Chapter I – Fighting the Immortal Italian Dog
Darkness, at first. Hopelessness ensnared his heart and mind.
Then, from the absolute obscurity, sparks of light, like fairies, made themselves know. It was a thing of beauty, a show that rose above anything the human mind could imagine and create - the bright spark into existence, like the birth of a child, the mild happiness and comfort we have around family and friends in moments of sadness; like finally founding love - the pure, the dearest, the selfless desire to see our loved ones happy.
However, the stars, spectacle of nature they may be, were little, compared to the central figure, queen in the skies. Like a sacred embroidery, the sparks served as the attendants and guardians, the crown and the scepter, for the radiating beauty that enchanted him, and made him long for things he had not comprehended yet.
The moon was breathtaking today.
And, despite his torn shirt, despite the mud on his face, despite the veil of blankness on his mind and the heartrending cries of longing of his soul, he stood there, gazing up at the skies.
But, as all things good, fate and inconvenience stopped his Arcadian contemplation. Rather anticlimactic, too. Nevertheless, that was the life of a demigod, a hero - by birth and by deeds.
Low growling was the only warning, before the threatening red blur engaged in bodily fight, its teeth menacing and fast, its body strong and resilient, its eyes... making him stop, in hesitation and confusion, giving enough time for the beast to thrown him in a decayed and burned stone structure which seemed to be held purely by some supernatural defiance.
"Weak. Unworthy." A powerful voice snarled in his head, violent, controlled, demanding respect and inciting fear, stoic and aristocratic, soft and harsh at the same time - a voice from someone rationally confident in their own power. Dare he say it was a little feminine? "You are not deserving even of the curse you bear, Perseus Jackson. Bow to me, godspawn, and you'll have my promise of a dignified death."
Wolves of different sizes and colors surrounded him. His hands went automatically into his pockets, making the red wolf directly in front of the boy growl and tense. But, as he glared at the presence before him, he dropped the pen he was holding. Cold fury overtook him.
Two silver eyes glared back, as if mocking his arrogance and petulance. He did not care, for that sight evoked his anger. The wolf's silver eyes were an insult to him. An irrational feeling, he realized later, but a welcomed one at that moment.
The red fur of the wolf was... off. A quick flash came to him, as a photograph observed quickly, as a squirrel that ran by the vigilance of his peripheral vision: the vision of silver eyes and red hair behind a wooden short bow. A laugh, a cry, a grunt and a protest. It vanished quickly as it came, but it was enough to make him feel energized and eager.
And, marking his arrival into another world, nothing short of disrespectful or foolish could be accepted.
"Come at me, doggie."
Barking, yowling, growling and snarling filled the house. The pack was thirsty for blood. Percy took off his shirt and kicked his flippers.
He ducked the first wolf, which came biting from his right, kicking the second one directly behind it. The third was grabbed by his upper jaw, and sent barreling into two other creatures.
The leader of the pack came as a missile at him, making Percy duck sideways, elbowing the wolf that came for his back.
He kicked, shoved and punched other wolves that came at his limbs and vital points. The red blur, he noted, was the most strategic. It waited for its minions to go for his arms and legs, before trying various other approaches. His calves, his thighs, his neck, his head, his torso - only when he was unprotected.
At the beginning, it felt natural for him. He aimed at the bodies and legs of the wolves when needed, preferring to shove and to dodge - as if it was wrong, for him, to aim for the vitals.
On the other hand, they did not had that reservation. Therefore, he enhanced his attacks. The red wolf seemed to analyze him, waiting.
For minutes, a tornado of white, gray and black fur savaged the house. The center of the attacks moved with velocity, strength, and, what it would appear to the untrained eye, absolute randomness. However, the leader of the pack knew it was not the case.
The minutes ended, some wolves were hiding or crying by the sides. Percy Jackson was forcefully on top of the belly of the silver-eyed wolf, one hand in its throat, the other directly over one of its eyes. The few wolves that insisted on the fight stopped, with their leader dominated.
"Who are you?" Percy Jackson demanded, an infuriating expression of victory, confusion, weariness and curiosity over his face.
The wolf grunted, incapable of moving. Its supernatural eyes glared with anger at the strange boy atop of her - a she-wolf for sure, Percy awkwardly noted. Then, out of nothing, a resounding laugh resonated in his head, and the wolf relaxed.
"Quite right, quite right were their briefings. I underestimated you, Perseus Jackson. For a long time, finally, one of yours that is not weak. Stand down protectors, he passed the test."
"Protectors?" Percy asked unimpressed, his pants absolutely destroyed, his torso and arms pained internally.
"Of the roads of Rome, of course, foolish boy." The wolf snarled. "For only the brave, the resilient and the strong are deserving of the legacy of the Empire."
Percy continued with his irritating unimpressed face, still atop of the wolf. "Okay." For some reason, he felt he already knew about something like that. Not exactly alike, but resembling. "Who are you?"
Suddenly, the wolf began to increase in brightness, and Percy felt his very existence be threatened. He noted golden pools on his arm, dropped from the wolf's injured mouth. "Immortal, eh?" Percy noted her wolves moving closer, the ones to the sides taking tentative steps towards him. 'She must be a minor goddess of healing or something. If her passive power is enough to make her servants heal that fast. Then, why I'm hurting like Hades?'
She-wolf. Immortal. Apparently, a guardian. Roman.
He was - really - stupid sometimes. He got off her and bowed. No use acting tough right now; he was on the brink of unconsciousness, anyway.
"Lupa, Goddess of... wolves, err... Rome? And... Well, I don't know, roads, whatever."
If wolves could appear exasperated, she had the perfect representation for it, etched on her face.
"Perseus Jackson, a fodder, is it? I think the tales of your cunning and ingenious thinking were very inflated. I see." She mused. "But I'll let it pass. Your situation is... comprehensible at least."
He thought he understood what she said. He could not remember his own name immediately. A little desperation should be normal at the moment, but he was too tired for that now. Lupa chuckled.
"Rest hero. You'll have much to learn before you begin your journey." Lupa said nodding him a relatively dry and roofed spot.
But he didn't care for it. Laying in the center of the ruined house, facing the skies, he slept. He took his torn orange shirt, made a makeshift pillow, and closed his eyes...
... only to be violently awakened by growling, at the middle of the night, on his stomach, with Lupa directly over a specific spot on the opposite side of his belly button.
"First lesson, Perseus Jackson. You do not drop your guard on enemy territory. Test the faith and the trust of your soldiers and comrades. For betrayal, albeit unbecoming for a Roman, is natural on the lustful road for power."
Percy slowly and awkwardly looked at Lupa, his green eyes bleary, irritation clearly displayed. He rolled on his back again, looking at the goddess from an uncomfortable angle. "Hm. Thank you." And closed his eyes.
Lupa just stared - this time she was the unimpressed. He was truly different from the other demigods. Never in her service for Rome had she encountered someone like him.
This was not a good thing, for the careless reader, and the Greeks out there.
"Just so you know." The man said, one of his eyes open. "You picked the wrong spot." And winked.
Two silver perplexed and confused eyes were the last thing he saw that night before he entered the realm of Morpheus. He thought he heard someone cursing in Italian, but he would not put it past his imagination to think of something as random as this. Maybe it was Lupa.
The adventure begins, then: a semi-naked man sleeping on the open, talking italian immortal dogs, and some of the weirdest cases of amnesia.
Boy, what could go wrong?
AN: read the profile for more information.