Hey all,

So, this is my first piece of creative writing in a long while, but I'm trying to find a new outlet besides gaming (finished my third playthrough of CP2077 and kinda bored; just waiting for an update).

I used to be really in-touch with the Percy Jackson universe and fell in love with it, but I will admit that it's been a hot minute since I read it. This story was born over the course of a number of years and the desire to make an OC of my own. I used to go to sleep every night and slowly add more and more layers mentally to the story and see if it would fit. I've undergone several renditions of this, but never made a record of it until tonight because I thought "why not?"

I'm mainly posting to see if this gets any traction at all, but I'm hoping that through creative writing I'll reconnect a little bit with the kid I was who have a vivid imagination; an escape from reality from time to time can be good, especially in the chaotic circumstances which we find ourselves in these days. Although it may not seem like it, if I do continue this (depending on how this submission is received), I do intend to make this a PJ fanfiction, although it won't be focussing explicitly on Perseus.

This particular chapter is quite dark, so just keep that in mind.

Black clouds filled the sky, with cracks of light between them coloured a sickening sulfur yellow. Cold rain poured relentlessly and unceasingly, lightly flooding the streets and drenched the rags she wore. The sepia light from the streetlamps lining the footpaths was barely enough to illuminate the street, and the tall, oppressive buildings home to the residents of the area stood lifeless; uncaring, indifferent. The pitter patter of hurried, stumbling footsteps was heard amongst the rain crashing against the cobblestones. Pitter patter. Pitter patter. Her blood-soaked and dirt-covered clothes weighed heavy on her body and shoulders, stuck to her like a second skin. As she went, she continually cast frantic glances over her shoulder, and into the alleyways which hid unknown and frightening terrors in their shadows. She ached from a dozen bruises she bore over her body. Her every ragged breath felt like fire in her lungs. Every exhale left a cloud of white that lingered, if only for a fleeting moment. Any one of them could be her last. Sleep deprivation and hunger could not keep her still; she had to leave. Not for her own life, but for the infant boy she cradled in her arms, wrapped in blankets that too were soaked.

A shadow stepped out from around the corner; the silhouette cast an intimidating and oppressive figure when compared to the woman's own slender frame. She halted in her tracks. As she turned to go back the way she came, two more shapes came into view. Malice and ill-intent emanated from them. Though they were human, at the same time they weren't. Inside their hearts was something devoid of all humanity. There was no love nor empathy; only the selfish desire for pleasure; at any expense. With adversaries before and behind, her only hope was to run across the road into the alleyway in an effort to lose them. They watched her go a moment, before following slowly behind her. They were in no rush. In the alleyway she was met with a steel, mesh fence that barred her passage. She searched for a lock, rattled and pounded at the gate but it was all futile. Trapped. Time stood still; all was silent. No more running, it seemed. She slowly turned to face the opening of the alleyway and there they stood; her three ex-captors. She looked adoringly at the child in her arms. She had not birthed him; she had found him abandoned and took him in as her own. That was when times were simpler. Of all the evilness and wickedness in the world, that she had been subjected to for as long as she could remember, this child was the one thing that brought her joy; that brought her peace. She kissed his forehead; tears streaming down her cheeks and sobbing quietly, before laying him amongst the garbage lining the alleyway.

"I'll go," she said. "I'm sorry for running away. Please, I'll go back with you; I promise. Just… please…"

One final bid to save her son. Her life, she knew, was forfeit. She would not survive tonight, and in a way that was a respite for her. But her son at least, as long as he was still breathing had hope for a future.

"We're tired of this game you keep playing," the one in front said. His voice was cruel and sadistic. "You run, we catch you; it's getting old. We're gonna have our fun here, and then… well, they'll find what's left of you tomorrow."

They began to approach her. Despite her throat which felt like it was bleeding she cried and shouted for anyone to come and help her; pleaded. If one person could be roused from their slumber and come to her aid she might have a chance, but no such luck. Even traversing the streets, not a soul had been willing to open their doors for her and take her in. Of course; who would want to take in a young, battered girl and a fatherless child. They closed in on her and the terror of her situation continually set in.

/ / /

A man, adorned with a trench coat and portobello fedora stood in the opening to an alleyway. He was dressed all in black and shadows seemed to circle around him. Some would call him handsome, but then again, everyone has their tastes. Raven black hair and a clean-shaven face were all that could be seen of his features; his hat obscuring his eyes. He radiated a menacing aura, though not intentionally. In reality, he was more or less indifferent to the happenings around him, most of the time. This one night, as he often did, he was wondering the abandoned streets of this pathetic town. Underground it could be so humid and stuffy, so it was good to get out. He had seen the woman flee and out of curiosity, decided to follow her from a distance. That of course lead him here, to the alleyway.

The assailants beat the woman and tore at her clothes. Despite her attempts to fend them off, she was no match for the three men who towered above her. All the while, the shadowy figure at the entrance remained, contemplating whether to interfere or not. In between his attacks one of the men looked up from the woman and noticed the man at the entrance.

"Who are you?" he asked.

He had made up his mind; very rarely did he interfere with the business of humans, but on this night he was feeling charitable. He slowly raised his arm to point to the man who had spoken.

"You'll burn," he said. His aim shifted so that he was pointing at another. "You'll drown." Finally, his gaze set upon the last of them: "you'll hang."

Distracted from their hunt, the gang of three had a new prey. This fool who got in the way of their fun. They approached him, fully intending to gut him like a pig and spread his intestines on the road. They stabbed him, and yet he didn't so much as stumble. No grunts, no flinches. Confused, they tried again. This time, with their blades sitting in his abdomen, neck and heart, shadows seeped from the wounds and began consuming their blades. Alarmed the men tried to remove their hands and pull back but it was too late; shadow reached their hands and was gradually enveloping them too. Screams of agony. The smell of burning skin. Pleas for mercy. All these things didn't really phase the trenched man. Eyes bulged and veins popped. The three violently shook until they had been completely enshrouded. Lightning struck, and the shadows dissipated into black, flaky ash that blew away in the wind.

/ / /

The man stood above her, where she lay in a pool of blood, diluted by the unending rain from above. She gasped for every breath, her chest weakly rising and falling. Her eyes fluttered, and she was fading in and out of consciousness.

He knelt down and studied her face. She wouldn't live long.

"What is your name, young one?" he inquired.

"So… Sofia…" she faintly replied, barely audible. She didn't give a last name. Last names were for those who had families, and she didn't have one. "My boy… please… take him…"

The sounds of a baby's cries could be heard over the rain. He looked to the infant who still lay undisturbed in the garbage and picked him up gently, cradling him in his arms. Black hair graced a white face. Eyes as deep and black as the abyss could be seen in the gaps between screams.

"What have you named him, child?"

She gasped for air continuously. "Ivan…" she weakly said. Any moment now.

In her final moments her eyes regained their clarity, and she looked up to lay her eyes upon the man. From his softened expression, she had guessed that he would take the boy in. Gratitude filled her heart, and she made eye contact with the man. His eyes burned with hellfire. Definitely not human, and yet his presence for some reason brought her comfort and peace. She would die soon.

"Rest now, Sofia. You will not have to fight anymore."

She saw honesty in his eyes, and so her eyes fluttered closed, and she died with a soft smile adorning her lips.

He rose, turned around and walked away. This had been an oddly eventful night. As he left, the wounds on her body began to heal. Any signs of trauma and suffering were disappearing. When it was over, she appeared ghostly pale, but beautiful. Hands of shadows rose from the ground and gently embraced her, surrounded her. They wrapped the lifeless body in their embrace and slowly receded through the black and inanimate portal from which they came, bringing her with them.

/ / /

The man had been walking for some time now, still contemplating the events of the night. The girl had seen everything; she knew what he was. The rain had finally let up and dawn was soon approaching, which meant it was time for him to return home.

The man paused in his tracks briefly. "Ivan…" he said to himself. That would take some getting used to.

He rested his sights on the boy, now silent and sleeping as if the tragic night had never taken place. The child looked at peace and content. The man hadn't yet decided whether this babe was a boon or burden. What would his wife make of this? Nonetheless, he had looked into Sofia's eyes and gave her reassurance that he would take her child in, and he was not one to shy away from his responsibilities.

"You will not turn out like your mother, Ivan." the man spoke. "You will learn to fight, to struggle. You will defy and overcome this world. The fates will have to contend with you."

The man resumed his pace and continued on his way, disappearing into the thick, early morning fog.

And that's it for chapter one. As you might be able to tell, I suck at writing dialogue.

I don't know if I'll continue. Like I said in the preface, this is like a preliminary trial run. If I do keep working on it, chapter submissions are likely to be infrequent because I'm busy, but I also want to take my time realise the story that I had gradually been envisioning as accurately as I can.