Disclaimer: Percy Jackson belongs to Rick Riordan and Avatar belongs to Nickelodeon Animation Studio, as well as any other element of any other work, creation that appears, credits to whomever it may apply.
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Percy Jackson's Diary/Log
Entry 5, The Gentle Deception of the River
Date: September 14, 2023 or so I hope
The landscape as I walked by the river remains a tapestry of different shades of green, brown, and blue, as the river winds along its path. It's been a few days since I left the last and only village I've ever been to, a nice enough place at first until the locals became suspicious and distrustful of my presence.
Although the food was a bit bland and very exotic. Very, very exotic.
Whoever is reading this, whether it's me or not, you may be wondering: why didn't I just dive into the river water and head to the sea right away?
I'm not going to deny that I could have done it, simply dipped into the river and used the currents to get to the ocean, cutting the travel time in half or probably even less time than that. But something about this journey, in this slow meander through what locals call the Kingdom of Earth, has an odd appeal.
It is quiet, peaceful, even if the constant threat of possible monsters from some Asian pantheon is in the air, such as the Hindu or the Chinese. Maybe it's paranoia or a possible real threat, but either way it acts as part of the backdrop to that peace... A kind of somber and calm beauty...
Of course, with my luck, that peace was destined to be short-lived.
It all started innocently enough: a flash of sunlight on the metal, a flash of movement through the undergrowth, as I kept walking by the side of the river for several minutes before they appeared coming out of the trees to block my path and surround me.
They were eight bandits, ragged and slightly skinny men, who seem to have never heard the word dentist, hairdresser or what a bathroom is, with their clothes stained with what I strongly suspect was not mud. I can bet anything that it was dried blood, dark and gloomy, which marked his weapons and his clothes.
I would like to say that I felt a chill running down my spine, the same one I feel when a cyclops looks hungry and bloodthirsty into my eyes, but that would be an exaggeration, A HUGE EXAGGERATION. Although in any case, it was not a pleasant encounter what happened next.
My translation spell took effect and a familiar buzzing sound vibrated in my ears. Although unlike the villagers, their language sounded raw with a mix of harsh consonants and guttural sounds, which sounded like they drank a lot of alcohol and smoked nonstop, even so the message was clear
"Give us everything you've got," growled one, a man with a particularly ugly scar on the side of his face that started from his chin, went up his cheek and ended at eyebrow level. "Or we'll cut your throat."
What luck, huh? Well, here's what happens to me, I tend to have particularly strange, annoying, bipolar, good, bad, ridiculous luck or a combination of the above. Although in this case, bad luck was going to be for them... and a very muddy grave.
Their intention was clear, and after I showed them no fear but boredom, three of them went on the attack. Knives flashed in one, and spears in bad condition in the other two. Their goal was to kill, wasn't it?
Well, if that's the game they were playing, and since I'm not one of those who back down in a fight... most of the time because I don't have a choice... I drew my pistol, the weight of it was familiar and comforting
Bang!
I shot the first one at a non-lethal point. The sound of the shot and the guy falling to the ground made the rest stop, they looked at their partner on the ground, then at me, then at my pistol and again at their partner.
Then came the surprise. Two of those who didn't originally launch the attack started moving, throwing a fist each in the air in front of them, then pieces of rock the size of my head shot out of the ground, although they were slower than an arrow, so I avoided them easily, but they kept throwing more rocks at me while making martial arts moves. The earth itself seemed to respond to his movements. Not only were they fighting with martial arts, they were subjecting it to their will, molding the very ground into weapons.
A flurry of rocks and dirt erupted from the ground, they managed to shake the earth a little, if I may say so, even though it was where they were standing.
"Earth Kingdom," I muttered to myself, finally understanding the reason for the unoriginal name as I dodged his attacks, at the same time that his comrades who had bows shot at me and one or another of the others threw knives at me, and a kind of small axe. This place was clearly more than a place inhabited by a backward society with unspoiled and strange nature, it was a breeding ground for people with abilities that mortals should not have. So the name Fire Nation and Water Tribes tell me what their inhabitants can do.
But for a demigod who has faced gods, monsters, wizards, soldiers, guerrillas, terrorists, and a whole host of other assorted threats as demigods and as SEALs... these bandits were, frankly, a little disappointing.
I moved with a grace born of years of struggle and training, and his attacks were predictable and slow compared to my reflexes. So I dodged, dodged again, and fired. It was not a flashy display, only efficient, because I didn't need divine powers, no water I could summon, just a well-aimed shot to the shoulder, another to the knee and they fell.
One by one, I picked them off, the echoes of gunshots replacing the peaceful sounds of the river.
They never had a chance. I may be a sarcastic and laid-back person, but I'm also a Greek demigod who has survived up to thirty years and I'm also a Navy SEAL. I've had to deal with things far worse than a handful of bandits with earthly powers, and it's not like I'm going to be impressed by a few rocks.
They didn't even make me sweat.
And as I stood in front of the last of them, my face distorted by pain and fear, a certain gloomy satisfaction came over me and I quickly pushed it aside.
I guess some people just don't learn. They were a reminder that even in the most serene landscapes, the danger posed by human nature and its greed can lurk beneath the surface.
The tranquility of the river is gone, the landscape is stained with the echoes of the "fight".
Several hours have passed since that fight, if it can be called that. Now as I write, my clothes are stained with dirt and a little blood, which is not mine, and the sun begins to set on the horizon, casting long shadows that stretch along the river bank.
I'm starting to realize that this journey won't be as smooth as I thought (sarcasm), as I survive.
But that, my friends, is something I'm very good at. Otherwise he would not be alive today.
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