Chapter Text
His journey through Britain led him towards the plains of Scotland, before arriving at the coast, on a small town called Crail; famous for fishing. Where the son of Poseidon hopes to work, and earn some money after having used most of it up travelling and sightseeing in London and other areas of England.
During the early hours of Tuesday morning, when the sun was beginning to rise and paint the tumultuous waters in hues of orange and red, the famed demigod descended down to the docks in search of work. After chatting to a few locals, each whom questioned the strangers ability and subsequently rejected him, he happened upon a group of men in their sixties; two brothers, in a family business, who were more than happy to accept an extra pair of hands, who was happy to take a lesser wage if they offered him a place to stay, in the short term. That’s how he found himself holed up in a small but hearty house of one of the brothers, the dwelling was smaller than the one he used to live in with his mother and Smelly Gabe, but the veteran didn’t despair and accepted it with a smile, chucking his trusty duffel bag on the bed.
It was during his very first day of fishing at the crack of dawn, when a man, around his early thirties or so, came to Percy and warned him of staying too close to the water late at night, and be wary of any eerie figures in the distance, much to the laughter of some of the younger workers who were setting up the boat; three teens, no older than sixteen, who waved the man’s warnings off as the nonsensical ramblings of a superstitious fisherman.
Percy accepted the man’s warnings with a raised brow and a firm, clasped hand. Who was he to ignore the advice? He himself had lived in a world shrouded by a magic veil, that hid monsters and Gods from mortals prying eyes, and now he lived in a world where men wore spandex and aliens fell from the sky on the regular. Who’s to say a small superstition, easily avoidable, was unfounded.
Throughout the following two days Percy kept his eyes peeled, but he spotted nothing out of the ordinary, though the locals would disagree; arguing the enormous catches that the crew had received since the displaced demigod arrived were almost mystical. It was on the third day, late in the afternoon, when the town was struck with a death; an elderly woman, named Morvan was found dead by the roadside. They assume she must’ve died late that evening, or in the night. Though why the lady was out at such time, no one knows.
It was a tight knit town, and the news spread quickly, before long the body was taken away and ruled a murder. A startling discovery for such a small town.
They found traces of different poisons in the old woman’s body, things Percy could feel rolling in waves off of the body, even from a distance, so potent was the concoction of toxins that she experienced.
Eyes immediately shifted to Percy, a fresh strange newcomer, with a foreign accent, who happened to arrive only a few days before the suspect murder. Luckily after a few brief checks, and a number of locals vouching for, not only his character, but his alibi, he was cleared of suspicion. Bar a few side-eyes and cautious glances as he patrolled the streets and local shops.
After a week or so, the town settled down, though the funeral still loomed large in the background.
/
The funeral came and went, and so people cautiously went about their days.
But another body was found, down by the shore; a hideous sight, even to the eyes of a battle-hardened Percy who was amongst the first few to find the corpse. The arm was ripped clean out the socket, in what looked like a vicious bite, teeth wounds marred the chest, tearing apart his shirt, which now resembled more of a rag than anything else. His left leg was missing a chunk, and crimson blood stained the tawny sand, recently dried.
The young man was soon found to be a local, Noah, the son of a local pub owner in town. He was a skinny boy, dissimilar to his portly and balding father. He often frequented the sandy coast at dawn, admiring the rise of the sun, something his father now blamed his death on.
The funeral came much sooner this time, a smaller group than the previous. No eyes shifted Percy this time. Why would they when no man could make such worrisome bite marks on another.
/
It was in the evening, when the fisherman’s family had invited him down to share dinner with them; the brother who asked him to stay, Robert, his son, James, who was one of the teens mentioned earlier, and wife, Bonnie. She was a fierce cook, Bonnie, and for this particular meal she’d prepared a Cullen skink, a rich soup with potatoes, onions, smoked haddock, and paired it with a plate of pan-fried scallops. Percy, who’d hadn’t had a home-cooked meal in weeks, descended it on like a ravenous lion, starved of prey and just now feasting on a wounded gazelle that was unable to escape its grasp. So hungry was the soldier as he drank up the bowl of soup handed to him, and mixed sips with bites of the garlic-basted scallops.
He quickly blushed away when he realised how he looked, with the family’s eyes centred on him. “Sorry.”
Robert was first to respond, his thick Scottish accent coating his words, “Nae worries loon, guid to see ye've taken so weel to ma wife's cookin'!"
Percy smiles, “It’s nice to have a home cooked meal every once in a while.”
“Well love, I’m glad ye’re enjoying it. After all this suppers to celebrate you!” Brown-haired Bonnie responds.
“I still don’t think you need to do that, it’s too much. I haven’t even done that much!” A light, rosy blush begins to colour his tan cheeks, which hide some of the faint pink hue.
“Nae worries laddie. Since ye've been here, our catches hae been far better than they've ever been before. Ye're a good omen if I’ve ‘ver seen one!”
“I’m just doing my job.” The son of Poseidon shyly responds. He’d never been one for compliments, often making him feel slightly awkward or believing them to be unfounded. Mainly a product of his childhood, he was a humble man and so such kind words left him quiet and unsure of how to respond. Even more so, as he didn’t really do much, like he said. He can’t help that fish flock to him, and that he and the others can then take advantage of that fact to rake in a greater catch.
Robert roars in laughter, his wife chuckling too. He turns to James for support, but the young teen just offers a wry smile in response.
Conversation begins to soften, as he chats to James about school and girls and Bonnie and Robert begin their own conversation, which Percy begins to lose track off as he focuses on the sixteen year olds troubled love life.
/
The meal begins to come to a close and the sea-faring half-blood is quick to collect the dishes, much to the disagreement of the others and begins to wash up. Bonnie, who’d cooked the whole meal, with a small hand from her son retires to the sofa, throwing on some odd television, whilst the aged Fisherman helps Percy clean up.
The two stand side by side, the veteran scrubs the dishes clean whilst Robert drys them and puts them away, a succinct and efficient routine.
The two make idle conversation for some time, until the they cross the somber topic of the two recent deaths. Roberts brow furrows, the creases on the old man’s forehead becoming more and more apparent, his eyes turn grey, losing the mirth that usually coloured his blue eyes. He speaks to Percy in a hushed tone, “it’s no natural, laddie. Nae.”
“Well, I didn’t think it was. I don’t mean to be rude, but…we saw the body, that wasn’t from old age or a heart attack.”
“Ye’ve misunderstood me laddie. Nae man caused them deaths.”
The young man’s eyes widen slightly and he pauses mid scrub, “No man? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Listen closely lad an’ don’t take ma words for the ravin's of a madman. Lord knows ma own son does, but he's young an' foolish. He'll learn, in time."
Percy looks at him, the storm brewing in the fisherman’s eyes and the frown that sits so unevenly on his face, with worry.
“When I was young like ya. Ma father told me o’ the nuckelavee. Half a man, half a horse. An ugly thing it was, nae flesh covering’ its body. I never believed the old bastard when I was younger. Who would? But... thae marks, an' the poison on old wumman Morvan... it can only be one thing."
“Robert, you can’t really believe this, right? I mean, sure it may line up, but a monster?” His heart begins to pound at his chest, like a caged animal begging for escape, it thunders against the bars. Thoughts race around his mind, half-formed, running wild like the wind…Surely not, he’d left that life behind. He knew myths and monsters still existed here, but so close to him? He curses himself, and his poor luck.
“Believe me or no, it's true. I just wanted tae warn ye, laddie. Take care o' yersel out there... especially by the water."
He frowns, “Alright, I’ll take your word for it.” A memory comes spurring back to his mind; his first day when a man came and warned him of something in the sea, he’d half waved it off, but now?
Robert nods graciously and the two return to scrubbing in silence, before James rounds the corner and reignites the conversation.
/
Late that night. Percy finds himself struggling to sleep, despite the soft mattress that lies beneath him, and the plump pillow that supports his head. He resolves to find out more the following morning, after all if it is true, it’s best not to go out at night; when a blanket of darkness covers the area, obscuring the crimes of foul beasts, that Percy is all too familiar with and making it harder to fight against it, especially without properly preparing for it. Age had taught him one crucial lesson; know thy enemy. He knows the Greek and Roman myths all too well now. He’s heard of a few of the Egyptian monsters, after his run in with the Carter siblings. But he knows nothing of Scottish myths, why would he, until now?
He’s particularly uneased because of the constant talk of the Sea. That’s his domain, where he draws most of his power from, which heals his gaping wounds with a tender touch, and drives exhaustion away with even a drop from the falling rain above. To think such a thing could be dwelling beneath the waves, beneath his fathers kingdom, fills him with implacable rage. So he begrudgingly puts his thoughts to rest, shoving them down and trying to sleep. When the sun rises in the morning, he’ll be up and ready, during his day off, to find out the truth.
No monster shall threaten the son of Poseidon, survivor of Tartarus, and walk away alive.
/
He sleeps in late the next morning, it’s a Sunday and so they get the day off of work. That explains why Robert didn’t wake him earlier; likely holed up in his own room getting a long and well-earned lie-in.
So he descends downstairs, to the main kitchen, which is blissfully quiet, bar the noise come from James’ phone. “You’re up early.”
“Am I?” He responds, without taking his eyes off the blue light of his phone.
“Early to me.”
James snorts and puts down the phone, the sound from it fading as he turns to face the demigod, resting half his body over the edge of the sofa. “I would’ve thought you’d stay in bed longer. You did last Sunday anyways.”
He rubs the sleep, from where it’s gathered in the corners of his beautiful sea-green eyes, which seem to glimmer and flit from shade to shade to match the nearest body of water, and lets out a heavy yawn whilst stretching his toned arms behind his head. “Maybe I should’ve followed suit today.”
The youngster takes one look at Percy and nods, “Yeah, you look dead. There a reason ye’re up so early anyways?”
“Yeah, wanted to go to the local library, use their computers.”
“Library? Really? No offence! But ye’ve struggled when reading around the house, just surprised you’d go to a place like ‘hat willingly.” He quickly attempts defends himself, trying to soothe Percy’s feelings.
The half-blood just laughs, “No worries, I’m dyslexic, makes it hard for me to read.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry kiddo. You didn’t offend me.”
“Good, besides you can’t call me kiddo!”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re only, like, three years older than me!”
“You’re not wrong, but until you’re older than eighteen, I’ll call you a kid.”
James throws his head back dramatically and groans. Percy just sighs happily and trots around to the other side of the sofa, taking a seat beside the sixteen year old. “Oh relax, it’s not that long.”
“Whatever.”
“Oh stop whining, now why don’t you teach me how to use that phone of yours?”
The teen spins on him, pulling his body from where it was draped over the sofas edge. “Teach?”
“Yeah, teach. Why not?”
“No, it’s not that. But you’re like twenty, why do you want me to teach you to use a phone.”
Percy clasps his hands together, “Isn’t it obvious? I don’t know how to use one.”
That’s how the Riptide-wielding nineteen year old found himself on the end of a fearsome tirade about the use and benefit of phones, how unbelievable it was that a guy as young as him didn’t know how to use one and numerous questions about his past and why he didn’t currently have a phone, which he left mainly unanswered.
/
After learning how to use an iPhone to a relatively decent extent, as well as hearing another long explanation as to why they’re superior to Samsung, Percy departs from the house. He heads down the street, past a few kind locals, people he’s grown to know decently well over the past two weeks, and heads to where he remembers seeing a library, during one of his earlier excursions.
It takes him a little time, and more than a few re-walking of routes, until he happens upon the local library, unsurprisingly not too far from the local school which James reluctantly attends. He’s greet by a kind old man at the counter, who points him to the back where a few unused, and dusty computers sit. Clearly not having been exchanged for newer versions, or well visited based off the thin layer of grime that covers the top.
He presses the on button, and waits for the screen to load, before typing into the search bar ‘nucclevee’ to the best of his ability. The search autocorrects, and after a few attempts, he manages to piece together the correct spelling and pronunciation of the demonic creature; ‘nucklavee’. It’s a hideous looking thing, from the images Percy can find; a horrid imitation of a centaur, where a man is conjoined not just to the lower half of a horse, but the whole body. It has long, wiry arms which reach low and brush the ground and most horrifyingly it has no skin. None. Just a fleshless creature, whose long red veins and bones are visible for all to see.
He clicks on one particular eye catching image, where the horse is depicted with a singular, piercing red eye and is directed to an old site on the ‘Myths of Scotland, Old and New’. He scrolls down to the page on the Nucklavee, skipping past the passages on Nessie, Selkies and Redcaps. It seems the recent deaths line up perfectly with the hideous creatures abilities; a penchant for attacking humans, ripping their limbs, or having the horse half bite into them, and it’s supernatural skill of secreting various poisons to attack humans, and crops. That explains the deaths of old woman Morven and young Noah.
Though the one thing that still eludes Percy, is why in the middle of summer, when it should be chained under the sea by a mythical and kind spirit, it runs free. Now he knows myths are often wrong, or tweaked over the ages, to switch between various stories. But from flicking between multiple websites, he’s seen it’s a staple part of the monstrosity’s story. It shouldn’t be coming out during this season. So why is it? Why does it ravage the town with dead bodies?
Something stirs deep within the experienced warriors gut, an odd but recognisable feeling, that he knows all too well; this isn’t right. As a veteran of two wars and numerous quests for Olympus, he’s learnt to trust himself and his own judgement. Too many times has it saved him from a long and painful death. The same feeling, which has been dormant thus far (since he’s landed in this new universe) resurfaces.
It can only spell trouble.
So after a brief search into the weaknesses of this disgusting beast, he decides to sneak out of the house at night and prowl the streets. In hopes that he saves any stranded townspeople, or put an end to this monster.
/
When endless Night descends on the town, casting the whole area into darkness, our hero sneaks out of the house, certain all are asleep. He grabs his trusty duffle bag, that’s remained with him throughout his travels and dons his Nemean lion skin, throwing the gaping maw over his head; the bared teeth hood nicely over his head. He then pulls from his bag a small sword sheath and plants his Drakon bone sword within it, opting to keep Riptide as his primary weapon, and this as his secondary. He then searches for a body of freshwater and pulls it towards him, capping it in a small cantina that he clips to his side; as the Nucklavee comes from seawater it has a natural aversion to freshwater, which burns it.
He then plants the duffle behind the house, in a pile of shrubs, away from prying eyes and sets off. He patrols the streets with his hand on Riptides pen form, ready to uncap at a moments notice. As he scouts the area, not seeing anything out of the ordinary, he decides to head down closer to the docks and the Ocean from which the terror is born. As he happens upon the ink-black water, he makes out the faintest of figures in the distance. Assured there’s nobody around, he allows Riptide to assume it’s true form; a glistening bronze Xiphos, a leaf shaped blade which shines in the pitch black darkness of night…Just in time.
As lightening strikes down and scorches the green of earth, turning it a bitter black, before the eye can process it, so quickly does the nightmarish creature descend on Percy. Spouting from the water in a great pillar, which lands it just in front of the battle-hardened demigod, it gnashes its teeth and begins to gallop towards him at astonishing speed for such a huge monster. Its bright red eye focused in on the solider, unblinking and unwavering, even as the cold wind blows around them.
He sidesteps the colossal beast, just before its gnawing teeth can catch a bite of his olive skin and whips round, bringing down Riptide in a great arc. It slashes through the flank of the horses body, which lets out a great whine. He’s sure the moan would have awoken the townsfolk, if they were any closer.
Feeling the sword cut through its bones and veins, which are visible to all, being the fleshless creature it is, it begins to charge away from the docks and Percy. The demigod quickly drops to a running stance and uses his superhuman speed to catch up to the foul terror, stepping in front of it and bringing his sword down once more. This time, his strike lands much more true, piercing the horrific red eye that pollutes the horse-body’s face.
The poor creatures lower half being blinded sends it into an animalistic frenzy. It bucks and twists and turns, throwing its body here and there, narrowly missing the son of Poseidon who ducks and lunges and manages to just escape its grasp. However his luck soon runs out, as one outstretched hoove manages to catch his ankle, mid dodge, and sends him flying to the ground, his sword clattering away as the cantinas clip breaks off his belt. An awesome fit of bad luck, that leaves the young man wondering what he’d done to offend Tyche recently.
The still remaining eyes sat atop the man’s half of the body lock onto the downed demigod and it swings its arms low. Percy barrels rolls away, feeling the odd sensation of the skinless hands just grazing his flesh.
He manages to grab his cantina from where it lies, loosening the lid and drawing upon his power to fling the freshwater at the half man, half horse and send it neighing away. It turns back, reeling from the burning sensation and that allows Percy to pull his drakon bone sword from its sheath and slash once more at its flank. It flees in pain and terror, jumping from the docks back into the water.
The son of Poseidon searches the water using his powers, but can’t find the beast for some odd reason; perhaps it has some way of shielding itself, or maybe a similar reason to why it’s managed to escape the water during summer.
So he eyes the water cautiously for a few moments, an eerie silence begins to permeate the tense air, before it’s broken by the sound of clapping and a thick British accent. “Not bad, not bad at all. But…if ya want to beat that thing, you’ll ‘ave to do better than that.”