Dan- Only the beginning
My name is Daniel Gregory Murphy, and my life is over. You get to thinking that way when you are hanging over a pit of pure darkness, pure nothingness in the middle of hell itself, next to a giant, smelly man, that snores like you wouldn't believe.
I looked up, trying to find what the chains were connected to, but they seemed to just continue up and up and up, until they were swallowed by the darkness.
'So Dan', I hear you ask, 'how did you get in this predicament?' Let's start from the beginning.
When I arrived at Camp Half-Blood, I was a mess. My mother had died on a fishing trip not two months before, along with my uncle, during a freak storm that tore the boat clean in half. The following morning, I stood on the shore, watching search helicopters in the distance cloaked by the rising sun, when the ocean seemingly spat out a massive length of splintered timber. When I approached, I could just manage to see the words 'Ocean Daughter' painted on it; all that remains of my uncle's old fishing boat.
For a month, I lived on the street. It was unconventional, sure, but it was better than living with my 'loving aunt Katie'. She never liked me, well, to be fair, she never really liked anyone in our family. She was more than content to let me live with her, so long as I did her dishes and cooked her food and didn't complain when she got drunk or brought home some guy from 'work'. It was hard to get to sleep sometimes, if you catch my meaning; let's just say it was more than monsters that went bump in the night.
So I guess I left because her 'occupation' wasn't something that I liked to have to live around; that, and the fact that she couldn't give a damn about me, like, at all. So yeah, the streets. You'd think that the struggle could never be as bad as living with a prostitute for an aunt, that after a couple of days of hunger and dirt, I would come crawling back 'home'. But the streets actually seemed easier, because every problem I faced, whether it be hunger or the cold or the filth, was simply my problem, and striking out alone, me against the world, made me feel… free.
So sure, I smelled, I got cold, but I survived the streets of New York. The kindness of certain individuals, a restaurant owner here, a hotdog stand tender there, kept me fuelled, although swiping an apple or a loaf of bread here and there had probably saved my life at least once. Yes, it was a struggle, but I made it work… then things started happening to me, and when I say things, I mean of the 'what the hell is this thing?!', variety of things.
Being attacked by a gryphon was probably - well, definitely - the scariest thing that had ever happened to me. It had huge wings and four legs, with the head of an eagle, and front talons that could tear me apart in a matter of seconds. It swooped down at me in the street, and I jumped to the side, landing on the sidewalk with the grace of a bird - a bird that had been shot from the sky and was plummeting down to Earth as a dead weight. My head hit the pavement, and pain stabbed at my skull as my vision momentarily blurred. Heavy footsteps approached me and I rolled onto my back to find myself looking up into the red, beady eyes of the beast that was about to roll a nice slab of Dan onto it's dinner plate.
It looked down on me, examining me, and then it's beak came down. My mind cleared, as if my brain realised that this was a life or death situation and not a good time for a concussion. My hands caught it's beak with both speed and strength that I didn't know I possessed, and I held the thing's mouth in place, wide open and only centimetres away from my throat. But slowly, the gryphon's strength started to overcome mine, and eventually I was holding it's mouth open, desperation flooding me as the tips of it's beak bore into the sides of my neck.
Adrenalin pumped through me and I screamed out as my hands cut against it's beak as I forced it's mouth agape. Power like I'd never felt before, power that at the time I didn't understand, swelled within me and suddenly, without warning, the ground burst under me, and water, disgusting, foul, brownish water, washed over me as if I wasn't even there, and hit the gryphon with such force that it was pushed off me and onto the road… right into oncoming traffic.
A disgusting crunch resonated off of the creature, as it came in contact with a large lorry that read on the side, 'Hermes Delivery Service, convenience and speed at a minute's notice'. The truck went right through the beast, because as it came in contact with it, the gryphon disintegrated into dust.
"No kidding," I said to myself, as I watched the yellow powder float away in the wind.
I looked around, but no one seemed to be even the slightest bit concerned with anything that had just happened in front of their eyes, they simply shook their heads and kept on walking… all except one. A blonde girl about my age stood there staring at me, and began to walk in my direction. I looked around me to see if she wasn't coming for someone else, but my thoughts were confirmed when she stopped before me and said, "Nice job, so you're a demigod, huh?"
"Excuse me?" I said, and her face broke into a small smile.
"Of course… as if I didn't have enough things to - uhh, I mean - let's talk."
So Annabeth Chase took me to Camp Half-Blood, a place where people like me, demigods, children of the greek gods, thrive in relative safety from the dangers I had only just discovered. For a while, I was happy. I made friends and ate well, had a warm bed and had fun, but all of that changed when Percy Jackson, my slightly older, much more handsome half brother arrived, and something changed within me.
I didn't know why, but I despised him. I hated him because he was our Dad's favourite, who got to go on quests and be a hero, while my mother died.
In my heart, I knew I didn't blame him personally for anything, but something made me go on. Something was egging me on, a force that overtime made itself known to me. But I continued. I did things that I am not proud of, and one night I did something - well, tried to do something - that was beyond wrong, it was downright evil; I tried to murder him.
A voice in my mind, a force more powerful than I thought possible, was controlling my actions, or at least that is what I keep telling myself. But at the end of the day, it was me that plunged the sword into his chest and then got my butt handed to me anyway. For it was then I found out the truth, that Percy was more than just a mere demigod.
I spent weeks locked up in the big house's cellar, given the scrapes of the other campers meals, which was never much, considering that they had to offer a portion to the gods as well. Until one night I awoke to the same horrible, gruff, animalistic voice, that compelled me to do the unspeakable.
'Is this really how you want to be remembered? As the one who tried and failed? As a monster? An attempted murderer? Second best? I asked one simple thing from you, stupid boy. TO KILL A SLEEPING VICTIM, IN A ROOM DEVOID OF WITNESSES!'
His roar sent pain ripping through my skull, and I clutched my head as I bit back a small scream.
"Go away, monster. I- I won't do anything else for you-"
'Monster? All I have done is given you the strength to do what you truly wanted, what you desired. But from your point of view, sure, a monster… but what does that make you?'
"A victim of your… brainwashing." A low grumble emanated from the voice, and it quickly became a rasping cackle; it was laughing at me.
'Brainwashing? You do not believe your own words, boy, and I know; I'm in your head.' It's laughter sent pain through my skull, as if his voice was tearing apart my brain, until it found exactly what it was looking to manipulate.
"Percy Jackson is dead, I saw to that. I watched him disintegrate myself; I did as you asked."
'Oh, but you didn't, for he lives in my domain. When he escapes - and he will escape - I need you to do something for me.'
"Screw yo- aargh!" My head felt like it was going to burst any second, like I was having multiple slow motion aneurysms.
'You will do as I ask, and you will want to-'
"Kill me then, cause I'm not helping you, no matter what you say. My mother is gone, she's dead, and I know that there's no bringing her back."
'Ahh, but what about the Athena spawn?'
"Annabeth? I never liked her in that way, that was you messing with my head." Once again, the voice's raspy laughter ripped through me.
'Boy, you credit me for things I had nothing to do with. The gods played right into my hand, because we both had similar goals, you see. We both know that Perseus Jackson could be the turning point in this war, so we both made moves to… 'obtain' his power.'
"I don't understand."
'The gods were manipulating you and the Chase girl, as a way to release Jackson's powers, his potential as a god. When they had almost succeeded, you killed him, and sent him down to my domain. Now all I have to do is find him.'
"You mean you don't know where he is?"
'I do now. As we speak, my minions tear apart the home of my disgraceful son, and when Jackson is in my sights, he will be mine.'
Suddenly, I heard footsteps make their way down the stairs that lead to the cellar; dinner time, yay.
"Ah, but it is now time for us to depart." My blood turned cold. The voice, the hideous, evil voice that was stuck in my head, was now noticably not stuck in my head. A strong hand grasped my shoulder, and I slowly turned to see a… camper? He was tall, muscular and handsome, with short cropped, sandy blonde hair, and a long, thick, white scar that ran from the bottom of his right eye, and down to his chin. He was wearing a Camp Half-Blood t-shirt, a pair of cargo pants, and white slip on shoes. But what I couldn't pull myself away from, were his eyes.
They were unblinking, and wide open, like they were in a permanent state of surprise, and his irises were a deep, blood red. Most unnerving of all were his pupils, that seemed disconnected to the rest of his eyes, and rolled around at their own accord, following me as I backed up against the wall.
Then he spoke - but didn't - as the raspy voice seemed to resonate off of his whole body, while his mouth, and his bewildered expression, remained solid.
"We can do this one of two ways. Easy and painless, or easy and painful, either way, you're mine now."
"I'll take option three of neither," I said, as I ran to the door, and bruised my knuckles against it. "Help! Help me!" I screamed out, bashing away at the door. The footsteps went from a sleepy walk into a run down the steps.
The last thing I remember was his fist cracking into the back of my head, my face coming into contact with the door, and everything going black.
When I awoke I was… well here, where we started. Hanging by my arms in chains, next to a massive guy that insists he's a janitor named Bob, even though he's got the relative build of a bear. He wouldn't stop mourning 'Small Bob', whoever or whatever that is, and insists that someone named Damasen will find a way to save us. Great.
Now he's asleep, and I was almost about to join him when I heard a voice that sent chills to my spine.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Have I got another naughty little play thing that needs a little 'entertainment'?" said an old woman. She was behind me, on the cliff edge, so I couldn't see her, but I could tell she was more than that. Her voice seemed to bury itself under my skin.
"No," said the familiar, raspy voice, "I want him unharmed. He is simply to hang there until it's time for him to be useful… or as useful as he can be."
"Oh, I don't know if I can do that," she said. I felt a bony finger prod at my bare ankle as she reached over the pit. "He's all skin and bones. I would love to see that melt away at the touch of my poisons, the titan is beginning to bore me."
I looked over at Bob, whose eyes were now open, but I saw more defiance than fear in his expression.
"Leave him alone," Bob said. There it was again, that horrible, rasping cackle.
"Oh, Iapetus, still you continue to defend Poseidon's spawn, after all the last one had done to you. He took your name, your life, your respect; turned you into a nothing, and yet still you protected him at the doors of death. Look where you are now… you and your friend."
Suddenly, another pair of chains dropped down from the darkness, before slithering behind me like snakes.
"What are you doing?!" I asked, fearful of what he planned to do with those chains, but then I sighed in relief, which I instantly felt guilty about, when another huge body was hung up on the other side of me.
"Damasen!" Bob/Iapetus said, "This isn't over, they will come back for us."
"Who? Jackson?" the voice said. "He's been and gone, isn't that right, son?" He said 'son' like it was an insult.
"He… will return for us; you're counting on it," Damasen said.
"My lord," said yet another voice that I couldn't identify.
"Heracles, what news do you bring?" Heracles, now that's a name that I do know.
"It's as you expected, Ares was defea-"
"Yes, yes, but what of Mars?"
Heracles stayed silent for a few seconds, before replying, in a slightly deeper voice, "Also defeated. The Olympians have kept them both captive, although where they are being kept in unknown to me," Hercules said.
"And what of our new found god?"
"He is being accepted into the Olympian's ranks as we speak, and he already has a temple dedicated to him being built in the roman camp. Of course, there isn't really a greek camp left anymore, so all that remains of the greeks are also situated at Camp Jupiter; they've turned the place into a fortress, a hard working machine that is preparing for a follow up attack."
"Ares is a coward, and Mars, a dedicated roman, no doubt that they have both given the Olympians any information they possessed… but they don't know about you now, do they?" the voice asked.
"No, lord. I have kept my reconnaissance as quiet as possible. No one knows except us and… the prisoners." I heard the unsheathing of a sword. "We should kill them, they're a liability."
"Actually, I think the circumstances are perfect. Little would strike fear into the romans hearts more than to know that not only has their god turned against them, but their greatest hero as well… I think we'll drop the boy on their doorstep soon."
"Soon?" the old woman asked. "Would it not send more of an impression if we were to send him back a little roughed up."
"Or with a few missing pieces?" Hercules added.
"A couple plages here and there, maybe a few poison burns or deadly infections?" the woman asked, hopefully.
After a long pause, the voice replied, "Don't kill him, he needs to be capable of speaking, but otherwise… have at him, Akhlys."
"Will do… but does he have to be capable of speech?" Silence followed, so I could only guess that Mr. Whatsitsname had given her a stern look. "Okay, okay, I'll leave him able to talk."
"Is the torture and poison and maiming completely necessary?" I asked. "I could go with listening to you guys talk some more instead; that's just as painful." I don't know what stupid part of my brain made me say that, but the burning feeling of acid running down my back let me know that it wasn't appreciated. I bit my tongue as I held in a scream.
"You can tell he's a son of Poseidon," Hercules said. "He's got the same cheek."
"Don't worry," Akhlys said. "He's lose that soon enough. When I'm done with him, the only thing coming out of his mouth is be a plea for mercy."
