My name is Owen Kemp. I was born in Sheffield, England, on Bonfire Night, 1990.

In my younger years, I was an angry kid.

I don't remember all that much about my Mother, but I know she had a beautiful, loving soul. She looked after me, taught me right and wrong, and did everything in her power to make sure I was happy, but knowing your Father is out there, somewhere, and wants nothing to do with your life, that leaves a hole in your heart. How people attempt to fill that hole varies from person to person.

I tried to fill the hole in my heart with violence.

I've always been the big kid; taller and broader than the others, so nobody ever wanted to pick on me, which would have given me an excuse to fight. So, I became a bully. Like every other bully on Earth, I needed someone to take my anger out on. Like every other bully on Earth, I was a nasty child.

That was, at least, until exactly one month after my tenth birthday.

I was at school when my Mother died, flinging metal pencil sharpeners across the classroom. She had been on her way to work, apparently, when a speeding car hit her. Have you ever seen the biggest kid in the school cry on the smallest kid's shoulder? I wonder what she's up to these days.

With no known relatives, and a Father who, in my eyes and in the eyes of the Sheffield City Council, didn't exist, I was sent to a Children's home. That was where I would spend the next eleven months of my life. It was also where I had my first real fight.

Nine months into my stay at the home, a new boy joined us: Michael Lawson. He was the oldest kid, and the only one who was taller than me, if only by a half-inch at most. Like I had once been, Michael was a bully, and a viscous one at that. He beat up the other kids almost daily.

Seeing Michael in action made me realise what I had been, and what I had done to my fellow classmates. From that moment, and to this day, there is nothing I hate more than a bully. So, when good ol' Mikey decided it was my turn to play the punching bag, I didn't hold back. Michael may have been older, and taller, but I was stronger, heavier, and much, much angrier.

In short, I kicked Michael around the room. Sure, he got a good punch in, but I got dozens.

I want you to picture this: a tall, broad, ten year-old boy, with short, black hair and bright amber eyes, staring into a mirror, and grinning at the clean tear down the middle of his lower lip. His teeth are stained red, and his chin is coated with blood. That was me exactly five minutes after my first fight. Quite an unnerving sight, I imagine. Well, not to me - I thought I looked awesome. I still have the scar, and it's probably my favourite thing about my appearance.

I wonder what the night that changed my life must have been like for the other kids.

The night before my eleventh birthday, I sat wide awake in my bedroom, listening to one of the other boys awaken from another one of his nightmares, screaming. It didn't bother me anymore - he did that most nights. Poor lad. It was raining. Droplets of rain water, rapidly tapping against the window, almost masked the shuffling footsteps of the Care Worker as she rushed to the younger boy's room.

A few minutes later, her footsteps retreated back downstairs, just as the sounds started. The home was situated on the outskirts of Sheffield, near a heavily-wooded area. I heard branches snapping outside, and so, being the intelligent lad I was, I decided to investigate, because if anyone is equipped to deal with a potential threat, it's a ten year-old who's wearing Jurassic Park pyjamas, which are two sizes too small.

I slipped out of my bed and moved to the window. The motion-triggered light above the door to the back garden was on. Something had obviously moved outside, near to the house. I assumed it must be a cat, but looking out across the garden and into the woods, I got the feeling something was looking back at me.

I heard the Care Worker's shuffling footsteps again. I turned, already on-edge, and watched her shadow pass my door through the gap at the bottom. When the shadow was gone, I turned back to look out the window.

I jumped, and very nearly screamed.

A girl was standing in the garden, directly under the light. She was pretty, ridiculously so, and wearing one of those stereotypical schoolgirl uniforms, though the skirt was shorter than any school would allow it to be. Even at the age of ten, I was mesmerised by the way her blonde hair swept over her shoulders, and the intensity of her icy blue eyes, which almost seemed to glow in the darkness.

The girl smiled an alluring smile, showing pearly-white, perfectly straight teeth, and waved up at me. I waved back, forgetting to wonder why a young girl was standing in the back garden at midnight. The girl's smile widened, and she gestured for me to go outside and meet her.

Looking back, I know how she did it, but at the time, I couldn't believe how desperately I wanted to betray my better instinct, and do as she wished. I pushed my window open eagerly, then climbed onto the sill. Her eyes remained fixed on me as I climbed down the drainpipe next to my window.

My bare feet met cold, wet grass, just as her hushed voice met my ears.

"Hi there."

I froze, and turned slowly to face her with knitted brows.

"You look brave, and strong," she cooed. "I hope you'll be able to help me."

I opened my mouth, closed it, opened it again, then closed it once more.

"You're American," I observed redundantly.

Her smile faded as she nodded sadly, "Yes. I'm here on vacation with my family. I snuck out for a walk, and now I'm lost."

I was sharp for my age, and particularly wary of strangers, but ever since Michael Lawson had arrived at the home, I had developed a soft spot for vulnerable people, and she looked so sad and frightened. Helping that girl became my ultimate goal in life.

I took a step closer, "I-I could ask Mary to call-"

"No," she gasped, her eyes widening with alarm, "I don't want any adults to know. They'll tell my parents."

That made sense to my ten-year old mind - adults were the enemy, after all. I discarded whatever ideas I had formed, and took another step forward. She smelled like roses.

"I'll help," I said, with a shoddy attempt at a dashing grin. "I'm Owen."

"Tammi," she replied with a smile. She extended a hand to me. I reached to grasp it, when I heard a sound like metal sliding against metal, followed by hurried footsteps coming from behind Tammi. I looked past her as she turned, and saw two people, clad head-to-toe in bronze armour, and wielding swords.

"Get back!" the taller one barked. He didn't sound very old. Tammi and I staggered backwards. In a moment of protective instinct, I moved to stand in front of her, when she snarled, and began to change. Her skin turned impossibly white; below her skirt, her left leg was brown and shaggy with a donkey's hoof, while her right leg was shaped like a human leg, but it was made of bronze, rather than flesh. The two bronze people skidded to a halt right in front of Tammi, the tips of their swords pointed at her.

"Ugh," she growled, "stupid Half-bloods - even all the way in England, you somehow manage to spoil the fun."

I was frozen in shock at the sudden change. Even her voice was different; bitter and full of malice. She turned back to face me, and I saw that her icy blue eyes were now red, and her perfect teeth had elongated and sharpened into fangs.

"Mmm," she said, "I suppose I'll have to make it quick, then. I didn't travel all this way for nothing. Come, Owen, give me a kiss."

She bared her fangs at me, just as the tallest of the two bronze people lunged, his sword a blur as it slashed sideways, directed at the Tammi-thing's neck. I recoiled at the movement, which seemed to warn Tammi, who ducked. The blade barely missed, severing large clumps of hair from her head. She whirled around to face them.

"Don't move," the tallest commanded, his companion coming to his side. He looked at me, "Kid, come to me, now!"

Lights were flickering on inside the house behind me. The Tammi-thing hissed, "No, I think he'll stay right where he-"

In a surge of adrenaline, I kicked out at the monster's donkey-leg, causing it to buckle beneath her. I dashed forward towards the two warriors, but Tammi recovered quickly and lashed out, taking a fistful of my Jurassic Park t-shirt in her hand.

Even at ten years old, I was strong, and my first reaction to trouble was, always, to fight. I balled my hand into a fist, cocked it back, then swung, connecting cleanly with her open jaw, which audibly broke under the force. Tammi's grip on my shirt loosened, and I was able to wrench myself free as she fell back. The smaller of the two warriors wrapped her arms around mine and pulled me away, as the taller one moved forward and, in one swift movement, drove his sword into Tammi's chest.

With a blood-curdling wail, she exploded into dust.

What looked like flower settled on the ground. I gaped at the spot where Tammi had been, my heart pounding painfully in my chest.

"Come on," the girl behind me said quickly, "we're getting you out of here."

Before I could argue, I was already being dragged towards the treeline. The taller boy was on our heels, glancing backwards every few steps at the house, where a figure was moving behind the door.

We moved further and further into the woods, until we stopped by a stream. The tall boy pulled off his helmet, and I got a good look at the first of my saviors. He was a handsome sort of lad, one of those pretty boy-types, with short-cropped, sandy blonde hair and mischievous blue eyes. He looked to be around fifteen years old. He heaved a sigh, winked at me, then knelt down in front of the stream, where he proceeded to splash water on his face.

The girl took her helmet off next. She looked older than the boy - maybe eighteen. She had long, brown hair, with bangs which fell over her hazel eyes, and a small upturned nose. It was crooked, like it had been broken once. She sat down in the grass and looked up at me, smiling an awkward sort of smile.

"I suppose we've got a lot of explaining to do," she said, and I was surprised to find that she too had an American accent.

"You're better with words," the boy told her. He was also American. So, the monsters I had been so afraid of before my Mother died were real, and Americans in bronze armour were invading England. It was all so overwhelming.

"Come," she said, patting the ground next to her.

I glanced at her warily.

"I don't bite," she told me. "We're not Empousai."

"You're not…" I swallowed, trying to collect my thoughts, "what's…what's an Anpoosey?"

"Empousai. They're monsters. You know what a Vampire is?"

I nodded.

"They're sort of like those, only a lot scarier than Dracula. But we're not monsters like them. We fight monsters, right, Luke?"

Luke turned and scooted over to where she sat. Droplets of water trickled down his face and dripped from his chin, "Right. It's sort of our speciality. I think you'll be good at it one day. That was a good punch."

I grinned then, starting to feel somewhat at ease, "I'm good at punching."

"A fighter, eh?" the girl said. "You'll do just fine. Come on, sit."

I sat next to her. She extended her hand, and I took it.

"I'm Eliza. This is Luke."

"Hey," said Luke.

"Owen," I said.

"Well, Owen," said Eliza, "there are a few things you should know before we go any further. You should probably hear this stuff from someone with a lot more experience at this… I mean, Campers don't usually go on this kind of mission, but I don't want to drag you off anywhere until you know the truth."

Luke was watching me carefully, studying my features, as though he had seen me somewhere before, but couldn't remember where. Eliza sat forward, looking directly into my eyes.

"Sorry for the question, but...do you know both of your parents?"

I looked down, an uncomfortable feeling settling in my gut.

Eliza smiled sympathetically, "I felt the same way, but I was thirteen when I found out. Tell me, which parent don't you know?"

"My…My Dad," I said heavily.

Eliza and Luke shared a glance.

"Well, that narrows it down," said Luke.

"What do you mean?"

Eliza sighed, "Alright, I just need to say it, I suppose."

She hesitated, her fingers drumming against the hilt of her sheathed sword. Then, she said the words that would change my entire life.

"Okay. Owen, you…are the son…of a God."

I blinked. I blinked again. I blinked several more times before those words hit me. I wanted to laugh, and then I wanted to shout at Eliza for lying, for wasting my time and toying with me. I saw the sincerity in her eyes, however, and that was what did it. The words themselves did not show the truth, but the tone with which she said them did.

"I'm.. a God?"

"The son of a God," Eliza corrected.

"Like...Like Jesus?"

Eliza closed her eyes and smiled, "No, not like Jesus. I'm talking about the Gods of Olympus: Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, Apollo… I'm a Daughter of Apollo. Luke is a son of Hermes."

Luke grimaced at that.

My chest felt impossibly tight. A dull ache settled behind my eyes as my mind struggled to process the overwhelming number of surprises I had experienced that night. It was like a million doors had been opened. So much more became possible in my childish imagination. My ADHD brain went into overdrive. I had so many questions, but I could only ask one at a time. I thought I should ask the most important question first.

"Can I…turn into an animal?"

The blank expressions on Luke and Eliza's faces answered that particular question.

"Can you…turn into an animal?" Luke said, a slow grin spreading across his face. I nodded eagerly. I felt giddy now.

"No," said Eliza, slowly. "No, I don't think so."

I was too excited to be disappointed. Another question came to me, and the next one was already loaded up, "Did my Mum know? Was she a God too?"

Eliza smiled kindly, "Your Mother was almost definitely mortal. I'm sure she knew your Father's true nature though. And, by extension, your true nature."

"But…why didn't she tell me? Why did I have to wait?"

Luke shrugged, "You must've done something to awaken your…erm...your Godly side, I suppose."

"Like what? What things can I do? Can I fly? I don't…I don't feel like a God."

"A Demigod," said Eliza. "That's what we're called. We're also known as Half-bloods, since we're half-mortal, half-God."

"What you can do depends on who your Godly parent is," said Luke. "We kind of inherit their abilities. Eliza is a daughter of Apollo, so she's good at music, poetry, art, that sort of thing."

Eliza nodded, "What about you, Owen? What are you good at?"

I considered that for several long moments, until the only answer I could give was, "Nothing."

Luke snorted, "Oh, come on! You said you were good at fighting?"

I remembered Michael Lawson, and I felt myself grin, "I beat up a bully once. I like fighting. But…But isn't that a-a bad thing?"

"Not necessarily. So you're good at fighting… maybe you're a child of Ares."

Luke looked thoughtful, "God of War. Huh, you kinda look like Ares."

Eliza said quickly, "We really shouldn't speculate. We won't know for sure until your Father claims you."

The God of War, I thought. I sort of liked the idea, but I had always thought of war as a thing which bad people enjoyed, so I figured Ares must also be bad. I very quickly disliked the idea.

"I'm a Demigod," I breathed. The notion still seemed silly to me, but it all felt so real. I just knew it was the truth.

"You are," said Eliza, "which means you've got two options."

"Three," said Luke, "if you want to be dumb, that is."

"We're supposed to take you to America ," Eliza began carefully, "to a place where the children of Gods go to learn how to defend themselves from monsters. It's called Camp Half-Blood."

"Or," Luke interjected, somewhat half-heartedly, "you could still come with us, and join the Arm of Olympus instead."

"What's that?"

"It's…sort of like our Army," Eliza explained. "They destroy large gatherings of monsters when they show up, and defend Olympus in times of war. I don't know exactly how they work. They recruit kids, but don't allow them to fight until they turn sixteen."

The Arm of Olympus excited me, until I heard that last part. I wanted to do what Luke and Eliza were doing, but I didn't want to wait six years.

"Or," said Luke, "you could just…you know, stay here. If you don't want to come with us, you can go home. You'd be in danger though. A lone, young, untrained Demigod is an easy target for monsters. They'll all come after you."

I shook my head at once, "I don't want to stay here. I hate it. I-I want to go to Camp...with you."

"Then that's what we'll do," Eliza grinned, "we'll take you to Camp, and the Director will get you settled."

I was more excited than I had ever been in my life. Most kids dreamt of being Police Officers, or Firemen. I had never shared those dreams. I never knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. That night, everything changed. I wanted to be a soldier, and in my mind, that was exactly what I was going to America to do.

We slept by the stream that night. Luke took first watch, so I got his blanket. Eliza was dead to the world the moment her head hit the ground, but I tossed and turned, my mind working in overdrive. I had punched a Vampire, learned I was a Demigod, and then agreed to a journey to America, all in the space of about an hour. Sleep was the last thing I wanted to do.

"Luke?" I muttered, about an hour after Eliza fell asleep.

"Yeah, kid?"

"Are you sure I can't turn into a Wolf?"

Luke snickered, "You are welcome to surprise us, Owen."