The Californian Sage, Equaling Olympus

by kujikiri21

AU. Xander Harris went as something else for Halloween. A figure shrouded in legend and myth, but remembered incorrectly only through media. Now, because of the changes to his choices the costume influenced, the PTB want him dead. Their lackey was barely able to do that, banishing from the world, but was interfered with by two gods. Now in PJ world, how will this new Xander act?

2. Wanderings

The Californian Sage, Equaling Olympus

Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy or Percy Jackson

Chapter 2: Wanderings

It took only a minute for Xander to realise he wasn't in Kansas anymore. Not that he ever wanted to go to Kansas, he wasn't a big fan of fields and farming.

Watching 'Children of the Corn' with Willow on a dare when they were young(er) and impressionable had probably had something to do with that.

Either way, he knew he wasn't in his home world right now, and worse, if the bastard, who was now hopefully dead, was right, it was a one way trip. Considering the bastard didn't have any reason to lie, not when the truth could hurt more, he was willing to bet his bootstraps that he was telling the truth.

Xander wasn't one to cry much, having shed enough tears when Jesse had passed, and again when he had staked the monster wearing his face, but he could still feel sorrow. Sorrow and grief and helpless rage as he admitted there was no way home.

No more Willow, his bestest bud.

No more Buffy, a first crush and then a hero he could look up to and then a friend who he wished could see better days.

No more Giles, the father he never had, regretting to never tell him what he thought of him.

No more Jenny, an older sister/mother figure, a bond that only grown closer when he saved her life from Angelus.

Joyce, Dawn, Cordelia. The list could go on for quite a while. Even Angel would get a mention, if only to say he missed his favourite verbal punching bag.

What could he say, the putz made it so easy.

He could feel himself on the edge of a breakdown, his mental self wanting to go into a deep hole and hide for a while, whimpering and cowering like a dog. At least his old self would have.

The new him, one crafted from the memories of Halloween and the experiences thereafter, locked his emotions up tight, ignoring them until he was safe and secure.

"Right," he muttered to himself, "first thing; take an inventory."

One of the basic ways to survive in a strange place was to know what you had to work with. Your skills, your tools, your environment. All of these shaped how you would act, what you needed to do to continue to survive.

It came as a surprise to him though, that the first thing he noticed was an old-fashioned, red wax sealed scroll that he pulled from the pocket of his vivid Hawaiian shirt.

"What-?" He whispered in surprise, examining it at arms length like it was a strange poisonous snake.

The scroll was new, white and, unlike the Western version, created from little slips of wood instead of paper or parchment. It was a uniquely Asian design.

It probably helped that the seal of the scroll was impressed with the Chinese character for 'Monkey'.

This could mean many things to the young man, but he was honestly struggling to figure out whether it was good or not.

After a moments hesitation, Xander broke the seal and began to unroll it. It was thankfully a a short scroll, maybe a foot to a foot and a half in length, and was a hand scroll, which let him read it naturally like a backwards book or the latest manga from Shonen Jump.

It was a legacy of his Halloween experience, reading the book the 'correct' way, and had often found himself doing it unconsciously in the Library until he was to notice the slip and returned to normal, Western, reading.

A glimpse at the first few columns of characters had him thinking this was also a legacy of Halloween.

To Alexander Lavelle Harris, said the opening line, also named, preferably, Xander, I bid you salutations and greetings.

An interesting start if the teen was left to wonder, showing a person who knew him well enough to say this. Even his teachers had called him either Alexander or Harris. Mostly Harris.

Not to mention it was oddly formal. 'Salutations and greetings' was not something you would use in an average letter, even to someone you didn't know, but respected. Even the Chases, when they still had the dough, were never that formal/stuck-up. But in Giles opinion, that was just because they were 'bloody Americans with no sense of proper decorum or manners'.

He might have been right on that.

We have never met in person, but we each know each other. Better than we know ourselves, in point of fact. As you were one to never beat around the bush, or appreciate someone doing it to you, I will get to the point.

The next five words had Xander's gut turning to ice.

My name is Sun Wukong.

Xander stared at those characters in disbelief, trying desperately to read them in another way that made sense. He failed dismally.

His hands shook as he continued reading. A message from a God?! Giles would have been going nuts.

If you remember your Halloween, then you know who I am, what I am. I can speculate you even know me far better than I thought, with my memories surging through your mind.

Xander winced as a slew of memories, ones not his own, tried to bombard his mind all at once, before he figuratively slammed the door on them. The old monkey wasn't kidding, he did know this deity very well, or at least thought he did. The memories showed a lot about him that had never made the stories, the sheer amount of them had almost overwhelmed him when he had woken up from Halloween the next morning, fighting desperately to keep from reacting to Tony's jibes at him and Jessica's indifference to anything but the bottle of Jack's in front of her.

It had taken a week before Giles had managed to notice something wrong with him, despite his protests of 'I'm fine', and had dragged him to his office to have a private talk. After a minute in the office, he had come clean, trusting the only older male figure he had in his life.

He had never regretted it.

With a concerned Giles' help, his understanding of the magics used, knowledge of other spells that had similar mental consequences, mostly from seers who delved into the past and future, and experience with meditation coming in greatly handy, Xander was able, over the course of a few months, an impressive feat according to the Watcher, to manage to control and stem the flow and influences of the memories, while at the same time giving them an outlet, so they weren't constantly yanking on the mental leash, in the form of staff practice. A practical exercise that had strangely helped him to calm himself, gain experience with weapons (as was necessary for an aspiring demon hunter) and get himself fighting fit (yet another necessity) all in one little package.

With a little hand to hand, and other weapon's forms thrown in, it had built quite a camaraderie between the two males, who were keenly aware of the outnumbered status of their gender amongst the group.

For all the hectic fighting and pain filled nights, they were some the best days Xander had ever experienced.

He really missed them.

Eyes watering slightly, he turned back to the scroll.

What you didn't know, was that, unlike the other victims of the spell, it was a two-way street.

You got my memories. I got yours.

Xander froze again, shame filling his thoughts. What would a great Hero like Sun Wukong, the Great Sage, Equalling Heaven, think about his life. How he lived, how he thought.

What he thought about the stripes on his back, hidden by his clothes. About Tony and Jessica, not worth calling parents at all. About the days of sleeping on the roof, away from his so called family as they shouted, screamed and flailed at each other, breaking walls, doors, glasses and more.

Xander Harris was honestly scared.

I have seen many things in my life, Xander, the letter continued, but a more enduring soul, a more faithful and loyal soul, I have yet to meet.

You have nothing to be ashamed of.

Xander couldn't help but feel a warm glow in his heart at those words. Though his gained knowledge, he knew Sun Wukong was a trickster of the first order, with a silver tongue to match his quick wits and enormous strength.

But, in his heart, he knew these words were sincere. Without flattery or exaggeration, the old monkey had written exactly what he meant.

As I received your memories, and knowing your situation, I couldn't help but be curious. Who was this boy to have lived such a life? To have seen me, the true me, as a Hero, in this modern age?

And so, I watched.

Xander paused in his reading, a sense of trepidation filling him. What would the Monkey King make of what he had seen?

I saw you make your decisions, the actions you took. Not all of them were unselfish, I admit, but I was no shining example of virtue myself, but you made your decisions based on two facts.

My friends need to survive. The world needs to keep spinning.

The end.

Such simple thoughts, such simple goals. But they shined more gloriously in your Heart than any of those brain dead bimbos on the catwalk saying they wanted 'World Peace' with a beautiful empty smile.

Good eye candy, but terrible conversationalists. Though Miss Jamaica had a decent set.

Xander flushed a little at the last line, though he did agree. Miss Jamaica did have a good set of assets. Emphasis on the 'ass'.

Probably why he had been rather attracted to Kendra and Ampata, their skin tone and body shape throwing his hormones back to that particular memory.

He hurried on.

You kept yourself on that path. Trudging through mud and blood to keep that promise to yourself.

It was one of the most inspiring things I had seen.

A single boy -no, a young man- protecting his friends, stronger, faster and more powerful friends, as best as he was able, no matter the cost to himself.

You protected Janna, near killing yourself in the process, when Angelus came for her.

You helped Kendra, when you could have sought vengeance.

Surprisingly, you even turned down Faith when she offered to 'bunk' with you, gaining her respect and trust in the process, preventing her from going to the Mayor.

I have to admit, I don't think I would have had the same control if she had made the offer to me.

Though I still have the right, as a friend of the male gender, to bash you over the head for letting that one go.

Xander raised an eyebrow, before he felt like something had whacked his head, knocking him face forward into the dirt, still managing to somehow hold onto the scroll.

Ow.

Xander grumbled wordlessly as he managed to sit back up, rubbing his head with one hand as he unrolled the scroll with another.

But you still stayed true to your course.

It is praiseworthy, maybe even legendary.

And it made you a target.

Xander frowned. The mage had inferred that he had been targeted, and even some of the actions that had lead to it. But he didn't know why.

Perhaps this scroll would give him the answers.

To understand, we must go years back. Centuries and millennia.

Back to the time of Separation.

Xander frowned. He knew the term, it had been some the books in the library and Giles had been quite verbose on the subject when asked.

It was basically the time when the Old Gods, those of sects that were not Christian, departed from the world. Living in the Realm Above and unable to affect or walk upon the mortal realm unless called. Supposedly, it was so that the human race could advance at its own pace, achieving its full potential without interference.

Giles, a rebel on the subject, and by extension Xander, had been greatly skeptical, but it was still the official theory put forth by the Watcher's Council and thus taught to every prospective Watcher that entered the Council's doors.

Xander had a feeling Giles' theory would be born out.

With the departing of the Old Gods, it was open season for influence over the human race.

Something that PTB, or rather the Bastards-That-Be, took advantage of, using Christianity as their stalking horse.

Xander nodded grimly. The date of the Separation had never been truly pinned down, but it was known that Christianity, in all its denominations, had received an impressive upswing in power at about the same time. Their icons and symbols receiving the power to ward off demons and others of that ilk far more effectively than other religious groups.

If the PTB, or BTB, were behind the Separation, it made sense that they would seize hold of the vacuum of mystical might. Xander had a feeling he would not like the consequences of this.

Their beliefs were not very popular, believing that the ends justified any means. Something even the more ruthless and blood thirsty of Gods had pulled up on.

The end goal was just as despicable. Complete Balance.

Xander thought for a moment, before paling at the implications.

Giles had hammered into his head that there was no such thing as True or Complete Balance. There was no black and white in this strange world, only the endless shades of grey. True Balance, static balance, could only realistically be achieved with one thing.

There was nothing left to balance.

The complete and utter eradication of life.

Xander was never going to be party to genocide, and would tear down all who even had the thought that it was a good idea. It was one of the reasons Dead-Boy had a white streak in his hair, when he had gone to decapitate him during the Acathla incident only for him to dodge at the last moment and slice into his skull instead.

Thankfully, Buffy was able to come to her senses in time to fight Angelus before the vampire had succeeded in marmaladising him.

He still got a fair few broken bones though. Damn vampire speed and strength. His skills hadn't been too shabby either.

They thought that if everything was Balanced, then they could control everything, and everything would be at peace.

They call themselves Bringers of Peace.

I call them Murdering Genocidal Pieces of Shit.

Either way, they set up their plans. Using foresight, they were able to track the various paths to the future that would lead to their ultimate goal, planting prophecies in the heads of seers to ensure that the humans, now so open to their influence, would do some of the leg work for them.

Xander snorted. Typical, the big wigs never want to get their hands dirty or they might break a nail.

One of the prophecies mentioned was in the Pergamum Codex.

Xander groaned as he saw what was coming. The mage had mentioned it, the old ape merely confirmed it.

Guess the White Hats weren't all that white.

With your disruption of their little plans, you became a part of the problem in their view.

A problem that they would try to remove at earliest opportunity.

Thankfully for you, their influence on the Hellmouth is limited to their Champions, their pawns, alone. Something about conflicting energies or some other rot. In either case, you were safe from their attempts as long as you were within the Hellmouth's sphere of influence and they would have trouble seeing you, spying on you, directly due to it.

Coincidentally, this extends all the way to just past Oxnard, probably why it took so long for them to send out their lackey.

Xander frowned. He knew he had been a bit of demon magnet, but now it seemed that there was a valid that he was.

If he only knew. Xander was only half-right. The BTBs did play a part in the demon attraction department, but his status as a Fell had done most it.

Thus, due to their inability to act, they could only watch as you shot down plan after plan of theirs. Even worse, you never did it deliberately, only thinking to save your friends.

I doff my hat to your incredible luck and sheer skill at pissing them off. Single handedly, you have advanced humanity away from their influence more than any other single human has ever done before with your disruption of their plans.

Xander flushed a little, shifting uncomfortably. He wasn't use to receiving compliments, especially not from people that, despite the memories, he barely knew.

As you can understand, when you left the Hellmouth, they were quite eager to have your head on a pike. Thankfully, it took them a month to find you and send out the assassins.
Just as thankfully, you were able to use the memories of me to defend yourself and involuntarily call upon the fragmentary vestiges of Janus' power that lingered on you to do so.

This drew the Old God's attention, allowing him to step foot on the Earth for the first time in ages, just in time to save your butt.

Xander's breath left him in a rush. He didn't know how he would do it, but would repay that Old God back. Big time.

Unfortunately, he didn't arrive in time to stop the spell being cast. Despite being a powerful god, there are still Laws and Powers that even he will not use with. The power the mage had stolen from the Monks of Dagon was one such thing.

He couldn't stop it and he owed you a favour due to your continued denial to tow the BTBs party line and influence others to do the same, so he did the next best thing.

Instead of landing in a disreputable hellhole dimension, he placed you where you are now.

Xander corrected himself. He owed the Roman rebel big, big time.

Before he could do that though, I arrived.

Despite not having an invitation of some variety to manifest on Earth, I am not a true God. Before all else, I am a Trickster, a Hero. This gives me a huge amount of leeway in regards to the Separation Laws.

I had just never felt like exercising them, too lost in my depression at what the Separation would eventually bring about.

But then you came along.

Your belief, your drive, all of these burned brightly, out shining even the sun itself in my eyes.

And the BTB wanted to forever extinguish that spark.

I was not going to let that happen.

Xander retread the line, wondering if he had read it wrong. He hadn't.

A God had come down for the express purpose of saving him? The Twilight Zone suddenly seemed to be far closer than he had thought, and he lived in Sunnydale, the Home of Weirdness!

I knew that what Janus was going to do was the best option, no other power, mortal or immortal, could have anything different.

But I wasn't going to let you go alone and unarmed.

Another part of the reason I descended was because of one simple truth. A truth that I had been holding back for a long time.

I was Fading.

Xander started. Fading? Wasn't that what Giles had called an immortal's death? Xander was suddenly filled with sorrow, knowing that this Hero, one who he admired, was now dead, gone.

Forgotten.

Rigidly, he kepi reading, not wanting to stain the Monkey King's last words, his final sacrifice.

You know what that means Xander but don't be sad.

I had a long life, full of adventure, and it was now my time to pass. Perhaps, when I rejoin the Earth Mother, I will see my friends again. Sandy, Pigsy, Tripitaka, even that old horse-dragon Yulong. It will be good to see them again.

But I had one final thing to do before I passed.

I needed to take a successor.

Xander looked at the scroll in disbelief, and mounting confusion, even as his mind refused to make the logical leap.

I wanted someone who was persistent. Who was loyal. Who had the potential to walk as I had, amongst Men and God, and treating them the same.

Having seen your life, from beginning to end, is it any wonder I chose you?

Xander's mouth gaped wide and his eyes bugged out. He still didn't believe.

If I know you, and I do, then you probably can't believe these words I have written.

If I had had the chance, your sire and dame would be receiving a warm welcome in the afterlife by now.

But believe me kid, for I tell no lie, you are my successor.

My treasures, my powers, my wealth, my skill and my memories, which you already have, are now yours.

If you still don't believe, there is red silk bag at your waist. Put a hand in it and wish for a hand mirror.

Xander, in a daze, looked to his waist, which seemed smaller than it should have, a saw the bag. A plain red silk draw string bag. Reaching out with a hand, which also smaller than it should, more...childish... in fact, he pushed it into the open mouth and thought.

The image of simple hand mirror, one of those old wooden ones with a circular surface and a varnished handle and backing came to mind. Feeling something suddenly touch his hand in the now not-so-empty bag, he grasped it and pulled it out.

Revealing a hand mirror exactly like he had pictured.

This revelation was only small potatoes compared to what he saw in the clear surface.

The face looked like him. The same nose and cheeks, the slight curl of the lips. It looked exactly like him.

If he was only twelve years old.

Somehow, he had been deaged. Meaning that something had happened and, more importantly to his dreading mind, he would have to go through PUBERTY all over again!!

Oh, and his eyes instead of the normal brown were chaotic swirls of vivid crimson and earthen brown, and his black hair was now naturally spiky instead of flat and disheveled like he normally had been.

But that wasn't important. He had to go through PUBERTY again. It was hell going through it the first time. Xander was willing to bet that the second time would be even worse!

Xander picked up the scroll with a feral growl after he placed the mirror back in the pouch. If he ever met the old ape again, then there will be hell to pay. In dividends.

As he started to read again, a sudden green glow of words appeared above scroll. In Latin.

Xander frowned. He knew how to read Latin and Ancient Greek, even speak it like a native, thanks to Giles' collective tutoring of the Scoobies so they could actually be of help to the Watcher when researching, rather than a hindrance.

What he read managed to annoy him even further.

Don't hate the player, hate the game. Signed Janus.

Xander sighed as he put the dots together. Janus was the one responsible for the deaging, not the Monkey King.

Well, that means he now only owes the Roman prankster a kick in the ass.

The message vanished and Xander kept reading the scroll, grumbling under his breath about 'Roman morons' and 'two-faced deceivers'.

As you can see, you are quite different than how you were. This is because I did something that hadn't been done by any except for the Dioscuri.

I shared my essence, the primal force of my existence, with you.

Xander's widened again. He may as well keep them wide if the shocks just kept coming.

This, in effect, changed your body, reshaping it to fit the essence it now contains.

Congratulations, you are now a demi-god.

And I am your father.

And they did.

Xander just froze, rereading those last five words, over and over, trying to make sense of it all.

Him? The son of the Monkey King?! That's it! Stop the ride, he wanted off!

But the letter still wasn't done. With care, Xander continued to read, his hands shaking almost violently.

I may have done this without your consent, and for that I am sorry, but I thought it may have been the greatest, and only, gift I could give you. Especially with the sand in my own hourglass of life running out.

You will need the gifts I gave you to survive in the world Janus had chosen. Monsters walk in human skin, just like Sunnydale. So be prepared.

Xander nodded grimly. Be prepared. Two simple words and an equally simple truth. But they were no less important and crucial than any other advice that could be given.

I have to hurry this letter along now, time is running out, so a few last pieces of advice and instructions.

First, never lose the red silk bag. It is a portal to a linked sub-dimension that contains all the smaller treasures I have gathered over my life. Gold, jewels, rolls of quality silk and expensive clothing and other items that can be sold for local currency. There is a huge amount, but is finite, so be careful what you spend. Placing a hand on the outside of the bag will send an inventory of the contents straight to your mind. Place a hand in it and think of an object within, and you will be able to draw it out, even if it is a full length mirror or a complete wardrobe.

Incidentally, you can also place anything within it, even a car if you need to, and you can draw it out again later.

Xander raised an eyebrow, looking at the deceptively simple silk bag. An actual Bag of Holding? Hope WOTC doesn't find out or the copyright law suit following would be enormous.

Second, everything that I could do, you can do and thus are capable of performing all the tricks and spells I could, despite you not being able to after Halloween, even my magic hair abilities. But it will be a little toned down. You will notice the rosary around your neck.

Don't take it off.

It holds back the majority of the power I gave you, allowing you to grow into it safely. Too much power at once, and you would have exploded from trying to contain it all. In time, as you train and get stronger, more of the power will be released, thus making you more powerful.

However, considering that there are dangers in that world that are powerful and perilous, I included a failsafe. You can remove the rosary, allowing you to access far more power than you normally could, but your body will pay the price, almost destroying itself from the strain. The rosary can only be removed for five minutes, before it automatically returns and locks, and cannot be taken off for another three days to a week, just long enough for you to fully recover.

My suggestion, again, don't take it off.

Xander felt his heart lift in joy. One of the few things he had been sad about was being unable to use the Monkey King's spells after Halloween. They could have been incredibly useful and powerful. And now he had the capability!

This joy was tempered by the caution of the mentioned dangers. Not to mention the dangers of removing the rosary. A glimpse under his shirt revealed the purple beaded necklace, each bead glowing a soft violet light, filled with suppressed power. He felt for the clasp, finding it at the back of his neck. It was one of those simple pressure pull ones. Squeeze the clasp and pull hard and the necklace came undone.

He wouldn't be doing that unless everything went to Hell.

Still, he would have to train for a while, see what the actual extent of his skills were at present. An excited grin crossed his face. That should be fun!

My major treasures are also with you. My staff, cap, sandals, chain mail, even the damnable crown that had given me such a headache over the years.

To call them, merely think of them and they will appear in your hands, ready to be used. Though the staff is actually where I usually put it in any case.

Xander thought for a moment, before understanding dawned and one of his hands whipped up to his right ear, searching and feeling for something.

There! Something small and hard sitting just behind his ear.

He grasped it and brought it in front of him, peering closely. It seemed like a black needle, though it seemed made of wood with golden tips.

Xander smiled slightly and suddenly spun it with a twitch of his fingers, sending his will into the little object like the monkey's memories had shown him, the picture of the staff in it's true form firmly in mind.

Less than a moment later, Xander was staring with wonder at the true form of Ruyi Jingu Bang as he held it in one hand. It was difficult to do so, due to its weight, but he still managed it. He hefted it a little, feeling the resistance and awkwardness of the movement. The fact that he could even lift the actual metal stave impressed the crap out of him and highlighted how much he had truly changed.

He wouldn't be able to use it in combat effectively just yet, but given a fair bit of training and experience, it would serve him just as well as it had the Monkey King.

Another surge of his will and the now confirmed to be metal needle was back and replaced behind his ear.

Thirdly, and this is very important, trust your eyes. When I went through the ritual, I gave up everything that I was to you, my power, my treasure, my body, my hair. Even my eyes.

In this world, one that is both similar and different, these eyes will lead you true. Showing truth from lies, man from God or Monster, good from evil, even how evil someone is, able to see into the distance, beyond the horizon if you so desired. Be careful how you do so, however, as despite the fact you are, in the eyes of the world, my son, you still have some of the limitations because of your mortal blood. Using those eyes to see into the far far distance will flood your still mortal mind with information, sometimes too much of it, and lead to the brain overloading.

I did not accept you as my son just so you could become a vegetable because of a foolish mistake.

Xander whistled lowly. Okay, mental note; use Farsight as little as possible. Until I can get a handle on it anyway.

Though the fact that Sun Wukong had sacrificed his eyes to him was beyond humbling. He honestly couldn't get his head around that the old ape had done so much for him. Suffered so much for him.

The writing was a little bit more faded now, more sloppy, as if the writer was hurried.

My last piece of advice, is to travel. Explore this world and all the wonders contained within it. Face the greatest of foes and make the sturdiest of allies. Make your mark upon history, just as I did.

You are the son of the Great Sage, Equalling Heaven. You will grow to reach my level of power, this I know, but I also know, that you have the potential to surpass it, if you take that journey, if you choose that path.

This is my final wish, my last request. Reach for the stars, my son, higher than even I. Continue striving for whatever goal you have set yourself, achieve it, and then make a new goal, in a never ending quest.

And always remember, even if I am dead and gone, even if I am Faded and forgotten, I will still watch over you. Through victory and defeat, grief and sorrow, happiness and joy, through war and peace, I will always see you.

And smile with pride, knowing that you are my legacy, my heir.

My son.

With sincere regards, and loving hope,
Your father,
Sun Wukong.

Xander looked at those final words, feeling the sincerity behind them, almost overwhelming his now prepubescent mind.

He carefully, reverently, rerolled the scroll, the scroll that was now his most treasured possession, from a father he never knew, but who trusted him with everything he had, and placed it in the red silk bag, a treasure beyond even the greatest of jewels, more precious than any of the gold, contained within.

He raised his face to the sky, tears falling freely from his swirling eyes, and howled.

In grief, in anger, in joy and in sorrow, the voice was filled with a gamut of emotions as the child, who was formerly a young man, let out his emotions, his heart pouring freely from his mouth and eyes.

This continued until nightfall, the sounds echoing off the hills, barely audible over the sounds cars and trucks from the nearby highway.

Exhausted, his heart and mind and body tired and wrung out, the boy had then fallen asleep.

Dreaming of better days.

---

It was the dead of night when Xander awoke again, his trained senses informing him that something was approaching.

Something powerful.

Eyes that were now as red as rubies, hard as diamonds, snapped open, peering into the night, unhindered by the lack of light, as blood and adrenaline surged through the boys veins.

Cutting through the forest, darkness blanketing it all, the form of a blindingly white toga wearing man, taller than most, was easily seen as he walked down what seemed to be a game trail. The branches and leaves parted before him, never allowing themselves to touch him, as he ambled forward. The silver chain necklace, complete with a key like decoration was one of the few things all stood out about him.

As was the fact he had two faces.

As the being moved toward the surprised boy, only one eye on each face could be seen, the faces turned directly right or left preventing Xander from seeing the complete features of either face.

He was also easily identifiable by anyone who had studied, even a little bit, into the myth and lore of Rome.

"So you're the one that was sent," the left face of Janus spoke as it came, its visible eye narrowed before snorting softly, "you don't look like much."

"Be nice," the right spoke, admonishing itself/brother, "even the roughest of men can become kings in time."

Left snorted again, but said nothing else. By this time, Janus was now standing in front of a wary and battle ready boy, his fingers itching to draw the staff from his ear, but knowing that it was better to use his more experienced hands at this moment.

"Calm yourself, kid," the right said calmly, holding up both hands in the universal gesture of peace, "I mean no harm to you."

"Unless you want us to," Left said with a devilish half-grin, before being thwacked by the hand of Right, "Ow!" Left complained, his own hand rising to rub half of his now stinging face, "was that necessary?"

"For now, yes, it was," Right said with aplomb, "your inciting antics are not needed at this time Left," Right seemed to glare at Left, despite the impossibility of it all.

Left subsided with a grunt, visibly pouting and sulking.

Xander had to withhold a chuckle and relaxed a little. It was like watching Abbot and Costello act with these two.

Still, it was time to break out the manners Jenny and Joyce had pounded into him.

"Lord Janus," he said with a small bow, drawing the two faced god's attention, "what can I do for you?"

Rule one for a mortal when dealing with gods: respect them and be polite and they may not smite you out of hand.

He had no desire to be smited Xander anytime soon.

"Rather polite," Right remarked, eying the boy speculatively, "not what I was expecting."

"Your a God," responded Xander wryly, "with a Capital G. I'd really rather not be erased from existence in a fit of pique just because my tongue got away from me."

"Smart and a dry sense of humour as well," Left remarked approvingly, "you may not be a waste of my time after all."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Xander said with a sigh. It looks like Sun Wukong was the odd one out of the bunch in regards to deities. "Still, the question still stands: How can I help you?"

"It is more how I can help you," Right admitted, "when our counterpart in your birth dimension shifted the destination of the banishment, he also left a message for us embedded in your power, which was released to find us when you first arrived."

"Okay," Xander grunted grudgingly, "that just means I won't try to kick his ass if I ever meet him again."

"Oh," Left said with a slight grin, sensing juicy stories, "do tell?"

"He deaged me," Xander said flatly, looking a devilish Left in the eye, "I had just graduated high school at the proper age, leaving teenage woes and worries behind. But now," Xander gritted his teeth in anger and suppressed rage, hissing out his words, "I have to go through PUBERTY all over again,"

The two faces of Janus leaned back at the venom in the boy's tone, sympathy in the eye of Right even as Left roared with laughter.

Bastard.

"I see.." Right said with a wince over the hysterical laughter of Left, "Unfortunately, that isn't something I can fix. Not easily, anyway."

Xander nodded in understanding, his spiky hair wilting like dead plants in sorrow and horror and his uncurled tail dragging limply on the ground.

Right glanced at the tail for only a moment in surprise before he began speaking again as Left began to subside, "The message pretty much told us to give you a run down on this world. The major players, the high rollers and how it all works."

"Thank you, my lord," Xander said gratefully. He wasn't a fan of going into things blind, there were too many ways for something to go wrong and for someone to end up dead, "the information will be gratefully received."

"No thanks are necessary," Right said airily, with a dismissive wave, "I owed my counterpart a favour, this is just paying it off and letting you benefit from it."

Left then jumped in, his chuckling finally out of his system, "First thing you have to know, is that the Greek gods are still around, walking the Earth, doing what they have done for millennia..."

The next few hours, leading up to dawn, were spent in serious discussion of the state of the world, spinning Xander's mind.

Gods with MPD. Monsters roaming freely. Demi-gods still being born. The Gods making their home right on top of the Empire State Building. This 'Mist' that was able to cloud the perception of mortals in regards to the supernatural. Demi-gods being sent to camps to train, depending on if they were Roman or Greek.

It was heady stuff for the Californian native. But not something he wasn't use to. His world had been rocked twice before. Once with the turning of Jesse before he had killed him, and another when Halloween had rolled around.

This was no different.

As Janus came to an end with his talking, he looked at the boy, his face serious and scrunched in thought, contemplating his place in the world and the choices he would have to make going forward.

"Penny for 'em, kid?" asked Left.

Xander stirred himself from his deep thoughts, "Just thinking what I should do. The choices I should make."

Both faces of Janus twitched at the word, unseen by the son of the Monkey King. Choices were his domain. Sly eyes cut toward the strange demi-god. Perhaps a little test?

"The way I see it," said Left casually, "you have two options. One, you can head up north toward New York and attend Camp Half-Blood. Your personality is wild enough for you to fit in amongst the Greeks and Chiron is almost without peer when it comes to training the young and heroic. Though I think he may have a little trouble with you, your heritage and range of your possible abilities making it difficult for him to bring out your full potential. Not to mention the Gods generally pay more attention to that particular camp than the Roman's one, meaning you will get found out sooner or later. Probably sooner, considering The Lord of Wine is in residence there, and I am unsure of what their reactions will be. Aside from the usual paranoia from the Sky Lord."

"On the other hand," Right addressed the pensive monkey boy, "you can choose to go to Camp Jupiter. It is not only much closer to you now, meaning you wouldn't have to trek across three quarters of the country, fending off monsters that your strong scent will attract in droves, just to go to Camp. Lupa is also very skilled at bringing out the potential of her students and is far more warlike than Chiron could every be. It is a far more war ready camp that will probably appeal to your battle-born nature and the Gods rarely set foot there, taking a more hands-off and distant approach to the Romans. That said, they are far more rigid, more set in their ways, and would resist and actively try to keep a lid on your free spirit, enforcing iron discipline. They are also ones to kill first, think later if they deem something a threat, whether or not it actually is one. One with your power and unknown heritage? You could almost guarantee to be carefully, but secretly, monitored and have battle plans drawn up in case they have to fight you."

"These are your choices," both faces said in unison at the now daunted young man, "what will you choose?"

Xander lowered his head in thought. Each of them had their pros and cons. If he wanted to be a warrior, then Jupiter would be the place to go, their beliefs of discipline and ruthlessness, combined with his own growing power, would make him a formidable foe for anyone who faced him. However, they would choke his free spirit, making him feel like he was in a cage of steel, and most probably wouldn't hesitate to kill him if ordered to by their superiors. He was chaos to their order, something they wouldn't tolerate.

If he wanted to be a Hero, then the Greeks would be a welcome sight. Their free-spirited way of life appealed to the son of Sun Wukong and, as Janus had said, Chiron was without peer in regards to teaching. However, he had a feeling they wouldn't be able to take his skills to levels he needed, he wanted, to attain and were far too close to the Gods who were known to mercurial at best. If he was Sun Wukong, he would have fit in there, but he wasn't Sun Wukong. He may have the memories, he may have the powers, Hell, he even had his blood.

But he wasn't him.

He was his own man, willing to make his decisions, his own mistakes, and was willing to live with the consequences.

It was a hard decision, and not one made lightly, but the some of the words that his Father had written came to mind, affirming his decision. He almost thought he could the callused hand of the Monkey King ruffling his hair, ruby eyes looking down at him in approval as his laughing lips quirked up in a smile as he made his decision, his choice.

Looking firmly at Janus, their eyes locked.

"You have made your decision?" Right asked neutrally, his anticipation hidden, wondering if this boy was the right one. The one that was needed.

"I have," Xander affirmed with a nod, his red eyes never leaving the softly glowing ones of the deity.

"And?" Left drawled, as if uninterested.

"I choose neither," Xander said firmly, leaving no misunderstanding.

Janus, both sides, glared at the boy, divine energy flaring, "Why say that?" Left growled lowly, "That is not one of the choices, boy. It is Jupiter of Half-Blood, Greek or Roman. Nothing else."

"Choose!" demanded Right in agreement, increasing the his power output, trying to force the boy to his knees from the pressure.

Xander was unmoved.

"My mentor, Rupert Giles, once said that 'nothing is black and white," answered the young demi-god, "only endless shades of grey'. This applies to choices as well. There is not just right or wrong, left or right. There is the path between, the path unwalked because eyes remain blind to the possibilities," Xander's own power began reacting to his emotions, flowing out of him as it invisibly battle the divine aura of the Roman, "I dare to travel that path, to seek the solution that none have imagined. And travel is what I will do. Free and unchained. Helping and hindering where I may, whether they be Greek or Roman, Mortal or God, Spirit or Monster.

"This is my belief. This is my path and if you wish to shift me from it?"

Xander's aura suddenly became visible, a blinding blue light that filled the clearing, pushing back Janus' divine aura and making him blink. When his eyes opened once more, Janus was met by a sight.

Despite looking little more than twelve years old, albeit a toned and muscular one, the boy cut an intimidating sight.

Golden chain mail, in a design foreign to the Roman, clung tightly to the toned torso, emphasising the muscled uncovered biceps, silk pants, tied at the ankles and waist ballooned around his legs, his feet were shod in golden sandals that were trimmed with green, standing atop a small cloud. A golden cap, with a red feather threaded through through top, cast a shadow over vividly glowing and diamond hard ruby red eyes that glared him down. A black metal stave, with golden end caps, was held in his hand and resting on his shoulder, casually but ready to use at a moments notice. His face was also set in scowl that was truly ferocious, elongated canines slightly bared, giving him a more primal, more animalistic presence. His tail and hair stood erect and bristling, a warning and a challenge.

This was the presence of a warrior. One that wouldn't hesitate to fight him, even kill him, if the God pushed too far.

"Then come make me," the boy growled, low and feral, "and I will rip off your legs and hang them from your neck as proof of your epic failure."

Janus, as a whole, couldn't help but blink at the words the boy had said, to his face no less. He had dared to threaten a God with death?! His mind could barely process it for a minute, before his mind finally comprehended it and reacted.

Xander, ready to fight, kill and die, could only stare in disbelief as the Roman deity fell foward and howled in laughter. Deep, rich and booming laughs filled with honest merriment and joy, with a slice of satisfaction joining in for the party.

"Hahahahaha!" Both faces roared, "do you- hahaha- h-have any I-hehehe-idea how l-long I have w-waited for an a-a-answer like that? Hahaha!"

Xander frowned, relaxing and powering down as bewilderment began to take over, "what do you mean?" The boy snapped in irritation, not seeing what was so funny. He had just threatened to kill him for heaven's sake.

The hilarity slowly subsided enough for the Roman to explain, "you see, kiddo," began Left, laughter still in his eyes, "when people see me, my two faces, they see choice. White and black, good and evil. A scale of balance that applies to the world as a whole. Everyone knows that their is an opposite, and that they are in the right and are righteous, creating the whole 'us versus them' mentality."

"Meaning," Right continued, "that there is only one correct choice. Nothing could be further from the truth."

"What was it that song had said," Left said idly, " 'one man's pleasure is another man's pain, one man's loss is another man's gain', I think. Choice is all about perspective. What is right for one is wrong for another."

"But people don't see that," Right jumped in, "and refuse to believe that there is another option, that their enemy is just the same as they are, making their choices according to their own goals. Even Gods aren't immune to this."

"Except for Hecate," Left interjected, his eye cast around warily, as if expecting the Goddess to jump out of nowhere.

"Except for her," Right agreed, "she understands choice just as much as we do."

"And as do you," Left pointed at the young man, "we have given this choice to many, watching them as they go on their way after having done so, their choices leading to their own demise, as they sacrificed whatever was on the path they didn't choose, which may have helped them. But you saw something else, the hidden path. The path unknown and yet will fulfill all of your goals, without sacrificing."

"Instead of choosing the easy paths," Right said with a soft smile, "the paths that lead to victory through war and blood. You chose the harder path, the one unseen, the endless path. The one that leads to peace."

Janus abruptly stood, towering above the befuddled and confused young man, and began to glow, making the boy avert his eyes, "you have chosen well, boy, and in reward I offer this."

A sheaf of papers suddenly appeared in the boy's hands.

"These papers give what you do not have. A place to call your own, a place to rest after your journeys. This is a deed and ownership papers for a large property in Wyoming. Forests, mountains, lakes, the whole shebang and a little cabin you can take a rest in. The papers also contain emancipation papers."

Janus then drew the silver key from his necklace and thrust it into mid-air with a loud click, just as the sun began rise, bathing the god in its golden splendour.

"You have earned my respect, kid," the voices were now one, "I eagerly look to see what chaos you can stir up as you walk your path."

The last words spoken, Janus twisted the key, and vanished.

Leaving no trace of him even being there, except for the papers Xander held in his hands.

Xander stared at the empty space that had once been filled with the presence of a god. Shaking his head, his clothes returned to normal, his Hawaiian shirt and jeans on full display and started his trek onwards, towards the future, after having tucked away the precious papers.

He would look in on the property when he had the chance, for now though, he had a world to explore.

Fearlessly, he trudged towards the sun and the adventures that awaited him.

---

It had been a year since Xander had appeared in this realm. He had travelled quite a distance, criss-crossing the great land of America on foot as his divine progenitor had once done on his journey with Tripitaka.

It had been hard at first, his warrior training with Giles, despite having great elements of endurance within it, doing little for a young man who wasn't use to walking from sunrise to sunset. But he had pulled through easily enough, the memories of his Father (someone far more worthy of the title than Tony had ever been) aiding him, as well as his enhanced body.

He saw many wonders. The Grand Canyon. Yosemite. The Everglades. Even drifting up to the border to see Niagra Falls.

All the while, he spent a portion of his time dodging or fighting monsters, spirits, thugs and truancy officers.

Pathetically easy for the latter two. The former two, not so much.

Especially when said beings tend to either overreact to, or misinterpret, the actions of this young man.

Case in point, a certain incident in Lexington, Kentucky.

FLASHBACK

Crash!

That was the sound of a previously airborne crate meeting the solid steel wall of the warehouse, shattering into splinters as it did so.

"I said I was sorry," a young male voice called desperately, it's owner diving low under a conveyor belt as another crate was sent whistling for his skull.

Crash!

"Not go-oo-oo-od enough!" a female voice, pissed and angry, yelled at the cowering male, almost seeming to neigh like a horse in anger.

The sound of metal screeching, being torn from it's moorings in protest, made the male pale heavily, and desperately focus.

An image appeared in his mind. Four splayed legs, round rubbery discs on the toes, wide golden eyes and a tongue that could reach out and lick them. As well as a tail, couldn't forget the tail.

The image firmly in mind, the young man exerted his will.

And changed.

One moment, there was a black haired youth, barely even in their teens, cowering beneath a factory conveyor belt in a shipping warehouse, and in the next...

The roar of equine anger filled the air as the other conveyor belt was brought down with an almighty crash and boom, like the smiting of a god's hammer, crushing any and all beneath it.

A tall statured being, perhaps seven feet tall if you include the pricked up ears, breathed hard, her chest rising and falling like a bellows, making an intriguing sight for anyone who would have passed by. The clopping of hooves could be heard as she approached the area she had crushed beneath her strength, brown eyes intent on making sure the perverted little imp got his just desserts.

A firm kick of her hoofed feet launched the majority of the debris away, revealing a sight that made her almost growl in rage, her white hair bristling in anger.

The boy was gone. That little imp had vanished!

Before she could blow a gasket, the thunder of hooves was heard, shaking the concrete on which she stood on her two hooves.

Ah! Some help for her to deliver righteous justice on the male who had dared to touch her on her well proportioned rump.

"Sister!" a thundering voice called, recognisable immediately to the young woman.

"Brother!" she called in return, turning away from the debris and facing the entrance to the warehouse, where a herd of her kin gathered, all proudly wearing their 'Kentucky Kicks Ass', 'Unbridled Spirit' or 'It's just that friendly' T-shirts.

Though with the latter showing a horses hind end, things could be taken out of context.

"Don't ever gallop off like that again," her overprotective black haired brother, easily eight feet tall, admonished her as he approached, the rest of her herd smirking at her.

Traitors.

"Who knows what could have happened to you. Maybe the butcher needed new sausages? Or the glue factory might have needed a bit more hoof?"

She felt herself wilt, ashamed, beneath the onslaught of his worrying. She knew she had broken the rules to never be alone, but the boy had deserved a good beating!

As the herd of Ipotanes watched with amusement as their lead stallion dress down his younger sister, out of the crushed debris, crept a small lizard, a gecko in fact, that took one brief look at the imposing shapes of the half-horse, half-human cousins of the centaurs...

And scarpered out of there as fast as his little reptilian legs could carry him, resolving to never, ever, ever, join a congo line, filled with overly sensitive female horses, again.

And stay the Hellmouth out of Kentucky for the near future.

FLASHBACK END

That incident still gave him the shivers and made him a little more gun shy about anything equine from then on.

Stupid, short-tempered, conclusion jumping, fly blown, beasts of burden, may Hostess never bless them with sweet delicacies ever again.

He had even had the...unique... experience of running into Love and War in one of their 'clandestine' rendezvous.

True to form, the ol' Xander luck had created chaos.

FLASHBACK

"Sweet mother of mercy," grumbled Xander as he sat in a quiet corner of the steakhouse, his attention desperately focused on his meal, as tried to ignore the tittering and aroused rumbles of a couple.

On the other side of the restaurant.

He had been quietly enjoying his meal, a simple fare of steak and vegetables, from a little joint in this one horse town in Texas that a kind local had pointed out to him. The steak was cooked perfect, size and quality weren't skimped like you see in the big cities. The sauce, a lovely red wine jus, was the exact right combination of sweet and tart that mixed well with the meat and fresh cut and prepared vegetables.

For a young man who had been walking/jumping/running all day, with heavy weights on to train as he travelled, it was manna from heaven, hitting a spot deep in his stomach in pleasure.

He was only a quarter of a way through this delightful repast, when They had walked in.

With a thunderous roar, like a lion in a rage bellowing its anger down a metal funnel, a veritable flock of motorcycles arrived, parking haphazardly outside the steakhouse, making a mess and kicking up enough dust to bury the pyramids of Giza.

And in they swaggered.

What the normal folk probably saw was intimidating enough. Six men, over six feet tall to a man, more solid than a bank vault door, dressed in the stereotypical biker, chains, studs and leather and Raybans, proceeded in first, roughly shoving other patrons out of the way the two that walked behind them.

Xander however noticed their true nature, stiffening slightly as the scent of bones, dust, earth and hate filled his nostrils. Passing his ruby eyes quickly over them, he struggled not react instinctively, to destroy them immediately, as he saw them for what they were.

The dead.

Glowing yellow eyes, like lanterns, pierced through the shades they wore, embedded in their fleshless skulls. Their gloves covered up most of their hands, but left their bony fingers on full display for one who could see through the Mist. Each false breath they took sounded like a cross between chattering chipmunks and a death rattle, grating on the Monkey King heir's ears.

These, however bad they looked and felt to him, were small potatoes compared to the two behind them.

Again, to the mortals, the male of the pair seemed to be the leader of the bikers. Same clothing, but taller and a bit more solid. His face was twisted in an arrogant sneer, taking everything in and finding it wanting. Behind those sunglasses though, Xander could faintly see the blooming of fire and what he thought was a miniature mushroom cloud like you would see after a huge boom blast.

Xander gritted his teeth, trying to control himself, as the aura of the man clashed subtlety with his own, urging him to fight, to battle.

There was no doubt about it. This man... was Ares, the Greek God of War.

According to Janus, Ares was more bloodthirsty than his counterpart, Mars, while the Roman branch was more dignified and formal. Xander didn't think that any biker was formal, thus it was Ares.

This made his companion's identity also exceedingly obvious.

Hair that seemed to shimmer in the light, subtlety and not-so-subtlety, changing colours with each sway. Eyes that were deep, soulful and never-ending, a kaleidoscope of delight. Curves and assets that were impossibly perfect and skin as clear and unblemished as the most perfect of diamonds. All topped off with that husky, sultry voice that went straight to every man's, and woman's, libido and wrapped in a 'little black dress' combo that was a hair away from becoming completely indecent.

Yes, Aphrodite had left more than a few jaws hanging and tongues unraveling all the way to the floor.

Xander had barely managed to control himself, Ares aura of aggression grating against his control just as much as The Lady of Doves' aura of seduction and fascination. The combined effect of opposing, yet complimentary, forces playing merry havoc on his mental control.

He had desperately focused on his food, wanting to finish and get out of here as swiftly as possible.

Even as he ate, the adulteress and the warrior had quickly gotten themselves seated, their entourage taking seats near them and discouraging anyone trying to get their attention with wrathful glares.

They had then proceeded to make out.

Xander twitched violently as another soft moan and a chuckle was heard from said table, his eyes unfortunately able to see what they were doing even as he concentrated on his food in an attempt to block out the noises.

Don't get him wrong, he didn't mind people making public demonstrations of affection, but there was a line that had to be drawn and never crossed. These two didn't even see the line and had crossed it more than a hundred miles back!

Finally, he had finished his meal, quickly making his way to the counter where a disturbed and somewhat scared cashier waited. A quick exchange of cash and Xander swiftly on his way, focused on getting out of there before the deities became cats in heat.

Then his bad luck struck.

His mind was so preoccupied with escaping the steakhouse turned bordello, he lost control of his tail, letting it loose from being tied around his waist.

Despite his dislike of the show (too much manly one-upmanship) it had some good ideas for those folk with tails.

His tail, swinging freely, was more powerful than many thought, easily able to wield a claymore sword, or even Ruyi Jingu Bang, with ease if necessary. So an errant wooden chair would mean nothing to it, especially without Xander's conscious control of it's power.

Said chair, unconsciously struck hard, skidded back on its rear legs, scraping the floor loudly, and drawing everyone's attention to the sound. Slowing down, the chair hit a small divot in the blow, making it tip completely back. The back rest then came down on a serving tray that hovered half-on half-off of the table, launching the contents into the air.

Some of the contents, little wooden markers that indicate the way the steak was cooked, whether it be rare, medium or other, struck the high ceiling fan, spinning fast in an effort to cool down the restaurant from the hot summer night, which then proceeded to lay down covering fire fit for Vietnam with the wooden projectiles. Coincidentally, these make shift bullets only struck the biker entourage, piercing through the leather they wore and digging into the 'flesh' beneath with a loud rattling noise.

THWAP! THWAP! THWAP!

"Incoming!" yelled one of the older patrons, a war veteran himself, the noise triggering memories he probably wanted left forgotten, launching himself beneath his table as it too was peppered with the markers.

As everyone dove for cover, even the dead, wooden bullets still rained down for several moments.

Then the worst thing happened.

The markers were not the only things on the tray. There was also a nice full bottle of decent Champagne in an ice bucket. It was also launched into the air, separating as they did so. The ice bucket managed to lose the ice as it lift towards the fan, the frozen water meeting the spinning aerial blade.

CLICKACLICKALCLICKA!

The ice launched as well, all aimed for the same target.

"YEEEK!" squealed Aphrodite as she launched herself from her paramours lap as her large cleavage suddenly became a glacier between two mountains, making her dance awkwardly and flutter her extremely short skirt and blouse in an effort to get the solid water out, giving many of the patrons an eyeful of her derriere and breasts.

Her squealing and squirming was halted by a loud CLANG! as the heavy empty ice bucket landed fully on her head, covering it completely and knocking her over on her ass.

Right on top of the extremely pointy and sharp steak markers.

The resulting scream as she leapt up nearly shattered the windows even as her head and body lurched forward, trying to ease the pain...

BONG!

Right into the lip of the table, the bucket resounding in the dazed Goddess of Love's ears, even as he rattled brainpan finally gave up the ghost, sending her into the darkness.

Unconscious.

The bottle, on the other hand, continued to flip end over end across the room, in an arc that was similar, but lower than the bucket, terminating in a spot that Aphrodite had just left.

It was known from that day forth that the gruff and rough Ares was able to sing soprano, with a little help.

Ares shriek of agony as the bottom on the champagne bottle landed square on his family jewels out did his 'friend's' squeals and screams and managed to crack the glasses close to him like rotten eggs.

He hunched forward, his hands going to his throbbing balls, in an attempt to lessen the pain.

POP!

His gaping mouth, which was hanging over the Tartarus-damned bottle, was suddenly filled with an exploding cork, as the pressure from the spinning pushed the liquid within the bottle against what was holding it back, lodging it in his throat, making him gag, even as said contents doused him in a violent froth.

Still gagging and being sprayed with Champagne, he fell backwards, tipping his chair over with a crash, disappearing from the line of sight of everyone.

From Xander's tail striking the chair to everyone cowering beneath tables and the humiliation of both God and Goddess, was only a matter of moments. Moments that would forever be immortalised in the mind of the heir to the Monkey King. It was like a train wreck, he had frozen still in disbelief, almost out the door, and watched in complete horror as it happened.

After a moments silence, broken only by the high-pitched groans of the War God as he struggled to get back up, Xander quickly made his escape, sprinting full out into the night.

As he hit the town limits a mere minute later, he thought he could hear the almighty (soprano) roar of an angered and humiliated deity calling for blood and vengeance.

Xander only ran faster.

END FLASHBACK

That had been about six months ago and he had been avoiding any of the War God's minions ever since. Apparently, the muscle head had been able to get a small glimpse of him. Not enough for the warrior to identify him, but enough to be able to give a crude description and post a large reward for information leaving to his whereabouts in the Olympus Newspaper.

Aphrodite had done the same, much to Xander's chagrin. He could deal with bounty hunters and Ares, if he needed to, they generally spoke the same language. Fists, steel and blood, even if Xander wasn't the one to strike first unless the situation called for it.

With Aphrodite though? The only weapons she needed were her words and her face and she could bring absolute Hell down on him better than her lover ever could.

There is a damn good reason that the female was the more dangerous of the species.

Thankfully, he had managed to dodge any and all hunters out for his hide, the 72 Transformations getting a real workout and proving to be an absolute life-saver.

Still, he managed to keep up his travelling without much issue, which led him to be currently in Maine.

As a Cali boy, born and bred, and never leaving the Hellmouth, he had never seen snow in real life, documentaries or snow cones being the closest he had ever got. So, as a change of pace, he decided he would have a white Christmas this year, just out of curiosity.

Of course, he was still a Cali boy, so being near the sea was a must. His time on the swim team had been rather enjoyable, even if he nearly become the Monster from the Black Lagoon. He had always felt more drawn to the water since then, even if the formula had been flushed out of his system.

As a result, he had chosen a small island, Mount Desert he believed it was called, to abide for the holidays, in a town called Bar Harbour.

It had been rather interesting. The slick roads, the cold air, the gentle snow falling upon the ground. It had been rather invigorating, even if he had gotten a few strange looks for his attire as he walked around. Silk pants, sandals, a half vest that bared his muscular chest to the cold air, shades of his Father, wasn't something anyone would expect to see someone dressed in during a snowy winter.

He didn't mind, and simply kept walking, eying the roaring and pounding surf with pleasure, unbothered by the freezing water, as he walked along the coastline, the cliffs rising high above.

He blinked as he looked up, wondering if he was hallucinating.

That was the only reason he could possibly see a massive helicopter gunship hovering adjacent to the cliff and directly above him, right?

...

Xander sighed as he summoned his staff, twirling it until it was full size, vibrating almost eagerly to do battle.

"Ah well," he mused, as a cloud appeared beneath his boots, lifting him slowly and stealthily up the cliff, "nothing for it."

His ascent was interrupted by a loud scream, audible even over the chopper's rotors, now that he was paying attention. He glanced up again...

And was greeted by the face of a pale skinned, black haired girl, her eyes closed and terrified out of her wits, colliding with him.

"Ooomph!" Xander grunted, as the air rushed out of him, before reacting lightning quick to keep ahold of the young lady, hugging her tightly to his chest as he let go of his staff to float beside him with an exertion of his will, preventing her from falling further.

But she still kept screaming, making his ears ring.

Time to end that.

"Oi, Lady!" he yelled in her ear, making her start and, much to Xander's ear's relief, quickly silence her herself. Then she opened her eyes.

Black as night, the depths seeming endless, swimming slightly with tears of fear and yet, there was a fire in those depths. A coruscating rainbow fire that Xander had only seen in the most precious of opals.

Xander suddenly had a feeling of deja vu as he slightly lost his train of thought as he stared into those precious orbs.

Though why did he think he was missing something here?

---

Bianca di Angelo had been having a very strange day, one that had been started by meeting the green-eyed boy, Percy, and had then continued to fall down the slippery slope into the depths of weirdness, insanity and rabbits having tea parties.

Well, the last may be a bit far, but Wonderland seemed to be only a step away for her now, especially considering that her vice-principal had turned out to be a monster from her brother's little game.

Boy had that been a shock and a half. It had been bandied about the dormitories that he was a monster of a teacher, but she didn't believe this was what they had meant.

The strange boy and the monster had thrown words back and forth then, even as the boy had stood in front of them, obviously trying to protect them for some reason.

Son of Poseidon? Great Stirring? What did all these mean?!

The boy's plan to jump of the cliff had met her complete disbelief. Was he stupid?! There was no way any of them could have survived that!

Then the cavalry had arrived.

A girl that was invisible, which was pretty cool. A nervous looking boy that wore a weird bulbous cap in bright colours, that looked like he had a rainbow sack on his head, and, amazingly, a set of goat legs. And lastly, a fierce looking girl with spiky hair and dressed in chains and black.

Considering the terrifying face, the horrifying shield and the damn scary spear that looked more like a bolt of lightning she wielded, she could have ruled over the rough and crazy girls in Westover Hall within the day she arrived.

Of course, that did her no good when her charge towards the monster, a manticore according to the invisible blond and her little brother, was halted by the blinding glare of a helicopter's, a military gunship, sudden arrival and dazzlingly bright lights. The monster/Dr. Thorn/manticore or whatever he was, took the opportunity to slam the lightning woman away with a swift strike of his massive paw, sending her tumbling, before it leapt toward her, Nico and Percy.

"I have you, dark spawn!" Thorn roared as he came on, jaws wide in a cruel grin filled with malice and pleasure.

Percy was thrown away as he tried to defend, his shield shattering under the powerful onslaught but managing to save his butt, his foot catching on her little brother's aviator jacket as he flew, dragging the kid with him.

Leaving only her to face the beast's power.

Or so she had thought.
The formerly invisible girl, her blonde hair flying and grey eyes as hard as steel, leap to her defence, somehow reappearing and trying to get her out of the line of fire.

She was swatted aside, to within a couple of feet of the cliff edge, even as the tail of Thorn whipped, stinger gleaming murderously as it plunged forward toward her, making her flinch, only for it to pass by her cheek, pierce her hoody...

And freeze, as if time itself had stopped it, as a noise rent the air.

The clear and deep sound of a hunting horn.

As close as she was to the beast, able to count all three rows of it's serrated teeth, she couldn't miss the frission of fear and worry as it passed along it's face.

The next few seconds were hectic. The monster leaping, her still hanging from it's scorpion-like tail, toward the edge of the cliffs and where the helicopter waited and the blonde girl lay panting in pain, dodging whistling streaks of missiles, arrows, all the while, fired from the bows of several girls, barely her own age, dressed in silver.

It landed roughly, several arrows already buried in it's flank and legs, leaving it barely able to move and growling in pain.

"This is against Ancient Laws," it roared, directed at one of the younger girls, her auburn hair in a pony tail and her oddly moonish yellow eyes glaring at Thorn in anger. To Bianca, there was an air about her, something different that the rest of the silver girls lacked that she was able to pick up on immediately.

"Not so," she answered cooly, "The hunting of all wild beasts are within my sphere. And you, foul creature, are a wild beast," her cool expression shifted to a scowl, "I command that you release the maiden you hold hostage, in return, I offer you a day's clemency to escape my wrath before I hunt you down. Personally."

Thorn growled ferally, as if insulted and enraged, "You want her?" he snarled, low and deep, his body gathering itself to pounce, making the silver girl's bow strings grow tighter and the other group who, except for the still insensate blond girl beside her, had regathered themselves, weapons drawn, with her brother protectively behind them as he looked at her, worried and fearful, even as the goat boy held him back firmly.

"Then go get her!" he snarled, the tail she dangled from whipping at speeds that made the world blur to her.

And threw her over and down the cliff.

Bianca screamed in fear as she plunged, closing her in order to not see the rocks coming. Faintly, she thought she could hear the desperate and despairing scream of her name from her brother's throat as she fell.

She despaired, knowing that she would die, knowing that she leave her brother, so young and innocent, all alone in the world. He may be a bit of a pain at times, and it sometimes wore on her to be the one to look after him, but he was still her brother. She still loved him, more than anything else in the world.

And now she would leave him behind.

Her screams of fear became wails of agony, as she pictured that future for her sibling in her last moments.
She felt the sudden stop, crashing into something as solid as stone, and kept screaming, even as it embraced her in it's deadly embrace.

Though it was oddly without pain and smelt like a cologne she vaguely remembered smelling from one of the more competent and kindly male teachers at Westover, one that had been handsome, young and respected by the rest of her class.

Many were sad when they were informed he had left, opening the way for Dr. Thorn.

"Oi Lady!" a voice yelled gruffly, even if the tone was that of a child's.

Surprise filled her, making her silent and also making her snap her eyes open. Looking directly into another's.

His skin was healthily tanned, as if he enjoyed being out in the sun, and laughter filled his ruby red eyes, even as they looked at her with surprise, concern and confusion. His hair, sopping wet from sleet, snow and spray, was somehow black and spiky.

All in all, he was striking handsome. His firm grip on her making her blush, acutely aware of the taut muscles she could feel that had no place being on someone her own age. Devilish thoughts ran amok in her mind as the adrenaline from the throw and her fright wore off.

"Finally," he said in relief, "no offence intended lady, but your yells hurt my sensitive ears."

She blushed deeper, somehow managing to squeak out a 'sorry'. Lord in Heaven, she was so embarrassed!

"Now," he continued, jerking his chin up the cliff face she had just been thrown over, "do you mind telling me what's the what up there?"

Bianca paled as her attention refocused, forgetting about her embarrassment and current predicament, and quickly blurted out the situation to her saviour.

"Thereisafightgoingon. Weirdboyinvisiblegirlgoatboyslightninwoman. .Teacheramonsterattackusneedhelpplease?" she babbled incoherently and pleading.

Apparently, this was enough, as her saviour's face brightened in understanding, mumbling something about 'willow babble', and became resolved and hardened, clenching her closer to him with a squeak of protest.

"Hold on," he warned as Bianca felt a feeling of power fill the air, like she was standing next to a transformer, practically feeling the air crackle, "this is going to be fast."

Before she could say a word, the world seemed to blur again, this time in reverse, as, in some manner, much to her surprise as she looked over a muscular shoulder, the boy flew up the side of the cliff rapidly.

A blink of time passed, and then the cliffs disappeared, revealing the clearing she was thrown from and the sorry state of the fighters, silver and previous.

Another moment, shorter than before, passed as her saviour, who she still didn't know the name of, took in the situation.

And acted.

Nico di Angelo, unknowing child of Hades, stared in disbelief and horror as he saw his sister thrown to her death to the rocks below. Even as he screamed desperately for his sister, the satyr (which his Mythomagic obsessed subconscious felt was absolutely cool) held him back.

"You monster," Nico heard the verbal silver girl say, her voice trembling in rage, even as the rest of her group pulled their bow strings even tighter, masks of ugly hate blooming on their otherwise pretty faces.

Nico didn't pay much more attention, his mind spiralling into the depths as a feeling, a force, he had never felt before began to surge forth, consuming his mind. It was powerful, enriched in the darkness of his despair and sorrow, swallowing that sorrow making it it's own, making it stronger.

His mind became focused, like a laser, wanting only one thing.

Vengeance.

He could not bring his sister back to life. No one could, nothing could.

But he could still tear apart the bastard that had killed her.

You want your vengeance? The dark force within him seemed to speak, a soft croon, a velvety delight, alluring, hiding the sharp steel it truly was. If Nico was less innocent he would have called it seductive, the voice of a succubus luring her prey to her bed. I can give you it to you. The power to take your vengeance, to kill her murderer.

Nico felt the world seem to darken, narrowing in focus, until all he could see was the monster Thorn, idly noting he was holding another girl in his tail, the blond one who had tried to save his sister before.

Black fire seemed to fill his veins, making him burn and sweat where he stood, as he could feel the light inside of Thorn, lights that he could sense in everyone in the clearing, but vastly different, pulsing slightly, like a heartbeat.

It was something he had discovered some time ago, an ability to feel these 'lights' instinctively, allowing him to feel if someone was behind him, if someone was in the next room. It was an interesting trick, enabling him to sneak around after curfew and other little things, but he always thought there was something more to it. Something more grand, more powerful.

Something more deadly.

This seemed to be the something more. Some part of him, deep deep down, told him he could reach out. Reach out and touch Thorn's crimson 'light'.

And snuff it out like a candle.

He just needed the power, the strength, something that force could provide.

Yes, the voice sang, in joy, in triumph, as Nico began drifting into it's metaphorical embrace, to held to it's bosom and fed the milk of the dark matrons, Vengeance and Madness, come to me, it crooned as he drew closer, come into my arms, and let us avenge your sister.

Together.

Lost in pain, anguish, sorrow and consumed by a rising anger and rage, he stretched out to that force, reaching for the power it promised, even as his chillingly empty dark eyes never moved from the form of the taunting monster Thorn, even as the satyr threw him to the ground in order for the swift flight of bullets from the chopper to miss him.

Vengeance would be his.

C-CRASH!

The sound, loud enough to shatter the air and knock snow off of trees, threw him out of the fugue state he was in and slamming him violently back to reality and awareness of the events happening around him and losing his tunnel focus on Thorn.

Faintly, he thought he could hear wails of agony, ones you hear when someone, after everything they have done, all they have sacrificed, has been for naught, falling short of their ideal, their dream. Making them shatter like a delicate pane of glass.

It happened quite frequently in banks, he heard.

But that wasn't important, what was important, was the source of the almighty sound.

A flick of his dark eyes showed Nico the cause, though how it had happened, he had no clue.

The helicopter, one of the newer models from the United States military, had been pierced clean though, from aft to fore, by a long, thick, pole. Skewering it like a shish-kabob or a fish on a spear. It had buckled everything in it's way, shattering thick, armoured, metal walls like it was tin foil.

It hung there, rotors still turning furiously, like an insect pinned in the air. The pole had also pierced it, at just the right angle, to pin the chopper to the cliff face, unable to move no matter how vigorously the rotors churned.

Helpless.

Following the pole to it's apparent origin, out of dull curiosity if nothing else, his eyes suddenly became more filled with life, their light restored, at what he beheld.

There, in mid air, seeming standing on a golden cloud, clasped in the arms of an odd stranger, was his sister.

His living sister.

His bright, breathing, living sister.

Anger and rage cooled, disappearing almost completely, as his senses touched the familiar 'light' of his sister.

All was well now, what ever else happened.

He was alive, his sister was alive, and they were together.

Nothing else mattered.

Period.

---

What is this? Thorn the Manticore snarled in his mind, shuffling along with edge of the cliff with a wince as he took in the new player to this clusterfuck.

Red eyes pierced Thorn's from beneath furrowed brows and wet spiky hair, as their owner, clutching that damnable alive dark spawn to him protectively, floated, impossibly, on a small golden cloud. Clutched in the hand not holding the girl, was one end of a long battle staff, the other of which was treating his getaway vehicle like a spiked to the wall.

The ruby eyed boy, for he was barely a teenage brat, hardened his face, as if he had found something he didn't like.

"You're a real piece of work aren't you, Spikey?" The brat growled, letting go off the staff and floating down with the brat, heading towards the surprised and distrustful Huntress and her troupe, never taking his eyes off of the monster.

Thorn narrowed his slitted eyes, not understanding why the brat had voluntarily disarmed himself, leaving him helpless. At least, it would have, if he didn't have that foolish woman dangling from his tail.

The boy landed gently beside the Huntress, who watched him warily, even as the cloud abruptly disappeared, leaving the boy to hold up the smaller girl in the cold snow.

"I can see the scores of thousands of innocents that have fallen to you," the growl was now a brassy rumble, anger and rage blooming like flowers in the spring, releasing the girl gently.

The female death brat stumbled slightly back, Thorn noticed the weakness in the knees. Possibly from shock and terror. If she was closer to him, she would have been easy prey.

But not when she was so close to the Huntress. Not when this unknown figure stood before her in protection, power coming off him in palpable waves.

The brat was no god, not by a long shot, but damn if he wasn't closer than any other half-blood he had seen in this modern era.

"Their lingering energy, touched by death, stains you, a fetid rotten smell that perfectly mirrors your blackened, rotten heart. If you even have one."

Thorn coughed a laugh, sounding more leonine than human, "what is your point, Brat?" He sneered, dangling the helpless girl slightly with shake. Movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention for a moment, showing the shaking and angered child of Poseidon looking ready to do something impetuous. Maybe he could use that?

"There isn't one really," the boy said with a shrug, making Thorn, and everyone else in the clearing blink in confusion, "I just wanted to distract you."

A moment passed as Thorn processed that last comment before reacting, whirling toward his flanks.

But it was already too late.

Erupting out of the snow at his feet, an exact copy on the boy leapt at him, his fist already swinging and moving too fast for his claws or fangs to catch.

Crack!

A thunderous blow, one that made Thorn think the kid was Heracles in disguise, was cracked over his jaw. At the same moment, another copy, wielding a sword, leapt from just below the lip of the cliff, sliced off his tail at the base, caught the girl and said tail, and carried them both, in one massive leap, towards her comrades.
Safe.

The force of the first blow, as powerful as it was, crushed legendary flesh and pulped mystical bone , and sent Thorn flying, teeth scattering like an ivory rain. His body crashed into the cockpit of the chopper, shattering the windscreen and killing the pilots with his mass.

And still he kept going.

Blowing through the pilots, he crashed into the hold next, wiping out the team there, scattering them like pins in a bowling alley, many of them shoved out of the open hold doors and into free fall to the unforgiving sea and rocks below, death awaiting with eager hands to collect the souls of they who dared to touch, to harm, what is the King's.

And still he continued.

His momentum had slowed slightly, but he still retained enough to carve through the storage compartment like a hot knife through butter, guns and ammo and rockets scattered tumbling in his wake.

Finally reaching the aft panel of the craft, he was stopped, leaving a five inch deep Manticore impression in said panel in the process.

Thorn groaned in pain, dazed from the strike like he was hit by the Father of Monsters himself.

"What in the Styx?" He growled woozily, trying to stand on his own paws, only to get dizzy and fall flat on his stomach. Again.

Thump.

And again.

Thump.

And again.

Several sulphurous curses later, he was finally on his feet, wobbly and very wounded, but still standing.

"Ha," he grunted in satisfaction, "it will take more than a powerful whelp to keep me down."

He grinned slightly, exposing a great deal of his now missing teeth, before freezing. The sound of liquid dripping echoed in his ears ominously, as did the hiss of escaping gas. Equally ominous, was the scent of fuel entering his sensitive nose.

As well as the scent of smoke and flame.

Realising what was happening, his mane fell flat and his head was lowered in resignation, "damn brat," he growled, even as the flame scent grew stronger, closer, and the scent of fuel also increased, "you will pay for this."

BOOOOOOOOOOM!

---

The Huntress stared at the explosion of the mortal aircraft, wondering what in the name of her Uncle had just happened.
A low whistle has heard, coming from the pursed lips of the enigmatic male that had, apparently, saved the young maiden Artemis was going to recruit.

"Not bad," he said with a smug grin, "wasn't quite what I was aiming for, but not bad."

"You should have done it yourself then," the, unbelievably to the Huntress, seeming copy of the odd boy, for her senses told her it was, somehow, not a true being, said with a grumble, "I don't quite have the strength that you do."

"Quit ye whining," the odd boy, the original one (she hoped) said with a wave of a dismissive hand and a wild grin, obviously not taking the comment too seriously, "now, in the words of The G-man, 'bloody bugger off'."

"Aye, boss" the clone(?) said with a salute, a wink and a puff of smoke.

Disappearing.

The other clone, the one that had saved the child of Athena, also disappeared in the same manner.

There was silence in the clearing, as everyone stared at the oblivious stranger, who was ambling to edge of the cliff and peering down, looking for something.

Artemis had finally had enough. This stranger, full of such power and skill, was unknown to her. Unknowns are a threat.

Especially if they are male.

Time to get some answers.

"Boy!" She ordered, trying to get his attention, but was interrupted.

"One moment, Ma'am," he said, holding up a hand in a universal 'wait' gesture, stunning the goddess at his audacity. She could already feel her Hunt's shock and the beginnings of it's change into anger, "I just need to get my staff back."

Before she could retort, the boy extended his other hand over the cliff, where the mortal aircraft had plunged down after the explosion, taking part of the cliff face and this annoying boy's weapon, and seemed to focus.

A fragment of a moment later, Artemis' sharp ears heard the screeching, groaning and crashing of metal in quick succession, followed by a long black blur that whipped into the boy's hand with a meaty smack.

The boy smiled and made a couple of fast twirls of the returned staff, before it vanished from her sight. Returning to it's Mist form perhaps? Still, the staff is an odd weapon to carry for a warrior, lacking the sharp edges needed to kill the enemy quickly.

Though there was definitely more to it than meets the eye, the ability it showed in skewering the mortal flying machine had proved that effectively.

"There we go," the odd boy said with a nod, "Now," the boy turned back toward her, his startling deep red ones meeting her own moon-like orbs, "you were about to say something, Ma'am."

"Indeed," he voice was cold, remembering the slight dismissal he had given her in order to retrieve his weapon. She was satisfied that he seemed to pale a little at her tone, and even more when he finally noticed the readied bow strings of her Hunters and the wrathful faces they wore, "tell me quickly, boy, what is your name?"

He seemed to regathered his composure at that, much to her grudging approval. Not many would be able to do so in the face of her Hunter's, and her own, wrath.

"My name is Alexander Lavelle... Harris," seemed to pause at the last name, grumbling about it, but it was still a truthful answer, perhaps he disliked the name? "It is an honour to meet your acquaintance, Lady Huntress," he finished with a deep, but surprisingly sincere, bow.

A subtle gesture of her hand had her Hunters relaxing their bows slightly, barely visible. She could feel no ill intent on him, a little trepidation perhaps, but that was par for the course when she met a male who knew whom she was, but the sincerity and respect shined through like a torch cutting through the darkness.

Perhaps he would be a tolerable boy, if only for a time.

"Campers!" She called, "go with my Hunters as they set up camp. It is my wish, as the Goddess Artemis, to discuss with you the events of this night."

One of the boys, the sea spawn that had caused a ruckus two years ago she believed open his mouth to object, before the elbow of the blond girl halted him, "of course, Lady Artemis," the blond girl said with a nod of respect, dragging the boy along as she, the satyr (who kept giving her looks, which she ignored) and her half sister went with the Hunters who had obeyed her unspoken orders.

"I would also have further words with you," she directed at the strange boy, even as the prospective Hunter she was looking for and her brother trudged toward the odd boy, clinging tightly to each other and looking not willing to let go any time soon.

She grimaced inwardly. The chances of Bianca di Angelo joining the Hunt now were slim to none with the events of tonight. Still, she could be patient, a few more years didn't mean much too an immortal.

"So I figured," this strange boy said with a sigh, "though if you could, Lady Artemis? Please refer to me as Xander," the boy smiled nostalgically, just exposing slightly larger canines in his mouth. An odd feature and not one she had encountered outside those of monster heritage, but she withheld her judgement. Even with what she saw tonight, the power he displayed, she still felt it was only the tip of the iceberg for this boy.

And a hunter never stalks unknown prey.

"It was the name a childhood friend gave me, as she was not quite able to pronounce my name properly," he quirked a small grin, slightly mischevious, "with the red hair you have, it reminded me of her."

Again she could the sincerity, even if there was some mild humour, but there was no disrespect or teasing. Actually, she could a slight sorrow, a sadness buried deep. Perhaps this female friend of her had passed? Well, he had saved a maiden tonight, so perhaps this small request would be granted. It's not likely she would ever see the boy again after this, right?

"Very well, Xander," she answered, turning on her heel, even as the di Angelo siblings reached the boy, the younger sibling throwing himself at the boy and practically worshipping the boy in thanks for saving his sister, while his sister looked on in amusement, "come!" She snapped, "I would,have my answers before it gets later than it already is."

All of them, even Xander, were quick to follow. She smirked to herself. She still had it.