So, this is a new story of mine, still writing my other story, Wolf Girl, and as soon as I finish that I'll start chapter 1 of this story. I plan on finishing Wolf Girl over this Christmas Break, but I wont be able to write much for it beofre that because I have winter finals and will be studying for that.

If you haven't read wolf Girl I suggest you do, its a Twilight Percy crossover.

Anyway, I'm not sure how long it will take me to make the next update for this story, a couple of months, a year, it all depends on when I finish my other story and how long it takes me to get ahead in this one.

This is just the prologue, sort of a background/place to start off from.

Prologue

A boy stood on the top of a hill, overlooking a muddy dirt path that led through the winding twisting mint green trees of the forrest. He wasn't very old, he didn't have much experience in the worlds life lessons that came from living it. He was still a fool. But that had been the best thing possible for a child such as himself. Ignorance to the inconceivable torture of the underworld, he didn't see it, not with the eyes of righteousness.

He saw it as home, it's where he had grown up, the only thing he had known.

If only he had known.

But it hadn't been all bad, in fact it was quite the opposite. He had a father, no mother (she had been killed by them). A father that would play games with him, just as any good man should. Yet all the games had to do with war, and they always, always, had a lesson.

The gods were evil. Without a shadow of doubt.

Sometimes it felt less like playing and more like training.

And soon, that's what it became, playtime came to an end. Stopping with the abruptness of a broken record, one day, his father hadn't come with that warm smile and costumes that they always wore when playing pretend. He had entered the dimly red lit room with a shining black sword and a grin.

"It's time Percy." Had been all he said in a deep rumbling voice.

And so it had started, the end of childhood and the beginning of something new. And he learned quickly. And it pleased his father, and being the young boy eager to be the best in the mans fiery eyes, he fought with every ounce of strength,

Every

Single

Ounce.

Always under those proud eyes and the ever present large, sharp grin.

He was unstoppable, training on land and in air. With large sweeping midnight black wings that pushed the air down in powerful strokes. Reaching out past his outstretched arms by a foot, they could fold in on themselves and onto his back, pushing into it they transformed into something like thick sticky tar, which seeped into his skin and the ink tattoos that covered his back to his shoulders.

He flew with the monsters of nightmares, his friends, though there was always that subtle thing that separated them. He was a Prince, the son of the king. And he could control his friends too, he never did it on purpose, but sometimes, when he got really emotional, he couldn't help it. The darkness would leak out from under him, shadows solidifying into solid night. The beasts would get a dark glaze over their eyes, and with a strange methodical swiftness they would pander to his every whim.

Step, squish, the mud oozed out from under his dirty boot. Another step, it pulled him back, the mud. Sticking and pulling,

Stop!

It seemed to say to the boy.

Turn back!

But he wouldn't, couldn't, because he wasn't just doing this for his father in the pit. He was doing this for revenge of his mother, the source of his hatred. She had been struck down with a blinding flash of sharp energy. Ashes scattered into the wind. The boy had been the target-something too powerful to be controlled. But they had been too late, his father had already saved him and brought him the to the Pit.

Home.

And so the boy walked, slow squishing steps through the wet mud under thundering grey sky's. Past the gnarled bark of tall trees, branches overshadowing the path covering it in sweet darkness.

His eyes were like a candy cane, a swirling deep metallic red surrounded by impossible freshly fallen snow. The pupils were coal black, with a slight shine of light glinting off them that twinkled, a lonely star in space. He had the tan of a surfer, but it didn't come from the sun, it came from fire, the red hot blistering fire that he had grown up with. His smooth muscles from constant work strained against the black shirt that constrained his body, his smile with pearly white teeth could melt the heart of many.

The boys plan was almost in action, everything he had trained for-leading up to this moment. He would learn of the enemy's actions-and his father would win the war.

Simple, easy, they'd never see it coming.

It was time to infiltrate Camp-Half Blood.

So, should I continue? or try something else?

Hopefully your exited to read this as I am to write it.

I only wrote this first part before finishing my other story because I didn't want to loose my train of thought.

Anyway- I'll see you all in the distant future.

R&R

-CreativeMode