AN: I'm not discontinuing TSER. I just haven't had any inspiration to continue it as of late. That's partially why I'm making this, since I've basically been obsessed with RWBY and RWBY fanfics for the last year, so I decided to switch lanes for a bit. This will be a first-person story, so if that isn't your cup of tea, you don't have to like it, and I'll accept any and all criticisms you may have. This will be OC centric, but in the world of Percy Jackson. Remember, I accept all criticisms. So, without further ado, enjoy.

Chapter 1

It was not a good day for one named Chase Fields. Oh wait, that's me.

Granted, most days weren't good for me, but this one was particularly bad, due to the giant, clanky metal mass chasing me through the streets and alleys of downtown Tulsa, Oklahoma, on a cold foggy night, alight by the full moon. You might be wondering how I got in this mess with, well whatever, that mechanical abomination is. Well, I'll tell you, but first, we've got to recount all the crazy events that happened to me over the course of two days.

I had always been a troubled kid, what with hearing suggestive voices that nobody else could, and having the worst luck at the most inopportune times. That all cultivated in a hard life on the streets by the age of nine. A life on the streets demanded a certain tenacity to survive and, well, I wanted to survive. I had to teach myself everything I needed to be able to do, including pickpocketing and how to blend in, which most might not consider a useful skill, but when you lived on the streets, you needed to look completely normal or tough and intimidating, so as not to be taken advantage of.

Before I was forced to the streets, I had received enough formal education to know the basics of reading and writing, and basic math. It proved that I wasn't a complete degenerate during the necessary verbal encounters I made when I went into stores to buy stuff that I couldn't pick-pocket, with the money I pick-pocketed, or the very sparse times when I felt like talking with someone.

The most necessary skill I picked up was fighting. On the streets, it was survival of the fittest. If you had something someone else wanted, you had to defend yourself, unless you wanted to lose your very few belongings. It took a dozen pummelings, but now I can say confidently that, at fourteen years old, I can take most adults almost twice my size in a fight, whether with a small blade or bare-fisted. I would usually have something sharp on me, or when I was able to, I'd steal the occasional pocket-knife or switchblade. If I didn't have either of those or fighting with a weapon failed, which rarely happened, well, nothing got the blood pumping like a good old fist fight, with bloody knuckles and bruised bones.

Anyway, the day started like any other autumn day in Tulsa, Oklahoma; Sunlit, but cool with a slight breeze. That slight refreshing feeling I got from the wind was soon washed away by the putrid mugginess of the alleyways I usually took shelter in during the night. I sat up, blinking my eyes out of the haze that accompanied sleepiness, and scratched my not quite chin length, blonde hair, to make it the least matted as possible, while simultaneously letting out a giant yawn. I then checked around my collar area to see if my most treasured possession was still there. When I curled my fingers around the silver locket, I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe it was stupid to keep something from someone I never really knew, but I just felt a connection to it, and it comforted me. Plus, whenever I tried to get rid of it the first few days after I received it from my father before...the incident, it would come back. He said it came back to me, because it was imbued with my mother's desire to protect me. (Bullshit, is what I have to say about that. If she wanted to protect me, she would've never left.) If not for that, I kept it for the pragmatic reason that it seemed to keep my schizophrenia at bay, somewhat.

After a few minutes of sitting there, doing nothing, I decided to get myself going for the day. I stood up from the dirty blanket I had slept on. It did the job of letting me sleep. Comfort wasn't a necessity on the streets, plus I got used to the weather, whether it was freezing out or boiling to the point that the air was shimmering. I walked out of the alley to the sidewalk, and went to the closest store window, so I could make sure I didn't look like a complete street delinquent. Call me vain, whatever, but just because I lived on the streets, didn't mean I wasn't allowed to care about my appearance.

I had the previously mentioned dirty blonde hair, accenting a slightly narrow face with sharp sterling silver eyes. I wore a plain, smelly dark green tee shirt and ratty, grey joggers that ended slightly before a pair of worn sneakers. For a fourteen year old, I was a decent size. I stood at about five foot and seven inches, and had enough muscle to not look like a pasty stick.

After fixing myself up for the day, I went back to the alley to get my stuff. All my possessions fit into a backpack I stole from a department store last black friday. It's not like they'd miss the profits. It carried my water bottle, different foods that didn't require heating, a jacket for when it got too cold that even I couldn't stand it, a stash of cash I had accumulated over the years, and rarely used, and, of course, duct tape. After I finished checking my bag and zipped it up, I checked the pockets of my joggers, only to find them empty.

"Shit," Of course someone would decide to only rummage through my pockets while I was sleeping, and not my entire person or the bag they would've seen right beside me, and steal the best means I had to protect myself, I thought. Either I'm the complete idiot for letting someone sneak up on me while I'm sleeping(I thought I had learned how to stay alert while sleeping. Apparently not.), or the thief was the idiot for not taking the opportunity presented to them. The day was looking to be worse than it usually was in downtown Tulsa. I decided that I might as well get up and going. Where, you may ask. Well, I would just traverse the city all day and look for opportunities, since it was better than just sitting around all day.

After checking my bag again, to make sure I had everything I would need for the next few days before I had to steal again, I walked out of my alley and started north. After a few hours, I found a bench and decided to take a rest, drink some water, and think about what I was going to do with life.

In truth, I hated my life, which you probably think makes sense, but not for the reason you probably think. I hated it because it was the same thing every day; Wake up, walk, steal, rest, walk again, the occasional fight, and sleep. When I was a kid, and sometimes even now, I dreamed of a life full of excitement. I dreamed of being the kid nobody notices, and then coming out of nowhere to save the day, or growing up with a secret lineage that would be in anime, or even just being the uber-smart prodigy, who was everything from a mastermind to a martial arts master, and would travel across the globe. But, no. Here I was sitting on a bench, in a city with one of the highest crime rates in the country, resting from an aimless walk, with no home to go back to, and only a measly sum of cash to his name.

After daydreaming, resting for a bit, and a quick water break, I set off again on my endless trek. After about thirty minutes, it was around noon, and I found myself at a convenience store. I heard my stomach growl and decided to treat myself to a nicer than usual lunch. I should have stuck to my usual self-imposed rules. Entering that store would turn my life on an irreversible course, and you might say, "But Chase, isn't a change what you wanted?", and to that, I say, "Fuck You."

After walking through the door and hearing the jingle, I took a cursory glance around to make sure nobody was looking at me.

Just for a split second, I caught the eye of someone in the back of the store, and quickly lowered my head. The voice in my head started going off. 'They want to hurt you. Leave and jump them when he leaves the store'

"Shut up." I whispered in a vain attempt to make it go away. It didn't work. It never did. I've had this voice occupying my head for as long as I can remember. It's actually the reason I lived the way I did, and for that, I hated it. But at the same time, it was normal for me. It offered me a very strane sense of comfort and normalcy.

'Or just leave and stay safe. You can get food anywhere.' But I was stubborn, so I persevered. I let my nose guide me, and found my way to a counter with rotisserie style hot dogs, corn dogs, eggrolls, etc.

Before I could decide on what to get, I noticed the same person who had caught my eye earlier. Now that I got a closer look, I saw that they were a girl, maybe college age, with shoulder length, matted brown hair and dark eyes. She had a piercing on her left brow and lower lip. She wore all black, including her jacket, beanie, jeans, even down to her shoes and socks, except for a white tee shirt. My schizophrenia was screaming at me to just walk away, drop what I was doing, and leave, but I figured that was just the craziness. When she looked at me though, she glanced down to my hand, which was slightly extended to the counter, as if wondering whether I was going to get something or not, then looked away from me with a sneer.

Now my inner voice was getting aggressive. 'Attack, she wants to hurt you. Hurt her before she hurts you!' I was almost tempted to do it. The girl gave off a sinister vibe, but I was able to push down the slight temptation with my supposedly 'rational' side, which would prove to be another bad decision.

After that creepy encounter, I decided on the corn dogs, which weren't like your typical corn dogs. They were wrapped in corn bread, except on the ends, the sausage stuck out. I decided to get two of them. After bagging them up, going to check out, and rifling through my backpack to find some cash, I exited the store and decided to sit outside, with my back up against the outer wall, while I ate. Again, that was a bad decision.

After a few minutes of eating, a shadow fell on me. I looked up to find the girl from before standing over me, accompanied by multiple boys around her age and dressed in the same aesthetic.

"Yo," The girl said in a passive, yet almost...hostile tone.

"Yo?" I said, more as a question than a greeting. Not just the inner voice, but my whole insides were screaming, 'Ah shit, oh fuck, ah shit, oh fuck.' I wasn't an idiot. I knew what was going on here.

"I saw you in there." She started, nodding her head to the building behind me. "Those corn dogs look pretty good. Mind buying me and my boys here some?" She demanded passive aggressively.

I tried to maintain an air of calm while I stood up, but my fight or flight instincts were starting to kick in. "No. Sorry, can't. I don't have enough money to spare." I responded trying to act sincere and casual, but I knew the gang could see how tense I was. When one of the boys stepped forward and the whole gang started surrounding me, I turned and tried to run only to bump shoulders with a broad shouldered thug. The bump turned my shoulder enough so that the original girl could grab the back of my collar.

"Now boy, where are you going?" She asked rhetorically in a deceptively sweet tone that someone of her stature should not have been able to pull off. One of her(I guessed she was the leader of the gang by the way she acted.) boys shoved me to my knees and back into the middle of the circle they had formed around me, giving me a slight reprieve from the girl's grip on my collar, only to receive a swift kick to the jaw from the girl. I stood up shakily and bit the inside of my cheek. Despite myself, I couldn't help but feel my blood start to pump and adrenaline rush through my veins, inwardly willing the oncoming fight. I probably wouldn't win(there were six people, and even though I'm a good fighter, I'm not that good), but I would die before going down without a fight.

The girl continued her speech. "Now are we going to do this the easy way," She paused, looking to her guys and nodding her head forward, "or are we going to do this the hard way?"

The smack of my backpack hitting the ground and the wicked smirk on face was all the answer she got, before I launched myself at the closest opposition, with my fist cocked back, ready to deliver a massive haymaker. When my fist connected against the thug's cheek, it made a sickening crack and he instantly fell flat. I must say that the ensuing events were the scariest, yet most exhilarating moments of my life up to that point. Well one down, five to go.

After decking the first guy, two others started to converge on me. I backed up a bit before rushing the one on the left, and then hooking my right foot behind theirs, trapping their leg, then sent two quick left handed jabs to their chest, knocking him off his feet. While he was trying to get to his feet, I had just enough time to turn, and block a roundhouse kick heading for the back of my head. The force of the kick staggered me just enough to let a new goon jump into the fight, and hold me still. The thug I had knocked down earlier got back up and came at me, prepared to leave my gut in mush. I flexed my abs to take the brunt of his assault, and after recollecting myself after a few quick punches, I swung my head back into the first goon's nose and broke it.

After I escaped the goon's grasp and they were sent reeling back, I received an uppercut to the chin, but blocked the next hook coming for the side of my face, and then kicked the unlucky thug in the groin, sending him to the ground, clutching his, ah...family jewels. Two down, four to go.

The goon who had tried to kick me came back for more, but all his kicks and punches were sloppy, and I either dodged or deflected all of them before going in with a series of combos, consisting of roundhouse kicks, uppercuts, sidekicks, and jabs. My combo that would've surely raised my count to three out of six was interrupted by the goon with the broken nose. He grabbed my leg right before I kicked, and pulled it to him, knocking me off balance, and giving him a clear shot to my temple. He connected and let go of my leg, sending me sprawling.

By now, the initial adrenaline of the fight was starting to wear off, only to be replaced by the incessant voice in the back of my head. 'Kill, beat them to a bloody pulp, finish the job. You should have listened to me, damnit!' It kept screaming curses at me and thirsting for violence, and getting louder and louder than it ever had before for some reason.

I sank to my knees and started clutching my head with both hands, mumbling, "Stop it, stop, stop." This gave the remaining four of the gang enough time to regroup, and stare at me bewilderingly. I had enough presence of mind to be aware of my surroundings, and notice that the gang was closing in on me. I stood up shakily and reached to my pocket instinctively for my knife. Good thing I had found an old army knife on the ground during my travels earlier. I flipped it out, making the gang hesitate for a second, before beginning forward again.

At this point, it wasn't about doing the most damage, but thinning the numbers of the enemy. Therefore, I went for the thug with the broken nose. He raised his forearm to block, and I in turn raised the glass breaker of my knife before batting his forearm to the side with my free hand, and stabbed the glass breaker in the middle of his brow, drawing blood and knocking him unconscious. Three down, three to go.

I looked up to see two remaining thugs, but noticed the leader was gone. I decided to open my big mouth. "Ha, did your big, bad leader run off like a scaredy cat." I think the voice is wearing off on me.

"You wish," One of the thugs started. "You're just not worth her time, so she's trusting us to deal with you." I could see the little bit of hesitation in him though, and it put me on alert.

I heard footsteps behind me, and turned just in time to prevent a giant rock from smashing through my skull. As it was though, enough of the rock's mass clipped my temple to send me stumbling, my vision started swirling, and the sounds around me became slightly muted. I was probably just a few moments or one good hit from unconsciousness. I definitely had a concussion and was bleeding out of my skull.

After stumbling about for a few seconds, the girl came up and started for a final blow. At that moment, her fist was like the fist of doom. I saw my life flash before my eyes. Realistically, I knew I wasn't going to die, but they would no doubt take everything from me, and after that, I'd basically be a dead man walking. I felt the final remnants of fantastical dreams shatter, and I didn't feel like fighting anymore. Fortunately, at that moment, it wasn't my choice to make.

My vision was getting more and more spotty. My hearing was becoming more and more muted, but just before the fist that spelled doomed landed on my cheek, my senses seemed to return all at once. My vision became clear as the bluest sky, and my ears seemed to gain the acuteness of a bat, but the most amazing and strange thing of it all was that my vision seemed tinted a rippling silver and I felt completely revitalized. My locket hummed against my chest and clutched. I didn't just feel good or alive, but I felt powerful. Even the voice inside my head seemed calm at that moment.

The gang seemed to have felt it too, because the two out of the three thugs left, including their leader backed off. The leader though, followed through with her punch, but as it hit my cheek, I only felt a light sting. My head didn't move. I didn't flinch, not even a blink. I saw the girl's eyes go wide and she tried to retract her fist, but I caught it in a crushing grip.

"Now, I'll give you a choice," I started in a low tone, that seemed to make all the goons shiver. "You can either leave and save all of us a lot of energy, or you can try to fight and take a beating, because if there's one thing I've learned, it's wherever there's a high, there's also a low, so do all of us a favor and get lost." I finished dangerously. They all got the message and scattered.

And as I predicted I crashed instantly. Little did I know that this sleep would be the first of many nightmarish sleeps in my near future.

AN: Yo, Zacatac here with the first chapter of A Broken Vow. This idea is the result of one night with my thoughts after reading Percy Jackson again, and let me tell you, it was refreshing to not have RWBY on my mind for once. Anyway, I want to try for longer chapters in this story than what I did with TSER.(I don't want to abandon TSER, but I needed a break) I think that setting a pace for my writing and not trying to force it like I did originally is going to help my commitment and drive for this story. Oh, remember to give me feedback if you have any. What are your thoughts about me stopping before the bull chase I mentioned earlier? Do you think I should've kept going or gone in a different direction in the story? Comment down below what you think I did good, bad, what I can do to improve. I hope you all enjoyed, and with that, Zacatac out.