Summary: My first life was normal. My second life was not. With petty deities, clashing pantheons, and a whole lot more shit thrown my way, my current life was anything but normal. [SI!-OC]

OR, in which, a normal seventeen years old dies in the most cliché way possible, finds himself in the world of Percy Jackson after the wars, and is reborn as a Legacy with a new prophecy hanging over his head. When he'd said he had wanted some excitement in his life, he had meant in his first one alive, not after he had died and was thrown headfirst into this shit with no warning whatsoever, damnit!

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I don't owe any of this except the OC made for this story. Rick Riordan owes anything and everything that is canon.

Warning: Eventual slash. If you're not a fan of these kind of pairings, don't read. Oh, yeah, and a heck lot of cursing. There is also going to be a few needed OCs.

Chapter 01

Of Gems and War

When I was alive, I had a pretty OK life.

I mean – I had a mum, a dad, and a little hellion of a sister. I had decent grades and didn't get into too much trouble. My social life wasn't amazing, but it wasn't entirely horrible. The same could be said for my love life.

I had flat brown hair, tanned skin, and was of average height for a boy in his last year of high school. I looked – in my sister's words – plain. Average. Normal.

Which was honestly sad. Really. Normal was the single word that practically told the entire story that was my life.

I had a middle class family, with a decently well-off restaurant owner for a dad and a housekeeper/part time teacher for a mum. My sister was exactly three years younger than me, with no defects whatsoever. And I was like the typical high school student with a group that I was sorta friends with but not exactly and worried about grades and homework.

So, in every aspect and way, I was absolutely normal. I didn't have any drama or relationship problem bullshit that I was aware of. No. The most exciting thing to ever happen in my life was winning my school's annual spelling bee competition.

And wasn't that just sad? I could even practically already see what my future would be like. I would graduate college, become a salary man at some decent company, marry a just as average woman and pop out a kid or two, just for sake of it.

Admittedly, I do wish for something to happen in my life. At least, before I leave high school. I didn't want the kind of future I pictured in my head, damnit! Just becoming another face in the crowd was definitely not something I wanted, even if I wasn't sure if I wanted attention either.

And then I died. I died in the most clichéd way ever. I died in a car crash, by getting hit by a drunken driver on my way home from school.

It was so goddamn clichéd .Because, whenever you wanted or needed to conveniently get rid of someone in a story, just slam them into car crash with a drunk for the person behind the wheel. That would solve everything.

As I died, my last, conscious thoughts were, Fuck that arsehole, before succumbing myself to the ice cold grasps of death. And for a while, I wandered.

I wandered aimlessly through the seemingly endless vortex I had found myself in. I felt myself walk on listlessly with no drive to somewhere. I didn't know where was that 'somewhere'; I just knew it was there, waiting for me to reach the finish line.

Perhaps, I was taking it too calmly, but after dying, my heart went numb. It felt like all my emotions and feelings were turned to ice. I felt like a puppet, merely following the whims and directions of the puppeteer who continuously made me move with no rest or questions asked.

I was nothing more than a robot during my brief time after life.

While I wandered, I did wonder about the people I left behind after my most untimely demise. How was my sister? My father? My mother? Or even Henry the goldfish. Were they still sad? Had they moved on?

Heck, thinking about it now, how much time had passed back on Earth? Hours? Days? Weeks? Months? Hell, maybe even years?

I didn't know. It wasn't like I had some convenient watch or clock here with me right now. And to be truthful, I had long since stopped caring after wandering for so long.

And then, there was light.

It started small first, unseeable to the naked eye. A mere miniscule, bacteria-sized dot of white among the endless sea of black, overshadowed by the more obvious background. But with each step forward I took, the bigger and brighter said light got.

Along with each stride, my emotions slowly flooded back into me, at the pace of a snail. One by one, they bled back into me. For a moment, it paused and so did my steady gait that-until now-had never stopped before.

And suddenly, a dam broke.

Every emotion I had-sadness, happiness, anger and so many, many more that I had thought to have forgotten-rushed back in an instant. It took me by surprise. So many different feelings were emptied out into me at once, like someone had clumsily tipped it over too fast.

I viciously wrestled them, fought them to get some semblance of emotional control as I tried to calm down after so long a time without emotions. I felt like a computer given too much data at once, trying desperately to process every rapid column of information that came, on the very verge of a breakdown.

Only for me, it would be like an emotional meltdown with the joyride my feelings were having a blast taking.

When I had finally managed a sliver of a grip on them, light had already overwhelmed me, drowning out my every senses as I was swallowed by its rays.

Hazel Proserpina Levesque was a happy woman.

As she looked on at the slumbering faces of her newborn twin children, Hazel felt so much joy. Not even the happiness she felt on her wedding day could rival the joy that burst through her at this very moment. She wanted to scream her happiness for the world to hear. She wanted to show every person out there her perfect, beautiful baby boys that were sure to grow up into wonderful, young men one day.

She couldn't help it; they were just so beautiful. She was willing to bet Olympus itself that Frank was feeling the exact same as she did.

Craning her head to the side, she let her loving gaze sweep over them, observing every little detail of her precious children.

The eldest, her firstborn, was a chubby baby. Just out of the womb, and already, he weighed slightly more than the average newborn. He seemed to have inherited almost everything from her. He had the same shade of skin and hair as she did. He even inherited her curly locks. It would turn to become quite the hassel when he grew older. Frank had complained that the only features that their first had received from him was his brown eyes.

They had named him, Samuel, in the honour of her beloved deceased friend and gifted him the middle name of Mars to honour her father-in-law.

Her second born, on the other hand, look like her firstborn's polar opposite. He had been born much more petite and underweight instead. Contrasting sharply with Samuel's dark, African looks, her second son looked more like Frank than her. He had Frank's fair skin, black curls and Asian attributes. Then, it had been her turn to bemoan to Frank that their second son's only trait was his solid gold gaze, that was the same as hers.

His name was Emmanuel-a more masculine version of her mother-in-law's name since Hazel doubted their son would appreciate being named Emily or Emilia in the future-and his middle name was Pluto. They had named Emmanuel those names for the same reason they had given Samuel his names.

Her eyes lingered on them for only a bit longer, before a small yawn slipped past her lips. She could feel sleep beckoning to her after that long day in the emergency room to birth her two darlings. Letting out a small smile, she fell asleep into the arms of Morpheus, feeling overjoyed to finally be able to see her dear children in the world of living.

Unbeknownst to Hazel, her second child didn't quite share her thoughts about his birth, as golden eyes showed a dazed, horrified awareness.

Bleary eyed and uncomfortable, I felt immense irritation swell up within me as I tried my best to stay awake, even if it was for only a few measly seconds. For some reason, no matter how much I squirmed, my limbs never responded to my mental commands.

I felt swaddled. My body was wrapped by something soft and silky. It was a nice feeling, but it would have been even nicer if it wasn't swaddling me.

Desperately clinging onto whatever awareness I still had, I was horrified to realise that my body felt too small and tiny. Definitely not the body of a seventeen years old teenager.

As my pathetic vision waned even more, I forlornly stared up at the whiteness of the world as I lamented about one last thing before I went unconscious.

Why me?