Olympian Heroes

AN: Let's start this off with an apology. I've read the OCs put in the reviews, they're amazing, but I won't accept them. Anyways, this is a small teaser chapter (I'm not sure if you can call this a teaser) but it shall ONLY include this character, Oliver Weber.

NOTE: MILD SWEARING

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Percy Jackson series.

Chapter 1| Oliver Learns to Shoot

Oliver

"I won't forgive you."

A phrase he's said many times. A phrase used so often, that at times, the words made his tongue funny. Perhaps they'd been drilled into his brain, sometimes, he said it upon instinct, without really thinking things through. Again, after forcing those words through his clenched teeth, he would end up slamming them enemy into a wall or pole, whatever was near.

Did that happen this time again? Oliver focused his blurred eyes and forced his sloppy body upright. His elbow was against someone's neck, he was growling in rage, his eyes were set in a glare…yep, it happened again.

Somehow, Oliver had never been able to shake away his feelings of rage and hatred for someone else. They always wedged its way back into his brain, screaming 'kill that guy! Punch 'em in the noggin!' It might've been genes; he could've gotten the rage from his rotten father, the old man being the crazed drunk as he always was. It didn't matter, since right now he was about to unwillingly rip a guy's head off.

"Whoa! Bruh, chill! It was only a light push and shove! I can buy you another drink!" The teen said, his voice faint and smothered by Oliver's elbow. The teen wrinkled his…urgh…acne littered nose, and stole a glance at Oliver's chest. "And a new shirt, for that matter." The teen stared with laughing eyes at his light blue t-shirt, stained with Oliver's own slushy.

Light push and shove? Oliver doubted that throwing someone into a garbage bin was considered a 'light push and shove'. He growled. "Don't mess with me." He grinded his teeth, an unhealthy habit of his. His friend, Basil, always tried to stop him, since it supposedly ruined teeth, and according to his brown-haired friend, Oliver had 'perfectly, shiny, rare, white teeth'.

The teen attempted a half-hearted shrug. His dirty blonde hair tousled in the wind. "Put me down, big guy. Unless if you want that pretty face of yours ruined." The teen smirked, his breath rotting of garlic and pizza. Oliver cringed internally, but instead of pulling away, he smacked the teen against the pole with more rough force. The teen sputtered and choked, spraying saliva everywhere. Oliver chose to wisely step back a tad. A normal, much more civilized person would've dropped the poor guy and let him leave, but Oliver wasn't civilized. A normal person wouldn't be here in the first place. They were in an empty parking lot, near a convenience store. Oliver just brought himself a slushy, minding his own business, but this guy came and pushed him smack into a garbage bin.

Why did this guy look like he came straight out of a rock band anyways? He seemed to be the kind of guy no one dared mess with, and Oliver totally wasn't holding this guy in a chokehold, not at all. His wild, spiky blonde hair was annoying and prickly. His leather jacket was itchy and heavy. His shoes had spikes, spikes for the lord's sake! He might as well have tattooed his forehead to say 'Stay clear of me! I'm a punk rock guy!' Imagine being kicked by his shoes. How much would that hurt? That might kill a kidney or two. Maybe make the person bleed to death first.

Oliver had a small habit of daydreaming in the middle of serious moments.

Of course, he only noticed this now.

Oliver got his question answered. The teen kicked him on the shoulder, the one with the arm against the blonde. Something snapped sickly. His stomach twisted. It was sharp. Note to self; don't anger a guy with spiky boots. Oliver suspected that the sharp thingy wasn't a spike, thank the lord. It felt more like a heel. Oh, that would definitely be bruising later. Wincing in pain, Oliver swiftly smacked his shoulder. Another snap. He'd just relocated his shoulder. Tenderly, he touched his neck. With a sharp inhale, he snatched his hand back. The surface of his skin burned when he tapped it even slightly. Nevertheless, he tested his wrist. It could still move. Good enough. Suddenly, the rage that was buried in the pit of his stomach surfaced. His glare wasn't enough to suffice for this anger. The teen spilt his drink. Ruined his shirt. Threw him into a garbage bin. Dislocated his shoulder. Not something he could ignore. Actually, he'd be appalled if someone could walk away, completely cool, after all of that. Oliver stared at the youth. The teen held his stance, stuck between the decisions to run or fight. His dirty, unkempt nails were clenched and hidden away in his balled fist. He looked…scared. Oliver suddenly felt sympathy for they guy. But it vanished as quickly as it came. It was like someone was pushing it away, very gradually and with little effort, just to spite him.

Oliver reached for it again. He couldn't stand it. He couldn't pick on someone who was smaller, weaker than him. It wasn't right. Besides, the teen could've been venting out his anger, or frustration. Maybe he was breaking on the inside. Oliver didn't know, but he couldn't just punch the kid either. Oliver grabbed the last remaining bit of his sympathy by his fingers, but it slipped away faster, as if it were made of water. Suddenly, a horrid scream ran through his head.

Revenge.

The voice didn't even sound vengeful. It was desperate, a last effort to catch the ball. A loud, tearful wail of anguish. It was crying. The voice was crying.

The dice rolled. The coin flipped. The decision was made. Oliver scrunched up his own fists, and took a step forward.

"And you thought that was a great idea because?" Basil screamed, throwing his hands into the air. "I told you to stop picking fights!"

Oliver stared at the far wall as Basil began to pace up and down the corridor, his voice getting louder with every word. "But do you ever listen? NO! No, you do not! You're just begging to get yourself killed!" Basil wrung his curly hair, as if wanting to pull all the roots out.

Oliver sighed and picked himself up from his leaning position against his locker. "I'm fine, stop screaming." He dusted his hands and brushed invisible dust off his jeans. He expected the lecture, he saw it coming, but straight in the morning? That would fry his brain.

"You have a bruise on your collar bone!" Basil snapped back. Oliver glanced down, and cursed swiftly. Too careless, what if a teacher saw him instead of Basil? He pulled the collar of his white long sleeved shirt over the bruise. His bone was sporting an ugly purple colour, and it showed on his tanned skin like a five-year-old's drawing of a flower. The kid tried to stay neat, tried to keep it small and simple, but the world was much too big for his eyes - the drawing ended up being twice the size of his head. The shirt barely covered it. "No I don't." He tried.

Basil looked at him as if he was trying to swallow a frog. "I can't believe the nerve of you!" His friend gripped Oliver's arms tightly, trying his best to glare. "Why- are- you- so- annoying?" He said, with each word he shook Oliver once.

He poked Basil's forehead. "I'm not annoying, you are." The curly-haired guy was much, much shorter than him, reaching his shoulders, so having someone ten inches shorter shaking your bones out was more than a bit irritating.

Basil opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off by a soft whirl. Sadly, it was not a forming tornado ready to crush the school. Oliver could recognise that sound anywhere. It made him smile every time.

"Is something the matter, boys?" The motorised humming stopped, and was instead replaced by the deep, smooth voice of Mr Brunner, their ancient mythology teacher. Though the voice was calm, it made him feel like he'd done something very wrong. Mr Brunner stared up at them from his wheelchair, smoothing out the striped blanket over his legs. His chocolate eyes glinted with a slight curiosity as he eyed Oliver.

Brunner was the type of teacher that was easy to get along with. He had a benign face that made you drop your guards quickly. Oliver saw the teacher fiddle with his own hair as he stared at Basil, midway of ripping his curly strands off. They both had that woody, light texture to their hair, as if the both of them had grown from a tree. They were very pale in comparison to Oliver's black hair.

"A bruise, Weber? What happened this time?" He inquired, raising a dark brown eyebrow. Before Basil could interrupt and cause a big scene, Oliver shrugged.

"Just a small, push and shove, sir." He said politely. "With a guy who isn't worth mentioning." He winced slightly as his bruise decided to rudely scream and point out how much of a bitch it was being to his collarbone, but disguised it as a stretch, which of course made his arm hurt more.

Mr Brunner did not look convinced. He rubbed his faint wrinkles lightly and sighed. "Both of you boys, to my office. Now." He made a complete U-turn, and started rolling towards his office, his wheelchair, in dire need of oil, squeaking along the whole way.

Basil wrung his hair in the same way Oliver saw farmers pull out potatoes, and meekly followed, mumbling rapidly. He stared at their retreating backsides for a moment, before shoving his hands into his pockets. Instantly, something uncomfortable was shoved under his nails. He pulled his fingers out. There was a little bit of gray dust stuck to his fingertips. Swiftly, he looked around to see if there were any witnesses. Spotting none, he used his thumb to wipe his fingers clean, before following after the pair.

The office was surprisingly plain. It was the same as last week, and last month – last year, in fact. He remembered Mr Brunner promising to add some decorations yesterday, after he declared his office being too boring, but it seemed like he'd forgotten to. Unless if Mr Brunner were installing a DJ stand and a disco ball, Oliver would've waited for years, if that was the case. In which, it is most likely not.

"I think he's one of them." Basil finished.

Oh great, he missed out on something. Curse his concentration.

"I believe so too." Mr Brunner agreed, nodding seriously.

Ok, he was a what? "And what am I, exactly?" Oliver asked, crossing his arms. He expected something like 'delinquent' or 'damn, stupid jock' or some other nasty insult like that. Instead, he got an unusual answer.

"A demigod, Oliver. We think that you're a demigod." Basil concluded. Strangely enough, he said that with a straight face.

Oliver waited. He waited for the laughing, the jokes, saying 'ahaha! Just kidding!' There was only silence. Then his mentally insane brain thought things over. "Oh, is that a new word for rebel or something? Well, you point this out now? Could've done so a couple of years ago." Oliver unfolded his arms and ran his fingers through his hair.

"No, Oliver, we're talking about a demigod. You know, the children of mortals and gods? The mythological gods we learnt about in class?" Mr Brunner said, almost impatiently. He rolled out from behind his desk and rode over to Oliver. "You are orphaned, right?"

Oliver bit his lip. Yes, he was. His father was- Suddenly, his tongue dried up. He thickly swallowed his saliva. Oh, the drugs. The screaming. The endless bottles of alcohol. Awful. Smashing. Glass shards. He was hit with them. The punches. He acted like nothing happened. It hurt. His father didn't understand- didn't hear- didn't care. It had hurt so much. But then the man died. Car crash. Left this world for good. He was neither happy nor upset, neither relieved nor grieved. No one, no one but him, attended his funeral. It hadn't even been a proper one. It was just a hastily dug up hole. He caked his fingers with mud. And the body. Urgh, the body was so-

"Oliver?" The loud snap of fingers made his ears ring, and the sudden movement of hands flashed across his vision. Mr Brunner sat in his small wheelchair, a concerned look framing his face. Oliver jerked his head back, suddenly on guard. "What does being orphaned have to do with me being a demigod?" Oliver snapped, pulling out the last word. He couldn't stop the glare that littered his face. It's just- why bring up that horrid man? No, he shouldn't be mad at Brunner. Why did he think about that horrid man?

Mr Brunner frowned slightly, thought it seemed to be out of worry. "Come outside, Oliver, there is something I need to show you." He slid past and made for the door, opening it silently.

Oliver never realised how stuffy it was in the room until some fresh air was let in. Basil shot him a sympathetic glance and patted his back gently. The curly-haired then grasped the handles of Mr Brunner's wheelchair, gliding him swiftly outside. Following behind closely, Oliver shut the door. It closed with a small click, indicating that it was locked. Mr Brunner had a habit of leaving his door on lock, so it could close without him needing to use his keys.

The hallways, which were empty, were suddenly flocked with students. It was the last day of school days, and generally, most students didn't attend school on the last day. So it was slightly surprising to see a lot of students still in school. It was even more surprising to see Mr Brunner go right past the school office, not reporting for leaving school grounds.

"Aren't you going to report to the office?" Oliver asked.

Instead of answering, Basil led Mr Brunner out further, past the students still lingering outside. Some waved to the teacher, and he waved back. At first, Oliver thought that it was the natural thing, standing outside to talk, since it's quiet, but he became concerned once they started walking out of the school. "Where are we going?"

"We must leave, they're here." Mr Brunner said, his voice laced with panic. "We can't let them attack us here."

"What? Attack?"

Again, no answer. Basil and Mr Brunner continued striding ahead. Honestly, Oliver thought that he was being kidnapped. Now was the time to say that he trusted these people. They betrayed him, and dirtied his trust in them. But, thinking back, Basil did have a small, trimmed beard. The typical look for a kidnapper. Suspiciously, Mr Brunner always had the blanket on his lap, no matter what weather. It could be a steaming hot day and he'd still wear it. Oliver had always thought of it as a momentum or something of the sort. Maybe something to remember his family with. Thinking logically, Mr Brunner probably hid a set of guns under the blanket, waiting for the day to massacre the school. What if he'd had a grudge against the teachers and students at the school? He might've secretly hated them all. The students he waved to, he probably imagined shooting them all with assault rifles and watching their guts paint the floor red. And to think that Basil was involved!

Now was probably the best time to run, since they probably deemed him too stupid to think of that. Oliver stepped down on the pavement, with the strength pushed to his front legs, preparing him to turn around and bolt for it and maybe call the cops in the process.

But Oliver always loved to daydream in the middle of serious situations.

He wasn't on the busy street anymore. In fact, he was on a rocky road, brown from all the dirt and dust on it. The surrounding area wasn't made of buildings and lights. No, it was a bunch of green. Nature. Trees. Endless grassland. His worse enemy.

"They're here." Mr Brunner said suddenly.

Oliver did the natural thing; he turned around. Let's just say that 'being scared shitless' was a nice, subtler way of putting it.

Pigeons.

A whole flock of them. Oh no, not normal ones. Normal pigeons wouldn't have even made him blink. These were GIANT pigeons. Yippee! They flew closer, their wings cutting through the air faster than any jet. They looked ready to dive. Joy. Their ugly- HANDSOMELY sharp beaks that look way scarier than your average butcher knives would just pierce Oliver like a cupcake. Then there were the claws. As if the beaks weren't enough! Their claws shimmered in the sun, making it look like they were drooling, ready to rip apart Oliver's skin. Hell, if he walked out here in full shinning chain armour, he still wouldn't feel safe. He might've seemed insane to Basil and Mr Brunner, but he yelled, "GIANT PIGEONS?!" and turned to them.

Except, Mr Brunner and Basil weren't Mr Brunner and Basil. Mr Brunner was a giant white stallion, hips down. He had a horsetail and it was incredibly brushy and…Basil was a goat, ha-ha, goat legs. Hooves- NO. This was it. Maybe Oliver had enough; maybe life was too much for him to handle after all. He was going mental. He should ring up those people who take other people into asylums and make them take him there. For the greater good of humanity.

Suddenly, he felt himself being choked by his collar. No wait, that was just Brunner lifting him onto his back. He landed on a white horse. No, Mr Brunner- no wait, a white horse. Horse or Brunner? Didn't matter, he was hallucinating either way. C'mon God, he was too old for imagination. Basil…or the half goat thingy, jumped on in front of him. "Hurry Chiron!" He (or was he an it?) screamed.

The Brunner-horse, snapped into action, bolting down the road faster than any sports car. Despite the weird situation, this reminded Oliver oddly of a princess being rescued by a knight in shinning armour. Except, the horse was his teacher, and his knight was a goat, who was still ten inches shorter than him.

The death-pigeons still flew after them in perfect sync, not loosing speed.

"Shake them off!" Goat-Basil screamed again. He waved his arms around wildly (thank god he still had hands) and flicked them at the birds. "Shoo! Damn Stymph Birds! Shoo!"

Oliver could barely grasp the situation, but he knew that screaming 'shoo' at highly deadly pigeons with razor sharp beaks and mouths for claws wouldn't make them flinch.

"Do you think that I can shake them off?" Brunner-horse retorted. "Hit them with rocks or something! Kill them!" Brunner's voice was highly strained. It occurred to Oliver that he'd never heard him raise his voice before. It was new. But having your friend turn into a goat and your teacher turn into a horse was also new.

"With what? The wind?! Think logically Chiron!" What's with Basil calling Mr Brunner, Chiron? It was all going by too fast. Please let this be a dream, a weird one which he could rant out to Basil the next day. It felt like Oliver was just thrown into the middle of a movie and was suddenly told to figure everything out. So, he said something that would've made all his teachers proud.

'WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!"

Basil looked at him as if he'd just noticed him. "You're a demigod! I'll explain later!" Then Basil went back to doing something more important, such as shooing birds, while he decided to not tell his best friend why he and Brunner were animals and why they had pigeons that probably worked for Satan themselves, chasing after them.

Then Basil-goat's eyes lit up. Oliver swore that he saw a light bulb pop at the top of his head. Basil-goat reached into his sweater and pulled out a gun. A shotgun. He then passed it to Oliver, with a calming, gentle smile, while holding a shotgun the size of his arm.

"Shoot 'em down bud!"

Gun. Oliver was just handed a shotgun. Fifteen-year-old Oliver was just handed a shotgun.

"Why the Hades do you have a shotgun?!" Horse-Brunner yelled, clearly distressed. His voice was strangely loud, a huge difference from the soft, gentle tones that felt like small waves.

"One of the Ares kids gave it to me!"

"Which one?!"

"I don't know!"

What does one do when handed a twelve-gauge shotgun that can easily tear the human brain out while being chased by giant pigeons? Shoot, of course. Did Oliver have any experience? No. Did Oliver know how to handle one? No. Honestly, he didn't even know how to reload. Oliver didn't know what he was doing. His hands automatically locked on his target, like he was used to it, like he'd done this before. He pulled the trigger. The loud bang halted the fight between Brunner and Basil.

Oliver half expected to end up flying into space due to the recoil, but he was perfectly fine. He hadn't moved. Instead, one of the birds tumbled down, a disarray of brown and grey feathers, smashing into the road, landing with a loud thump that could've rivalled the sound of Oliver's gun. Still in shock, Oliver watched as it begun to melt, shifting into golden dust, like the pollen of a flower. The wind blew the remains away.

There was complete silence as Oliver took aim again.

"WHY THE HADES DID YOU SHOOT?!" Basil-goat screeched, his panicked face speaking high levels of shock. He ripped at his curly hair, looking like he was willing to bite the strands off.

"YOU TOLD ME TO SHOOT!"

"IT WAS A JOKE, I DIDN'T EXPECT YOU TO!"

Instead of arguing further, Oliver fired again. The sound made his ears ring annoyingly, but that was the least of his worries. His brain was sickly focused on the birds, all of them flying quite a distance away. His eyes shifted to the next bird. By moving one finger, it went sailing down to earth. He didn't know how long that carried on for, his detached perspective of shooting down birds, but soon, there were none left. He hadn't missed a single one of them. Nauseated, Oliver shoved the gun back to Basil. He'd just killed a bunch of animals, deadly or not, without a second thought. He didn't even have time to breathe, and catch up, during the fires. He. Just. Kept. Shooting.

It was Basil and Brunner's turns to be aghast. Basil let out a wild scream of confusion. "HOW? YOU DIDN'T EVEN HAVE A SCOPE, DUDE!"

Brunner stopped galloping and slowed down to a trot. His horsetail swished with anxiety. "I'm too old for this." He commented silently. He rubbed the wrinkles on his forehead. A habit. Ok, this was definitely Mr Brunner – a half-hybrid horse, but still Mr Brunner.

Basil started wrestling his arms into the air, waving them around dramatically, as if he were trying to grab words out of the sky. Well, Oliver wouldn't be surprised if he actually did, since, he was a goat, Brunner was a stallion, and he, himself, just shot down twenty or so of those murder-death pigeons with a shotgun.

He raised his eyebrow at Basil, hoping that that would suffice for words; he was afraid that talking would just leave him stuttering like a mad man. Apparently, after being his friend for two years, Basil still didn't understand what the raising of the eyebrow meant. He stared at Oliver with his owlishly chocolate eyes, his dark pupils flickering, as if trying to search for a hidden message. Well, he would be searching for a while because there was nothing 'hidden' about it.

"What's happening?" Oliver said, after Basil studied his face for a few more seconds. He was aware of how grim his voice sounded, how his mouth was set in a straight line.

Then Basil snapped his fingers, an irritable, quick, sharp movement. "You're a demigod, mate. A Child of a mortal and god, or goddess. You see that shooting you did before? Yeah, that has to do with you being a demigod."

'Oh, of course, everything makes sense now, thanks Basil!' Is what he would've liked to say, unfortunately, reality wasn't that easy. "And you're a giant unicorn cow that will destroy all of New York within seconds."

"Actually, I'm a satyr." Basil corrected.

"Not the point. What is a…say-tar…goat thingy anyways?" Before any more comments could be made from the both of them, they were both lifted by their collars and placed gently on the ground. Brunner, the horse –no wait, he was starting to think that having a half horse body was normal on Mr Brunner. God help him please. Anyhow, the great white stallion lightly kicked his legs up, stirring a little bit of dust. "Oliver, we can't explain right now, this is not a safe place, please wait until we reach camp, I'll be able to clearly access everything there." Mr Brunner said calmly.

Oliver bit his lip. He was still hanging on to the fact that this was all just a dream, or just some crazy imagination scenario his mind ran off with. Unfortunately, all of this seemed very real, which was a very bad thing. If this was starting to seem real to Oliver, then he actually might be mental. Maybe his mother hit his head when he was younger. Ah, he's shot down giant pigeons, logic doesn't really matter anymore. Oliver found himself nodding slowly. He licked his dry lips; his face scrunching up in disgust, as he tasted the faintest bit of dirt caked on his mouth.

Brunner smiled, not one of his common, flashy smiles, but rather, the kind of smile a father would give to his son when he graduated.

"Call me Chiron."

AN: Not my best work, but anyways, this is the list of the people who made it, since I have to credit them for their amazing OCs ;)

This is in no particular order.

Ferrer Fabrizio Cooper – thedaffodilqueen

Mikaela Kai Reyes – MadnessAndMe

Cliff Evans – Nsing

Brandon Roy – ryzlow98

Jayce Covington – AceSeesYouuu

Madeline Maddy Cassie Hall – Mistycharming

Edd Wayne – Copicat123321

Royce Wallace – dualitydisorder

Emerald faith Wilson – EileenAbbey

Neriah Jane Finley – HappyAnimalLover

And of course, our dearest Oliver Weber – Kayoi1234

Plus, we have a villain, but I shall not reveal this person yet. *laughs evily*