All rights go to the original author of the series for Percy Jackson and the Heroes of Olympus, I am only writing these for fun! Enjoy and rate. I've decided to rewrite these short stories that I originally wrote, they were done the first time I'd read the books and looking back on them they didn't age well and the writing was terrible. This story still includes my original character but has had an entire rewrite, but in places using bits from the original but changing the way it sounded to be less amateurish. I'm still nowhere near as good as a writer as the actual author of the PJ series let alone some of the people on this platform in terms of writing, but its a definite improvement than it used to be. Anyway, I hope you enjoy and read the other stories if you stick with this that will be updated after I've rewritten them. You are welcome to read the old versions as they are still available to read but you have been warned. They are hot garbage. If you feel like the third person is a little poorly done let me know and I will go back over it, changing things.

Chapter 1 -Where it all started

It all started when he was born. he was born to a mortal woman, just like most other Half-blood, but his birth was a lot different than others. he wailed for his mother's attention, the doctor's attention, someone's attention, but no one could hear the cries.

Poseidon could sense that something was amiss, annoyed that his firstborn son in many years was being ignored by doctors and his mother. That was until he noticed the odd aura around him when he entered the room, hidden from the mortal's gaze, including the boy's mother. He smiled down at his firstborn, lucky to be graced by the scene of watching his second child be born. He smiled a warm smile, the sight warming the young babe in his arms spirits, stopping the wailing altogether.

The boy looked up at his father as he smiled softly down at his two sons, one that couldn't be seen and the other that was being placed in his tired mother's arms.

"Perseus. Perseus Jackson." The young woman said with adoration smiling tiredly down at her newborn son the knowledge of another one she wouldn't learn for a very long time. Poseidon looked down at his son, whisking him off to an unknown land.

Poseidon stared up at the towering derelict chimneys that hadn't been used since the eighties, eyes casting over the children training all around the car park. The campers stopped and stared at the god's presence, shocked to see a child in his arms. Poseidon was hidden with his godly powers, making him appear a normal man, the attention something he didn't want right now. He was focused heavily on his firstborn son, one that was creating problems in more ways than one. He wandered into the camp, campers looking on in interest, unaware of the god in their midst patrol teams holding their hilts of swords in preparation for an attacked. He walked past them all, ignoring everyone, his eyes solely set on his son.

Poseidon entered a small squat cabin towards the back, a greystone walled hut decorated with fishing equipment, setting the boy down into a sea-green cot, dancing seahorse carvings and tridents etched into the heavy oak that he materialised through his godly powers. He fed him, changed him and raised the boy, with the help of others, until he turned five.

Once the boy turned five, he handed the majority of the load over to the two young adults that were helping him raise the boy. A son of Hermes and a daughter of Aphrodite. He felt sorry for them. They had not long turned twenty and both had been given the role of parenthood, looking after a child of Poseidon, one that they didn't know he was for a time due to the thick layer of Mist.

Training the boy was the hardest part.

Even being the camp directors, the ones in charge, they found it a hard task to train the boy. It was stress-inducing having to look after him and the camp all at once, let alone train him thrown into the mix.

They started the boy off with wooden weapons, small dagger-like weapons, short swords just to build up some form of muscle to even fight properly. They pitted the boy against kids around his age, always losing the battle disgracing the Sea god further.

Poseidon grew tired of seeing the boy lose time after time, fight after fight, injury after injury. One day he snapped. He claimed the boy as his own, making the campers gasp in shock, as the boy looked up and around at the campers as they talked in hushed tones around him, gossiping about this sign.

Poseidon came to the camp once more when he turned six, the boys training becoming more tense and harsh, vigorous, painful. The boy became littered with scars, still not capable of fighting properly. Poseidon handed the boy a sword.

Riptide.

A light, well-balanced weapon made in the cyclops forges under the sea in Poseidon's Palace. The boy couldn't fight with the sword either. Poseidon sighed with anger, disgust at the disappointment this son was becoming. His firstborn son hadn't done anything to prove his worth in his father's eyes. Whilst his brother, Poseidon's other son had already killed a snake that had crawled in his cot as a baby.

Poseidon could still sense the powerful aura of Mist around his disappointment of a son. A thought struck the sea god.

Only he could sense his son's aura even though he'd been claimed. This should have caused trouble for the camp, but it seemed that the powerful aura around him, covered the young son of Poseidons scent. This gave the sea god the idea of sending the boy to Olympus to seek out Hecate, goddess of the mist. Poseidon kept the boy's identity a secret, for fear of the boy's life. He took the boy to Olympus to start his training with the goddess Hecate, agreeing to help the boy discover his true potential with using the Mist. The boy tugged at the goddesses heartstrings by explaining his life story, excluding the parts involving Poseidon.

The boy came out of half a years worth of training, learning to fight and manipulate the Mist around him, learning to bend it around him allowing him to change his appearance, hide his scent, hide his identity from others almost like a form of invisibility, read others minds for information as well as the ability to wipe their memories of certain events. All of these abilities this boy possed would become stronger over time, the more he used it the stronger he would become.

Poseidon was starting to become proud of his son, to the extent of giving him a gift. A pair of bronze rings that would transform into a set of celestial bronze knuckle dusters. The boy stared down in wonder at the weapons that would act as a substitute for blades he couldn't get to grips with. The boy smiled up at his father, his eyes shimmering with tears, finally being able to fight something instead of collecting scars from others abusing the disgraceful son of Poseidon.

Back in London, he trained against lesser monsters and practice dummies, getting a feel for his newfound love in the weapons. That was until one day, the boy stumbled across an event that took place around the small streets of Battersea, two rising stars in the offroading Motorsport scene became the boy's idol, the boy instantly finding a new love rather quickly taking a shine to the world of Motorsport.

Poseidon noticed this one day, seeing the wonder and the shimmer in his eye once more. He smiled down to his son, a light chuckle leaving his lips as he looked on at the scene. He was getting used to his son's newfound skills in hand to hand combat, tackling monster hunting quests and achieving victories instead of scars. Poseidon treated his son to another gift, giving him a car, for his son's hard work.

Now from a parents point of view, giving a six-year-old boy a car for his hard work would be heavily frowned upon. But he was different. His upbringing was harsh and grown-up, finding a lot of maturity in him despite his age. He was taught right from wrong every day growing up, especially from his father trying to turn him into a weapon of the gods. His son, still without a name despite his six years of life; getting used to being called Boy, thanked his father for the gift promising he wouldn't let him down.

Poseidon made his son change his appearance to appear older than his six years of life to even be able to compete in life. The boy agreed and changed his appearance to be that of a twelve-year-old, something that took great concentration to hold for a long period of time but would get easier over time. Doing this made him eligible for the junior program in Rallycross, something he looked forward to at his excitable age.

At the age of seven was when he was finally named, just before starting life in Motorsport. Arcmelos was what Poseidon decided for the boy, Arcmelos Jackson. A strong fitting name for the son of Poseidon. After travelling around different parts of the world, he finally came to a recently designed rallycross circuit on the outskirts of Manhattan, which was his first encounter with the Satyr and three Demigods.