This is a co-written story by Jarl of the North and the King of Skaro. Neither of us own Doctor Who or Percy Jackson and the Olympians. Please support the official release!

NARRATOR

At first, it had been smooth sailing; the TARDIS had begun to travel once again, the familiar whir and buzz of machinery music to the Doctor's ears as the intertemporal travel began.

However, it soon became clear that something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

For one thing, TARDISes were renowned throughout the universe for their natural ability to materialize wherever their masters wished with little to no trouble whatsoever, no matter the barriers placed or precautions made. Currently, the Type-40 TARDIS of the Doctor was, on some level that only the Doctor could sense, screaming. Screaming in a mixture of frustration and pain.

For another, the Doctor was fairly certain that the consoles were not supposed to spark the way they were right now.

He frantically pulled at the switches and levers in reach, his fingers dancing across the console like lightning through water. His face was grim as he constantly switched between the two monitors, his jaw set as he glanced up every once in a while, "come on, sexy, you've been through worse than this. Come on!"

Elsewhere, the dead of night was disrupted by a slight sound; some twist, a distortion in the mist, and in the barrier that kept the place known as Camp Half-Blood from the sight of normal humans; the air literally rippled, the borders of reality forced to stretch as the ancient laws that kept the universe balanced were bent, an unnatural light emanating from between the two Cabins that served as the head of the Camp - directly between the Zeus and Hera Cabins, the laws of magic and physics alike were in a frenzy, desperately trying with all their might to remain intact.

It was clear, however, they were failing utterly; for in yet another place altogether, the Fates sat by their fire, weaving together the past, present, and future as one. But even here, the disturbance was felt; their hands trembled as they struggled to weave their works; what they could make was poorly made, barely holding together, only fit to serve as guidelines for the future at best. And what was worst of all, was that the works they had already made - works that decided the rise and fall of empires - had begun to unravel on themselves, reduced to little more than strings of magic.

It was as though all the destinies of the world, of the past, the present and the future, of creatures, humans, monsters, and even empires, were struggling as one to break free from the grip of the Three Fates.

And the Fates were losing.

It was now that the victor was to be decided.

And the universe, it seemed, was not keen on allowing the Fates their victory.

Back within the borders of Camp Half-Blood, between the Zeus and Hera Cabins, something shattered; something within physics and magics alike simply snapped, unable to hold whatever it was fighting against back. The air slowly settled back to its normal state as a light whirring sound pierced the air - only slightly at first, but then growing in volume, like a piercingly high pitched, but steady heartbeat. Then, the flickering form of a new shape began within, the dark blue wood and opaque windows bare to the world for all to see, growing more solid with each passing second.

And all at once, as soon as it settled, as solid as any other thing within the world, a deafening boom swept through the night, heralding the final landing of the TARDIS. To anyone who might have been there to witness it, it would have seemed as though the space between the Cabins and the TARDIS were perfectly measured - as though it had always been meant to be there.

Within, the Doctor had been knocked onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as the TARDIS let out a low groan of pain. He gave a grin, chuckling, then let that chuckle grow into a new, bold laughter as he sat up, "this is why I love traveling to new places," he took in a deep breath as he stood, then sighed, "oh, I've missed this."

Once again chuckling, he strode across the bridge to the door, fishing in his pocket for his key, psychic paper, and sonic screwdriver. Satisfied that he had what he needed, he gripped the handle of the door, raising his hand, "let's see where you've taken me this time, sexy."

With that, he opened the door, and strode out into the night, glancing about.

The first thing that struck him were the odd buildings that surrounded the area in a sort of giant U shape - each one of completely different design than the others. Another was that almost all of them were completely silent - as though they were abandoned hornet nests, the hives completely emptied of their would-be residents.

Perplexed, the Doctor took out his sonic screwdriver, scanning the air. As soon as he got a reading, his face twisted even further in his confusion, "definitely Long Island... New York..." he looked up again, "but not one I've ever been to before."

He strode further out, first moving over to the structure that appeared to be made completely from gold, bronze and polished white marble. He rolled his eyes, remembering some particularly proud people he'd come across that wouldn't hesitate to build something like this to live in for camping, and muttered, "someone is rather proud of themselves, now aren't they?"

He made his way to the door, made from polished oak, and knocked on the door. When no one answered, he tried again, a bit louder this time. Finally, he drove his fist into it several times at full force, not even making a dent in the wood, but the echoes in the structure plain for all to hear.

He shook his hand, giving it a sideways glace as it stung with pain, then murmured, "guess no one's home," before twisting the nob and opening the door, quickly striding into the dark. A new smell entered his nostrils, making him blink a few times before licking at the air with his tongue, as though it were a sugar cube. After taking a few seconds to let the taste settle in his mouth, he smiled

"Ozone," he decided, then continued on, his eyes taking in every detail of the room.

It didn't take him long to do a complete search of the place - aside from lots of pillars, white and polished shiny metal, there wasn't much to look at.

"This place is completely barren," he muttered, glancing about, "why would anyone want to live here?"

He shook his head before something finally caught his eye; in the corner of the room, a set of objects lay on the floor. A sleeping bag, some basic toiletries, a backpack - and that was it. He strode over to it, kneeling to examine the objects - all recently used, no more than a day or two ago. He smirked, "well... not completely barren after all, are we?" he mused.

He'd begun to reach for the bag when his ear twitched; a rather loud commotion approaching from outside the structure. He glanced in the direction of the noise, then sighed, standing back up, "hm... looks like my search has been put on hold for now," he muttered, "better get back to the TARDIS... I don't want to be nearly sacrificed by crazed cultists for some false god again."

With that, he turned, and strode towards the exit.

As soon as he grabbed the doors and flung them open, he could feel his hearts both leap and drop into his stomach as weapons of all sorts were pointed at him, from bows and arrows to swords to spears, and even the odd shotgun. No less, these weapons were being held by what looked like children - none of his would-be murderers were older than seventeen.

He blinked once as silence encompassed the area, found at a loss for words for the first time in his life against the absurdity of this entire situation.

It took him a few seconds for him to find his voice.

"Well... this is awkward."