Without Destiny

Chapter 1

In everyone's life, there comes a moment of choice that decides the rest of your existence. Only, when you're a demigod, choice is an illusion. Before you are even born, the Fates already know your path, the choices you will make, and the destiny you are going to fulfill.

Your life is already lived before you even have your first thought. It's a depressing notion, one that I've had since I first learn that the gods were real. Maybe that's why I made my choice. Maybe I did it as a 'fuck you' for knowing my life- what I was going to go through, and doing nothing about it.

Maybe the thought of Fate, my destiny, had absolutely nothing to do with my choice, and I just really hated my father and the gods.

After all, my life was already planned. It's not my fault the Fates decided that when I grew up, I would be a traitor to Olympus.

What complete and utter bullshit. I never was one to believe in destiny.

...

It's not betraying the gods that I regret- no, I hate them- but it's the others, the thought of camp, that causes the rueful poison to snake through my veins.

They were, for a while, my family. The only family I've ever had. Now they would cut me down if they ever saw me again; they wouldn't wait for an explanation or ask me why I did it. My family, my brothers and sisters and the only place I ever had an inclination of home, hates me.

And my other friends are either dead or on the run just like me. Luke is dead, Mason is dead, Alison is dead.

The only reason I don't just give up is the prospect of going to the underworld to face my crimes.

So I keep running. After Kronos's fall, the monsters and demigods scattered. So soon after the battle, only days, and we are still being hunted.

The scythe necklace rests hotly against my collarbone, an angry reminder of my mistake. I've tried tossing it, ripping it from my neck, but once you side with the king titan, you are stuck.

Like golden boy Percy's pen, it always returns to its home around my throat- like a noose. I will never be rid of Him.

Touching the necklace now, it flares its spastic heat like it has been doing randomly since Kronos fell, reminding me constantly of the chaos that must have befell him and his army.

My fingers fall back to my side, brushing against the damp leaves on the forest floor with a sense of detachment. Everything feels like it's falling apart, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I push myself to my feet, trying to scoop up any semblance of purpose, and start walking again without any idea of where I am.

I've been on four different trains since I deserted from the titan army and ran, and it's been three days on foot.

A snapping sound of wet branches has me pausing. Very slowly, I reach inside my pocket to finger and withdraw a pen.

I had designed my weapon after Percy's, except mine is a click pen rather than a capped. I click it now and feel the familiar weight expand in my hand, lengthening to a staff.

I grab the center of the metal shaft, running my thumbs over the plates and grooves until I find the one I'm looking for, and pressing a plate it.

The staff breaks apart into two smaller pieces, and I again press another plate that causes a blade to spring out on either piece.

Two shining celestial bronze sickles rest familiarly in my dirt smudged hands.

I named my weapon Morph because of all the shapes my armament can take with the right twist or press of button. It is my most prized creation that I've ever made in all my time in the forges. The twin sickles are one of my favorites.

I used to think how proud my father would be of me for making something like Morph, but that was before I learned the truth of Hephaestus- that he didn't really care for me at all as just another one of the products from his happy time in the mortal world.

I take a cautious step in the direction I heard the noise, raising my weapons in preparation for a fight. The green foliage shivers, causing my muscles to tense- and a deer leaps from behind the bush, bolting from its hiding spot.

A startled laugh falls from my chapped lips and, with sickle still in grip, I run my grimy hand though my short hair. It falls back around my chin as if I hadn't touched it

Having blond hair and slim fingers is a rare trait for a child of Hephaestus. Most have dark hair and strong thick digits, which is just another thing that further sets me apart from my siblings.

With a sigh, I reattach Morph and press the plate that turns it back into a pen, before shoving it in my pocket.

For a few moments, I just stand there staring at the endless green trees and vegetation.

"What am I doing?" I whisper to myself, and wait breathlessly for any sign that something heard me. No sound reaches my ears other than the normal patter of rain and forest noise, so I shove my hands in my pocket and hang my head.

Of course, now, the gods would not provide me an answer- especially after my betrayal. They didn't even answer when I was fighting for Olympus.

With another sigh, I pick my head up and stride forward with as much confidence as I can manage. Before anything else, I need to find a town or city to refill my empty water bottle and find something to eat.

The gods prove that they have no favor for me.

I don't have time to register a metallic click before something clamps down hard on my ankle, digging a thousand knives into my skin, reaching right to the bone.

A scream tears from my throat, triggering a flock of birds to take flight in terror, as flames lick at my ankle.

Instant tears stream from my eyes as I land heavily on the ground, clutching desperately at the bear trap that had been expertly covered.

I scream again, through clenched teeth, as my fingers slide wetly through my own blood saturating the polished silver metal, trying to pry it open.

"Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods," I chant, like a mantra, between my sobs. "Come on!"

I curse as the teeth break the skin of my fingers, and I release it furiously to cradle my now bleeding hands to my chest. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! I hate you!"

I fumble on the ground for a thick branch, and jab it carelessly into the closed bear trap to try once again to get it to open.

The branch breaks, giving me a splinter. "Fuck!"

"Hey," a soft voice calls, and I snap my head up to stare wide eyed at a tall girl with tanned skin hurrying out of the trees toward me. Bizarrely, she wears only shorts and a tank top even though last night I could see my breath.

I was too distracted by pain to hear her approach, but now I wipe furiously at the tears so this stranger won't see me crying. I never let anyone see me cry, even my friends.

I tense as she kneels in front of me, and she reaches tentatively for my trapped foot. The girl, who I had not ruled out being a nymph, fiddles with the trap a moment before it springs open.

I instantly pull my foot into my body and clutch at it as a new kind of pain pulses in the open wounds.

"What are you even doing out here?" She accuses, tossing the trap aside with a heavy sound.

"Hiking," I spit at her, on edge with her criticizing tone. "I didn't think hunting season had started already."

She looks up at my face for the first time, with a scowl. Then, expression quickly turns to astonishment, confusion, before becoming eerily blank.

Her voice though, does this weird waver. "It hasn't. There have been some sightings of large bears, and campers have been going missing, so the locals have taken to hunting them."

"Fantastic," I grumble, wincing as I try to flex my foot, but only getting a wave of pain for my efforts.

The girl's eyes once again go to my bleeding limb, with a new worry that wasn't there before.

"We should get that checked out; come on," I cringe away from her reaching hands, instinctively hitting them away.

"I'm fine; I don't need your help," I snap, more than ever annoyed, not at the girl for helping me, but for myself getting to be in this situation.

Her own irritation leaks into her voice. "I think you do; you can't even walk."

"Yes I can!" I hiss, and clamber to my feet just to prove her wrong.

All the blood in my body rushes down to my foot, resulting in the steady stream of blood to grow heavier and my vision to swim. The ground seems to tilt before the girl is at my side and steadying me against my protests.

"I said I'm fine!" I hiss trying to shrug her off, but the blood loss must have made me weak. My efforts do little.

"Like hell you are," She snaps, and then the world is tilting again. When it steadies, I'm in her arms, cradled against her chest as she starts running through the woods.

The fuck?!

"Put me down!" I shout struggling in my kidnapper's grip. "Hey! Get your fucking hands off me!"

She grunts in effort, having to shift her hold, but she doesn't stutter in her steps.

"I'm just taking you to get some help; calm down."

"I don't want your fucking help! No means no, alright?! I can take care of myself!"

She stumbles to a stop, and glances down at me, conflict written on her face.

"Please," she whispers. "We're almost there. We don't even have to go to the doctors if that's what you want, but you need to get your foot looked at."

The offer is tempting. My entire leg feels like Greek fire was thrown on it, but I open my mouth to shout at her again to leave me alone (out of sheer stubbornness), only to pause. Stubbornness, not wanting to back down or admit I was wrong, is my fatal flaw. It's why I'm in this situation to begin with. It was my downfall. It just might kill me if I can't get a handle on it.

"Fine," I grit out, like it's physically painful to do. In a way, it is as everything in me wars with backing down and giving in.

I do it anyway, and relief expresses itself in the girl's expression before she once again sets off to wherever she thinks is 'help.'

A/N: Hey guys, so, new story. I got the idea from emmarcse, and I hope you like it. Please review and let me know what you think.

~Silver~