Note: Second chapter. The plot is going to deepen as hints are dropped as to who the OC may really be.
Who Am I?
Chapter 2
Puzzle Pieces
It had been nearly eight months since I'd shown up at Camp Half-Blood. My memory had barely improved, but my social prospects were far better than I'd dreamed, even from the outset. Taking down the kids of the war god single-handedly with your fists and a shard of glass apparently earns you points with just about everyone else. I'd gravitated most, however, to the three people I'd marked out in the crowd my first day. Percy Jackson, Grover Underwood, Annabeth Chase. They'd gone on some world-saving quest, and come back heroes. I was happy for them. We'd kind of connected before they'd gone off, and we got in better terms when they came back. Luke's betrayal also gave us a focal relating point. I'd been stuck in the Hermes cabin because, despite Chiron's belief that I wasn't a demi-god or regular mortal(and my backing him up), no-one was sure what to do with me. I'd liked Luke. He'd seemed like a nice guy. Until he revealed his position as the right-hand guy of the greatest evil in the world.
The greatest evil in the world. Kronos. I thought about that, and it didn't seem right. Kronos was the greatest evil of the Greek world, but the actual entire world…I dove into my mind, searching for something, anything. I got blurry flashes. A battlefield. A red sky. A fiery sword coming down on me, an unassuming-looking man holding it. I don't know why, but the single instant in which I saw that man, I realized that whatever I once knew him to be, he was why I classed Kronos as Greek-world evil. This mystery man got the world-wide Greatest Evil title, for reasons I couldn't remember.
I turned, and checked my bag again. I'd been looking over atlases for the past week, and had come to a conclusion.
I needed to get to Russia. To a very specific point in Russia. I wasn't sure why, but when I looked at it, I felt as though, if I went there, followed this weird instinct in me that said 'Go to this very specific point in Russia.' I might find something. When I told Percy, Grover, Annabeth, and Chiron, about it, I'd made myself clear I was doing this on my own. I felt I had to. Not only because it seemed crazy, but because I had the feeling that if I did find something there, it wouldn't be anything good. I didn't tell them that last bit, though.
In case you've never been to Russia, or at least far-northern-many-miles-from-civilization Russia, let me give you some advice: It's cold. Like, 'the 9th Level of Hell according to Dante Alegheri isn't this cold' cold. So dress warm. Somehow, despite that, it didn't bother me. I ventured on. I pushed forward, toward that one point on the maps where I'd felt some unexplainable, crazy connection.
It took nearly two weeks to get there, after actually getting into Russia itself(which took a lot longer than I thought it would). When I finally arrived, I found what looked like the ruins of a prison, rotting skeletons hanging in chains in the remains of rooms. I couldn't quite understand it, but many looked like they had wings growing out of their backs. Others had talons, tails, and fangs. When I reached the center of the building, I saw a samurai sword in the middle of the room. The sword stuck up out of the ground, surrounded by what looked like black bloodstains.
I approached the sword, and felt a pain in my head. But not just in my head.
I felt it in my mind too.
I reached out, and touched the hilt of the sword.
I dropped to me knees and screamed in pain, as people and locations seemed to flood into my mind and try to find spots in my memory where they would fit. But those spots weren't there.
Purgatory…
"You're crazy, Cas. You do this-" I heard my voice.
Cas. Castiel. He was…my teacher. My partner. My friend.
"I know. I'll die. Or worse. But that's not important now. One of us needs to get out of here, keep up the fight. Tell the others what we know. And I'm the only one who can fight them off long enough." A voice said, insistently.
"Damn it, Cas." I said.
"Don't mourn me. I always knew it would end like this, somehow. Just promise me one thing. You make it through this, this great damn big mess the world's turned into, you take some time off. The balance has enough agents looking out for it for you to spend one lifetime off-duty. I had that chance once, and I let it slip away. Don't make that mistake. You find yourself in a life you want to live, you live it. You find yourself with someone you want to live that life with, try your hardest to live it with them. Don't spend your existence just going from battle to battle. All that does is get you here. What's the use fighting for life if we don't ever enjoy it? Now go. And live. For me." Castiel said, and I heard him draw a sword and start running. I remembered running in the other direction, leaving him to certain death.
I came out of my mind-relapse. Tears were streaming down my face. I looked at the sword. His sword. Castiel's. Ragnarok. That was what he called it. The Nordic term for the end of the world. Charming.
I got up from the icy ground, and wrapped my hands around Ragnarok's hilt.
I pulled at the sword.
I felt something in my head, going through my mind with an inhuman focus and purpose, and I realized it was Ragnarok. The sword was alive.
It was judging me. Seeing if I was worthy of using it. It sensed its master had sacrificed himself to save me. It sensed things about me I didn't know. It knew more about me than I did.
It deemed me worthy.
I pulled the blade from the scabbard, and looked at it.
The blade was made of black metal, but it seemed darker than black. Like, if I held it against the night sky with no streetlights and no stars, the blade would be darker than space. There were strange symbols on the side of the blade, carved in and colored gold. I turned it over, and saw the same symbols. They looked like any form of language humans would ever write in. I slid the blade back into the scabbard, and pulled the whole weapon from the ice.
I blacked out.
I woke up in a desert, surrounded by men pointing assault rifles at me. About one-hundred yards behind them, I saw a humvee with a huge mounted gun.
"You have got to be kidding me." I said. I felt Ragnarok clutched in my hand.
The men backed off slightly, maybe so they had clearer shots at me. They took aim with their rifles.
I moved faster than I thought possible.
I was on my feet, had Ragnarok out of its scabbard and was twirling it, blocking the bullets the men shot at me. I started turning the blade, putting more force behind each movement. I was deflecting the bullets now. Bouncing them off the sword into the people around me. The men around me dropped, till only one man was left in front of me and two were behind me. The man in front of me fired.
I cut the bullet in half, and turned to see the men behind me drop as the bullet halves went into their chests. The man in front of me fired one more shot, which I swatted back into his head.
The guy in the humvee fired at me with the mounted machine gun for about ten seconds before he realized all he was doing was wasting metal. He slid into the drivers' seat, and sped towards me.
I swung Ragnarok vertically, trying to catch the driver in the path of the sword stroke.
The humvee and driver slid into two pieces as the blade traveled through them.
I turned and looked behind me. The humvee was seamlessly sliced in two. I walked up to it. I'd cut it like warm butter.
"Holy shit." I whispered to myself. I noticed in the rearview mirror of the humvee that my eyes had gone red again.
I felt Ragnarok in my head again. It was…ecstatic at the combat and violence and death. It felt drunk on it all. Like it drew something from it.
I had a feeling this whole display of kick-awesomeness was due to Ragnarok.
Then I blacked out. Again.
I woke up on the surf of Long Island Sound, just at the border of Camp Half-Blood, Ragnarok clutched in my fist.
I was tired of blacking out. I was completely mystified by everything that had happened. But at least I had some leads. And a mental debate to have with myself as to what I should tell the others.
