Hello readers! This is the first chapter of my collection of one-shots, Till the War Came. These mini-stories will give the history of minor OCs in my other stories, currently The Heir of the Faded Sun, but more will be made when I finish that. They'll also explore events that happened to my characters, but were only mentioned. A few of these chapters are of future characters that will be introduced later. Anyways, enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Jason or Reyna, or Percy Jackson. Anyways, isn't slavery illegal in America?
When I was growing up, I wanted to be an athlete. A scientist. An astronaut. I never even considered going to war, although I did enjoy a good fight. I was born and raised in Augusta, Georgia, and had a good education. A good life. My parents were both architects, and I excelled in my classes. However, I was diagnosed with ADHD and dyslexia, and when the other students found out, I was made fun of nonstop. My dad taught me how to defend myself, and soon I was left in peace. Sadly, this peace didn't last for long.
My name is Hugo Gray, and this is my story.
When I was walking home from school one day, I was ambushed. Looking back on it now, I realize that I should have known it was coming. I should have seen the signs. I shouldn't have been so stupid. But, inexperienced as I was with ogres, I was.
As I passed through the busy downtown streets near our house, I caught a whiff of something putrid. Something awful, like rotting meat eaten by sewer rats and regurgitated onto the armpit of a linebacker that hadn't taken a shower in fifteen years. Yes, that bad. And you know what I did when I smelled this horrible stench?
I walked towards it to find out what it was. Obviously.
The unpleasant smell led me into a back alley, about two blocks from my house. What I saw surprised me, more or less. The odor actually came from two smelly homeless guys, wearing ragtag clothes, sitting around a hobo stove. My curiosity relieved, I began to continue going home. However, when I had turned, I noticed another hobo standing before me, blocking me off from my exit. I whirled around, and the two others had stood up from their stove, and were stalking towards me. I was trapped.
Man, was I scared. I kept looking around for possible escape routes. There was a fire escape above me. I was tall enough to reach it with a running start. Sadly, I probably couldn't get one at the moment. A dumpster would provide me enough lift to hurdle the hobos. But they had me surrounded. My only chance was to fight.
Something took over me then. I didn't know what it was, but it felt good. I felt like Superman—faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap tall hobos in a single bound, et cetera. I was ready to fight.
They circled around me, jibing and insulting me, calling me "demigod scum" and "puny Roman". I knew what they meant back then, but I didn't know that they applied to me. They had grown almost two feet in height, towering over me. Their eyes were wild, and their teeth were sharp. When one of them tensed, I analyzed his move before he even made it. I didn't know how. I just did. I dodged his fist, grabbed his arm, and twisted, flinging the vagrant into the wall. I heard a snap, and the hobo screamed in pain. When I turned, the man was lying face down on the ground, moaning miserably. His arm was bent at an unnatural angle.
I nearly vomited when I saw this, but I managed to keep it down. The other two monsters, as I was beginning to realize they were, quieted, and studied me carefully. They were definitely more cautious after that.
Again, I analyzed my surroundings. Suddenly it occurred to me: their hobo stove! I could burn them with it! I waited for my chance, for them to make a bad move. Soon enough, one of them stumbled on their groaning comrade. I feinted towards the other one, who lunged at me. He definitely would have won the fight, had I been where he thought I was. But, I had already ducked, and used his own momentum to propel him towards the wall. He crashed with a sickening thud, head first, and began to dissolve into an acrid smelling dust, like sulfur.
Unluckily for me, he hadn't disintegrated entirely before I saw its head. Where he had crashed into the wall, there was a bloody, oozing dent. I couldn't keep it down this time. My lunch that day—a strange, green hot dog with chili topped with plastic cheese (it was a school lunch)—rushed up and out, splattering all over the ground and making me slide around in my own muck.
The remaining monster took advantage of my weakness. Really, I was all out of options. I was tired, my sudden boost of energy gone. It grabbed me by my collar, and hauled me up. Anger covered his face—red hot anger from my singlehandedly defeating his two comrades. I smiled weakly. My anger was cold. I used it. Hi anger was hot. It used him.
This had happened to me at school before. I thought I knew how to handle it. Usually I just spit in my assailant's eyes and proceeded to beat the living daylights out of him. Sadly, I knew that wouldn't work.
I stole a look at the groaning monster's arm. The twisted limb made me sick enough to bring up the last of my lunch. (You don't want to know what it was. Trust me). It splattered all over the hobo's face. He yelled in surprise, dropping me when he flailed his arms to rid himself of my vomit. When I landed on the ground, a searing pain shot through my foot. Damn it, I thought, a twisted ankle! I hurried, limping away, but the hobo was on me again. He kicked me to the ground. I had no fight left in me. My stomach was empty. I was too tired to throw a fist. I had lost.
The monster, crouched down, preparing to deal the final blow, suddenly stood erect, and screamed in pain. A gleaming, bloodstained sword protruded from his chest. He dissolved, writhing on the blade, into a pile of dust. The wielder of the sword… was my mom.
Mom! Calm, nonviolent Mom, who never played any sports, and liked to sing and dance in her free time. Who went to karaoke for her birthday instead of a bar. Not Dad, who taught me how to fight, was much more athletic and coordinated, growing up as an immigrant living in the slums of downtown Los Angeles and having to pay himself through college because his family couldn't afford it. But instead, there stood my one and only mom.
She walked over to the hobo with the broken arm. He scrambled away when he saw Mom's sword, but to no avail. Mom quickly caught up to him and decapitated him, his head rolling into a gutter as his body dissolved.
I remember being more scared than ever. My mom took me home, and explained to me what just happened. Dad helped too. Mom explained that the gods were real, and that I was a legacy of Minerva, the Roman goddess of wisdom and battle strategy. They explained the Mist to me, and how regular mortals could not process what really happened. Apparently, my father was special in that he could "see through" the Mist, even though he had no godly blood.
I slept fitfully that night. My dreams were clouded by a large wolf that told me to visit the "Wolf House", and giant evil hobos that kept trying to hop on a train I was riding to get there. I woke up to the sound of wolves baying, and I joined my parents at the door. Outside there was a pack of wolves, and my mom quickly explained that I would be leaving to train.
This part of my life, this scene, this section, is what I remembered as my cohort prepared to charge the Titans' base on Mt. Orthrys. We followed Jason and Reyna as they charged up the slopes. Hordes of dracanae guarded Kronos' black throne, but they were no match for an army of demigods. The narrow slopes greatly diminished their advantage of numbers, and as our stamina and endurance was strong, we did not tire easily.
"Here, Hugo. You will need this on your journey." She gave me her gleaming sword that I saw was a strange gold/silver color that changed in the light. "Make us proud."
A horn sounded in the distance. That was our signal. We charged, in our formation, shields up, spears at the ready. We crashed into the enemy, stabbing through the gaps our shields made. Someone stumbled, and our formation broke. Taylor had been stabbed in the knee. No blood was drawn. He got up and drew his golden gladius. I drew by shimmering blade, and all Hades broke loose.
"I will Mom. You too Dad," I replied. I turned to the wolves. The head wolf curled his lips and pulled back his ears, then twitched his tail.
"Conan says that you must hurry. They are running out of time. Lupa does not accept tardiness, so it is best that you go now," she translated.
"Lupa? Who is Lupa?" I asked anxiously.
"You already know who she is. Hurry; stop stalling. Go."
Mom was right. I did know. And I didn't like it.
I saw Jason stranded in the sea of monsters, his golden sword cutting down monsters left and right. He summoned a bolt of lightning that made my hair stand on end, from fifty feet away. The mass destruction of monsters cleared the way for me to pay a visit. I slashed and hacked and stabbed my way over, until I sidled up behind him, back-to-back.
"Hey there, Sparky. Having a rough day?" I joked, blocking a thrust and then swiping at my assailant, turning her into that rancid smelling dust that I now so enjoyed.
"Gray, this is a battle. Please shut up."
"Aww, man! No informalities, huh? Okay, Praetor Grace. You ready for that big battle against Krios? He's right up there, at the top of the mountain, just waiting for you to get up and fight him!"
"Seriously, Gray. You can take your clever, wise guy comments, and shove them up your—DUCK!" Jason pushed me to the ground, and we rolled under our enemies' feet, knocking them on the ground. Where we stood a crater remained, smoking with snake meat.
"Well that's sad. I forgot to bring my duck."
"Just… shut up. Okay?" Jason summoned the winds and flew up to the cliff above, where Krios was standing, sending blasts of power at friend and foe. I fought my way to the crater, and grabbed a piece of dracanae. I took a bite. I prefer medium rare, but well-done will suffice under the circumstances. I hopped back up and sprinted up the slope, a whirlwind of steel and death, determined to help/annoy my good friend.
I turned, away from my parents, and walked out to the wolf pack, where they formed a tight circle around me. The lead wolf, Conan, gestured for me to get on his back. I stared into his yellow, lupine eyes, and I saw myself, small and confused. I realized that my life was no longer in my own hands. My fate was in the control of something much greater than me, or my dad, or my mom. These wolves were twice my size, and four times as strong. They could tear me apart in an instant. But they didn't, because something bigger than them told them not to.
When I reached the top, Jason and Krios were in a ferocious fight, a wide circle around them. I didn't want to even get near, but something urged me on. I waited for a good moment, watching the epic battle while simultaneously checking my back for any attackers. Jason lunged, but Krios dodged, slapping Jason's back with the flat of his sword. The son of Jupiter stumbled, vulnerable, his weapon skittering over the cliff. I saw my chance.
I charged, unchallenged, into their circle. Krios stood over Jason, his weapon tossed aside.
"I am a master of hand-to-hand combat, Jason Grace. No one has bested me in millennia. Do you truly think you can?"
"I can and I will!" Jason replied, jumping up. I remained unnoticed. I decided to wait a little longer, for when Jason truly needed me. I predicted this would be soon.
Of course, being a legacy of the goddess of wisdom, my predictions usually came true. Jason held his own for a few minutes, but fell after a particularly rough encounter with Krios' elbow. I, being the courageous, gallant, brave man I was, jumped to Jason's rescue. I leapt onto Krios' back before he could deal the final blow, grabbing onto his ram's horns and pulled, tugging and twisting with all of my strength.
Krios roared in surprise and flailed his arms, trying to knock me off. Jason had enough time to scramble away to safety, and he waited for his chance. Just like I had earlier.
Krios grabbed hold of my shoulders, brought me over his head, and slammed me down on his knee. The scariest thing was, I didn't just feel pain. Yes, I screamed in agony, but by the time I had let it out, I couldn't feel it anymore. It was like my entire body below the point Krios kneed me just disappeared from my mind. He brought his elbow down on my chest, and I could feel my ribs crack. I groaned, and looked down at where he'd hit me.
If it had happened back during my encounter with the Laistrygonians, I'm pretty sure I would have ejected my entire stomach. But I was made of tougher stuff now. I managed to hold down my bile and prayed to Minerva for my life. My mind wandered once more.
"Wait!" My dad called out. He ran towards me, and the wolves growled menacingly. But he didn't show fear, and they parted to let him through. He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me close.
"Come back alive. Whatever you do, just stay alive." His voice was strained, but his face was hard. "Promise me".
"I will dad. I promise," I replied, trying to hide the tears in my eyes.
He nodded. "Make sure your enemies don't."
Krios stood over me, gloating. But I didn't hear him. I was listening to my heartbeat, beating so loudly in my ears. I saw Jason running over, tackling Krios to the ground. My vision clouded, and I fell unconscious.
I woke up in the infirmary, Jason sitting in a seat at the end of my cot. I looked around. There were rows of injured, and the air coming from outside smelled like burnt funeral pyres. I saw a wheelchair in the corner, and IVs in another. He noticed I was awake, and uncomfortably started the conversation.
"Well. We won." He said, the awkwardness so thick you could behead it with a sword. "I beat Krios, barehanded. We threw Kronos' throne off the cliff. The monsters disappeared. The war is over." He cleared his throat. "I wanted to thank you for distracting Krios. If you didn't… well, I would have probably been dead now. We might not have even won. So… yeah. Thanks."
I remained quiet. My ribs had been healed, so now there was only an aching reminder of the pain. But my legs… they were still gone. I felt tears welling up in my eyes, but I held them down. Must not show weakness, I repeated to myself, over and over. Eventually, I gained the will to speak. Then I lost it. I was broken, my motivation to live was gone. I could no longer fight for my legion, I could no longer walk around with my friends. I couldn't even go to the bathroom normally. I was broken.
Jason attempted to comfort me. "Don't worry too much. You can learn archery, if you'd like to continue fighting, though I wouldn't recommend it. You've been retired with honors. You've fulfilled your duty to Rome. You're a war hero, Hugo. Go live in the city. Start a new life. You're not entirely out of options."
I was silent. I contemplated euthanasia. I could be a Lar, and then I could move my legs again. But I began to consider what my friend and praetor said, and as he was leaving out the door, I called out to him.
"Jason!" He turned. I thought about what I'd say, and then I went with simplicity. "Thanks," I said. He nodded, faced me, saluted, and left, leaving me to think about what the Fates had in mind for me next.
I honestly can say that that was a much more depressing chapter than I would prefer. However, it is better that what I had planned. Initially, Hugo was going to die. However, I think the next character won't be so lucky.