Chapter 5

When the Boy Becomes a Man

Percy and Nico had separated ways, and Percy walked the dark silent streets, stuck in his own thoughts. He turned a corner, away from the blinking lights signaling the way of the city, and entered an even darker alley. Soon he would be home.

Percy snorted to himself, scaring an alley cat so that it tipped a bin that clattered noisily against the hard ground, spreading a mix of old food, paper and other things Percy didn't dare give too much thought.

He watched the cat slip away in silence, and then shivered slightly as a wind swept through.

Home.

Once it had conjured up a comfortable image, always including his mother with a smile on her face. Now it only meant the place where terror waited for him. That is what his life had become. A living nightmare. The difference this time being that there was no waking up. No relief washing over him when he realized that nothing ever happened. For this was real. It was grim, and hard, and cruel. But it was his reality. It was his, and he would make sure that no one else, no one else, was dragged inside it. That's the reason why he didn't ask Nico for help. He had considered it, since he had told him that his father had had connections with the organization before. In the end, Percy had decided against it. This was not Nico's burden to bear. To be honest, Percy knew that it wasn't his either. Or his mother. But Fate had apparently chosen them to slave for a dead man they had hated anyway. And that wasn't fair.

Percy balled up his hands into fists out of anger. Playing this game made him furious. But all of that rage was suppressed, neatly tucked away so that nobody would ever notice. It killed him, not being able to show these – these bastards, how he felt. How much he despised them, and how easy the choice would be for him to hurt them, like they had hurt his mother, himself, if he was ever given the chance.

"You should really work on the anger management, boy."

Percy swirled around trying to locate the source of the arrogant, taunting voice. What met his eyes did not make him happy. A young man was walking towards him with precise, feline footsteps. His skin was pale, and he had many scars covering his face. Not that Percy could see them in the moment, the dark hood the man wore laid the upper half of his face in shadow so only the dark grin he flashed Percy could be seen. But Percy knew because he had encountered this man once before. On the night the bastards had come to his home, threatening him and his mother. This was the man that had held his mother at gunpoint.

"Ethan," he acknowledged the other man, his hands still balled up in fists, but for now resting at his sides. He watched every move Ethan made as he removed the hood and showed his face. Since that first terrible day many of the organization's people had come to check the progress he was making in collecting the money to pay off the debt. Mostly it was Octavian who came. Ethan, on the other hand, Percy had not seen since that first time.

He observed the eye-patch, and then settled his own green eyes on Ethan's single brown one.

"What are your business here?" he asked in a strangled voice. Ethan made a disapproving sound.

"Not much for small talk, are we?" he said mockingly. "Well, I don't know if I will tell you if you're this unwelcoming. You attitude, boy," he added. "Does not leave much to imagination."

"Answer me!"

Ethan stalked closer, and Percy resisted his urge to retreat a couple of steps, not wanting to give the other man the upper hand. With a last final step Ethan was so close his breath mingled together with Percy's own. He gulped.

"I will answer you," Ethan whispered. "But are you ready to hear it?" He stepped back, allowing Percy to take a deep breath. What the heck was the meaning of this? He was nearly home, so why had Ethan come to stop him here, and most important; now? In such an open place anyone could see the two of them, and start asking questions. He could just turn, he thought. Go home and forget the devil he had just met.

Just as he was about to act on this thought, Ethan grabbed his arm. Hard.

"If I were you," he said slowly, as if speaking to child, "I would not continue your walk home."

Fear replaced the anger he had felt before.

"Why?" he asked. He tried to turn his head, looking for clues to why this man – his enemy – would give him such cryptic warnings. "My mother," he said, realization dawning upon him. He fought harder to break free. "My mother," he screamed. "What are you doing to her?" He raised his hands to try to pull free himself from Ethan's bone-hard grip. "Let me go!"

Ethan released an arm, and Percy took his opportunity, only to be struck down by the other man's free arm.

The blow made Percy fall to the ground with a loud crunch, and he grimaced in pain as his leg was torn up. Ethan took advantage of the situation, and easily put him in a position making him unable to move, and only breath in small shallow gasps.

"Now you listen to me. You will not go to your home, do your hear me? No matter what, boy. You will turn around and leave." Ethan released Percy, who in turn scrambled up from the ground.

"Why?" He was suspicious. This could be nothing else but a trap. It had to be. But the question being was: should he follow Ethan's advice? Or just ignore it and continue home and check on his mother? Every instinct told him to run home as fast as he could and check on the very last family he had left in this world. But there was something in Ethan's movements, or his frantic voice indicating that this was in fact not one of the organizations cruel jokes. Indicating that this was serious, and that whatever would meet Percy when he got home, was not something he would like to see, or forget for that matter, for a lifetime.

Ethan started to walk away, his back turned and his voice muffled as he said: "Because." He spun around and for an outsider's eyes it looked like he pirouetted. An angel of Death would be a fitting role. "Because," he repeated. "I am not cruel, and you are only a boy." Before it had been an insult. But when Percy heard it now it held a deeper meaning. Whatever would greet him would change him. Afterwards he would not be the boy he was before. He would be a man marred by the scars of war, death and destruction. When Ethan disappeared out of sight after he turned a corner, Percy did not hesitate. He sprinted home, and he didn't look back.

He missed the moment Ethan walked back again, staring after the silhouette disappearing in the distance. He clenched his fists, whispering in a shattered voice: "Just a boy."