AN: … Err… Hi?
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That day, I was having an internal discussion with myself. Of the many, many manifests of my persona, all but three were either wailing in terror or screaming in panic. There was also the odd hundred or so curled up fetal position sobbing quietly, but they were the minority and thus unimportant.
High in a skyscraper, a penthouse within my mind, there was a table the colour of triangle and smelt of blue. This was the summit. My higher functions, a place of introspection to be observed as a third party.
Sat around the summit today were three beings; Muggle Muck, Sith Spit, and Sir Humphrey. They were the primes of a multifactorial personality in this occasion.
Muggle Muck and Sith Spit opened the 28726458564th Internal Arayan Debate:
The voices, tones and accents are left entirely up to imagination, though I would personally recommend an overly posh, middle-aged, male, British, politician's voice for all three.
- Percy must never know. Never. Never ever. This is serious.
Serious you say? What could happen should Perseus find out?
- Something very serious. Very serious indeed.
I see...
- Serious repercussions. Of the utmost seriousness.
Well that is serious.
- In fact, I would go as far to say, that it could hardly be more serious. Seriously.
Well I think we all agreed then… this is serious.
- Yes. Indeed.
The entire mental scene promptly melted into multicoloured honey.
The conclusion of the 28726458564th Internal Arayan Debate was short, swift and to the point. Thus surely proving for certain all was fictional.
For you see(!), upon this bright July day, I happened upon a most terrible secret. A secret of immense power bearing a potential for immense interpersonal repercussions should said secretive-immense-power fall into the wrong hands…
Said hands, I grimly realise, belong to one Perseus Jackson.
Twas a dark and sunny day, the day I began plotting countermeasures against my most beloved bond brother... So sunny yet so dark... It was also a Tuesday, which made everything seven-and-a-half times worse.
The secretive-immense-power was a certain piece of knowledge. Secret knowledge, forbidden knowledge. Knowledge I swiftly quarantined to the best of my ability.
Knowledge I obtained from a tome of sorts, a scroll dating back to the precise moment of my birth… my birth certificate.
My Mother (holy be thy name) was conversing with Perseus's mother over birthdays- our joint birthday party to be exact. For whatever reason the Mothers had in their possession our birth certificates.
I did not ask why, twas was not my place to question.
Upon comparing the two, a terrible, terrible truth bearing secretive-immense-power of the utmost seriousness came to light...
*Sniffle*
Percy is a few minutes older than me.
Fuuuuuck~
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The making of my magic coins, a process developed over much, much, much trial and error, usually started like this...
Within my room of the highrise condo, I sat on my heels looking over the amassed materials spread out before me.
They varied, but the majority of the objects were paper of somesorts. There were leaflets and handouts advertising the NASA museum in Houston, books of poetry, Shakespearean play scripts, music sheets, self made paintings of the sun and stylised sunbursts… well, they all shared (some more closely than others) a common theme.
Apollo; and all associated with the twat.
I feel dirty just saying its name.
I looked at them distastefully. Normally I bare none of these things nor what they represent ill will of any kind, I actually kind of like Shakespeare and it is a sin to damage music sheets, but given what I am about to do, I must be in the right mindset.
Guh-!
(That was me fight the urge to spit blood at the heresy to music I must commit.)
With a suppressed grimace I reached for the pile closest to me; a stack of printouts obtained online advertising the Apollo Hotel in London, a place I dimly remember staying at as a child in another life.
Scrunching up the paper in my left hand, my right reaches for another pile; these of newspaper cutouts dedicated to the solar flares recorded lately.
I shuffle around to sit cross legged from my kneeling position and focus intently on the fucking fucker.
All my hate, disgust, wrath, jealousy, possessiveness and resentment focused on a single, glowing silhouette within my mind. I dare not imagine a face or definitive body to go with it else I fear my rage would get the better of me.
When my right eye starts twitching, molars make audible noise and I feel my fingernails dig into my palm through the paper, I know it's just about enough.
I bring the balls of paper to my mouth and viciously bite down on them, chewing thoroughly like it's the flesh of my most hated enemies. They are gradually dragged into my mouth, futilely wailing and screaming for help as their insides are gorged upon by a ruthless titan of vengeance… (as I imagine it).
There may or may not have been tears at the atrocities I was forced to enact… yet another mark against the grand cretin.
I did not swallow. The heretics are refused the pleasure of death though they may dearly wish for it. Even dissolving in my stomach acid would be preferable to the next ten minutes of torture.
I chewed and drooled, allowing the paper to be saturated with my saliva as it is gradually munched into mush.
Involuntarily, some of the xeno(scum) escaped down my throat to the sweet release of my stomach, but I kept the majority within the confines of my teeth.
Like a deranged Nurglite.
Slowly the previous two balls merge into a one squishy pulp like ball that I continue to roll about on my tongue, collecting up all the saliva in my mouth till it goes dry.
Holy shit that sounded dirty.
This happened fairly quickly, so I always make sure to drink plenty of water a few minutes before hand, however drinking more at this stage would be detrimental to the process.
The clean water lacks the "taint" of me and is not saliva, it would wash away whatever magic (for lack of a better term) I'd managed to imbue in the paper puree with ease.
Spitting out the significantly smaller glob of paper into the palm of my hand, I reach for another object with my other.
It was a block of wood split in two, each piece was 1.5 cm deep, 7cm in width and 9cm in length. About the size of a large playing card. They had been sanded down to a smooth surface.
Each piece had a mould carved in, this was done making extensive use of a wood shaving kit I had stolen some years ago. To get to the detail that was on the wood blocks before me, there had been a lot of trial and error, wasted wood and many a night spent practising.
I slept at school.
The current wood was from a palm tree, said to be the tree Leto gave birth to the twins under, and the etching themselves were barely half a cm deep, rather delicate at that.
Previous iterations of the mould were practised on less expensive woods and the shapes deeper, owing to my inexperienced hands.
I placed the glob into one of the moulds; circular, a 5cm diameter, 1cm depth for most of the mould and a further 0.5cm depicting a design.
Pushing the glob into the nooks with my thumbs, I make sure all of it is within the moulds boundary. Once satisfied I place the other block of wood, with a similar mould but different design, over the glob filled mould.
The edges were perfectly aligned so that the moulds were both centred. I had some experience with this by now, thus knew how much paper would fit into the moulds with as little waste as possible.
Now I pressed. The two halves of the block forming a whole once more, the split line seeming disappearing. It was held before my chest in a prayer position.
I closed my eyes and focused.
Sunlight threads were lured in from my window, they transformed into dust and coalesced around my hands as they swirled. The motes of sunlight sunk into the palm wood, giving it a warm yellow glow.
It was now that the transformation happens. With the saliva saturated paper glob being pressed into the right shape, the sunlight-dust will act as a trigger and catalyst for the mixture.
A chemical, or I suppose alchemical reaction.
There are other ways of improving the mixture, a strand of hair, a drop of blood, snake venom or blood, a crushed paracetamol… things related to the giant turd in the sky.
Unfortunately (such an underrated word for the AGAHFJKADFHGKLAJDF of my feelings) I myself am included in that umbrella…
Being its son and all (probably).
The best coin I have made to date possessed my blood, hair and baby tooth ground into the paper puree of a sunburst painting I made.
By best, I mean it could be used more than once and predict the movements of stronger monsters. Normally coins like the one I'm making now disintegrate after confirming the general location of a mediocre monster.
If the monster is too strong, or should there be more than one, the coin would disintegrate as soon I even decide to flip it, unable to leave my hands under such mystic pressure.
As my timer beeps the two minute signal, I relax the press, my arms weren't tired yet but pacing was important, I had many more coins to go.
Bringing the block of wood apart I let the new coin drop to the floor, hearing the satisfying metallic ting as it hit the floor.
Lying before me was a coin 5cm wide (diametre) and 3cm thick, bronze in colour it was warm to the touch. There was a depiction of the Caduceus on the tails side and a profile of myself on the heads.
Arrogant it may be, it was better than imagining the jkssgsjdfh, I kept destroying the wood, and I only use Ma's face for the special ones.
I brought the coin to my mouth and bit it lightly, tasting the impossible metal on my tongue and feel what should be paper resist my bite.
I nod in satisfaction. Magic bitch.
Setting aside the success I reach for another pile of golden-faeces-related merchandise.
One down, many more to go.
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A Shepherd's Sling; my preferred armament. My weapons are of course as self-made as possible, even going as far as to hunt animals myself to provide the leather myself…
It didn't work out, but the thought was there.
Names have power, this is a fact of the mystic world, so I named the (semi-self-made) sling series "David."
The current model is David Mk IX. Had this one for a while now, he's been on active duty for almost six months. Previously it seemed like I went through iterations every other week.
The ammunition I use are mainly rocks. Anything man-made can not kill a monster. Using alloys do not work. Pig iron, also known as crude iron can bruise the monsters when shot with incredible force, but just plain rocks seem to be more effective.
There were ideas to soak the rocks in my blood or snake venom, but it was deemed impractical.
Blood dries surprisingly quickly making it less useful in the long run, not to mention the health issues in extracting that quantity of blood, and snake venom is rather expensive without fresh local supply.
After rocks and crude iron, wood is also an alternative although it's too light to be anything more than a distraction.
The main "killing strokes" come from marble and granite spheres and the odd obsidian shard.
Weightier than stone they pack a lot more force behind them, the edge of the obsidian shards are also far more effective than wooden stakes versus the fleshier of my foes.
There are also some... "experimental" rocks I'm working on, but that's for later.
The main problem is lugging it all around. It's friggin heavy, I'm literally carrying stones in my backpack. Good for a workout, not so good when you're being run down by a hellhound.
Also not at all good for your back.
The solution to this problem…? There ain't one. Nothing that I've found yet. I will keep looking, keep inventing, but sometimes we just have to work with what we get. It's just something I have to live with.
Oh sure, I have caches dotted around my "turf" and all, but they aren't very reliable. I can't use mist to hide them, the prolonged magic would just attract more monsters, but should just leave them, I would find someone had moved them, kicked them over, pissed on them or worse.
I dunno how an innocent and inconspicuous pile of rocks could instigate such a reaction from the world and people around them, but they do.
This makes relying on moving to certain caches, banking on them having extra ammo to fight with, rather dangerous.
Misinformation kills.
As a result of all this, I have developed a very careful approach to long ranged fighting. You could even say I am more cautious fighting at a distance then I am in close quarters.
You would be right.
Up close and personal my ADHD, my "fighting instinct" (though less pronounced than Percy's), does its job and does it well.
From afar I must think, I must aim, I must conserve, I must plan.
It was the natural course of things, with me preserving ammo, being constantly conscious of my placing and cover (etc.), that I would come to see fighting monsters as Hunting.
Perchance, perhaps, possibly, at the particular emphasis I have placed upon the Intransitive verb, one may make the assumption as to presume where this topic is presently headed...
Translation: You know where this is going.
I had grown tired of merely reacting; always being on the back foot, lacking initiative, fighting on a field not of my choice. Waiting has its place and time, and patience is a virtue, but passivity is something I have grown to detest over the years.
Not just in combat but in survival, in prospering. In the safety of my mother, my brother and my friend, I could not allow myself to remain inactive.
It was because I went out to that beachfront to paint in search of a better future, in search of money, that we have central heating and plentiful food today; I got ahead.
Good things come to those who wait first in line after all.
Perched on a slanted roof of a three floor, rather quaint, house in the suburbs, I had a decent view of the proceedings occurring in the street below and the "killzone" at the bottom.
Twas the dead of night, the waning moon was high and the air was humid. I was some ways off from my usual turf, but this particular prey was the worst type, the most irritating type, the one who got away.
Very annoying. I sought to rectify the
It was a combination of coin divination, map and coin divination, water-rod divination, common sense, the internet and a rather useful dream from a month ago that had brought me this far.
My fleeing quarry was slippery and fast, hard to get a grip on even with the aforementioned methods. Had it been alone, I fear there would be no way for me to get it, but fortunately(?) it had joined up with others of its kind.
This monster's name was unknown to me; at first glance their gait and tendency to stick to the shadows gave me a feline impression, but they were in fact vaguely canine with a streamlined body. In the light (which they tried to avoid) they looked like starved coyotes.
I refer to them as the Ungrateful Strays for the time being.
The pack Percy and I cornered, trapped and slaughtered prior had been hanging around our school, this new pack seemed to be headed in the direction of another school local to the area also.
It was worth noting this new pack was significantly smaller and made up of skinnier coyotes than the other one, hence I didn't bother calling Perce.
Growing boys need their sleep.
The coyotes had entered the school. Smart enough to not break any windows or doors when doing so at that, but fortunately that was as far as their intelligence was willing to stretch.
In the previous encounter, the monsters had proven to be pragmatic urban creatures, but not without their quirks. They prefer ambush, sneaking and stalking their prey, like a feline monster, hiding and waiting in the basement or rafters, like an arachnid monster, but will attack en-masse, like canines.
They are also weakened inside buildings. Strange when one considers their preferred methods and terrain, but then I started to wonder if they were from a different pantheon.
Or rather Court. Like the Faerie Court. There are many legends of fae being unable to enter or cross the threshold without permission after all. Perhaps these are fae folk native to america? Part of the indigenous peoples pantheon?
… Well, it doesn't matter too much. They are still a danger, not to mention targeting children. I protect children, this is my duty. The sole reason I had yet to act was due to the dream relating implied there would be a third party interfering.
I had no desire to be caught off guard, but enough was enough. It was only a few hours till daybreak. I would wait no longer-
Predictably, the interlopers chose that exact moment to appear.
A small figure clad in silver vaulted over the wire-mesh fence of the school playground and glided into the shadows of the main building opposite, all seemingly in a single breath.
I only blinked, and at an unseen single, half a dozen or so more silver glad figures arched over the fence and drifted over to their scout.
Well now...
Lifting my binoculars to eye-level, I mentally mapped out the situation once more.
Myself; situated at one end of a residential street, perched atop a tiled roof. The school; facing me at the other end of the street, placed at a T-junction, jumping the school gates or low brick wall are easiest methods of entering.
Ungrateful Strays; slipped between gate bars, circling the main building in a clockwise direction. Currently on the left side of the building, about to disappear 'round the back. Interlopers; entered from the playground on the right side of the building, circling the building in an aniti-clockwise direction.
Probable conclusion?
The Strays and interlopers will continue their way around the building, thus meet and fight on the far side of the school main building… completely out of my view.
Bugger.
I lowered the binoculars, staring hard at the school with a frown etching my face.
The interl- ah fuck it- the friggin Hunters of Artemis, for who else could it be, had stolen my hunt.
"Jävla död stjäl." I muttered in Swedish giving the learning institute the stink eye.
Only one thing to do now I guess…
I packed up went home.
"Ugh. What a waste." I heaved a sigh.
The small impulsive part of me I kept locked away wished nothing more than to hop over and introduce myself to my aunts minions, or at least spy on the fighting, but the rational part of me stomped it out.
There are far too many variables to deal with in than situation, assuming the feminists don't shoot me on sight by dint of having a sausage, I'm just not prepared to meet a divine yet.
But most importantly, I may implicate Percy. Should Arty take any sort of interest in me, she would no doubt stumble upon Perce. This by and in itself is unacceptable. I would not endanger my brother like that.
'Till there's no other choice.' A bitter part of me whispered.
I ignored it with the practised ease of a sinner and turned my thoughts to more materialistic woes.
They had decent drops too...
Lamenting over not being able to kill something for it remains was becoming uncomfortable natural.
Perhaps it was a trick of the mind, the call of the wind, but I could almost hear the distant whisper of blade sinking joyously into its prey.
"Good hunting ladies." I whispered back.
Thus came the anti-climatic end another nightly excursion for Arayan Ishraq.
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Play - Of Monsters And Men - Thousand Eyes (Official Lyric Video)
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'Wasn't much of an incident this trip,' I mused to myself whilst hopping from roof to fence and fence to ground. 'The dream fulfilled, and loose ends tied, even if it wasn't done personally.'
I didn't get to fight, not did I get the drops from the dogos, but I also didn't waste any ammunition, tire myself out or get hurt…
Though I would always take the chance for more experience even if it meant a few cuts and bruises, a possible encounter with the Hunters could have ended far, far worse.
And yet I feel I'm missing something.
Straightening out my hoodie as I stood under lamp light, my forehead creases in thought. The frown from before had yet to fully leave its place, and I didn't have the heart to evict it.
Absently fumbling a coin in my pocket, my frown became a scowl.
Its my power. I designed it and refined it and continue to improve on it. The coins are a medium of my power. It was an original concept, I did not steal it nor have I copied anyone. Its mine.
Alas, I am still hesitant I do not want it to become a crutch, to become over reliant. I do not wish for my coins to become the source of a bad habit, but most of all…
My power it may be, it still comes from him.
...
I take a slow breath to stop myself heaving. No use getting worked up about it. No matter how foul tasting it is in my mouth.
The sun's not even up yet.
My fist unclenched with the coin now between my thumb and forefinger. I rub the designs carelessly.
Heads; there is something I have forgotten.
The metallic ping echoes far louder than it should have throughout the empty street. A street light flickers briefly as flies buzz about it.
The coin lands on my palm and I slap into onto the back of my other hand with a meaty thwack.
… Heads.
Yet there is absolutely no degradation to the coin itself… I can't help but sigh.
This always happens when I try to divine something concerning myself; nothing. I can never know if it truly worked, or it was just luck, or if that "luck" was the divination itself...
Fine. Whatever.
I close my eyes and throw myself back.
Gods, what I wouldn't do for a Pensieve right now.
The dream, unlike most, was rather literal. Instead of abstract images open for interpretation, there was somewhat smokey cut scenes played at a cinema,
Shadows of varying sizes slinked through alleyways in groups. They roamed and rummage through garbage.
Somewhere, someone made the wrong decision of inviting a small shadow into their abode. More shadows smashed and poured in through the windows. The human figure went down in the pile.
The past.
Shadows lurking around familiar surroundings. Rooftops. A public toilet. My school.
The (then) present.
Another school. Scene shown from a bird's eye perspective. Shadows circle the building like feline sharks. I see myself move towards it. However the left half of the scene suddenly blurs. A change, an interloper.
The (then) future.
And (now) the past.
It was a simple and straightforward prophetic dream, quite refreshing, but I have a growing sense of unease.
A level one, two at best. Even now I recall it vividly, save the single death in shown in the past, there was no foretold deaths at all, which is rather memorable in itself actually.
But there's got to be something more?
I blink back the metaphysical stars as another memory hits me.
The unease is gradually becoming minor dread. A sudden reveal of selective amnesia is never a good sign.
I had awoken with a start. That night, that dream, I had awoken with a start. I sat bolt upright. My chest was thumping. Yet I was not sweating. I had not cried out. There was no tears.
Why?
What have I forgotten, it wasn't the dream, no it was the dream, but it was unexpected, it was not sustained terror, it was a jump scare. What scared me? Why did I forget? Why the fuck am I hyperventilating?!
"Aghht-" I spat. Globs of my phlegm hit the pavement as I hunched over, hacking up more and more of the mucus from the back of my throat.
'... What is happening?!'
My spit pooled on the concrete below as my breathing steadied, but some had dribbled down my chin. I paid it no heed, still furiously flinging myself at the gaps in my memory.
Yes, there was a "jump scare". Something unexpected and something that scared the shit out of me in the span a split-second. What?
A street lights across the road cast contrasting shadows as it flickered, but I paid it no heed. My hands were fixed on my knees, my gaze penetrating the earth below with sightless intensity.
The end was different from the rest of the dream, but it was no scene, nor sudden flashing image-
Image.
It was no image. The scenes ended, the cinema format dissolved. There was a murky darkness, the same I always get just moments before awakening.
The failing light of the street lamp across the road had spread to its neighbours, yet I paid it no heed.
Another sensation then. Touch? Was it pain?
There had been occasions when I felt the phantom pain reflected by the vision I saw. A stab, heat, cold, etc. Then there was the more abstract feelings. The sense of falling, the sensation of fading, the enclosing darkness, etc.
But no. Not this time. It was no notion of touch.
Lights continued to flicker and die, but I paid it no heed.
Scent? Was it smell?
The smell of rot and honey and blood and flowers and guts and pizza and rust and grass and meat-
- No. It was no notion of smell.
Was it getting colder?
Taste? Was it flavour?
I froze. The metal taste of iron and copper fills my mouth and overflows my lips and dribbles down my-
- No. It was no notion of taste.
I shudder, half from the cold, half from the memories, alone in a darkening street.
It was not "sight", nor "touch", nor "smell", nor "taste".
Yes, of course, how could I even forget in the first place. It was s-
A bout of vertigo hit me.
It was s-
I straightened to clear my head
It was so-
Only to freeze again at the street before me.
It was so-
It had disappeared into darkness, the moon was caged within clouds.
It was sou-
It was cold too; cold enough to shiver, cold enough to shudder, cold enough to shake.
It was sou-
The sole light in the world around me came from the lamp above my head, the only sound came from my shaky breath.
It was soun-
Flies were gone, birds were gone, people were gone, the only proof of life my own.
It was soun-
My vision swam, I was so alone, come back, come back, come back, come backcomebackcomeb-
A light came back.
My thoughts ceased.
Under a dim lamp some ways down the street there were three lumpy shadows.
I-It wa-
Nay, not shadows, figures. Three hunched figures, cloaked and hidden.
It w-was-
They turned to me. Hair, thinning and silver, skin, worn and aged, eyes, muddied and old.
It was s-s-
Yarn, string and jute pooled around them. The flickering light cast haunting shadows over their hands and faces.
It was so-
They looked at me. Under dim lighting.
'It was sound.'
*Snip*
And said sound was my entire world in that moment. It was a sound that echoed within my soul. It was a terrifying sound. A deciding sound. A final sound.
A sound that turned my world back.
...
When I came to, the lights had returned and there was a faint glow to the east over the rooftops. I was upright, but only barely. My legs were frozen stiff, and my upper body trembled.
I didn't think I didn't speak, I only walked, my gait awkward and lopsided. As soon as I could bend my knees again I was jogging, as soon as I could feel my toes again I was running, as soon as the first rays of sunlight hit me I was sprinting.
My journey was a blur, I must have passed a few early risers but I can't remember at all. The only thing that mattered was shutting and locking the door behind me, the door that would protect me from the outside world.
My back hit the door and I slid down it. My breath came out in harsh pants, who knew how long I was running, as I hid my head between my knees.
Sweat, tears or was it dribble hit the floorboards beneath me.
Finally I gulped, throat dry, and spoke, voice hoarse. "Well fuck you too ya h-hobos.."
Somehow. I think my bravado sounded rather forced.
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AN: I doubt you want my life-story so I'll keep the excuse short: College. My Final Major Project in fact (yeah look at those caps yo). It went well, got distinction (seriously didn;t expect that as I was rather ill throughout the whole thing) but yey!
The time consuming stuff came after that. I had an exhibition to plan and CV to write and job experience to plan and more work to do! Like wtf, I got my exam results leave me alone y'know? Whyyyyy?
Well whatever. That's over now and it is the summer holidays (fuck yeah!) so I'll be getting back to writing now (yey?). Look forward to more.
Dunno what to feel about the chapter really. Much of it was written in snippets over the course of my FMP, all done in different states of mind and differing levels of consciousness.
To finish this chapter half of it was just editing and linking disjointed paragraphs and such.
So I don't know how this flows or if it flows or whatever.
My first attempt at writing something scary as well, probably failed completely, but eh. Practise.
Do tell be what you think, the feedback will help me get back into the groove (hopefully).
But to all of you reading, thank you, thank you and thank you.
Seriously.
I'll see you y'all next chapter.