My life wasn't what you would call normal. But still, strange happening s aside, my summers weren't usually like this.

Sometimes me and my mother would go down to Montuak for a week or so. Usually it was a few days here, then another few days later on in the months, over that three month period of no school. My mother was always happiest there, and in turn I was more relaxed.

I'd spend many afternoons down at the gym, with my gymnastic buddies. They always went on about how I must have been a bird or something in one of my past lives—my flips and tumbles were incredible. Plus, I was so flexible it astounded even the manager of the place.

One or twice I remember my mother taking me to a mountain to try skiing or snowboarding, back when we had more money. That was fun, and I'm pretty sure it was then that my slight addiction to hot chocolate began.

But taking part in a high speed chase? My mother sitting in the driver's seat of Gabe's Camaro, hitting the gas like nobody's business and taking dangerous turns like in one of those fast-action movies? My stalker, Grover, sitting next to me in the back, no pants, with hooves? And being chases by some sort of monster...

No, this wasn't a normal summer for me.

But it sure as hell was entertaining.

Chapter Four

Wind slammed against the Camaro, rain lashing the windshield. The car tore through the night along the dark country roads. Riker wasn't sure how his mother could see anything, but she kept her foot on the pedal.

Every time there was a flash of lightning, Riker would alternate in casting a glance at Grover, who sat next to him, and twisting around in his seat in an attempt to see whatever it was that was chasing them. He was still wondering if he'd truly gone insane or not. If Grover was just wearing some weird shag carpet pants and metal shoes from the sixties.

But the smell was one he remembered from that lame-ass kindergarten field trip to the petting zoo—lanolin, like from wool. The smell of a damp barnyard animal. Riker so badly wanted to poke some fun at the trembling boy next to him, but he decided that now was not the time. Grover probably wouldn't hear him over the storm anyway.

Not that it stopped him from trying to start a conversation. "Dude, how do you know my mom?"

Grover's eyes flitted toward the review mirror, trying to make out the thing behind them. "We've never exactly met in person." He admitted, hollering over the wind. "But she knew I was watching you."

"You mean my mom knew I had a creepy stalker and never did anything about it?!" Riker asked him incredulously, turning around in his seat to stare at the other teen. "Why were you—ah, watching me, anyway?"

"I was keeping tabs on you, making sure you were okay." Grover hesitated, looking at the shirtless teen—Riker hadn't had the thought o put his jacket on yet—out of the corner of his eye before plowing on. "But I wasn't faking being your friend. I am your friend."

For some reason, Riker suddenly felt slightly guilty about all the times he'd brushed Grover of when the other told him they were friends, right? But his mind slapped his guilt in the face and told it to shut up. Now wasn't the time anyway. "So, what exactly are you?"

Grover shook his head. "That doesn't matter right now!"

"It doesn't matter?! From the waist down, my stalker is a donkey—"

Suddenly, Grover let out a laugh... or, a "Bla-ha-ha!" to be precise. Riker stopped talking to stare at him strangely. He'd heard the guy make the sound before, but he'd always just thought it was only an nervous laugh. Now, he realized it was more of a irritated bleat.

"Goat!"

"Excuse me?" He had the decency to feel offended.

"I'm a goat from the waist down!"

Riker blinked before raising an eyebrow. "I thought you just said it didn't matter, huh?"

Grover bleated again. "There are satyrs who would trample you under hoof for such an insult!"

Riker brain blanked out. "Ya mean—satyrs, like from Greek Mythology?"

"Where those old ladies at the fruit stand a myth?" Grover asked. "Was—"

"Ah." Riker sat back in his seat, knuckles white from clinging to the seat as his mother took another swerving turn. "... Ohhhhh. Makes sense now, in a crazy way. Fruit Stand of Destiny. Three old ladies—the Fates. So those were like, the socks of Death?" He mumbled to himself as the puzzle all came together. Maybe he shouldn't have blown off their fortune-telling offer? Nah. He still thought Fate was bull—no offense, grandmas.

Grover hadn't heard him over the howling wind, however. "—Mrs. Dodds a myth, Riker?"

Riker sat up so fast he might've even gotten whiplash. "Ah! So you admit there was Mrs. Dodds!" he pointed an accusing finger at the nonchalant Grover's direction.

"Of course."

"So why didja—"

"The less you knew, the fewer monsters you attract. Your scent would magnify once you truly acknowledged what you were, Riker." Grover told him as if it should be perfectly obvious. "We put Mist over the mortals' eyes—we'd hoped you would think the Kindly One was just a hallucination. But it didn't work; you started to realize who you were."

Riker was starting to feel angry. Even though he didn't understand all of what Grover was saying, he got the gist of it. He remembered the conversation he'd heard between Mr. Brunner and Grover, and how no one in the entire school—not even the records—remembered the math teacher he'd offed. He twisted in his seat until his icy sea-green eyes were drilling right into Grover, who shifted uncomfortably. "You mean, it was all you? You and... Chiron?" He recalled the name Grover had used for Mr. Brunner, and Grover started to pale slightly. Riker scowled. "So I was thinking I was crazy for nothin'? When it was your doing?!"

The strange bellowing noise rose up again behind them—closer than before. The two teens twisted around in their seats to try and get a better view of the thing chasing them, but it was no good. Still, whatever was chasing them was definitely on their trail now.

"Riker," Sally called from the front seat, and Riker startled. He'd almost forgotten she was there; which was silly, since she was the one driving the car. "There's too much to explain and not enough time. We have to get you to safety first, okay?"

Riker leaned forward in his seat, hand moving to gripping the seat in front of him. "Safety from what, mom? Come on—now that I know somethings definitely up, why can't you just finally tell me?"

"Oh," Grover huffed, instead. Apparently he was still miffed by the donkey comment. "Nothing much. Just the Lord of the Dead and a few of his bloodthirsty minions."

"What!?"

Before Riker could even think of replying, Sally's hold on the steering wheel tightened. "Grover!"

The satyr flinched. "Sorry, Mrs. Jackson." He apologized. "Um, could you drive faster, please?" He turned to look behind them. This time, Riker could just make out a large, hulking figure charging after the car when he glanced back. His heart almost skipped a beat.

Which was strange, the teen scowled, because Riker Jackson was afraid of nothing.

Except for his Dementophobia, but he wasn't going to go into that.

He tried to wrap his mind around what was happening. He knew it wasn't a dream, despite his very active imagination—not even he could dream up something this weird. He sucked at thinking the details out. He would be a very bad book author, that was for sure.

Sally took a hard left, and the tires squealed like tortured pigs. The Camaro raced past darkened farm houses every few minutes, until they came upon a wooden hillside that stretched on for miles to the shore of Long Island. Soon, they were flying past signs that read "PICK YOUR OWN STRAWBERRIES,"nestled along the dull white picket fence.

"Where are we going?" Riker finally asked, mind still thinking on his conversation with Grover. Why would the guy keep something like this form him?

"The summer camp I told you about," Sally's voice was tense, reigned in. Riker could tell she was trying her best not to be scared, for him. And suddenly any resentment toward what Grover and Mr. Brunn—Chiron had done vanished—somewhat. This wasn't their fault, it was his. Everything that happened had happened because he was what he was.

And what was he? Riker didn't even know that.

He felt so damn useless.

"The place you didn't want to send me," Riker replied, trying to get his mother to see that he didn't want him to go either. What Riker wanted was to stay with his mom. Preferably without the blight on their lives that was Gabe.

"Please, dear," Sally pleaded. "This is hard enough. Try to understand, you're in danger."

"Cause the three Fates sold me fruit?" Riker asked, confused. "It shouldn't be bad or anything—I mean, having no customers would be bad for business. Someone has to buy the stuff." He shrugged "Plus, it was delicious. Don't see why—"

"Riker," Grover interrupted him. "Do you know what it means, when the Fates appear before you?" His voice was panicked. "They only do that when you're about to... When someone's about to die."

Riker blinked. He turned his head around to stare straight at Grover. "You just said 'you.'" Grover's eyes widened and his face paled even further.

"No I didn't. I said 'someone.'"

Riker shook his head. "You said 'you.' As in, me."

"I mean 'you,' like 'someone.' Not you, you."

"Boys!" Sally shouted from the front. She jerked the wheel toward the right, and Riker looked up just in time to see that hulking, shadowing form again, still barreling after them.

He spoke up."What was that?"

"We're almost there," Sally said aloud, ignoring her son's question. "Just another mile. Please. Please. Please."

Riker guessed that the so-called 'camp' was somewhere around here, but even he found himself leaning forward in anticipation. Wanting to get to where 'there' was.

They'd reached the empty country side you got when you get to the tip of Long Island—outside, there was nothing but rain and darkness. Riker felt like he was in one of the horror movies he'd seen on Netflix. Like, at any moment, something would just pop out and total the car and then bam, they'd all be dead, half-goat Grover or not.

Then he thought about Mrs. Dodds the math teacher, and huffed in annoyance. So she hadn't been human after all—and she'd really meant to kill him.

Who would want to kill this awesomeness?

Then came along memories about Mr. Bru—Chiron, and then Riker remembered the pen. Or, the pen that could turn into a sword. His hand flew to the pocket of his sports pants. Ever since that day, he'd kept it on his person. It was just too fascinating to him to put it down. Maybe Chiron missed it, maybe not, but Riker didn't care right then. Maybe he could—

The hair rose on the back of his neck. There was a bright flash of light and a whirring sound before the Camaro exploded.

Riker remembered a feeling of familiar weightlessness—he'd been in a car crash before, but somehow this was way different—and the heat. Like he was being crushed, roasted, and was drowning all at the same time.

He blinked his eyes open and pulled his head out of the whole in the windshield—maybe he should have buckled himself in, but it had slipped his mind in favor of recent events, labeled as 'unimportant.' The glass was shattered and small bits of the window were digging into his shoulder. Flecks of tiny razors speckled across his neck and face, and he wanted to growl. Removing glass from skin took forever! He moved the front half of his body back, with his elbows supporting himself, and groaned. "Ow."

"Riker!" Sally's voice called. She sounded terrified. The teen managed to settle his ringing head against something, waiting for the spots to leave his vision.

"I'm okay!" He shouted back.

He shook of the daze. He wasn't dead—it would take a lot more to do that, he huffed—and the car hadn't really exploded. They'd swerved into a ditch. The driver's-side doors were pressed into mud, and the car itself was flipped over. Where Riker had previously been sitting upright, he was now lying upside down with his back pressed against the carpeted roof of the Camaro, which was cracked in places like an eggshell, with rain somehow pouring in, pelting him in the face and chest, making his cuts sting. The wheels kept rotating as if they were still on the road, the axles snapped.

They'd been struck by lightning.

Awesome. Riker told himself halfheartedly. Another thing he could add to his list of spectacular things he'd lived through.

He didn't know it yet, but surviving being struck by lightning was going to be lame compared to some other things he would accomplish.

Still, they'd been blasted right of the road. Riker glanced over to see a motionless lump next to him, hanging from the roof—or, the seats, now, of the car. Still strapped in by a seat belt, arms swinging limply down. Riker blinked, then frowned. "Oi! Grover! Just 'cause you're weird and I think you're seriously annoying doesn't mean you can kick the bucket! Who's gonna stalk me now, dammit?!"

Grover let out a groan, that vaguely sounded like the word "food," and Riker knew he'd make it out alive.

So he ignored the pain and twisted himself around to face the front again. "Mom?!"

"I'm right here, sweetheart." Sally called back. Her voice faltered. "We have to..."

Riker moved himself up onto his elbows again, turning his head around to look back. Lightning flashed again, nowhere near them this time, and Riker was able to catch a glimpse of something lumbering toward them through the rain. It was a dark silhouette of a large man—like a football-player on steroids. It looked like he was holding a blanket over his head, and his top half was bulky and fuzzy. His upraised hands made it look like he had horns.

Riker blinked. Strange guy. "Who's—"

"Riker," his mother spoke, dead serious. "Get out of the car."

She threw herself at the driver's door, hands jerking the handle up and down, but it didn't budge. Riker took the hint and tried his. Stuck too. He looked ahead and saw the body-sized hole in the windshield. He himself was already peppered with wounds full of glass shards, so he didn't think he would mind too much, but his mother... and stalker... the glass around the windshield was wickedly sharp and protruding at odd angles—they wouldn't make it out without a deep gash or two.

"Climb out the passenger's side!" His mother shouted. "Riker, you have to get out of here! DO you see that big tree over there?"

"What? No! Mom, I'm not—"

Another flash of lightning, and Riker glanced up in time to see a huge pine tree that reached high into the sky, towering over the rest of the woods. It was at the crest of the nearest woods, and big enough to be the Christmas tree for Times Square.

"That's the property line," Sally continued, ignoring Riker outburst. "Get over it and don't stop running until you reach the door of the farmhouse, down in the valley. Yell for help, and don't you dare look back!"

Riker turned himself over and sat up. This was probably the first time he'd ever glared at her. "Mom, you're coming with me."

Her face was pale, and her eyes were gray again, sad as she looked out to the ocean.

Riker blinked, realizing what she must mean. "Um, yeah. no. You're coming. Help me carry creepy stalker over there." Sally only smiled a bit sadly as Riker reached out a hand to unbuckle the satyr. Grover landed on the roof of the car with a dull thud. He groaned again, most likely calling for some enchiladas this time.

The man with the blanket was getting closer, making those strange grunting and snorting noises. As he came into a clearer view, Riker realized he couldn't be holding a blanket over his head—because two meaty arms with Hulk-sized hands were swinging at his sides in a lazy manner. Which meant that the bulky, furry mass that was too big to be a head... was his head. And those really were horns.

"Riker, he doesn't want us." His mother told him. "He wants you. Besides, I can't cross the property line."

Riker spun around to give her a look. "Mom, you—"

"There isn't any time, honey. Please, just go!"

Riker stared at her for a second, silent. He was mad then, mad at himself, at Grover the stalking goat-boy, at the thing coming towards them, even a little at his mother. He turned slowly to climb across Grover and kicked open the passenger door. He turned and grabbed the unconscious satyr and flung him out of the overturned vehicle, not even batting an eyelash when he heard the somewhat sickening thump that sounded when the guy landed on the ground outside. He twisted back around and blinked. "Come on mom. We're going."

"Riker, I told you—"

"How do you expect me to lug around that guy, then?" he jerked a thumb back in the direction he'd tossed Grover. "I know I'm strong and all, but I'm just a twelve-year-old, and Grover's heavy!"

He knew he was whining like a little kid, but it seemed like the only way to get his mom out of the car, so that was what he would do. He climbed out of the door above his head and landed on his feet, heels digging into gravel. He bounced up and down a few times, getting used to the feeling glass digging into his skin, and then made his way to where Grover was slumped over. He leaned down and took a hold of one of Grover's wrists, pulling the arm up and slinging it over his shoulder, wincing as the glass burrowed in a little deeper. He began walking toward the tallest tree, the tree that marked the property line of—of that camp. He probably wouldn't have made it very far if his mother hadn't finally come out to help him.

They each slung one of Grover's arms over their shoulders and began stumbling uphill through waist high, wet country grass toward the pine tree.

When Riker looked behind him, he finally got his first clear look at the monster that had chased them all the way across Long Island. He was an easy seven feet tall and his arms looked like they were photoshoped onto his body right out of a Muscle Man magazine. Bulging biceps and triceps, and all the other 'ceps, all packed like baseballs under vein-webbed skin. The only clothes he had on was a pair of bright white Fruit of the Looms that were now splotched with mud. It looked hilarious and what Riker really anted to do was laugh, but he decided to save his energy to do it later when his life—and his mother's. And Grover's—wasn't in danger. Coarse brown-red hair started down at his naval and got thicker along the way to his shoulders. His neck was a tree trunk of muscle and fur that held up his massive head, which and a snout as thick as Riker's torso, flaring nostrils with a brass ring, beady black eyes that reminded him of Gabe, and wickedly sharp horns protruding from his scalp.

Riker recognized the monster all right. It was the very first myth Mr. Br—Chiron had taught his class. But he'd never thought it could be real—which was why he'd always laughed when they went over the story. He wasn't laughing now. Aside from silently in his head at the Fruit of the Looms getup.

He shook his head from side to side to get the rain out of his head and tried jogging faster. "That's—That's, um, Pasiphae's son, right? The Min—"

"Don't say his name," Sally warned him. "Names—they have power, hun."

Riker's mouth clicked shut.

The pine tree was getting closer, but still too far away—like a hundred meters uphill, at least. Riker glanced back again to see the Minotaur—cause that's what it was, he realized—even closer than before.

They were only about fifty feet away, still, but the monster stopped at the overturned Camaro—the wheels were still turning on the broken axles—and began peering into the windows. Or not, really. He sniffed around the crash-site, grunting and huffing, head-butting the wrecked metal vehicle a few times for god measure.

Grover groaned again, for food—What is with him and food? Riker asked himself—and the teen reached out a hand to slap over the satyrs mouth. "Mom, what's he doing? Is he blind or something?"

"His sight is terrible," Sally admitted," along with his hearing. He goes by smell. But he'll catch our scent soon enough. We have to hurry."

It was like they were all in one big play, and that had been Bull-man's cue. He let out a bellow of rage and curled his bulky hands around the edge of the totaled Camaro. He lifted it up over his head and tossed it across the country road. It landed in a shower of sparks and groaning metal, skidding for around half a mile before coming to a screeching stop. Then, the gas tank exploded.

Not a scratch, Riker suddenly remembered Gabe saying.

Whoops.

"When he sees us," Sally started talking quickly, "he'll charge. Let him get close, then jump sideway, okay?"

Riker blinked, before nodding, seeing the reasoning. "His mass is to much for him to change directions that quickly. He'll keep going forward and until he slows down enough for him to turn back around, then he'll charge again. It's like in bull-fighting."

Sally paused long enough to give him a proud smile. It was like 'See? I knew you were smarter than you say in school.' Riker rolled his eyes, and they kept jogging toward the pine tree ahead. "How do you know all this, anyway?" He asked.

Sally's smile disappeared, and her shoulder's tensed. "I've been worried about an attack like this for a long time, hun. I should have expected this—I was selfish, keeping you close to me like that."

Riker gave the woman a look, eyebrows raised. "Mom, it isn't selfish of you to keep your own kid near you."

Sally shook her head. "But—"

With another throaty roar of anger, the Minotaur started tromping up hill, hands tearing at the damp country grass that had previously and still was hindering Riker and his mother.

He had their scent.

The pine tree was only a few yards ahead, but the hill was getting slicker and goat-boy wasn't getting any lighter—and the Minotaur was closing in. A few more second, and he would be on them. Riker ignored the pounding of his heart and plowed on.

Sally shouldered Grover and took a step away. "Riker, go on! Separate! Remember what I said!"

"Hell to the no!" But Riker had the feeling she was right, that it was their only chance. He paused for a second, thinking, and then spun around to face the Minotaur.

"Riker, no!" Sally shouted at him, eyes wide and terrified.

Riker sprinted away from her without a word and, sure enough, saw the bull-guy's black soulless eyes follow him. He halted his movement and waited. "Go on, woman! I'm not taking no for an answer!"

Riker's stomach twisted and he fell the unfamiliar desire to run away. But he knew that was stupid. He wasn't afraid of this ugly piece of meat—plus, he'd never be able to outrun the thing.

So he held his ground. The Minotaur charged. Riker waited, waited—then jumped to the side, sliding a few feet than he meant to on the wet grass—but that was fine with him, and the monster just raced right past him, thundering over the spot he'd been only moments before. Riker sucked in a breath. He glanced down to pinch one of the larger pieced on glass—one that was going a little too deep into his side—and yanked it out. He looked back up and tossed it to the side.

They'd gotten to the crest of the hill, and Riker saw the white farmhouse his mother had mentioned. But it was still an entire half-mile away. They would never make it.

No. Riker told himself. No, they would.

The Minotaur turned again with a loud roar—but it wasn't Riker he was looking at this time. No, it was Sally, who was just setting Grover down in the grass.

Riker's heart wanted to stop, but he commanded it to keep on going. He forced his legs to move toward his mother, running. No way is that stripper bull-man laying one, meaty finger on his mom.

But Sally was backing away now, slowly. Trying to lead the beast away from Grover. Riker felt selfish, then, as he wanted to yell for her to stop—that he considered her far more important than Grover could ever be, to him.

That made him feel lower than dirt, though, so he kept his mouth shut and ignored the guilty feeling, pushing himself to run faster.

"Riker, run!" Sally called. "I can't go any farther!"

Riker was running, but not in the direction that Sally probably wanted him to. He was only ten meters away from her when the Minotaur reached her—Sally tried to sidestep, as Riker had done, but it seemed the monster had learned it's lesson, as it shot out one hulking hand to grab her by the throat. He lifted her up into the air as she struggled, feet kicking at the air and hands slashing away his his arm.

"Mom!" Riker reached into his pocket and pulled out Chiron's pen, un-capping it and throwing the top aside—it wasn't important right now. The bronze sword materialized in his hand and he'd just reached the beast when it closed it's fingers around Sally's neck. His mother slowly began to glow in a golden light, her form fading a little as it began to resemble a holographic projection, he felt his eyes sting a little and he tried running even faster—but it was like wading through molasses. Then, with a blinding flash, she was simply vanished.

Yeah... no. Riker did not like that at all.

He was pissed. No, he was more than pissed—he was livid. This thing just came along and made his mom disappear. It would have to face the very painful consequences.

He stopped running and gripped the pen-turned-sword in his hand, knuckles turning white from the force of the hold. He gulped in a few much-needed breaths of hair and waved the weapon in the air just as the Minotaur turned toward Grover. For some reason, Riker felt that he would not allow the beast to get within five yards of his stalker. He was coming out of this having saved someone, dammit! The gleam of the sword's metal edges when lightning flashed caught the monster's eyes, and Riker patiently waited form it to come charging at him again. "Yo! Ass wipe! Come at me!"

The Minotaur turned toward him, eye gleaming with hatred—and Riker vaguely wondered, slightly offended, what he'd ever done to the thing to garner it's loathing—and it lowered it head to charge again, letting out a low, rumbling roar. He shook his meaty fists and took of at him. Riker's leg muscles tensed.

He had an idea.

It was a stupid idea, if he hadn't been into acrobats, but he was pretty confident that he could pull it off.

The beast flew up the hill toward him, hands outstretched to grab him whichever way he sidestepped this time—but Riker wasn't going to dodge again. At least, not in those directions.

He pressed his back to the pine tree, the bark rubbing roughly against his bare back and the glass shards digging even deeper into his skin—it was going to be hell, getting those out after all this was done—and as the Minotaur was upon him, he jumped straight upwards.

He kicked off of the creature's head and turned in midair to land in a crouch against the trunk of the tree, before using it as a springboard to leap up higher, executing a neat back flip and landing in another crouch on the Minotaurs head, his feet digging into crook between the monstrous neck and the beasts hairy shoulders.

Plan successful. Now, what he really wanted to execute was the monster beneath him—it was at his mercy. He lifted the sword in a reverse grip above his head and, in a flash of lightning, brought it down. The blade burrowed down to the hilt into the creature's neck, and Riker released his hold on the handle, hands jerking up to wrap tightly around one of the horns as the Minotaur began to flail around wildly, howling in pain and anger.

A second later, the monster slammed into the trunk of the pine tree with a force that nearly shattered Riker's clenched teeth—that would be a tragedy, his charming smiles were amazing—and the teen's grip tightened until all the blood in his knuckles had mysteriously vanished.

The bull-man shook himself and bucked like a rodeo bull, and Riker moved to wrap his legs around the hilt of the sword still protruding from it's neck—he wondered how the hell the thing was still around after that, but he wasn't letting go until the Minotaur was gone—and held onto the horn for dear life. The thunder and lightning were still going strong, and the rain was probably aiming at Riker's eyes just to be mean to him. He imagined the storm clouds were laughing at him. Dammit, they were deliberately trying to make his life difficult!

Meanwhile, Grover lay in the grass, groaning. Riker wanted to scream at him and tell him to shut up—he'd gotten the worst of the car crash when he'd flown through the fucking windshield, and here he was riding a bull from Greek mythology, suck it up!—but he was aware that if he opened his mouth, at this rate, he'd most likely bite his own tongue off.

The Minotaur heard goat-boy's moaning, it appeared, and the thing turned toward him. It's eyes flashed crazily, and it's foot pounded the ground as it readied up for another charge, Riker still perched on it's back. His mind flashed back to how the thing had taken his mother away from him, and in that instant, Riker only saw red.

He readjusted his hands on the horn and pulled back with all his might. He figured it was just like yanking out a tooth or something. Apparently so, since the Minotaur seemed to feel it. Like it was getting looser. It stopped preparing for a charge, it's body tensing. The thing gave a surprised grunt, before—snap!

And then, it seemed that the blade buried in it's neck finally caught up with them. When the monster turned around to fling him off, there was a sick ripping and tearing sound, like organs being pulled from an open chest—he'd seen a documentary of a heart transplant or something on Discovery Channel or something when his mom had told him to watch something more educational than dirt-bike races. Not doing that again—and the Minotaur let out a strangled-sounding roar as it began to dissolve. At first, the stuff was the color of graying, dead skin, but it took on the tint of glimmering gold just as the corpse caved in and fell to the ground. Riker fell down when his perch disintegrated beneath him. When he sat up, he was covered in decayed monster dust and clutching a horn longer then his arm and thicker than hick neck at the base. His head spun from where it smacked against a rock in his tumble to the ground.

The remains of the Minotaur crumbled like sand—just like how his math teacher, the Kindly One, had gone—and the areas that weren't clinging to his pants or hair were blown away in the howling wind.

The beast was gone. And so was the rain. Maybe the clouds were done using him for entertainment.

The wind was still screaming and there was a dull thundering, but it was all in the instance. Riker was sitting on the ground, trembling, covered in monster sparkles, and clutching the horn of the thing he'd just defeated. He shook from the raging emotions inside of him as his mind played the scene of his mother vanishing in a golden light over and over and over again. He was cold, exhausted, hungry—dammit, Grover—the sudden silence was driving him insane and he felt vaguely like Edward Cullen, covered in the gold leftovers of the Minotaur as he was.

Riker shook out his stiff limbs and forced through the paralysis of shock. He stood himself up and stumbled over to an still unconscious Grover, bending over long enough to toss one of the satyr's arms over his aching shoulders before straightening up. He had to give it a few attempt, since his hands kept missing and his vision was blurry from the rain that had attacked them—it was rain. He wasn't crying, obviously. He hauled his stalker up and began to stagger down the other side of the hill he'd went through so much to climb, making his way toward the large white farmhouse.

He distantly remembered seeing the large shadows of more buildings that hadn't been there before as he tumbled through the valley, but he stubbornly kept his eyes on the ground in front of him until his feet hit a wooden porch. He slowly looked up to see the white farmhouse towering over him. He stared at the door for a few long moments, before letting out a deep sigh and tossing Grover's still—but still breathing—form onto the wooden planks. He let his head fall back down to stare at the steel toes of his combat boots before lifting one foot and climbing up the short set of stairs. When he reached the door, he considered it for a moment, before knocking a clenched fist on it three times. That done, he immediately spun around and sat down lotus style on the dusty porch floor, taking in slow, steady breaths, trying to calm his heart down.

He vaguely heard the sound of the door of the farmhouse opening behind him, but he didn't look up from his study of the grains of wood in the planks of the porch. He rested his hands on his knees and clenched them into fists.

A hand reached out and rested on his shoulder as a familiar voice spoke. "Is it done, Mr. Jackson?"

Riker didn't say a word. He reached over and picked up the horn he'd carried all the way there, along with Grover, and tossed it over his shoulder without looking back. "Son of Pasiphae, defeated." He replied nonchalantly.

Apparently, there was someone else there, because he heard a light gasp from the door. "The Minotaur?" A young feminine voice asked questioningly.

Riker would have turned himself around to glare at her and snap 'No, it was Barny,' but he just didn't feel like it. He moved his hands behind him and uncrossed his legs so he could fall over to his side and wrap his arms around his head.

Still, after all that had happened, he felt a little pissed that the girl would doubt his claim, whoever she was. Seriously, the fucking horn was right there, she could have just used her eyes.

"Mmm, yeah." Riker sighed despairingly, before the blackness finally enveloped his vision.

Before he went under, though, he heard the girl walk over to stand beside the other person—Chiron, he knew. Because that voice had been Mr. Brunner's, Riker had heard it enough during Latin class to know. "He's the one. He must be.

"Silence, Annabeth," Chiron replied. "He is still conscious. Bring him inside."

He felt himself being lifted up, and he let his mind wander. It shouldn't matter if he was awake or not. After all, he wanted answers.

Because they were the one thing that his mother had never really given him.

Don't ask me why this story is suddenly being updated more than my other ones, because I don't know. It just too much fun. Riker is so entertaining to write, and I can't stop. I seriously love him. He's awesome. Such an attitude, that guy.

Also, it's a way form me to release a few pent up frustrations. You see, my parents never let me curse like this, But Riker, he doesn't care what my parents say XD So if he tends to curse a lot in this thing, please bear with me.

Thank you for reading, please review! *bows*

~Scylar X