storms, through every trial and tribulation, every monster, every war, and yet, this was the moment they lost their ferocity.
Her eyes were terrified. And it terrified him that he was responsible.
He broke his control over her body. Her mobility returned, but her storms did not. Annabeth never did quite look at him the same way after that.
Percy now realized that what he had considered a blessing turned out to be a curse, or however the saying went. His emerge from Tartarus granted him power beyond his imagination, more water than he would ever know what to do with. He had gained it all.
But with it, he had lost everything.
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