June 7, 2011
By RahXephon [847246]

Summary: As Luke sacrificed his life, Kronos cast Percy in the seas of time and space out of spite. Ending up on a savage, magic-stricken world, Percy finds out Gods can be much more capricious than the Olympians. In this hot, desert world, water is worth its weight in gold, and his powers are a blessing. But can he defeat the orcs alone, and is it even right to do so? Original world, OCs.

Disclaimer: Percy Jackson and the Olympians is owned and copyrighted by Rick Riordan. This work of fiction is authored under fair use terms as a fan work, and is not intended to be used for commercial gain by the author.

The Land Untamed

Time

Percy Jackson was at peace. The war was over, and Kronos had been defeated. Oh, he didn't see that old bastard kicked back into Tartarus, but the Demigod was pretty sure Luke managed to boot the Titan from the mortal plane.

Luke. What a bastard. Percy didn't know the wrathful son of Hermes had it within him to regain his humanity. After all the devastation the possessed Demigod had caused by channeling the essence of Kronos, Luke almost didn't deserve the chance to redeem himself. That Percy had allowed Luke to end his own life with the dagger was a mercy.

By the Gods, floating around thinking of his enemies was depressing.

With nothing to do but swim through the chaos of non-existence, Percy turned his thoughts to his other friends. Annabeth. Grover. Tyson. Rachel. How long had it been since he had last glimpsed any of them? How long did he float in the grayish murk? He didn't really mind ending up in this literally god-forsaken place. He only regretted not having the chance to say goodbye to his friends and family. How he longed to his father one last time and ask the God how proud he was of Percy's sacrifice. Surely Poseidon must be delighted. If only Percy knew. It seemed that none of the Olympians were able to fish him back to Earth, or he would have been kissing Annabeth and hugging his mother.

Sighing for the umpteenth time, Percy wondered whether this lifeless existence was going to last forever. His Demigod ADHD made him restless; his Achilles affliction only heaped up the irritation that was boiling inside of him. Heroes weren't meant to sit idle and twiddle their thumbs. They were meant to fight. It was hardwired in their half-god DNA – not that he had a clue what DNA actually meant. Science wasn't exactly his strong point.

"Arrghh why couldn't Kronos just be a good villain and fade away into Tartarus like a good Titan?"

After flailing out his limbs in useless fury, his mood subsided. It was to stay excited when there was no one to share it with. Eternal solitude was so overrated. If this was what trapped Gods such as Calypso or Atlas had to endure for a few millennia, Percy wasn't surprised if a few of them would go a little cuckoo in their heads. Heck, he didn't even know how long it would take before he would go stark raving mad. It wouldn't be too long, he was sure.

Thus the son of Poseidon drifted ever onwards in the seas of time, crossing over billions of dimensional boundaries without a conscious thought. Ever so slowly however, his progress began to slow. Eventually his body would stop. Where he would stop was a bit uncertain, though. Only Kronos knew.

The whip cracked on Ghelbern's back with a sting, leaving a filthy cut behind. The boy staggered under the wound but willed his malnourished body to continue onwards. He had to keep pushing on the cart. Terrible things would happen if he stopped.

The heavyset orc overseer grinned as he tasted the sweet human blood from his whip. "That's right you little human cur. Don't stop or I'll give your little mother a thrashing you won't forget."

Vurgal never lied. Orcs never lied. If the beast said he would beat Ghelbern's mother up, he would do it. But while the overseer never bluffed, he also never revealed the full extent of his words. Naia would get thrashed up for sure, but she would likely suffer even more. Perhaps she would be raped. Perhaps she would have her fingers burned. Or perhaps she would miss out on her daily water ration.

That was the cruelest punishment of all.

The glistening heat of Eos burned Ghelbern's skin into an already darker shade of tan. His body didn't sweat – to be given enough water to do so was a terrible waste. All the other slaves that were dragging the carts were in the same predicament as he. Even his mother – who trudged along the end of the line of caravans – had to work by carrying a heavy jar of water over her head.

The precious liquid contained within could hydrate a dozen humans for a day in this lifeless desert. Yet to have a human carry it over her head for an entire day out in the open was something only the orcs would come up with. If any of the jar bearers would drop their load, they would pay for it with their entire water rations. Most didn't survive long enough to replenish even a tenth of the contents.

Throughout the day, the overseer continued to whip at Ghelbern and his fellows dragging along the heavy cart. The pain was bearable. The loss of moisture was not. Every cut sapped out their strengths. Vurgal enjoyed seeing them whimper at the loss of blood. He enjoyed seeing someone falter. The orc would have an excuse to whip the poor fellow even further, weakening him more and more until he would collapse entirely.

The entire caravan line would have to stop, then. Chief Chrazgatar would stomp over to their location in a rage and demand an explanation. Vurgal would offer some placating excuse and blame it all on the slave who had collapsed under his mighty whip.

The slave would be their next nightfall's meal.

Ghelbern had seen it happen three times in his entire indentured life. The first time Vurgal wanted someone dead happened when he was four moon cycles old. The screams of the still-living man echoed throughout the entire encampment as their orcish masters chewed his raw uncooked limbs had given him his first taste of despair. The second time happened when he was but barely eight. It was a woman this time, a lovely girl who was much envied by the men. Perhaps that was why Vurgal had decided she had to go. The last time he experienced something like that was when his best friend Trian had the misfortune to collapse under Vurgal's whip. Ghelbern was right next to the older boy when the whip lashed out mouthfuls of blood. The red liquid splattered all over Ghelbern's dry, cracked skin.

It could have been him, the young slave knew. His turn might be coming yet.

Another crack lashed out against his back. Ghelb merely bit his cry and staggered onwards. Vurgal had it out on him, he was sure. He was sixteen cycles old. It was time for the orc to feast on another young human's flesh, and he had chosen Ghelbern.

The whip cracked on his back again, and this time he could not help but falter in his steps. The entire cart lurched as the man behind him almost tripped under Ghelbern's misplaced feet.

"Oy! Ghelb! You better not be slacking off!" Vurgal growled in his uncouth orcish accent, and whipped Ghelbern's back yet again.

It was a miracle that Ghelb didn't collapse completely. By the time Eos dipped below the horizon, the human boy's back was a mass of bruises and welts. As they were herded into the makeshift slave pens the orc guards had set up to keep their cattle confined, his mother and sister rushed to his side and began treat his wounds.

"I'm fine.. mom.. I'll just.."

But his mother wouldn't hear of it. Using the rags of their throwaway clothes, they wiped all of the dirt and treated his wounds as best they could with their limited knowledge. The other slaves in their pen didn't offer any aid. Their numb indifference had put them long past caring. Their orcish overlords loved to pit friends against each other. Sometimes they would stoop to break even family bonds, but those occasions were mercifully rare. The orcs were savage and bloodthirsty beings, but strangely enough they valued family bonds.

Bound by blood. Bound by battle. Bound by brotherhood.

From the stories passed on from other slaves, Ghelb supposed he was lucky to even enjoy his family's company. Chieftain Chrazgatar might be monstrous, but he was also fair, if that could be said of orcs. He ruled his Tribe in the traditional manner, as it was before the orcs supplanted humans as the dominant race of the world. Too many other wealthy orc lords had let their bloodlust mark their rule. Chrazgatar was a fair and just leader of his Tribe. That was what everyone else had said, so it must have been true.

As Ghelbern and the rest of the slaves took the time to devour their daily rations, the orcs came back to let them out. It was back to work for them all. Vurgal was waiting at the exit. He slapped his clawed hand to his mother's ass as she passed him by. She knew better than to make a sound. His sister received the same treatment. When Ghelb himself finally reached the exit, the toothy overseer slammed a wooden bucket against his chest. Despite the force of the blow, the boy struggled to catch the bucket before it fell.

"You're on feeding duty this night. Don't make ol' grumpy mad."

The slave boy's heart sank at the news. Feeding duty. Unbidden, sweat began to pour out of his palms. 'Frock.' He was already starting to lose the water he had just drank earlier. As the laughing overseer left his presence, Ghelbern desperately tried to stop his perspiration. 'Frocking shit. Why can't I keep it down?'

With shaking legs he maneuvered past the camp to edge to the eastern edge past the Chieftain's personal tent. The sound of laughter and orcish talk resounded from the hide-bound tent but Ghelbern didn't take any notice of it. His mind still reeled on his task. Feeding duty.

His worn out sandals hardly made a sound as he pattered slowly towards the huge open pen he knew that housed the Creature. The pen wasn't really designed to keep it contained. It was impossible to keep the Creature confined. The Thing just liked it to have some poles buried in the sand to mark out its sleeping area. There was no other purpose to the pen than to keep puny mortals out. Mortals much like Ghelbern.

Orcs liked to think of themselves as the new masters of the world. But the truth was that neither orcs, humans, elves or any other of the mortal races ever ruled over Oos.

No, the real rulers of Oos were the Gods. And one of these terrible beings was sleeping just right in front of Ghelbern's pathetic form. With infinite care he lowered the bucket before the sleeping monster. He had done it few enough to know the routine by now. The bucket – filled with gemstones and metals – silently dropped onto the dirt. Seeing the Creature slumber on, Ghelbern slowly retreated from the foul Beast's breath as it inhaled and exhaled in its sleep. When the boy judged himself to be at a moderately safe distance, he prepared himself for what he had to do next.

For if he returned without insuring that the God had eaten its fill, Vurgal would definitively string him up onto a flame and roast his stringy meat into a crisp.

Like a faithful worshipper, the human dropped to his knees. He bent his entire torso downwards until his forehead touched the cooling soil. His palms reached out and landed onto the ground in a supplicating gesture. "Oh Lord of Sand and Time, I humbly beseech you to accept the Chieftain's token of gratitude. Oh Master of Desert and Sun, please grace us with your presence and feed upon our gifts."

It took a while of gentle pleas to coax the God out of one of its frequent naps. The terrible lizard opened a single slitted eye. Though Ghelbern's gaze was determinedly locked to the darkened sand in front of his nose, he knew the mighty Beast was regarding his lowly flesh with its half-lidded eye.

An eye as large as his chest.

The Creature seemed to huff a little, and the weight upon Ghelbern's soul disappeared. From the crunch of wood and metal that sounded out a moment later, it seemed the God had accepted Chrazgatar's offering. The Beast continued to crunch the precious metals within its razors jaw before gulping down the contents. A wave of momentary bliss glided over Ghelbern's senses. A short thump later and the God fell back into its nap.

Ghelbern slipped out of the pen as fast as he possibly could. The God did not seem to have a taste of human flesh.. this time.

Momentary hatred slipped into his thoughts. Vurgal was out to kill him. For what reason the human slave did not know, but he was targeted all the same. The Gods were barely better than the mindless predators that roamed the Endless Desert. If his mother and sister didn't clean his wounds as well as they had just earlier, the Creature would have been tempted to devour him whole. Sand Gods like Chrazgatar's Patron were tempted by blood, especially of the liquid kind. If one of his wounds still dripped, Ghelbern was sure he would have been torn to pieces.

Patron. What a strange word. Ghelbern learned from one of the older slaves in charge of chronicling the Tribe that the ancient word meant 'father', or something like that. Swell parents the Gods proved to be. The huge, house-sized Beasts were nothing like parents. They were the protectors of the Tribe. Without a Patron, it was impossible for a Tribe to survive out in the open. Juvenile Godling predators roamed the entire desert and preyed upon the vulnerable in order to gorge themselves into Ascension. Other carnivores prowled the areas the Godlings left untouched. And if a Tribe managed to repel even those, other Tribes would descend on them with the power of their own Patron Gods.

Tribe Chrazgatar was indeed fortunate to be blessed by the Great and Timeless Fu'athlaska, The Serpent of the Sand, The Breath of Tha'las, The Scourge of Runners Beneath. Fu'athlaska was a God of indeterminate age, but likely centuries old at the very least. It might have even served under human Tribes in its long and enduring lifetime. It was a drakine God, as long as six caravans together and massing as much as a rock of the same size. Though such as large and massive animal would have normally starved to death unless it gorged on an animal every week, Gods were not as vulnerable to the thirst and hunger that assailed normal mortals. A God – especially a God of the Desert – fed itself by merely the force of their potent Divinity.

The human had seen Fu'athlaska perform its magic enough times to envy the Beast. The drake-like creature merely had to hiss and liquid streamed up from the dry and scorching sand. Sometimes the God didn't even bother summoning up the water buried deep underneath. It simply dove into the sand and burrowed straight underground to quench its thirst from the Underground Ocean. When the God was kept content, Chrazgatar could even request the Beast to form a small oasis in the middle of the desert. That was the real lifeblood of the Tribe. Without the Chieftain's gentle handling of the great and petty God, the Tribe would have withered long ago in the middle of the Great Desert.

Why the God even bothered to stick around the Tribe was a mystery to Ghelbern. The Tribe needed to God much more than the God needed them. As Ghelbern returned to the slave pen and prepared himself to sleep besides his mother, he wondered what had driven Fu'athlaska and the other Gods to protect the orcs. Did the great Beast see them as pets? Were they merely curiosities beneath its inhuman gaze?

It was a disquieting thought. What if the God would one day tire of its possessions? What then? Would it abandon the Tribe out in the waste, defenseless against any threat, whether it be mortal or Divine?

The boy clutched his loose blanket tighter. For a human who had never tasted the freedom of his ancestors, he longed for a reprieve. Anything would be better than this pointless existence of servitude. Vurgal would have him killed soon enough. Death would be a gift in itself, except that he would be there to protect his aging mother and budding sister.

Naia grew more fragile after each passing of the moon. She needed more water to sustain her health. If her deterioration kept up, the overseers would not see fit to keep her alive. They would boil her alive, or chop her to pieces and turn her flesh into sausages, or simply feed her to Fu'athlaska's as a snack.

Tirastria's fate would be worse. Without a male protector, she would be vulnerable to any eager male that wanted to pass on his lifeblood. Though Tiras was still too young to show her beauty, already her chest started to show its womanly potential. The hotblooded slaves within his pen would start to fight each other to stake their claim on her supple flesh. When the victor finally vanquished over his rivals, he would simply tear Tiras away from her mother and have his brutal way with the girl.

Their orc guards would do nothing. They simply regarded such takings as another ritual, similar to their own primal orcish practices. Tirastria would be bound to whoever staked a claim on her body and be forced to bear his offspring. The Tribe would thus never be out of slaves to perform all their menial work. That was how his own mother ended up with a son and daughter. They were fortunate that the father perished early on in their lives. But this placed an additional burden on the sole man of the family.

Ghelbern had to stay alive to protect his precious family. They were all he had in this world, and he would suffer a million lashes before he would let any horny man have his way with his baby sister.

"I'll protect you Tiras.. just wait and see.."

Sun.

That was the first thing Percy saw when he opened his eyes. The brightness burned his retinas, and he instantly shut his lids to keep off the incessant glare. The Demigod let out a tired moan before rolling his body sideways so he could keep the burning star away from his face. The course, hot grains of sand stirred beneath his movement, fouling up his armor.

'Wait, sand?'

The hyperactive boy suddenly speared his body up as he flew back into consciousness. Though the brightness was still too harsh for him to open up his eyes, he felt the warm grains of sand as firmly as he could.

'Is it.. real? Am I actually out of that stream of time?'

When Percy finally dared to open his eyes, he was met with a vast expanse of desert, hills and distant mountains. Everywhere he could see was sand, sand and dirt and cacti and other strange plants that he didn't even bother to identify. Despite the lack of towns or roads or other signs of human habitation, Percy rejoiced as he saw that he had finally left from wherever Kronos has pushed him into. There was actually solid ground beneath him. With an energetic hop, he jumped to his feet and began to inspect his form.

His body still looked the same. His celestial bronze armor reflected harshly against the glare of the sun, so much that Percy was tempted to end his inspection there. But he willed himself onwards in order to check if every part of his body and clothing had survived the passage. The boy sighed in relief as he spotted the familiar shape of his enchanted pen in one of his pockets. At least he wouldn't be without arms.

As Percy finished his inspection, he started to get a bit annoyed at his continued exposure against the sun. "Jeez Apollo, I know that shining your awesomeness is your thing, but could you tone it down for me please?"

The sun continued to radiate its warmth.

"Hellooo? Apollo? You up there mate?"

"…"

"Fine." Percy grumbled, and started to find the nearest place where he could find some shelter. He had crossed one desert before. He would not be cooked into a dried-out lump of meat just because the God of the Sun and Light and all that other sparkly stuff decided to tease him a little before retrieving him from this wasteland.

That was what he told himself as an entire day passed without a single change.

Percy leaned away from the side of the shallow cliff he was pressing against to check the progress of the sun. Why hadn't Apollo or any of the other fancy Olympian Gods come to his side in order to take him back? Was he supposed to cross the endless desert himself?

As soon as he resigned himself to walking across the entire desert by his own legs, he wondered where he actually ended up in. There was nothing in the desert to mark his location, and he hadn't had a clue on how to read the stars. He might have ended up in the Nevada desert, or worse, the Sahara. He knew there was some means to identify which desert he ended up in by identifying the growth and other features, but he wasn't a know-it-all like Annabeth. If he had been dropped in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean he would have known exactly where to go. As it is, a desert was about as far away from oceans in Percy's eyes.

Thank the Gods some of his Demigod powers still prevailed even under the scorching dryness of this rainless landscape. With a lot more effort than he was used to, he managed to pull up a tiny trickle of fresh rock-bound water. Being so far away from large bodies of water made it much harder to extract the water, but he didn't question his fortune. The surprisingly clean water was very much drinkable, and he had spared enough to freshen up his unwashed body. He wasn't sure if any sons of Poseidon could draw up water from the desert, but even if he couldn't, he could still conjure up water from nothing, though it would have exhausted him as there was barely any moisture in the air.

Kronos sure liked to spite him for dumping him into the desert.

"Well now, enough moping about. Let's see… where should I go.."

Despite the lack of any distinguishing features, Percy nevertheless identified a faint dirt track in his aimless wandering. He sighed once he realized he had a direction to follow, though his mood dropped a little when he found out there wasn't any paved or asphalted road in sight. Did he end up in some hick country like Afghanistan? He hoped he wouldn't meet some Taliban or some other Islamic fanatic in that case. He hated to use his God-given powers against another mortal. The affairs of humans were just one of many things Percy was glad to leave behind.

After wandering about for half a day, he suddenly jerked up as a cloud of dust appeared over a low hill that he had been climbing up against. Percy almost had to rub the crust out of his eyes before he realized that there were people approaching.

"By Zeus.. I actually made it. Fellow humans!"

And without a care of his unusual clothing and appearance, he raced along the road, unmindful of the sweat that he was perspiring at a rapid rate.

It was only after a pair of giant dogs began to ride out from the train of caravans that Percy began to actually look.

"Oh… Hades.."

The people who were bearing down on him from the hill were not heavily garmented Arabs riding on some camel-like creatures. Instead, the sight seemed to come straight out of some fantasy novel. The animals being ridden were giant, fur-trimmed wolves, not peaceful horses or camels. The warriors who rode them were definitely not human at all. In fact, Percy could not even recognize the brown-skinned ape-like creatures who were yowling their warcries. What manner of mythological creature were they? Minotaur rejects? A cross between giants and chimpanzees? Some kind of Egyptian or other ancient civilization's pet?

"Hey, hey, I don't want to fight! I just want to go home!"

Sadly it seemed that the mini-minotaur-apes didn't slow down in their charge. The pair of riders both whipped out curved over-sized scimitars. Their crude construction glinted off the glare of the afternoon sun. With another resigned sigh, Percy retrieved his pen and flipped the button.

Riptide came out to play.

As soon as his pen transformed into his celestial bronze sword, Percy's mind submerged into battle mode. His full Demigod genes were yearning for battle. Already his blood pumped up in anticipation for battle. Though he had not fought mounted monsters before, he was reasonably confident in his own fighting skills. If he was able to fight the likes of Ares or Kronos to a standstill, then he would have been able to handle a pair of miniature minotaurs.

..Hopefully.

One of the monsters rode ahead of the other, his sword swinging up for a chop. As the giant wolf reached Percy's position it snapped out to bite a chunk of the Demigod's flesh. The boy barely dodged the blow to pivot himself and parry the monster's heavy chop.

The forward momentum behind the swing almost brought Percy off his feet. He barely scrambled away from the other rider who had been positioned to lop off his unprepared head. Percy rolled in the dust, trying hard to use the roiling dust to obscure himself while he managed to scrabble back on his feet.

The pair of riders came around for a second pass. A bit wary now that he had to scale up the threat posed by these monsters, Percy decided he had to get serious against these opponents. With a calm demeanor he met the riders' approach. He stuck out his sword in front while leaving his other palm behind his back for balance.

The riders thundered down from the plain, this time slowed by the uphill ascent. The pair aligned themselves along Percy's flank, hoping to trap him in between. A seaweed brain he might be, even Percy knew that was a bad thing. Therefore he tensed his legs, saving them up for what he had in mind.

Both monsters reached Percy's position and swung their scimitars at him like a club. But as Percy held out his sword to parry, he used the force of the clash to jump and kick out his leg at the rider on his left. The blow landed hard on the wolf's unprotected flank, causing the terrible animal to yelp. But Percy wasn't finished yet and clamped his legs on the wolf's hind and managed to hitch a ride on the mount.

The monster riding in front had turned from his saddle in astonishment. With burning rage it howled a loud and stinking warcry before bringing about its scimitar to slash at the stowaway.

Percy had anticipated the attack and had already met the sword with a two-handed slash of his own. His young half-god muscles momentarily matched the monster's treetrunk-sized biceps. Both warriors staggered under the recoil, but Percy recovered first and managed to redirect his bouncing blade to stab at the throat of the rider. The monster choked in his saddle. Giving the creature no further thought, Percy stabbed his reddened blade straight into the distressed wolf's back, making sure to tear right through its lungs and hopefully its heart and other vital organs. The mount convulsed and instinctively jerked the interloper from its back.

The remaining rider – enraged to see its warbrother dead – whipped his mount into madness and stormed right into Percy, unheeding of its opponent skill. The boy had heard the wolf approaching long before he could glimpse the savage toothed animal's approach through the dust in the air. As the wolf jumped up to pounce at the human, Percy rolled forward and slung his sword overhead in a powerful swipe. He tore the animal's belly right open.

The maddened rider was flung from his saddle as the wolf landed awkwardly against the ground. The monster landed on its face, and it took a moment for him to regain his wits. Just in time to see the sword stabbing right through its brain.

Seeing as no one else came out from the collection of caravans to challenge him any further, Percy took the time to regain his breath. It had been hard dealing with the mounted monsters, but having dealt with a veritable zoo of mythological beasts had given him the necessary experience to improvise.

Seeing his blade sink into the monster's flesh was a small relief for Percy. Celestial bronze weren't capable of harming normals. That his enchanted blade was able to cut the brown-skinned beasts meant that he wasn't wrong in killing them. Besides, it wasn't as if they would really perish. Their souls would just float back to Tartarus for a while and reform a few years or centuries later. But that was not his current concern.

Wondering what the entire attack was all about, Percy lifted up his gaze in order to consider the caravan train in further detail.

More brown-skinned monsters stared him back. The tribal-looking creatures wore some kind of crude fashioning of plate or chainmail along with crudely painted hides. Their blackened hairstyles were bound up in exotic ponytails and other crazy designs. Their noses were short and thin, resting far atop their oversized mouths and gigantic tusks. Almost all of them were decked out for battle, carrying swords, clubs, spears and other assorted weaponry. The mounted warrior at the lead carried a rather resplendent battleaxe that looked to be encrusted with gems and attached with various tufts of fur.

But these monsters didn't hold Percy's attention for long. There were two other presences that drew his eyes. The first was the overgrown sand-skinned komodo dragon lumbering alongside the caravan trail. The huge animal glinted its eyes at Percy in cruel intelligence. A whiff of.. something passed over the human boy, and he had no doubt the wingless drake had scanned his disposition. The creature held its gaze on Percy for a moment longer before huffing in a contemptuous snort. The creature sank down into the dirt and rolled on its belly as if to sun itself in the lingering heat.

No, what really drew Percy's attention was the mass of humans strewn about along the caravans. All of them were in some sort of rusted chains. Some walked alongside the train carrying jars or heavy packs on their backs. Most however were tied to the front of the wagons, their very wrists tied against the poles jutting out in front. Their tired, thirsty appearance and their empty eyes said enough of their predicament.

How dare these monsters enslave innocent people? These humans were nothing more than beasts of burden to them! Percy's vision began to redden in righteous anger as he took in the conditions of these slaves. This was an abomination. Humans – no matter if they were mundane or Demigod in ancestry – deserved to live out their lives in peace.

This was not peace.

This was not happiness.

This was injustice.

He didn't care that this was none of his business. For all he know, some middle-eastern pantheon practiced this kind of slavery for over four thousand years. But Percy was never one to relate to other cultures. Slavery was bad. These human prisoners didn't deserve to under this torture.

Therefore, with a bit less common sense than he usually possessed, he charged up the hill and towards the bewildered bunch of monsters. Percy was a Hero. This was what he was born to do. All of these abominations had to be sent back to Tartarus or whatever hell they believed in. They deserved no less.

Chieftain Chrazgatar wasn't one to sit idle when challenged. The strangely armored mortal had slain two of his outriders with less effort than one would snap a human child's neck. Enough was enough. He wasn't going to risk anymore warriors of his Tribe to this strange and surprisingly strong human. Since the stranger didn't challenge him to a duel, Chrazgatar had no obligation to play fair. Gathering his strength, the orc leader lifted his war axe and channeled the powers of his Patron God. Pointing it at the approaching human, he uttered a small command.

A wave of sand ripped up from beneath the human's feet and engulfed him in a flood of choking dirt. The very desert had moved up to swallow him whole.