There was chaos. Blood pounding loudly in a young boy's ears as he ran through city streets avoiding the angry vendors he had relieved of a few pieces of fruit. His breath barely visible on the chilled morning air. The young ten year old smiled brightly as the venders fell further and further behind. He was safe. For now.
He slowed his pace feeling slightly tired. His lungs ached and his feet were sore, no different from any other homeless thief he guessed. Just a little warmer than others, but he could always say that was the running. The boy relaxed, pulling an apple out of his dirty black jacket and took a bite. He almost groaned at the sweet crispness of the fresh fruit flesh. Much better than a soup kitchen supply, where all the food was old and donated.
With fruit in his pocket and an apple in hand, he began to walk to his little makeshift hideaway about a quarter mile from the stand. But really, what's a quarter of a mile in New York? Not much. Especially with how large the blocks were. And the buildings? Everything all in one location!
He never had to go too far. Problem was, trouble never had to go too far to find him either.
-.-
It was a somewhat quiet day in the city that never sleeps. One short burly man was enjoying the relative peace from the day. His hair thick, dark and unruly. He grunted when he bumped into others, relatively ignoring everyone.
He was a monster of a little man. Intimidating dark eyes, a seemingly permanent scowl etched on his face. His clothes reeked of cigar smoke, sweat, and sour beer. His leather jacket kept away the cold as he trudged through the crowds of unaware everyday Joes. People kept their distance from the man with his intimidating aura and unpleasant smell.
He kept moving. He had no destination in mind but felt a need to move around, find something to drink perhaps, because he was surprisingly sober for one who reeked of alcohol. He just couldn't seem to get drunk, buzzed sure but he was always more aware than many of the other patrons. At least from at civilian perspective.
It didn't bother him though. People became wary of him and stayed away. They wouldn't end up dead from an accident or some freak mutant attack. Never getting close.
Of course, life is a bitch and he had some incidents he couldn't avoid. Like the irritating screaming wannabe gangster teens running like mad out of a brightly lit alley.
Brightly lit alley? No, there was a fire. Goddamn it. Kids must've been playing with a lighter or something and it caught. He walked casually into the alley, ready to be burned possibly stomping out the stupid kids' fire.
What he didn't expect was someone, even shorter than him, pressed against a dumpster covered head to toe in flames. He cursed as he approached the person. Whoever they were, they were aware. They stood up and trued to run toward the back end of the alley away from him. The fire seemed to grow brighter, actually turning blue near the head. Stray newspapers were catching as the person clumsily stepped on them, or as the wind caught small sparks.
"Stop," the man grunted, "You wanna burn alive?"
The burning person stopped and turned. The man was somewhat surprised to see a glimpse of a young face peering through the flames. A child no more than ten. A child who had no burn on his skin or panic on his face. Only fear.
"Go away!" the kid cried out. His voice high pitched, with a slight southern twinge. The man moved in closer.
"I'm not going to hurt you kid. I'm trying to help you," he growled.
"No! You're lying! You're a cop aren't you?!"
"Do I look like a cop to you?"
"Are you shitting me? Cops are always wandering around dressed like everyday Joes. Just leave me alone!" the kid screeched, his voice raw as if he had been crying. Burning hands rushed to his face, evaporating any tear that fell mixing white steam with grey smoke. His body seemed to tense and shake just like the flames he was bathed in.
"Can't really leave when you're burning everything," the man noted, his hands curling into fists. He'd rather not attack the brat, but he was burning just about everything he touched. And the last thing he needed was another notch to label his kind in the worst way possible.
The fire flickered, growing larger for a moment before encasing itself around the child even tighter, becoming even more intense despite not reaching out as far. Some of the flames even flickered blue before returning to an intense white.
"You just want to hurt me. Just like all the others," the kid murmured.
"I swear to god you brat I'm not gonna hurt you if you stop burning."
"Why should I trust you?" the kid asked with an eerily hollow voice. The man held out his hands. The kid jumped when metal blades protruded from his knuckles, approximately a foot long and appeared to be incredibly sharp.
"Because we're both mutants."
The fire danced for a moment before dying down to reveal a runty, dark skinned, elf looking dirty child. Deep brown eyes bore into the man's. He looked even smaller without the burning embers surrounding him.
"Who are you?"
"Call me Logan kid. You?"
"…Leo. Just call me Leo."
And this is in honor of one of my listed challenges. This is an option for one of my challenges.
-Percy Jackson and the Olympians x Marvel (or Xmen)
One of the seven of prophecy is not like the others. They are a mutant. Taken in at a young age (or fairly reasonable age depending on the kid) and live comfortably as a mutant until the camps search for the missing member of the seven.
Rule 1. Person must have a power outside of whatever power they have in the book. An actual mutation.
Rule 2. If person has powers as a demigod, it should be thought its part of the mutation.
Rule 3. Monsters. They'd still try to go after the kid.
Bonus: Doesn't necessarily want to be a part of the quest.
This chapter here is an example of a chapter one. If anyone wants to use it, fine. If you want to make your own, fine. Just let me know if you guys want to use it or do the challenge. I have more challenges on my author page just above my stories. So yeah.