Words: 205k+
Links: https://forum.questionablequesting.com/threads/31996
https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/sacrificial-hero-blessed-by-primordial-luck-pjo-celestial-grimoire-si.1224917/
(Ah, welcome, young demigod, to the wonderful world of modern mythology. Monsters, ancient curses, prophecies — the whole package. Perilous? Absolutely. But don't worry, your mortal parent is surely prepared to whisk you away to safety…
Oh, you live alone? That's… unfortunate.
Well, there's still hope — a satyr is closing in on your location as we speak, young half-blood.
Wait, you live in Alaska?
May the Fates be merciful and at least make it quick.
Or "Making the Divine's get grey hairs")
Chapter 1- Step 1: Ignore the Red Flags
You know how the saying goes — new life, new me. I like to think I took it to heart. Maybe too well. The change of scenery was a punch to the gut, though. One moment I was wading through the suffocating heat and buzzing hell that is the South American jungle, the next I was staring out at Anchorage, Alaska — cold, grey, and somehow quieter than I thought a city could be. It took some adjusting, sure, but all things considered? Manageable.
The dyslexia and ADHD were old company, like childhood friends that overstayed their welcome but you'd still defend in a bar fight. I knew how to work around them by now, make them bend just enough not to wreck everything.
The schizophrenia, though — that one was new. The doctors slapped a name and a pillbox on it. Mom had it too. Guess it runs in the family. Though, in her case, it ran a little too hard. They moved her into one of those live-in clinics when I was still young. Too young to really get it, but old enough to know it wasn't normal.
For now, I thought I was handling it better than she did. Sure, I saw the monsters too — creeping through alleyways, lingering just at the edge of streetlights, or watching from rooftops with yellow eyes that never blinked — but once the meds kicked in, things started looking... clearer. Or at least, manageable. The monsters didn't go away overnight, but they faded like old stains, the kind you just learn to ignore.
The shrinks said it was genetic. I even humored myself with half-baked theories about hormones and pineal gland calcification, but I wasn't exactly cracking open medical journals in my free time. Back then, my understanding of the brain was so bad that I thought my teacher was screwing with me when he tried to get me to memorize the parts of the brain by the "squiggly lines." I remember staring at the cadaver's brain like it was modern art and he was asking me to find hidden meaning, don't know how I passed that class honestly.
School was a breeze too. Apparently, I was a super-genius. Turns out that having already gone through school and university once, in my last life, gives you a bit of an edge the second time around. Go figure. Honestly? I liked the attention. No shame about it. Being the smartest guy in the room felt nice.
If you ignored the biochemical circus happening inside my skull, this new body also rocked. Muscle came easy, fat didn't stick around, and my hand-eye coordination was borderline unfair. I started with soccer — old habits die hard — and I was dunking on kids like I was Pelé reborn. Anchorage, though? Not exactly a soccer haven. I tried football next, and yeah, I crushed it too. Problem was, I couldn't be bothered to really learn it beyond "take the ball to the other side" and "hit people very hard."
Still, it wasn't all bad. I had a plan — simple, effective. Make some cash, wait a few years, and buy as much Bitcoin as I could get my hands on. Good old time-travel insider knowledge. That little ace up my sleeve was going to carry me straight to easy street.
Until then, I was just trying to enjoy the ride. Being a freshman was turning out better than I expected. The good grades, the ridiculous amount of whey protein I chugged for the gains, and the fact that I actually liked being here all helped.
Though, if I'm being honest, this new body was still weird sometimes. Like, who the hell starts getting chest hair at thirteen?
Walking through the halls of Southwest Anchorage High was routine by now. Locker doors slamming, half-awake students stumbling through the corridors, the usual teenage chaos — nothing I couldn't handle. After all, I wasn't exactly a nobody. People knew me. Between good grades, decent looks, and wiping the floor with most of the sports teams, I'd carved out a comfortable spot near the top of the social food chain.
Case in point, Jasper. My... friend? Stalker? Still undecided. The guy was always tagging along, hovering somewhere in my blind spot like a shy little ghost. He was weird, no way around it. He limped constantly, but the casts swapped sides every other week like it was part of a costume rotation, and I was sure it was different casts. Either he was faking for attention, or his doctor was committing malpractice on a weekly basis.
What threw me off more was the way he looked around, like the lockers themselves were whispering threats in his ears. Constant flinching. Eyes darting like he was scanning for snipers. It wasn't normal. I'd seen paranoia before, but this was something else.
I was pretty sure he thought the shadows were out to get him.
"Lucas!"
I turned just in time to catch Madison, one of the cheerleaders, waving at me like we were old friends — because we were. Blonde, athletic, annoyingly perfect like most of the squad, but I couldn't help but like her.
I gave her a grin, sliding into the conversation as smoothly as I could. "Hey, Mads. You finally learn to throw without nearly taking out half the squad?" I teased.
She giggled, playfully flipping me off behind the pom-poms. Normal. Completely normal. Except, for half a second — and maybe the meds were just slipping again — I swore I saw it.
A horse leg. No, scratch that, one normal, the other looking like it was made of polished bronze.
I blinked. Hard.
Gone. Just two legs, nothing weird. Maybe I needed to get my prescriptions checked.
Still, I kept the grin up like nothing happened. "Anyway, tell Haley I'm still waiting for her rematch. I'm not carrying her through another math quiz."
Mads laughed and promised to pass it on before trotting off, ponytail swaying like nothing was wrong.
And me? I just kept walking, Jasper glued to my heels, looking like he was about to pass out.
First period was history — and today's lesson was supposed to be on the Peloponnesian War. Riveting. At least Mr. Horner didn't give pop quizzes like the last guy.
I made my way through the crowded classroom. My usual clique had already claimed the best seats, dead center of the room, close enough to keep the teacher from calling on us too much but far enough to still crack jokes without getting caught. They shuffled around to make space the second I showed up.
"Sup, genius," Davis grunted, offering the classic jock greeting. He was the quarterback, all biceps and limited vocabulary.
"Morning, Dav," I said, sliding into my seat with all the ease of someone who'd done this routine a hundred times. The other guys nodded in greeting, a mix of linemen, wide receivers, and wannabe MMA fighters.
Normal guys, really. Loud, overly competitive, dripping with machismo — but nothing I wasn't used to. If anything, they were comfortingly predictable.
And then there was Jasper.
Before I could even settle in properly, he took the empty seat next to me like it was his by divine right. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, eyes darting between the windows and the corners of the room like he expected the walls themselves to lunge at him.
I barely managed to keep from sighing out loud. "Seriously?"
Jasper just gave me a weak, shaky smile, fiddling with his sleeve like he wasn't making my day worse by existing. Around us, the usual chatter of the class filled the air. I could practically hear the gears turning in the heads of the jocks, wondering why I tolerated the weird limping kid shadowing me like we were joined at the hip.
The cheerleaders were on the other side of the room, clustered together and pretending to pay attention as they doodled in their notebooks. Madison caught my eye for a second, waved with a pen between her fingers, and went back to scribbling something I couldn't quite make out. Looked like… stick figures? Maybe.
Mr. Horner shuffled in a few minutes later, carrying a stack of books under one arm and the kind of coffee mug that screamed I've seen too much. He adjusted his tie, cleared his throat, and started writing Peloponnesian War on the board. Standard stuff.
Except when he turned to grab a piece of chalk, I swear — I swear — I saw something twitch behind him. A tail. Barbed, reptilian, and gone before I could even register it properly. It vanished like smoke, leaving nothing but the faintest imprint on my mind.
I blinked, looked around. No one else seemed to notice. Jasper, of course, was already halfway to a panic attack beside me, eyes glued to the teacher like Mr. Horner might explode at any second.
I leaned back, arms crossed.
I glanced down at my wrist. The old watch ticked steadily, taunting me. Still a few hours early to take the meds. Great. But the hallucinations were getting harder to ignore. First the cheerleader, now Mr. Horner sprouting a tail like he was auditioning for some low-budget fantasy movie.
Screw it.
I slid a hand into my backpack, feeling for the familiar plastic bottle. The sound of pills rattling inside was almost comforting at this point. Two quick ones into the palm, pop, swallow, followed by a swig of water. Smooth, practiced, mechanical.
Around me, the classroom buzzed like nothing was wrong.
Mr. Horner was already droning on about the riveting geopolitical mess that was the Peloponnesian War, pacing slowly across the front of the room. Sparta this, Athens that, balance of power, shifting alliances — the usual. The kind of stuff I could ace in my sleep thanks to more than one past life study session.
I leaned back, trying to tune him out, eyes flicking across the room instead. The jocks were half-listening, half-doodling, the usual mix of blank stares and whispered jokes. Nothing unusual there. They might've been meatheads, but at least they were predictably human.
The cheer squad, on the other hand, still had their noses buried in their notebooks. Madison and a few others were sketching, but it wasn't idle hearts-and-stars nonsense. Their doodles were… strange. I couldn't make out the details from here, but the angles were sharp, geometric, and weirdly unsettling. It didn't look like art. It looked like diagrams. Symbols, maybe.
Jasper, beside me, was shrinking into himself like he was waiting for a piano to fall out of the sky. He was chewing the end of his pen and glancing toward the windows like whatever was bothering him might actually just climb in and say hello.
I rubbed at my eyes. The pills would kick in soon. They always did. Right?
I hoped they would.
The day went on like clockwork.
From history, I shuffled straight into math — my personal nightmare. For all the so-called genius bonus that came with living life twice, math still had me beat. Badly. I still had to resort to the old reliable trick: counting on my fingers like I was still in elementary school.
Pathetic? Maybe. But hey, whatever gets the job done.
English Lit was smoother. Way smoother. I could coast through most of it on autopilot. The teacher seemed genuinely passionate about the material, which helped, but honestly? I was working with second-life knowledge here. I'd already read most of the classics once, and some of them twice. It was basically free real estate.
Then came PE. My favorite. I was built for this. Whether it was running laps, scoring during casual basketball, or leaving classmates behind during sprints, it all came easy. I didn't even have to try too hard, and that alone probably kept me riding the high school cool-kid wave.
Afterward, I hit the showers. And let me tell you — whoever had the bright idea to make sure the school had heated water, I owe them my life. I would've personally funded it if I could. Facing Alaskan winds after a freezing shower? Pass.
I let the hot water run longer than strictly necessary, taking my time. PE took the edge off the usual static rattling around in my head. The hum, the restlessness, the flickers at the corner of my vision — textbook schizophrenia, as far as anyone could tell.
Didn't mean it wasn't annoying, but you learned to live with it. What else was there to do?
Eventually, I got dressed, packed up, and headed out.
Break time. Finally.
Lunch came fast enough. The cafeteria smelled like the kind of food that would make a dietician cry — which was exactly how I liked it. Greasy pizza, suspiciously shiny processed meats, and enough salt to make a deer keel over. Peak high school cuisine.
Obama got elected this year, so hopefully, I could enjoy this chemical-laden heaven until graduation before Michelle started cracking down on it. I planned to savor every bite while it lasted.
Besides, we had a salad bar. Free salad. As much as you wanted. I wasn't stupid — load up the plate with greens, stack the rest with pizza and meat, and suddenly you had a "balanced meal." Or at least something you could pretend passed for one.
I grabbed my tray, heavy with a mix of vegetables and food that probably violated FDA regulations, and made my way to the usual table. The jocks were already there, loud as ever, swapping insults like it was a competitive sport.
"Yo, Lucas! Took you long enough," Davis called, waving me over with a half-eaten burger.
"Had to make sure the salad bar wasn't a government conspiracy," I shot back, sliding into my usual spot.
Laughter followed, and we got to it — shooting the shit like always. Football drama, coach complaints, who had beef with who, usual locker room nonsense. Comfortable. Predictable. Even Jasper, hovering awkwardly a few tables over, didn't bother me much when surrounded by the squad. His constant anxious glances barely registered.
Midway through demolishing a slice of pizza, something slid onto my tray.
A note.
I blinked, glanced up, and caught Madison — one of the cheerleaders — giving me a cheeky smile from across the room like we were in some teenage rom-com. She twirled her pen in her fingers, looking all innocent despite obviously knowing exactly what she was doing.
Davis immediately noticed, elbowing me hard enough to make the tray rattle. "Ooooh, looks like pretty boy's got a fan."
I flicked him off without looking, eyes still on Madison.
Smooth. Real smooth.
I casually unfolded the note, half-expecting a doodle or some silly inside joke.
Instead, scrawled in neat, looping handwriting were the words:
Meet me in the PE equipment depot after last period.
— M.
I blinked, read it again just to be sure, and, yeah, it still said exactly what I thought it said.
The table exploded before I could even react.
"Oh-ho-ho! Lucas, my man!" Davis practically shouted, slapping the table hard enough to make trays jump. "You're in, bro!"
The others jumped on the bandwagon immediately, whistles and jeers echoing through the cafeteria. I barely managed to keep my expression neutral as they piled on.
"She wants you to visit the old love shack behind the gym, huh?" Mike, one of the linebackers, said with a grin. "Classic."
"Don't forget to stretch first," someone else added, sending the whole table into another round of laughter.
I just leaned back in my seat, letting them run their mouths while I chewed thoughtfully on a piece of pepperoni pizza. It wasn't the first time I'd gotten attention from the cheer squad — perks of being me — but this? This was... different. Madison wasn't usually this forward. Flirty, sure. But notes in the middle of lunch? Secret meetings?
Either this was about to turn into every teenage movie ever, or I was walking into a soap opera subplot.
"Man, you better give us the details tomorrow," Davis said, still grinning like an idiot.
"Yeah, yeah," I waved him off, folding the note and slipping it into my pocket like it was no big deal.
Jasper, a few tables over, was staring at me like I'd just accepted a death sentence.
Not that I noticed.
The rest of the school day felt like it stretched forever.
English dragged. Math insulted my intelligence. And every single class felt like someone had quietly turned up the volume on the weird.
The cheer squad? They were suddenly all very interested. Every time I passed one of them in the hallway, they'd shoot me these sly little smiles, giggles hidden behind notebooks, twirls of hair around their fingers like they were all in on some inside joke.
I didn't mind, obviously. I mean, who would? A guy could get used to the attention.
Still, it wasn't exactly normal. Sure, I'd flirted with a few of them before, but this was... different. It wasn't just Madison anymore. It was the whole squad. And at one point, in the middle of English, I caught sight of one of them shifting in her seat — and for the briefest second, there it was again.
One horse leg. One polished, metallic leg.
I blinked.
Gone.
Just a pair of perfectly normal cheerleader legs crossed at the ankle, swinging lazily under her desk. I gritted my teeth, rubbing my eyes as casually as I could. Maybe I was just tired. Or maybe the meds were slacking.
Meanwhile, Jasper was having his own personal meltdown a few rows away. He kept glancing at me, then around the room like he expected the ceiling to collapse. His pen exploded mid-sentence, ink splattering across his hand and notebook. He didn't even curse. Just stared at it like it confirmed whatever worst-case scenario was playing out inside his head.
I ignored him. I'd seen this before — people dealing with their own problems. Anxiety, paranoia, the works. I had my own brand of static to deal with, and I wasn't about to take on anyone else's.
Besides, I had bigger things to focus on. Like figuring out whether this little meeting after class was about to make my week, or just become another headache.
The bell rang.
Like clockwork, the halls flooded with students eager to escape, some heading home, others lingering for clubs, practice, or whatever high school excuse they clung to. I, on the other hand, had an appointment behind the gym.
I slipped past the crowd, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, casually making my way to the PE depot. It wasn't exactly a romantic spot. A rundown storage shed for balls, old mats, and half-broken gym equipment, stuck awkwardly between the gym and the chain-link fence that guarded the football field.
Not that I cared. I'd seen worse.
What I did notice, though, was Jasper. He was trailing me again, but this time he wasn't bothering to be subtle. His steps were quick, uneven, and panicked. He almost slipped once trying to catch up.
"Lucas—!" he called, desperate, but I kept walking.
"Not now, man," I said without even turning. "Go drink some warm milk or something, you look like you're about to pass out."
The depot wasn't empty.
Madison wasn't alone, either.
Three of them were there — Madison and two other cheerleaders I recognized, though I couldn't remember their names off the top of my head. All three leaned casually against the old gym equipment, chatting among themselves, giggling like this was just another afterschool hangout. They didn't even flinch when I walked in.
"Hey, Lucas," Madison greeted, flashing me that practiced, picture-perfect smile.
The other two followed suit, eyes glinting with something that should've probably made me nervous — but didn't. Instead, it lit up every dumb, teenage instinct in my brain.
"You actually came," one of them said, biting her lip slightly.
"We weren't sure if you'd show," Madison added, stepping a little closer.
They giggled like they'd been waiting all day just to mess with me. I couldn't help but smirk, leaning against the doorframe like I'd just scored the prize of the century. Maybe I had.
Was it weird? Sure. Was I complaining? Hell no.
They circled me casually, flirty, playful, like I was the center of the universe for a moment. A guy could get used to this.
"We're just gonna get comfortable," Madison purred, her voice honey-sweet as she toyed with the hem of her cheer uniform.
I was about to say something clever — and then came the frantic knocking.
Bang bang bang!
I turned to see Jasper through the grimy little window of the door, pale as a ghost, practically foaming at the mouth as he hammered on it like his life depended on it.
"Lucas!" he shouted. "Wait—listen—!"
Without missing a beat, I yanked the door open just enough to glare at him.
"Jasper, I am about to live out every male fantasy known to man," I snapped. "So unless you're here to give me winning lottery numbers, get out."
I slammed the door before he could even get another word in.
The knocking didn't stop, desperate and frantic. He was really losing it out there.
Inside, the girls giggled again, taking slow, deliberate steps closer. One of them slipped her arms around me from behind, resting her chin on my shoulder.
"That little guy sure does follow you around a lot," she whispered. "Kinda weird."
"Yeah," I said, brushing it off with a shrug. "He's like... I don't know, socially defective. He'll get over it."
The knocking outside turned into pounding, but I was too focused to care.
One of them, the brunette I think, gave me a grin that showed a little too many teeth. "Turn around and get ready."
Without hesitation, I did. I turned, tugging off my shirt and tossing it aside like this was just another story I'd be bragging about later.
I got fully undressed, tossing my clothes into a lazy pile on the floor, psyching myself up like I was about to win the Olympics. This was it — the teenage dream, the prize every 15-year-old wished for. I could practically hear a crowd of dudes cheering me on somewhere in the back of my mind.
Victory was near.
Behind me, I could hear the soft rustle of fabric. Shirts hitting the floor. A few giggles. Definitely not the mocking kind. No, this was happening. No prank, no punchline.
I could almost smell the laurels of victory.
When I finally turned around—
The horse and metal legs were back. Clear as day. No blinking it away, no fuzzy edges. Sharp. Real. Like they'd always been there.
Madison stood front and center, fully naked like the others, but the details were... wrong. Her hair was on fire. Not in the poetic sense. Actual flames licked and curled upwards from her scalp, casting the whole room in a flickering orange glow.
And then there were the other details.
Horns. Not costume-store nubs. Sharp, curling, proud horns like she'd stepped out of some Renaissance painting of demons. Clawed fingers lazily trailed down the wall, leaving shallow grooves behind them. The others weren't much better — pointed teeth, metal leg joints, slitted eyes — and yet there they stood, bare as the day they were born.
But not human.
Definitely not human.
I froze for half a second, brain scrambling for an explanation. Then I shrugged.
Hallucinations. Had to be. It was textbook stuff. Visual, auditory, maybe even tactile if I reached out. Probably just my messed-up chemistry taking things up a notch. And besides... they were still naked. Not exactly the worst glitch I'd ever seen.
I took a slow step forward, swaying slightly like I was moving to some phantom rhythm only I could hear. The heat rolling off Madison's flaming hair washed over me — too warm, too real. That wasn't right. Hallucinations didn't usually come with heat.
Still, I smiled, leaning into it.
"So," I said, cocky as ever. "You ladies like jazz?"
CP Bank: 1000cp
Perks earned this chapter: None
Milestones reached this chapter:
Demi-baby first steps: Get noticed by the supernatural: 500cp
Psy-op's: Get honey potted: 300cp
Beyond the Gods: Welcome to Alaska: 200cp
Authors note: Hey people, welcome to my new fic, some of you might be saying "But Magus, what about your other two fics?", the truth is that I need a little break from Dust to refill the backlog, and while brave and the bald still has two chapters in the oven its low from my usual, It's not a hiatsu, mostly because I'll get back to releasing those two when the backlog heals.
Instead of mass writing those, I looked in my docs and found this, my "first Idea" for a fic, so I thought, might as well jolt the old writers block with this one.
The rules for Grimoire are the same as the Dust one, tho I'll put my foot down on perks that would mess with the writing, so sit back and enjoy.
Chapter 2- Into the great white north.
The girls crowded in, closing the gap like a pack circling prey — nails trailing along my skin, sharp enough to scratch but not quite enough to cut. Just the right balance to keep me thinking this was still part of the game. The warmth of their touch, the scent of perfume — if you ignored the subtle metallic tinge — it was all... intoxicating.
Madison leaned forward, her lips pressing against mine. Soft. Warm. Familiar, even. But when her tongue slipped past my lips, it felt... long. A little too long. And sharp, like the edge of a knife sliding just barely across flesh. Her teeth grazed against me — pointed, predatory — but I barely registered it.
The body wants what it wants.
The other two were already clinging to me, pressing close enough that I instinctively let my hands find their waists. Their skin was smooth, unnaturally so, like they'd been sculpted instead of born. The flickering heat in the air felt heavier, thicker, like the walls themselves were starting to melt under it.
Madison's kisses trailed lower — my jaw, then the base of my neck, slow and deliberate like she had all the time in the world.
A little voice at the back of my head, the one that survived long enough to earn me a second life, whispered that something was very wrong.
And yet?
I didn't move.
Because even then, even with the weirdness, I kept telling myself it was just the meds, just another glitch in the system. Just another static-filled scene I'd wake up from, or laugh about later.
The pounding on the door got louder, harder, echoing like someone was trying to break it off its hinges. Jasper's voice cracked through the heavy air, muffled but frantic.
I didn't care.
Inside, the room was getting hotter by the second — steamier, thicker. The cold Anchorage air might as well have been miles away. My heartbeat thudded in my ears, but it wasn't from fear.
The girls were all over me now. Hands gliding across skin, nails tracing patterns that bordered on drawing blood, but not quite. Not yet. It was sharp, sure, but it was still on. I'd been in stranger situations. Probably.
One of the cheerleaders pressed up behind me, bare chest against my back, lips ghosting over the shell of my ear before giving it a playful nibble. I didn't even flinch. Instead, I leaned into it, half-drunk on the atmosphere. Every warning bell in my head was ringing, but I was too busy ignoring them, caught up in the sensation like a moth to a blowtorch.
Madison's hands roamed up my chest, her breath heavy against my neck. The heat rolling off her wasn't normal — it felt like standing next to a furnace — but I still didn't pull away. If anything, I tilted my head to give her more room.
She licked a spot just under my jaw, slow and deliberate, almost tasting the skin. Then I felt it — her teeth.
A lot of teeth.
Way too many teeth for anyone trying to give a harmless hickey.
Still, for some stupid reason, I just stood there. Maybe I was too far gone. Maybe I was too used to brushing things off as symptoms. Or maybe... deep down... I didn't really want to stop.
The pounding at the door turned violent, and Jasper's voice cracked into a desperate scream. "Lucas, don't let them—!"
I tuned it out.
As Madison's teeth pressed against my neck, her breath hot and steady, something changed.
A chill. A sharp, unnatural cold, like someone had dropped a chunk of ice down my spine. It shot straight through me, freezing every muscle mid-motion. My fingers twitched against bare skin, my breath hitched, but I couldn't move.
My vision swam.
Stars — no, not stars — pinpricks of pure darkness bloomed at the edge of my sight. Like the static I was used to, but clearer. More deliberate. They pulsed faintly, as if each one was a distant heartbeat pressing against reality itself.
And then...
One of them shined.
It flickered, just for a second, like someone lit a match in the abyss. A single pinpoint of light in the sea of dark. My knees nearly buckled. The room swayed around me, the oppressive heat now clashing against the impossible cold gripping my spine.
The hands still clawed at me. The lips still teased. The giggles never stopped.
I felt wrong.
Not dizzy, not overwhelmed, not even hallucinating.
Wrong.
Like my body weighted more than seconds ago as all the smells in the air got amplified.
Madison didn't seem to notice. If anything, she got hungrier, dragging her tongue across the spot on my neck, breath hot, sharp teeth pressing harder.
The banging on the door became frantic, violent, desperate.
Madison sank her teeth deep into my neck.
There was no playing around now. No teasing. No flirting. Just teeth ripping into flesh, biting down like a predator that knew it had already won. I let out a sharp gasp, the sudden surge of pain snapping me out of whatever fog I'd been drifting in.
The other two? They just giggled.
They grabbed my arms with deceptively strong fingers, holding me in place like it was nothing. Their strength didn't match their slim, delicate appearances. It was monstrous. Unnatural. I struggled, but it was like trying to fight steel cables.
One of them leaned in, nibbling at my ear, whispering in a husky, mocking voice, "Poor demigod… fell for the oldest trick in the book."
My blood ran cold.
Demigod?
I barely processed it before Madison bit harder, savagely tearing at my neck, no longer pretending to be gentle. Her claws dug into my shoulders, pinning me against the wall of bodies. I couldn't even flinch as she gnawed, sending jolts of pain down my spine.
"Stop—!" I croaked, my voice cracking in desperation. "Stop, please—!"
The banging on the door behind me was relentless, the wood bending under the strain. Jasper was going all-in now, screaming my name, throwing his weight against it, but the door refused to budge.
And then — snikt.
Three metallic claws sprang from my knuckles, tearing through skin and bone like they belonged there. Instinct took over.
The girls holding me didn't even realize what had happened until it was too late.
Since they had been clinging tight, their bodies pressed right against my arms, they practically impaled themselves. The claws pierced through them like a hot knife through butter, the resistance almost nonexistent. Their eyes went wide, mouths opening in shock rather than pain.
In unison, they let out a sharp, airy gasp — more insulted than hurt — before disintegrating into clouds of golden dust, swirling like ash caught in a breeze.
Their grip released instantly.
I stumbled forward, Madison ripping herself away from my neck with a furious snarl, blood dripping from her lips. She looked at me now with wide, disbelieving eyes, staring at the gleaming metal blades jutting from my fists.
I pressed my fingers against the wound on my neck, expecting to feel torn skin, maybe blood gushing like it should.
Instead, I felt the flesh knit itself together under my fingertips.
I could feel it. Blood clotting, muscle stitching itself back into place, the pain receding faster than it had any right to. But all I could really feel was rage.
Pure, burning rage.
It wasn't rational. It wasn't planned. It was animal.
"You—"
The word barely left her mouth before Instinct dragged me forward. My body moved like it had done this before — even though I knew damn well it hadn't.
I dropped to all fours, claws slamming into the wooden floor, sinking into it like it was nothing. My breathing went ragged, vision tunneling. The world shrank until all I could see was Madison — standing there, eyes wide, baring those sharp teeth like she was still trying to scare me.
It didn't work.
I lunged.
The ground cracked beneath me as I propelled forward like a shot, claws tearing at the floorboards for traction. Madison barely managed to raise her arms before I was on her, claws flashing like liquid steel.
We collided mid-air, smashing into a pile of old gym mats hard enough to send dust billowing out like smoke. I didn't hesitate. My claws drove downward, ripping through her forearm as she blocked, black ichor spraying where blood should've been.
She shrieked, furious, fangs bared, kicking wildly — but I didn't care. The only thing in my head was the overwhelming need to end her.
I wasn't thinking tactics. I wasn't thinking about the door still shaking under Jasper's pounding fists. I wasn't thinking about the golden dust of the others still hanging in the air.
I was thinking about teeth. About claws. About prey.
And in that moment, she was prey.
Madison barely had time to scream.
I tore into her with everything I had — claws slashing, swiping, ripping without hesitation. She thrashed, kicking and clawing, trying to dig her nails into me, but I didn't feel it. Not through the adrenaline. Not through the blinding rage.
Her shrieks echoed off the cracked walls of the depot, turning from seductive to panicked to outright terrified. Every time she tried to backpedal, I was already there, claws ripping through her like she was made of paper and spite.
Another swipe. Another.
And then — puff.
She burst into golden dust, swirling like the other two. The room went still, save for the soft drift of glowing particles settling over everything — over me.
I stood there, hunched, breathing hard, claws dripping black ichor that evaporated before it even reached the floor.
Dust clung to me. In my blond hair. On my skin. Caked across my chest and face like I'd walked through a sandstorm.
I exhaled.
Long. Shaky.
And just like that, the rage started to recede, replaced by the dull throb of reality crawling back in.
I forced myself up, wiped a hand down my face, smearing dust across my cheek, and stumbled back toward the pile of clothes I'd tossed aside not so long ago. With slow, steady movements, I slipped on a pair of boxers, teeth still clenched tight. I could feel my pulse pounding behind my eyes.
The door was still shaking behind me. Jasper was still pounding on it, shouting something I couldn't make out through the ringing in my ears.
I stared at the bolt.
Then, without a word, I raised a hand and snikt — claws snapped out again, and with a simple, practiced swipe, I sliced clean through the old lock like it was nothing. The door creaked open slightly, the wood split from the force.
I didn't open it yet.
I just stood there, breathing, covered in monster ash, claws still humming with the echo of instinct.
The door slammed open, nearly coming off its hinges.
Jasper stumbled inside, eyes wild, panic all over his face — until he actually saw me.
He froze.
The room reeked of burnt perfume, old gym mats, and blood — or whatever passed for blood with monsters. Golden dust hung in the air like a thick fog. Madison was gone. The other two were gone. Just me, shirtless, scratched up, breathing like a cornered animal, claws still extended, standing ankle-deep in the shimmering remains of three monsters.
Jasper's eyes locked on mine. Then the claws. Then the ash. His mouth moved like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.
I held his stare, chest still heaving, and flicked the claws clean with a sharp shake. Dust scattered to the floor.
"What?" I managed to grunt, still feeling the residual heat in my neck where Madison had bitten me.
"You— you killed them," Jasper stammered. "You actually—you—" He looked around at the mess, then back at me, and blinked hard like he was trying to remember a script. "You're... you're a demigod."
I wiped some of the dust from my eyes. "The hell are you talking about?"
Jasper stepped back, almost slipping on the dust-coated floor. His hands trembled as he pointed at me, or maybe the claws, or maybe the wreckage. "That wasn't— that wasn't a hallucination. That was real. They were real. They were empousai."
I was still trying to process the fact that I'd just murdered three girls — or something that had looked like girls — and now this idiot was speaking another language like I was supposed to nod along.
I stared at him, claw tips still shimmering faintly. "...What the hell is an empousa?"
Jasper gulped. "Monsters. Real ones."
I stared down at the wreckage around me, finally seeing it for what it was. Dust, scorch marks, clawed floorboards, and splattered black ichor that hissed as it evaporated.
Real.
It wasn't the meds.
It wasn't schizophrenia.
It was real.
I let out a sharp breath and almost laughed.
Of course. Of course it was.
Can't let a poor soul live his time travel adventure, it had to be an Isekai.
Jasper was shaking, glancing nervously between me and the door like he expected the walls to start bleeding.
"Okay—okay," he stammered, rubbing his hands through his curly mess of hair. "Listen, I—I was gonna ease you into this, but... but, you know what? The Fates clearly had other plans."
I crossed my arms, claws still out, and gave him a flat look. "Yeah, ease me into it after the literal vampire-cheerleader gangbang attempt. Great timing."
Jasper winced. "Empousai. Not vampires. Close, but… worse."
I tilted my head, waiting. I was still trying to play it cool, but the reality was setting in like cold steel pressing against the back of my neck. The sharpness, the unnatural strength, the dust — hell, even the heat still radiating off the claw marks in the floor — it was real. All of it.
"The empousai," Jasper continued, pacing like he was about to have a breakdown, "are servants of Hecate. Magic-wielders. They lure demigods — like you, Lucas — with charm, seduction, whatever works, then drain your life force. Or blood. Depends on the girl, I guess."
I blinked. "Demigod."
Jasper nodded frantically. "Half-mortal, half-divine. One mortal parent, one Olympian god parent." He pointed directly at me. "You."
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. "I'm guessing you're not just a kid with a limp, then."
Jasper huffed, tugging at his sleeve before — in the most awkward reveal possible — pulling off his sneaker.
His hoof hit the floor with a soft clop.
"Satyr," he said, wincing like he expected me to scream. "I've been assigned to you since you were, like, ten. Been watching your back. Well—trying to." His eyes darted to the golden dust still settling. "Didn't expect this, though."
I stared for a second. "Like the sex-fiend goats?"
Jasper's eye twitched. "You're half Greek god. Everyone's like that. Comes with the territory. Domain issues. Don't judge."
I blinked. "That's fair." I rubbed the back of my neck, eyes flicking between the hoof, the ruined depot, and the golden dust still swirling like snow. "Say I believe you — and I'm starting to — what now?"
Jasper exhaled, clearly relieved I hadn't tried to tackle him. "Now? Now we run. We get you out of here. To Camp Half-Blood. Before every monster in the state smells the mess you made and decides you're on the menu."
I let out a long breath, flicked some dust off my shoulder, and sighed. "Great. Field trip."
I grabbed my shirt off the floor, still dusted with gold, and threw it on lazily, not bothering to button it. "Alright, where exactly
Chapter 3- The better to eat you with!
By the time we rolled into Smithers, the sun was barely hanging on, casting long shadows over the snow-blanketed streets. The Harley was holding together, but just barely. I could hear every cough and sputter under the engine's grumble.
Typical.
We coasted into the first gas station on the edge of town, a small place with one flickering light and a faded Tim Hortons logo practically begging for maintenance. It was the kind of stop where you could smell the fryer oil clinging to the walls even before you stepped inside.
I pulled up to the pump and killed the engine. Jasper climbed off like he'd just survived a plane crash, legs wobbly, ears twitching under his beanie like he was expecting an ambush from the snowbanks.
"You pump. I'll get the food," I said. "And remember — you're paying for gas, like we agreed."
Jasper grumbled but grabbed the nozzle anyway, muttering about satyr nostrils under his breath.
I made my way inside the Tim's, taking in the blessed warmth and the smell of fresh coffee, grease, and enough sugar to kill a horse. A few truckers were scattered around, sipping coffee, scrolling through flip phones, or watching the small TV above the counter that played the weather with all the enthusiasm of a funeral.
I ordered two coffees, a dozen Timbits, and enough food to keep us conscious for the next leg of the trip. By the time I stepped back out, Jasper was finishing up at the pump, his hooves awkwardly scraping the icy ground.
The Harley stood there like it might fall over if you so much as looked at it funny. Steam curled from the engine in the cold.
"Here," I tossed Jasper a coffee and the bag of food. "Congratulations, you've survived the first leg of our terrible life choices."
He gave me a look but took the coffee like it was a life-saving potion.
We sat on the curb outside the gas station, coffee and warm donuts doing their best to make up for the fact that monsters had tried to eat me less than a day ago. Snow drifted lazily around us, the quiet settling over Smithers like the town itself was trying to stay out of our business.
"So," I said between bites of a chocolate-glazed Timbit, "this whole demigod thing. Real?"
Jasper gave me a flat look. "You fought a trio of empousai, sprouted claws, healed a bite wound in seconds, and you're still asking?"
"Hey, I've been wrong before," I said, licking sugar off my thumb. "Figured I'd give the universe one last chance to say 'just kidding'."
He snorted, taking a sip of his coffee. "Nope. No joke. Welcome to the club, hero."
I nodded slowly, leaning back against the side of the Harley. While Jasper rambled about gods, monsters, and how I was now officially on the monster hit list, I found myself absentmindedly playing with my claws.
Snikt.
Three of them shot out smoothly, gleaming faintly even under the grey Canadian sky. I twisted my wrist, watching the light bounce off the metal. I couldn't pop them individually — they all came out together, like a package deal — but I was getting the rhythm down. Triggered by something between flexing and thinking about it. Not perfect, but manageable.
Inside, I was fanboying.
Claws. Healing. Unnatural strength. Fast reflexes.
This wasn't just demigod stuff — this was straight-up Wolverine. I mean, sure, minus the cigar and the bad attitude, but still.
I turned the claws toward myself, hesitated for a moment, then made a small, deliberate scratch along the inside of my wrist just under the blue markings.
It stung.
For about half a second.
Then, right in front of me, the skin knit itself back together, fresh and unblemished like nothing happened.
I let out a quiet, giddy exhale.
"Hey," I said, raising the claws slightly. "This... normal?"
Jasper didn't even flinch. He just huffed, blowing steam into the cold air. "With demigods? Nothing's normal." He took a long sip of his coffee. "Get used to it."
I flexed the claws again, watching them retract with a satisfying metallic sound.
Yeah, I could get used to it.
The next few minutes were just the two of us chewing through donuts like they were the last food on earth. Jasper eventually calmed down enough to stop glancing over his shoulder every five seconds, though the twitch never fully left him.
"So," I said, flicking a bit of powdered sugar off my glove, "when you say 'demigods,' you mean actual Greek gods? Zeus, Poseidon, Ares — the whole toga-wearing, lightning-throwing crowd?"
Jasper huffed, pulling his jacket tighter as he sipped his coffee. "Look, it's not all togas and laurel wreaths anymore. The gods… they've modernized. Changed with the times."
I raised an eyebrow, flicking the claws in and out absentmindedly. "Modernized? Like what, Zeus trading the lightning bolt for a weather app?"
Jasper actually smirked. "Kinda. He still throws the lightning, but you won't catch him in a bathrobe anymore. They dress, talk, and act like mortals now. Blend in. Adapt. Olympus isn't stuck in ancient Greece either. It moves. Right now, it's sitting on top of the Empire State Building."
I blinked. "New York."
Jasper nodded. "Most western civilization's cultural power shifted there centuries ago, so the gods followed. Wherever the heart of the West is, that's where Olympus ends up. Always has."
I leaned back against the Harley, tapping the side of my helmet. "So the gods are just... walking around out there? Suits, cars, Wi-Fi passwords?"
He shrugged. "More or less. Some even run companies, social media, that kind of thing. They don't always announce who they are, but if you know what you're looking for, you can spot them."
I flexed my hand, claws sliding out and back with that satisfying snikt. "And they just let their kids run around getting eaten by monster cheerleaders?"
Jasper looked away awkwardly. "Well, you're supposed to get to camp before that happens."
I laughed, dry and humorless. "Yeah, great system."
I finished strapping the duffel onto the back of the Harley, tightening the cords until it barely budged. Jasper hovered nervously behind me, glancing down the street like he expected a minotaur to pop out of the snowbanks.
As I adjusted my gloves and reached for my helmet, something hit me.
A smell.
Sharp, bitter, and wrong.
It wasn't the usual stinkof gasoline, exhaust, or frozen pavement. It was sulfur. Thick and acrid, crawling into my nose like smoke from a bad fire.
I froze.
Slowly, I turned my head down the street.
A trio of figures rounded the corner, kicking up snow as they crashed into view. Massive, black-furred beasts, easily the size of cars, with glowing red eyes and jaws bristling with teeth that looked more like shards of obsidian than anything organic.
The first one let out a bone-rattling growl, steam curling from its jaws into the frigid air. The other two flanked it, circling like they'd already picked out which parts of me to eat first.
Jasper's voice broke behind me. "Oh, gods."
I'll be honest — I was a little scared. Okay, more than a little. Heart racing, hands sweating, brain screaming run, like any sane person would.
But then the claws popped out.
Snikt.
The cold metal shimmered faintly, catching the dull light from the snowy streetlights. The leather wraps around my forearms tightened like they approved.
"Well," I muttered, rolling my neck, forcing myself to stay loose. "Guess it's time for the first real one."
The hellhounds snarled and started advancing.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, and planted my feet.
Bring it.
The first hellhound lunged, fast — way too fast for something that size.
Instinct took over.
I barely sidestepped, throwing myself to the side as its jaws snapped shut inches from where my neck had been. The cold air roared past me as the beast skidded on the ice, claws digging trenches into the frozen pavement.
The second didn't wait. It came straight at me, all teeth and glowing eyes, no subtlety whatsoever.
Snikt.
My claws met it head-on, catching it across the snout. Black ichor sprayed as three deep gashes tore through its muzzle, sending it yelping backward in surprise more than pain. Its eyes locked onto me, now burning with recognition. Like it suddenly realized I wasn't just another mortal to chew on.
My heartbeat slammed against my ribs, adrenaline pumping like jet fuel. My breaths came sharp and fast, but I wasn't freezing up. No, if anything, I felt ready. Like some old instinct was surfacing, something older than me, older than this body.
Jasper was frozen near the gas pumps, hooves scraping nervously on the pavement. "Lucas!" he shouted. "Hellhounds! You need to—"
"Yeah, I see them!" I snapped, ducking under another swipe.
The third hellhound circled behind me, trying to flank. I spun, the claws dragging deep into the pavement for balance, and lashed out. Missed. The beast danced back with an unnatural, predatory grace.
I could feel them testing me. Circling. Pack tactics.
I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth, catching a smear of black ichor from the first hit. I grinned despite myself. Scared? Yes. Stupid? Definitely. But under it all? I was wired. Alive.
The first hellhound snarled and lunged again, fangs wide, eyes like furnaces. I didn't think. I moved.
Claws up, I met it mid-air, slashing across its throat. It crumpled, momentum carrying it past me as it dissolved into golden dust the second it hit the ground.
One down.
The other two didn't hesitate.
I braced myself.
The second hellhound didn't give me time to breathe. It charged, paws pounding against the ice-crusted pavement like a freight train.
But this time, I didn't flinch. I stood my ground.
I braced my legs, claws out, and met it head-on.
The impact rattled through my bones, but I held. The sheer weight of it slammed against me like a battering ram, pushing my boots across the ice. My heels carved deep grooves as I dug in, refusing to be knocked back. The monster snarled, jaws snapping inches from my face, its hot, sulfur-stained breath washing over me.
I roared.
Not a scream. Not a human sound. Something deeper.
Then I started stabbing.
My claws plunged into its side, again and again, tearing through fur and flesh like wet paper. Black ichor sprayed across me, burning faintly on contact, but I didn't care. I kept going. Slash after slash, tearing massive chunks from its hide, ripping muscle, bone, whatever was inside these things.
The hellhound howled in pain, thrashing wildly, but I held it in place like an anchor, tearing into it with raw, desperate fury. Its legs buckled under it.
Then — puff — it burst into golden dust, dissolving against the wind.
I staggered back, panting, adrenaline flooding my system. Two down.
I barely had time to turn.
The third hellhound lunged, mouth wide — and swallowed me whole.
Darkness. Heat. The stench of sulfur and wet fur filled my lungs as I was driven straight down its throat. Everything was crushing, muscles tightening like a vise, dragging me deeper.
Jasper's distant scream echoed through the night. "LUCAS!"
Crushing pressure. The stink of bile and sulfur. Every muscle in its throat and gut squeezing, trying to mash me into pulp. My vision swam, but instinct — that raw, animal instinct — roared louder than fear.
I wasn't dying here.
Snikt.
The claws shot out, slicing into the fleshy walls around me. The hellhound convulsed, a guttural whimper echoing from deep within it as I carved upward, digging, tearing.
The space was tight, muscles constricting, but the more it tried to crush me, the harder I fought.
I could feel the leather wraps tighten around my forearms, almost guiding my strikes. Every swing became more deliberate. More natural.
I stabbed again, this time up, claws sinking into something vital. The beast shrieked, a violent, echoing howl that rattled through its entire body.
I didn't stop.
Again.
Again.
Again.
With a final savage thrust, I tore upward, claws ripping through flesh and bone like a zipper, and in one explosive burst of gore and golden dust, I burst out of the hellhound's chest, landing hard on the pavement in a shower of black ichor and shimmering particles.
The hellhound collapsed behind me and vanished into dust like the others.
I was left kneeling, panting, drenched in monster blood and golden ash, steam rising from my body as the cold hit me all at once. My heartbeat sounded like war drums in my ears.
Jasper stood frozen at the gas pumps, eyes wide, mouth hanging open, coffee dropped and forgotten in the snow.
I stood up slowly, letting the claws retract with a sharp metallic snikt, chest still heaving.
"Well," I exhaled, wiping dust and ichor from my face. "That sucked."
Jasper could only nod, completely pale.
I took another breath and looked down at myself. The wounds I'd picked up in the struggle were already knitting themselves shut, the cuts and bruises fading before my eyes.
I gave a half-smile.
"Guess I'm built different."
Jasper rushed over, nearly slipping on the ice in his panic, eyes still darting to where the hellhounds had disappeared. His breathing was ragged, borderline hyperventilating.
"You—you just—you tore out of it!" he stammered, pointing at the spot where the beast's remains were nothing but gold flecks swirling in the air. "Like—inside, you were—" He waved his arms helplessly. "That's not normal!"
I rolled my shoulder, wiping more of the ichor off on my already ruined shirt. "Thought you said nothing about demigods is normal."
"That—" Jasper sputtered. "Yeah, but this is extra not normal! You're supposed to have, like, a sword, or a magic shield, or maybe a pocketful of drachmas, not freaking bladed knuckles and a healing factor that belongs in a horror movie!"
I tilted my head. "So… this isn't standard issue?"
He flailed. "No! No it's not! I've been doing this for years and I've never seen anything like that! Most of you barely survive one hellhound, let alone three, and you—" He gestured wildly at me. "—burst out of its chest! Like a fucking chestburster!"
I couldn't help but grin. A little bit. Under all the blood and monster guts.
"You sure you don't want to lead with compliments instead?" I said, popping the claws halfway out again just to admire them.
Jasper grabbed me by the shoulders, eyes wide. "Lucas. Listen to me. You're not just another demigod. Whatever you are, whatever you inherited — this isn't normal. Even by Olympian standards. And I swear to Pan if you don't take this seriously, you're going to get us both killed."
His words lingered for a second.
And yeah, maybe he was right.
Something about those black stars, those glowing blue markings on my skin, the leather wraps that hadn't left my arms since Anchorage… none of it screamed standard issue demigod, not that I knew a lot about that.
I flexed my fingers, letting the claws slide back in.
"Alright," I said, voice steady. "Serious face on. We still heading for Camp Half-Blood?"
Jasper blinked. "What? Yeah. Yes. Yes! Immediately. As fast as that deathtrap you call a motorcycle will carry us."
I walked past him, straight to the Harley, and fired it up. The engine coughed, then settled into its usual threatening growl.
I put my helmet on and shot him a grin.
"Good." I gestured to the seat. "Hop on. We've got miles to burn."
Jasper mumbled something about not getting paid enough for this, but climbed on anyway, clutching the back of my jacket like it was a lifeline.
And just like that, we were back on the road, cutting through the snowy Canadian wilderness.
I didn't know what was waiting down the highway.
But something told me, neither did Jasper.
By the time the lights of Vancouver started peeking through the dense curtain of trees, night had fully settled in. The cold wasn't letting up, and the Harley was starting to make noises I didn't like — deep mechanical groans that said I'm tired, let me die already.
We kept off the main highways, sticking to the quieter routes like Jasper suggested. Apparently, monsters liked highways almost as much as tourists did.
I pulled us to the outskirts of the city, where the glow of civilization softened behind the trees, and started looking for a place to crash. Not exactly five-star hotel territory out here — mostly cheap motels with flickering neon signs and parking lots big enough for maybe five cars.
Perfect.
After a few turns, I found one.
"The Everpine Inn", which sounded less like a motel and more like the setting of a bad horror movie, but it would have to do. A single-story structure with moss-stained wood paneling and an ice-coated vending machine leaning against the office door.
I killed the engine and took off my helmet, blowing into my hands to fight off the cold. Jasper climbed off behind me, still visibly rattled from the last twenty-four hours but keeping it together — barely.
"This looks... sketchy," Jasper said, glancing at the boarded-up window on the far end of the building.
"Yeah," I replied, tossing the kickstand down. "Just like home."
We approached the front office, stepping carefully over an ice patch, and I leaned against the counter. The old man behind the glass didn't even blink at the fact I was covered in fading bruises, dirt, and faint streaks of what was definitely not human blood.
I slid some cash under the window. "One room."
Without a word, he handed over a key and went back to ignoring our existence like he'd seen worse.
Typical.
Jasper shuffled beside me, glancing around. "We're staying here? Aren't motels like this where serial killers hang out?"
"Relax," I said, pocketing the key. "If anything, they'll take one look at me and assume I'm the serial killer."
He didn't laugh.
I thought it was funny.
The motel room wasn't much. Faded carpet, buzzing fluorescent light, and a radiator that sounded like it was losing a fight against itself. But it had two single beds and four walls, so in my book, it was luxury.
I tossed my jacket and gear on one of the beds and made a beeline for the bathroom. I could still feel the dried monster blood caked on me, mixed with frost, sweat, and engine grease. It felt like I was wearing a second skin — and not in a good way.
The motel's soap and shampoo were the kind you could probably use to degrease an engine, but I wasn't complaining. I scrubbed hard, letting the hot water blast against me while I worked to get the stink off.
It took two rounds of shampoo just to get my blond hair to stop feeling like I'd been dipped in fryer oil. Even then, it was only mostly clean. I scrubbed harder, working at the streaks on my skin, but when I wiped the fog off the mirror—
The blue markings were still there.
Faint, but visible. Flowing like ink under the skin, coiling in runic patterns across my arms, shoulders, and ribs. They didn't fade with the water. They didn't smear. They just... stayed.
I stared at them for a long moment.
No pain. No sensation at all, really. They just were.
I sighed, dried off, and threw on some cleaner clothes before stepping back into the room.
Jasper was already flopped onto one of the beds, remote in hand, flicking through the limited cable options like a kid searching for something remotely tolerable. He settled on the CBC, because apparently even satyrs had a soft spot for the national broadcaster.
"Hey," he said without looking away from the TV. "You good?"
"Monster guts aren't as easy to wash out as you'd think," I replied, sitting on the second bed. "Took two rounds just to make sure I didn't smell like barbecue."
Jasper cracked a small smile. "Welcome to the life."
I glanced around. Two single beds. Could've been worse. At least I wasn't stuck sharing one with the goat.
I leaned back against the headboard and let out a slow breath, watching the faint glow of the blue marks under the cuff of my sleeve. They weren't going anywhere.
And somehow, I had the feeling neither was the trouble that came with them.
The next morning came too fast, as mornings tend to when you've been fighting for your life the day before.
I found myself crouched outside the motel room, breath misting in the chilly Vancouver air, giving the Harley a quick once-over. It needed it. Desperately.
The old thing had held together during the run south, but barely. The left foot peg was loose, the clutch cable was grumpy, and the chain looked like it wanted to retire. Still, she was a survivor.
With a can of WD-40 in one hand and my trusty spanner in the other, I went to work like a field medic patching up a wounded soldier. A few squirts, a couple of good turns, some gentle "please don't die on me" nudges, and the bike started looking less like scrap metal and more like something that could actually make it to Seattle.
Jasper sat on the curb nearby, nervously kicking at the ice with his hoof, pretending not to stare at the blue glow still faintly visible under the cuffs of my sleeves.
"You sure that thing's gonna survive the trip?" he asked, eyeing the bike like it was about to explode.
"Nope," I said, spinning the spanner lazily. "But I've seen worse make it further."
The Harley groaned as I adjusted the clutch, but it didn't fall apart — so I took that as a good sign.
Jasper shivered, pulling his coat tighter. "You know, most demigods don't use mortal tech for long trips. The gods kinda mess with it, on principle."
I glanced at him. "You could've mentioned that before we crossed half of British Columbia."
He shrugged. "Didn't want to freak you out more than you already were."
I chuckled dryly, tightened the last bolt, and stood. "Little late for that."
The bike gave a soft rumble as I fired it up.
Still breathing.
Good enough.
About an hour down the road, after coaxing the Harley through the twists and turns of the snowy highway, we pulled into a small Denny's clinging to the edge of civilization.
Big yellow sign. Faded parking lines. Smelled like coffee and syrup before I even killed the engine.
Jasper practically leapt off the bike like it had been trying to kill him the whole ride. To be fair, it probably was.
Inside, the place was warm, the kind of warm that hits like a soft punch after spending too long in the cold. Vinyl booths, foggy windows, and the smell of grease and pancakes working overtime. The usual.
We grabbed a booth near the window. A tired-looking waitress gave us two menus and a haven't-slept-in-three-days smile.
"Two coffees, black," I said automatically, before Jasper could start negotiating for hot chocolate.
I wasn't going to survive another hour on the road without caffeine.
When the waitress left, Jasper slouched in the booth, glancing around like he was still expecting monsters to burst through the window at any second.
"You know," I said, flipping through the menu more out of habit than curiosity, "if you keep looking like you're one wrong step from a heart attack, you're gonna give us away before anything even tries to eat us."
"I'm sorry," he whispered, still darting glances at the door. "Not all of us can shake off seeing my charge being swallowed by hellhounds like it's just a bad Tuesday."
I smirked. Fair enough.
By the time the food arrived — a stack of pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs for me, something lighter for Jasper — the tension eased just a little. Maybe it was the food. Maybe it was just the familiar dull hum of a roadside diner.
I dug in without hesitation.
The pancakes were fluffy, the bacon just the right kind of greasy, and the coffee was garbage — but it was hot garbage, and that was good enough.
"You eat like this all the time?" Jasper asked, nibbling on toast.
"Gotta bulk up somehow," I said, mouth half full. "Pretty sure fighting monsters burns more calories than football ever did."
He gave me a look but didn't argue.
For a few minutes, it actually felt normal.
Just pancakes and bad coffee.
Didn't mean it would last.
It never does.
After polishing off the last bite of pancake and draining the bitter sludge they called coffee, nature called.
I excused myself and headed toward the bathroom, pushing past a sticky door that creaked like it hadn't been oiled since the Cold War. The place was empty, thank the gods — or god — or whatever. Just cracked tiles, buzzing fluorescent lights, and a flickering EXIT sign half-hanging above the door.
I picked a urinal farthest from the door and did my business, trying to focus on anything except how cold the bathroom was.
Halfway through, I heard the door creak open behind me.
Fine, I thought, nothing weird, public bathroom, normal stuff.
Then footsteps.
And then, without hesitation, someone stepped right up to the urinal directly beside me.
I froze.
Social. Faux pas.
I didn't even have to turn my head to feel the tension in the air, sharp like a knife pressed against the back of my neck. This wasn't just some guy. Every instinct screamed wrong.
Slowly, against every survival instinct I had, I flicked my eyes sideways.
The figure was tall, wearing an old trucker jacket with frost on the shoulders. At first glance, you'd think he was just another grizzled long-hauler grabbing breakfast before hitting the road.
But there were too many things off.
His skin was pale. Not like winter pale — more like bone pale, with thin black veins faintly visible under the surface.
And his eyes? Yellow. Slitted. Like a snake's.
He gave me a sideways smile, sharp teeth just peeking out from under his chapped lips. "Mornin', hero."
I stared ahead, trying to finish without completely losing composure.
"...You could've waited," I said flatly.
He chuckled. Low. Predatory.
And then, the room felt colder. Much colder.
The silence stretched uncomfortably.
The sound of the flickering fluorescent light buzzing above was the only thing filling the air, aside from the occasional drip from a leaking pipe in the corner.
I zipped up slowly, keeping one hand near my belt — not because I had anything special tucked there, but just in case the claws needed to come out fast.
"Didn't mean to startle you," the stranger said, still staring dead ahead like this was a normal conversation to have during a bathroom break. "I've just been curious. Been following you since Anchorage."
My fingers twitched.
"Yeah?" I replied, stepping toward the sink, calm on the outside but already preparing for the worst. "Fan of my work?"
He laughed, deep and hollow. "You could say that."
I caught his reflection in the smudged mirror. The guy's pupils dilated unnaturally, and his mouth split into a grin far too wide for any mortal face. His teeth — not just sharp, but jagged, like broken glass shoved into his gums — stretched as he spoke.
"I like to keep tabs on promising little demigods," he said. "And you? You're very promising."
I kept scrubbing my hands slowly, forcing myself to breathe.
Then I noticed it.
The blue markings on my arms were glowing faintly again, visible even under my sleeves, like they knew.
The air in the bathroom thickened. The guy's skin rippled, like whatever was under it was struggling to stay contained.
I met his eyes in the mirror. "Yeah, well, I'm flattered. But I'm gonna have to cancel the fan club."
I flexed my fingers.
Snikt.
The claws snapped out, clean and smooth, glinting under the sickly fluorescent lights.
The thing next to me stopped smiling.
"Oh, you really shouldn't have done that," it hissed.
I turned slowly, claws raised. "Yeah? Sue me."
The thing moved fast.
Before I could fully square up, it lashed out, claws of its own extending from beneath its cracked fingernails. I barely ducked, its hand raking a chunk out of the grimy tile where my head had been.
I stumbled back, boots skidding on the wet floor, but instinct kicked in.
I lunged low, driving my claws upward into its ribs.
Shink.
They slid through like butter — but instead of blood, black smoke poured from the wound, curling like ash in water. The thing hissed, staggered, but didn't go down.
"Oh, you've got some bite," it grinned through sharp teeth, breath reeking of sulfur.
It lunged again, smashing me against the sink. I felt porcelain crack against my back, knocking the wind out of me. But pain wasn't sticking like it used to. It barely registered before the leather wraps tightened on my forearms, and the rage came boiling up.
I roared and drove my claws into its shoulder, forcing the thing to pinwheel backwards into a stall door. It broke through it like cardboard.
I didn't hesitate.
I charged.
We crashed into the stall, knocking the walls loose. The monster raked its claws along my jacket, but the cuts barely grazed skin before the wounds sealed up just as fast.
It snarled. "Healing factor? Who's your parent, boy?"
I didn't answer. I just kept slashing.
One.
Two.
Three deep cuts across its chest.
Black ichor sprayed, burning faintly where it hit my arms and face, but I didn't stop. The thing shrieked, slamming into the wall hard enough to leave cracks.
Then the bathroom door flew open.
Jasper stood there, wide-eyed, holding what looked like a can of pepper spray and a plastic fork.
"The hell?!" he yelped.
The monster turned its head toward him, mouth curling into a twisted grin.
Bad move.
I drove both claws straight into its back.
It arched like it'd been struck by lightning, black smoke pouring from its mouth, and then — with a violent hiss — it burst into golden dust, swirling around me in a slow spiral.
I was left panting in the middle of a wrecked stall, blood and ichor dripping off my arms and onto the floor.
Jasper just stood there frozen. "This is going to keep happening, isn't it?"
I retracted the claws with a soft snikt, wiping dust from my face.
"Yeah," I said, stepping out of the ruined stall, "I think it is."
We started making our way out, Jasper pulling me along like he expected a dozen more monsters to crash through the diner windows any second.
But just as we passed the door — I felt it.
The black suns were back.
Faint, hanging in the corners of my vision like oil stains on the edges of the world. One of them pulsed.
And then another flared to life, just like before — deliberate, steady — and vanished.
A chill ran down my spine, but this time it wasn't from the cold. Something was off.
My mouth felt... wrong. Tight. Uncomfortable. Like I had a pebble caught between my teeth, but deeper. More invasive.
I slowed down.
"Lucas? What—?" Jasper turned, confused.
"Hold up," I muttered, ignoring him as I trailed back into the diner. My eyes scanned frantically for anything reflective, anything at all.
The window glass was too fogged up, but then I spotted it — one of those old-school chrome napkin holders sitting on a table near the entrance. The polished metal wasn't perfect, but it was good enough.
I leaned in.
And froze.
My teeth —
They weren't mine.
Jagged. Sharp. Slightly uneven, like a mouth full of serrated blades. Not quite fangs, not vampire-fangs or movie monster teeth — worse. Like a shark's. Like rows designed not just to bite but to tear, grip, and never let go.
I pulled back, heart racing, touching my jaw like I could rub it away. No pain. No blood. Just... my teeth. Except they weren't.
"What the fuck," I whispered, staring at my reflection like it would somehow explain itself.
Jasper was by my side in an instant. "What? What is it?"
I spun toward Jasper, still rattled, still trying to process the jagged nightmare in my mouth.
"Who's the god of animals?" I demanded. "Wild beasts, fangs, claws — who?"
Jasper's eyes darted away like he was trying to stall. "Artemis."
I blinked. "Artemis? The huntress Artemis? Wolves, deer, all that?"
He nodded quickly. "She's the goddess of wild animals, hunting, the wilderness—"
"Okay, great." I pointed aggressively at my shark teeth. "That explains this."
Jasper winced. "She's also the virgin goddess. No demigods. Ever."
The room felt colder.
"Then Pan," I said, grasping at straws. "He's nature, animals, right?"
Jasper's face dropped. "Pan's... gone. Been gone for years. Missing. His legacy still lingers, but he's not making new kids." His voice wavered. "It's impossible."
I stared back at my reflection, my breath fogging the napkin holder.
Sharp. Predatory. Not human.
"Yeah," I muttered, stepping back. "Seems like impossible's getting a little common these days."
Jasper looked like he wanted to throw up.
I clenched my jaw and stepped away from the table, pulling my sleeve down to hide the faint blue glow still crawling along my arms.
CP Bank: 200cp
Perks earned this chapter: 100cp- Iron Fangs (The Elder Scrolls: Dovah) [Destruction]
My, Jumper, what big teeth you have. All the better to chomp down on some poor fool. Yes, there don't seem to be a lot of good offensive options for a dragon if you ignore the Thu'um, but that's forgetting about the mouth, and it's many dagger-sized teeth. Your teeth can pierce through most substances but ebony with surprising ease, while the inside of your mouth and tongue are as durable as your scales. Additionally, your teeth will never chip or break, and are always clean.
Milestones reached this chapter: none