AN: Apologies to Yesse, and any other German speakers for butchering your language. :)

Oliver had woken in his room in the big house. He donned the, in his opinion at least, disgusting orange camp shirt and some black jeans. He threw on his black trainers and huffed, opening the door and descending down the rickety wooden stairs. He found himself in the front room of the big house, Mr D already lounging in a chair, reading a magazine about wine. He looked up to Oliver, the god's bloodshot blue eyes meeting steely purple. Drunkards, The boy absentmindedly thought. He was about to leave when someone called his voice.

He turned to see Chiron, the Immortal trainer standing in a doorway to his room. "The gods have called for a quest," he began, sneaking a glance at Mr D. "Lord Zeus' Master Bolt has been stolen, and they are questing you to retrieve it." He said calmly.

"Specifically me?" He asked. Chiron nodded in affirmation. Oliver pulled out a chair and sat on it, eyes fixed on the centaur. "One condition." Chiron nodded again, slower this time. "Tell me about my father."

Chiron stopped. "No."

Oliver leaned back in a relaxed composure in his chair, a sly smile on his face. "Well then, I guess I'm not going on your quest."

Chiron opened his mouth to argue, but realised he had the immortal trapped. If he didn't tell the boy of his true parentage, he would refuse the quest, and The immortal secretly believed that he was almost guaranteed to succeed due to his parentage, furthermore, the gods had ordered that Oliver specifically had to take the quest, and if he refused they would likely view it as his failure.

He sighed deeply. "Your father is a," He paused for lack of better word. "Mysterious figure. He is Perseus, Son of Kronos and Nyx, Older than Hades." Oliver was intrigued. "The god of Night, Darkness, Shadows, Statesmanship and Deception." He let out, praying the boy wouldn't push further.

Oliver kept his gaze locked onto Centaur's. "I've there's anything these campers have taught me, it's that Children of the gods often impact the mortal world." He paused for effect. "Tell me about my past siblings."

Chiron deflated, dreading the words that he was about to say. He was saved by Mr D barking out a laugh. The god spun on his chair to look at the boy, who stood unwavering. "Tell me boy, Ever head of Hitler, Stalin? Attila the Hun?" Oliver merely nodded. Mr D pointed a harsh finger at him. "They, are your siblings boy. The gods don't like you, Think you'll turn out like them."

Mr D was about to continue, but Oliver cut in: "Better get me on that quest then. I need a weapon." He stated. Chiron was about to send him to the armoury, before his memory kicked in. He reached into his room and returned with the black box. He passed it to the boy. He opened it cautiously, reaching in and retrieving the first item. All within the room recognised an Iron cross. Oliver examined it within his hands, before pressing down on the centre of the medal. It quickly shapeshifted into a knife, the sides elongated into a handguard, the top into a blade, the bottom, into a leather wrapped handle. The boy nodded approvingly, allowing it to return to its shape. He attached the medallion to the chain around his neck, before secreting it under his shirt.

He reached into the box, pulling out a black ring. He put it on, and spun it around on his finger. It took form as a sword, blade about a meter long, Small, elegant handle. Chiron looked at the sword with a grave look. "The sword of Oliver Cromwell. Your own namesake if I'm correct." He spoke, his grave tone matching his look.

The Boy smiled, a mirror to that of his own fathers. "Fantastisch."

The two immortals shuddered.


Octavian followed his father as they entered his study. He was going to ask questions, but a stern hand from his father stopped him. He watched as his father ran his finger over the spines of books that sat behind his desk, before pulling one. The book didn't come out of the shelf, only the top did, followed by a mechanical clunk. How Cliché, he absent mindedly thought.

The newly opened passage revealed some old dusty stone steps, and the young boy followed his father below. The walked for what felt like an hour, and Octavian was taking everything in. Left. Right. Left. Left. Ahead. Right. They emerged in a large open room, dimly lit by a few candles. The crypt was gods knew deep, with many a staircase being descended by the father-son pair. As they neared the centre of the room, the low roof reached higher, making way for the tall statue that stood there.

The candles ran around the base, a small offering fire sat before marble figure. His hair was unruly, with a laurel wreath nestled within. A neat toga fitted him, jawline so sharp Octavian almost believed it to be a hazard. A smile etched on, one that said: 'I know something you don't.' He was standing straight, a spear in his right hand, a scroll in his left. A small sculpture of a crow sat beside his foot, it's beady eyes seemed to follow him.

His father guided him to the base of the statue, where they both knelt. His father spoke: "Lord Tenebris, I come seeking your blessing for my son, so he may rise to be an influential statesman." He kept his head bowed, despite it only being a marble figure. But Octavian knew better. A temple, or Shrine, was a conduit to the patron god, where offerings were presented, and their power strengthened.

The room stayed silent, only the crackling of the offering being the only audible sound. Octavian peeked sideways to see his father rooting through a small bag he had brought with him. He watched as his father placed wheat, salted bread, and poured some roman wine into the flame, which refused to be doused. His father then grabbed his left hand, and held it over the fire. He was confused at first, until he saw the glint of a sacrificial blade.

He went to pull his hand back, but his father was fast, and sliced along the central crease of his palm. By attempting to retreat, he inadvertently flexed his hand, pressing more blood out of the cut. The crimson liquid fell into the fire, and the flame roared, reaching up to the height of it's god, singing the few small hairs on his fingers off. The flame settled, and Octavian pulled his hand back, nursing it to his chest.

His father spoke again. "Oh, Mighty Tenebris, hear my pleas, accept this offering, and bestow your blessing of statesmanship upon my son!" He chanted. Octavian felt it then, the ice cold darkness creeping up his spine, his cut hand dropping to freezing temperatures, followed by a small burning on his knuckle. He cringed in pain, and looked to see the mole on his second knuckle fizzle away, being replaced by a tiny, inky black, laurel wreath, enshrouding his knuckle. Once the pain stopped, a brief, strong, wind whipped through the room, silencing the candles and sacrificial flame, submerging the room into total darkness, the wisps of wind ringing in the room like whispers.

He heard his father rise, and he did too. He heard the strike of a match, and followed his father out of the crypt, eventually emerging back within their villa. His father left him in his study, wordlessly. Octavian quickly turned to his books, intent on finding out more about the ritual just performed.

After hours of study, he found an Ancient book regarding banned rituals. Frowning, he decided to skin through, stopping when he found a rather lengthy section about the god Tenebris. There were many rituals for this god, Octavian skimmed over a few. 'The blessing of darkness.', 'The foolproof Liar', 'blessing of statesmanship.' Octavian recalled that phrase from his Father's chanting, and flicked to the section on it. The Book was centuries old, its old Latin words having faded alongside it's pictures. He read through the description of such.

Banned under the rule of Vespasian, The Blessing of Statesmanship from the god Tenebris, if accepted, gives the bearer outstanding political maneuvering capacity, and an extremely effective way with words. The blessing can be enacted in a few ways; such as doing a great service for the god, or less commonly, a ritual known as 'Sanguis enim auram morabatur' -A loose translation of "Blood for worded gold" he offhandedly thought- The recipient of the blessing must give expensive offerings in marked temples, nowadays seen as illegal crypts bearing a statue of the god, into a sacrificial flame, along side some blood from a wound of a sacrificial blade. The recipient is documented to feel numerous phenomena that are unique to every bearer. However, a common outcome is a small mark somewhere on the person who has received the blessing, detailing a a fatal flaw they will now fall to. known marks are documented below:

Octavian read the page rigorously.

The first mark is a spear, broken in two at the shaft, and appears below the nail of the right thumb. This marks the person as easy to anger, and gives them a vindictive rage. The next is a symbol of two masks, sad and happy, in overlap. This deems the bearer to be a compulsive liar, marking them as untrustworthy, appearing on the top of their right wrist. Another documented mark is a pair of scales, always even. This mark, appears at the centre of the back of someone's left hand and twists their morals. The final known mark is a laurel wreath, formed around a bearer's second knuckle on their left hand, and tricks the bearer into a sense of absolute supremacy of themselves, finding themselves incorruptible. Other side affects includ-

The page was ripped, tearing away any further knowledge from a young Octavian. He lifted his left hand and compared it to the mark shown in the book. It matched, annoyingly. But really? He thought, Supremacy of themselves? He dismissed the notion flippantly, closing the book and setting it down on his Father's desk.

The book was wrong. Clearly.


Oliver twisted to the left to avoid the stray claw of the fury as she swung, bringing up his sword to parry a follow up strike. The girl, Annabeth, who had insisted on coming on the quest with him had snuck to the front of the bus with her invisibility hat, and was craning the wheel of the bus left and right, trying to shake the fury of balance. Unfortunately, she was only succeeding in making Percy have to throw his arms out to keep his balance, the enforcer of the underworld being undeterred by the violent swerves of the vehicle.

Oliver snarled in annoyance as another swerve threw him off balance, ruining his strike at the fury, his ears permeated with the screams of the mortals and the useless satyr. He quickly looked to the front of the bus and saw the wheel beginning to pull the other direction, and planned the offset of balance. He leant into it perfectly, swinging his sword and slicing through the monster easily, showering himself in golden dust.

The Bus swerved again, despite the lack of threats, and the son of Perseus felt the left side begin to lift up, and grabbed onto a chair as the vehicle capsized onto its right, throwing the mortals and satyr onto the new floor. He quickly climbed out of a shattered window and dropped onto the tarmac, noticing his two, questmates, clambering out. As they began to walk away from the bus, the air thinned, ozone filled his nostrils, and the sky cracked.

Oliver was too late to throw himself to the ground as a bolt of lightning incinerated the bus, and all the mortals within, throwing metal shrapnel everywhere like a crude explosive. A triangular fragment flew towards him, slicing a shallow cut from the tip of his left eyebrow to just of the left of his mouth, the copper smell of his own blood quickly becoming familiar to him.

He traced his fingers over his wound, before turning to the girl. "Nice driving." He snarked vindictively. She scowled back at him as he turned his back to the group and began walking along the road to an unknown destination.

AN.

I like where this story his headed personally. I think i'm going to go with a structure of small scenes like this that build character. I pinched this format from IWantColouredRain's 'The Goddess of Heroes' -Which is very good btw-. I also felt like giving some character to Octavian, not introduce him immediately as a dick, and to give reasoning as to why he is. Im having fun merging Perseus/Tenebris into ancient History.

I've also decided that chapters for this fic will mostly be shorter than usual, due to the writing style of this work.

Anyways, Stay safe.

-Dududehhehehehe