Summary: Tsuna arrives at Camp Half-Blood. Then he finds out he lost his memories. Turns out he's the child of the prophecy. And not just any old prophecy. The one that determines the fate of the godly rhealm. Sometimes, memories are better lost... No pairings. AU. Rated T for slight violence.
Word count: 2137
Motivation: At least 5 reviews? (seems acceptable, ne?)
Hi guys, I'm back with another story, leaving all my others hanging xD ah well. No excuse this time, just pure laziness. Whoops? But anyway, here's another Katekyo Hitman Reborn fic to keep you readers busy :D Got the idea from the Percy Jackson series, plus I was interested in Greek Gods a while ago (actually a year or two) good thing I retained the info xD And thus Chronicles was born! (ack, couldn't think of a better title) And un-beta ed, and typed at 4 in the morning.. So I'm forgiven, right? Now ignore my ramble, on with the story!
Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn or the Percy Jackson Series
Chapter One: The Chosen One
He groaned and threw an arm over his head. Immediately, his hand came into contact with something soft and fluffy, cool under his heated skin. With a start, he realised the fluffiness surrounded his body and he felt a layer of fabric above his exposed side, up til his shoulder.
A bed?
Slowly, he sat up, rubbing his eyes to chase away sleep.
He was in a wooden-paneled room, a long window on one side gracing the room with a breathtaking view. The room in itself was simply furnished; a circular white carpet on the floor, a modestly-sized cupboard and set of drawers which had the same dark auburn colour of the wood. There were other beds in the room, all of them facing the western wall, with white sheets and black metal railings, illuminated by the soft, golden glow of the setting sun. A few feet away from the bed stood a full-length mirror.
Looking at the crimson red sky, the boy felt a memory stirring in his mind. Something important. The boy frowned, but the harder he fought, the more he found it was slipping away from him.
He sighed heavily and watched the patterns made by the light dance on the white sheets. He didn't remember ever being so... relaxed.
Or did he? The feeling was vaguely familiar to him, as if he experienced it before, though his body immediately denied that statement. He groaned when the tensed-up muscles in his legs and arms slackened and stretched with his movement.
The room didn't look like his own either... but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember how his own room looked gaze drifted from the light to his hand. He opened then closed it, staring intently at the palm, noting the lines that graced and decorated it. It travelled up his arm and froze upon a scar stretching from his shoulder to his elbow.
The longer he stared at it, the more he felt the stirring in his head. But he couldn't remember...
"I don't remember anything."
The thought struck his mind, and he realized the truth of his words.
He felt a spike of panic shoot through his body. He racked his brain to remember something... anything.
Nothing.
He threw the sheets off himself and clambered to the mirror. His face touched the cold glass, his breath fogging up the cool surface.
He saw a petite boy with a lean, thin frame, dressed in a torn black polo shirt and scuffed-up pants. Wide, expressive eyes decorated in an intriguing amber shade framed with brown locks that hung on his face. His limbs were pale, and he noticed that his arm wasn't the only part of him covered in scars; interestingly, the cuts dominated the region above his knee. There was a large one that connected his knee and ankle that looked the most recent; it was slightly inflamed and jagged, but looked well on the way to healing.
The boy staring at him was so familiar. And yet he was a stranger.
He couldn't think. Not now. All he wanted was to get away, far away from this place, from this boy, from everything. He wanted nothing more than to...forget that he had forgotten everything?
Nothing made any sense. He resisted the impulse to clutch his head in frustration.
I just need to take things slowly. He took several deep breaths to steady himself, his eyes still lingering on his reflection. First, I have to figure out how I got here...
The door opened, and a teen with messy black hair stepped in. The brunette on the bed looked up, half-afraid, which wasn't all that surprising as the newcomer held a glass that spelled disaster. Not only was the liquid a pale, diluted shade of black it was oozing bubbles? He raunched at the sight of it.
"Here." The teen grinned at him, offering the drink. "It'll help you feel better."
He felt nauseated. He couldn't expect him to drink that.. Could he?
His hand was so weak he almost dropped the glass once he got his fingers around it. It was cool.
"W..Why should I" He asked snidely, staring into the black, writhing mass of... Stuff. He set the glass on the set of drawers beside the bed, the condensed water quickly forming a little puddle on top of it.
The older teen shrugged. "It'll make you feel better. I'm Yamamoto, by the way. And welcome to Camp Half-Blood!" A sudden grin graced his features and he placed two fingers underneath his sky blue baseball cap, greeting him.
Suddenly, he grabbed his wrist, albeit roughly, pulling him out of the room, the brunette gasped and tried to pull away and failed countless times; Yamamoto had an iron grip on him.
All the way, Yamamoto was muttering about being late for battle class.
"Battle?" He wondered as he was dragged along. "Just what kind of camp is this..."
"That's the Camp Director, Reborn."
The brunette glanced in the direction Yamamoto was pointing, finding a guy in a black fedora, adourned with a single orange stripe around its rim. He was tall and lean, and in the sleeveless shirt that he had on, bulging biceps were visible even as they stood fifteen feet away. Intimidating, he thought. "Yeah, that's how it is." He hadn't even realised he had said it aloud. "No one messes with a god, albeit a minor one, after all."
Just as the brunette was about to bombard the older boy with the many questions currently racing through his mind at a hundred miles per hour, a loud bang sounded. It was a matter of seconds before the entire camp descended into pindrop silence. A gunshot, he realised, as the ringing in his ears died down. He rubbed his ears annoyedly as he stared at Reborn, now pointing a pistol skywards, the dark metal glinting in the sunlight. A single bullet landed on the ground with a soft 'tink'. The man bent and picked it up between two careful fingers, staring at it intently before flicking it away casually. The one named Reborn was clearly not a force to be trifiled with.
The gunshot was some sort of signal, apparently, as another man holding a loudhailer now stepped forward.
"It's battle time, make your way to the arena, hey!"
The blonde who was speaking held a confident poise, a green army headband with a black badge 01 tied around his head, his blonde locks swaying gently in the slight wind. He was dressed in the same kind of navy uniform and slacks.
"What's up with the people around here..." The words barely left his lips when Yamamoto tugged at his sleeve, signalling towards a place he assumed was the aforementioned arena.
The arena, it turned out, was just a clearing surrounded by rain trees, the battle area marked out by a mass of rocks. His eyes strayed to the middle of the area; the battle had already commenced.
"Who're those?" He pointed.
"Ah, that's Hibari, one of the strongest at camp," indicating to the black haired boy with two blades by his side. "The other one's Ryohei."
From what he could see, Ryohei had pure white hair, a bandage over the curve of his mose, and more bandages around his hands. To make him look cool I guess, he mused. Though he wasn't looking at all "cool" now.
The raven gave the teen a dispassionate glance. He had been so very cocky before the battle had commenced. He was burly for his age, and had sworn to crush him with those bulky, muscle-filled arms of his.
It had only taken Hbari a little more than ten seconds to have the other cower before him.
Dark eyes swept over the battered figure, and he smirked. He took one step forward, and then another – allowing the two blood-stained blades he held to swing by limply at his sides. The teen's face contorted into that of pure fear, and he instinctively scrabbled backward in a futile attempt to escape. Throughout the entire battle, Hibari had remained silent. Even when the teen had insulted or threatened him, the raven hadn't reacted. He was used to all sorts of verbal threats and insults from the enemy, after all.
His grip around the twin blades tightened.
"Hey!" The brunette yelled out. "You're just going to let him get killed?"
Yamamoto smiled softly, a glint to the eye. "Don't worry, Ryohei has got a trick up his sleeve as well."
Almost immediately, the teen on the floor now spoke up, his voice husky, a grin plastered to his face.
"Just kidding!" From the shadow of the huge rain tree which towered over the both of them, he stepped out into the sunlight. Almost immediately, the cuts which rampaged his entire body began shining in the brightness. He squinted, as did many of the people who had gathered to watch the battle.
The light died down, showing Ryohei standing proud and tall, and his wounds...! They were healing at an extra-ordinarily fast pace. Most of the cuts he had had before were already forming scars, and even the scars were disappearing.
"A-Amazing, is that even humanely possible?"
"But we aren't human, anyway." A whisper.
The brunette whipped his head around. Yamamoto was concentrating on the fight, so were the others who surrounded them.
He sighed, pushing the thought to the back of his head. Turning back around, he found a silver-haired boy in a red padded jacket, demanding that it was his turn to fight. Whispers about how he was so "cool" and "hot" reached the brunette's ears. Mostly from the girls, of course.
Reborn sighed and nodded, complying to his request (demand, more like).
"Now..."
Reborn glanced along the row of eager faces who would have loved to face Gokudera. His eyes narrowed considerable as he set his sights on the brunette.
"Why are you here."
His tone made it clear it wasn't a question, more of a statement.
"Ehh.. I... Wha-..."
Reborn rolled his eyes. "Well, whatever. Get in there."
It took a few blinks and creases of the forehead before the brunette voiced his question.
"What?"
"I said, get in there. Fight."
"What?"
"Stop repeating yourself."
"It's worth repeating," he countered boldly. Reborn, however, paid no attention. He gave the brunette a hard prod to the back, pushing him into the arena, defenseless.
The silver-haired teen cast the brunette a sidelong glance. Not a worthy opponent, he saw in the other's eyes. Smirking, he said, "Don't worry, I'll end this quickly." the silverette raised an arm, and grey clouds formed directly above, earning calls of "awesome!".
Storm clouds, the brunette realised. It took a few moments before he found himself rooted to the spot. Almost as if acknowledging his awareness, the familiar feeling of foreboding shot through him, piercing his very soul...
"Stop it!" He spat. The words initially held no meaning, but then the ground started rumbling beneath him, a crack ripping the ground apart like a snapping mouth.
"You called, master?"
His thoughts were deafening in his mind, making it impossible for him to think.
As he stared at the bony skeleton which had emerged from the crack.