This fan fic just came to me okay. All these creepy powers, rites and rituals, they may not even exist. If you have any questions due to the fact that this story starts somewhere in the middle of the series, and what happens (in this universe) previously, don't hesitate to message me!
Thanks,
PJOFan4Ever
DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN PJO!!! I'M NOT RICK RIORDAN!!!
He ran. There was no stopping him. Five men were chasing him, no one could help him. An old friend stepped in front of him. An old friend. A new enemy.
Trust no one, except those you keep closest. his father's voice rang in his head.
"STOP HIM!" a male voice shouted. The crowd on the street parted before him, making it easier to see him. His blue eyes twinkled, he had one more trick up his sleeve. He ran into an alley, and his eyes changed color. Instead of the recent blue color, they were now brown. His brown hair had turned blond. All in the course of a second. The men ran down the street, turning into the alley he was in. They stopped.
Only three people were in the alley, all kids, all twelve. Just like him. He had changed his appearance, he knew they didn't know he could do this. He busied himself in chatting with another of the three boys, one that looked the most like the boy they were chasing. The men noticed him. They grasped his shoulder firmly. But not his. The other boy's. The boy gave a start, then they dragged him away.
He felt sorry for the boy, but he knew it was necessary. They would've suspected him after that. The boy they had taken was mortal, they would return him soon. He was close to positive.
He returned to the streets of New York. His blond hair blowing about him, due to the breeze. He enjoyed it. His brown eyes twinkled. There was a sense of calm about him, one that no one expected. Especially, not him.
***** flashback*****
"I'm sorry, but your step-father sent the letter this morning. Your mother was killed. I'm terribly sorry." Chrion had told him. His eyes had tears in them, but he was holding them back. Chiron knew this, he left because of this.
He had gone down to the beach and sat in the sand for hours, crying. No one was there. They were all off celebrating. They had every right to. For a while, he had been celebrating as well. Then Chiron had come to find him, with a somber expression on his face. They had all seen it, they knew what it meant. Someone had died.
Then he had called his name over the din of the crowd. And the noise ceased almost immediately. They knew what he was here for. But of all the times possible, did it have to be then?
His father came. He knew what his son had been through, he knew what to do. He offered his son a choice, one he knew would make him feel better. He would be given the gift of change, and immortality. If, when he reached fourteen, he was still alive, he would acquire immortality. He could hunt down his mother's killers, for his father knew it was more than one person. He also knew that they weren't there for her, but for her son. That was the most dangerous part.
His father expected him to think about it, and he did. Those long hours sitting in the sand, grieving for his mother, it made him think. He wanted to hunt them down. Not kill them though. He wouldn't stoop to their level, even if they did claim the life of a loved one.
'Your only loved one.' said a voice in his head. He silenced it.
His father smiled at him, and wished him good luck, and with that, he appeared on the streets of New York. He immediately changed his appearance, it wouldn't do for people to know who he was. And he walked on.
*****end flashback*****
It was the end of the street, he knew he had to turn back. But for what? He had no money, no home, and no leads. All he had, was survival instincts, street smarts, and sword fighting skills. He didn't even have a weapon that could hurt mortals. That would only happen if necessary.
"Having second thoughts, boy?" a voice whispered in his ear. He jumped, and whirled around. There was a boy with a knife, one with a sword, and one with a bow and quiver. They had all drawn their weapons while he had been lost in thought.
"Not a word." said the one with the bow, and arrow already notched. He drew a breath. "Not a sound. Not a single movement, or we'll attack. Understand." He nodded. The one who was closest (the one with the knife), had grasped his arm.
"We need your name, and we want the truth." he said. He looked into the brown eyes. There was something off about this kid, he thought.
"C-Cody. Cody S-Sommers." he muttered. The boy looked at him. He was about nineteen, blue eyes, with a large scar running down his face. He also was wearing a hat. There was something in his eyes, the older boy thought. The statement seemed truthful. It was definitely believable. But there was something in the depths of the brown eyes of the younger boy. A small hint of remorse, a small twinge of regret. Something that only a sharp eye could spot.
As they walked down the cold street, firmly grasping the arm of the younger boy, he muttered:
"No you're not."
*****
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