(A/N) Lot of stories going on at once. Sorry bout' the long update and the fact that it's short.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN PJO

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Rain thrummed on the roof in a dull monotone, like a thousand drums calling their armies to war. Lightning split the sky for a single moment, jagged bolts raging this way and that, and thunder soon bellowed from the heavens. The wind picked up, howling and churning the lake into a frothy frenzy, the waves tossing their heads and rising up to meet it as the rain pounded, egging them on. The trees swayed and groaned, leaves and branches getting sucked into the whirlwind as the wind viciously tore them from their homes. Anyone who was unfortunate enough to get caught in such weather was being pelted with frigid droplets like shards of ice, attacking and stinging any exposed skin like a swarm of a thousand bees. Heads bent low as they bowed against the wind, people forwent their umbrellas, which were being ripped from their slippery hands, and simply took the battering, struggling to get back into the shelter of their houses. Though they may have been save from the rain in there, they were most certainly not safe from what lurked in the shadows that the heaving, dark clouds cast upon everything.

Grandma Zhang's former piolet had just finished chauffeuring at least two hundred passengers from Sacramento, California to Quebec. Ever since he'd been relieved from his duty by a rather frail-looking eagle, whose voice he knew far too well, he became the piolet for passenger jets and planes. It wasn't quite as luxurious as being a personal piolet, but as long as he was in the air, just like his father Apollo, he was A-OK. He locked his door and turned, drenched down to his T-shirt since rain water had managed to wheedle its way down his back. Sighing, he flung his sopping jacket and hat, as well as his gloves, onto a chair and left his boots and socks to dry on the mat. His house was blissfully warm, however he wasn't surprised when the lights wouldn't turn on, considering the fact that he'd seen a toppled telephone pole on his way back from the airport. Even in the time it took to walk from his the main terminal to the car and then from his car to his front door, he'd managed to get soaked to the very bone. It was not a pleasant feeling.

He shuffled around his living room, his path illuminated by the flashlight on his phone, and managed to find some matches and candles, as well as a flashlight, stowed away within his drawer. His baby Griffin, one who'd been bestowed upon him by Camp Jupiter as an award for taking those three kids away from the Zhang family mansion, Buckbeak (Yes, he had read Harry Potter), scampered over to him, his wings still too small for his body to be of any use. Buckbeak had the head wings, and forelegs of a golden eagle, with a beautiful crest and startling blue eyes, and the body and tail of a lion. His front legs were equipped with talons and his back with claws, not to mention his sharp beak, so needless to say it was quite painful to keep a griffin in the home. Nevertheless, the piolet wouldn't give up Buckbeak for anything.

"Did ya miss me?" he asked, stooping down and allowing the small eagle-lion hybrid to hop onto his shoulder, and he clucked and chirped in agreement. Buckbeak was no larger than a housecat, which was funny considering by the end of the year he'd be twice as large as a Bengal tiger, and for a moment his form flickered to reveal a sleek tortoiseshell cat. Carrying the flashlight in one hands and Buckbeak on his shoulder, he padded to the kitchen, the cool tile nipping at his toes.

Without his oven or microwave, he was forced to settle for ramen, which took him back to the awkward college years. He filled Buckbeak's bowl with special demigod-approved griffin kibble and sat down at the table to eat his ramen. The table was big, made to sit six or eight people, but demigod work had always halted the piolet from ever marrying or having a family of his own. Maybe he should consider it, but at the moment Buckbeak was all that he needed. He'd selected a book from his collection on his trip to the dining room and was now reading by flashlight.

Dante's Inferno was a difficult read, but very interesting, and as he chewed on the stringy noodles he couldn't help but marvel at Dante's adventures through the Nine Circles of Hell. For a moment he wondered what the demons really looked like, besides the terrible horns and fangs that he was describing. Would they look lie regular people or would they be hideous beasts that would have everyone in a ten mile radius running away screaming? He mused for a while when all of a sudden he heard a scratching at the window, a sound that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, for it sounded like jagged nails on a chalkboard. The flashlight flickered madly for a few moments, and he gasped, but it eventually regained its steady glow. His heart rate sped up, the instincts imbedded in demigods for over millennia kicking into overdrive; the fear of the monsters that stalk in the night. Buckbeak raised his head and let out a squawk, scampering out of the room to go investigate, so it must've been either an alley cat or a branch, for Buckbeak didn't seem at all alarmed. The batteries to the flashlight were old, anyway, since he didn't remember the last time he used it.

He sat back in his chair, taking a deep breath while running a hand through his still-damp hair, and breathed. The life of a demigod in the mortal world wasn't a pleasant one, for there were no barriers or legions to protect you; there was only you, your wits, your weapon, and your powers, if you had any at all. In the piolet's case, he had none whatsoever, which made him even more vulnerable than other demigods. Had he been a son of Jupiter or Ceres, he'd have reign over at least one aspect of nature, but no, he was a son of Apollo, which only gave him exceptional hearing, music, and athletic abilities. So what, he knew how to play Badminton without having ever touched a racket in his life? That wouldn't help against a hellhound; what was he going to do? Hit it in the eye with a birdie until it surrendered? The one battle skill he did possess was with a bow and a quiver of arrows, both which were currently hung on the nearby wall.

He finished his ramen and discarded the package as well as the plastic fork, shuffling back to his living room and retrieving his book and the flashlight along the way. Buckbeak had yet to return, though that wasn't uncommon; he probably found some nook or cranny to curl up in and had fallen asleep while exploring it. The piolet smiled softly at the thought, making a mental note to try and find the griffin before he went to sleep, just in case he was off causing trouble (like tearing up the entire roll of toilet paper). He sighed at the thought, shaking his head, and continued to read for the next half hour or so. Then, however, the scratching sound came again, louder this time. The flashlight didn't even give a warning. It went out. The piolet was pretty sure his heart had stopped, and he desperately slapped the flashlight, whose glow sputtered weakly with every jolting hit. When the candles all went out he knew that something was wrong, and he didn't take time to dilly-dallying before he lunged for his bow. His hands never reached it.

A cold hand clamped down on his shoulder and dragged him backwards. He didn't even consider his masculinity as he let out a blood-curdling yell, thrown across the room by pursuers who were invisible to him. Lightning flashed, illuminated the dark silhouettes of his attackers. Both humanoid. Both with deathly green eyes that glinted coldly, glowing dimly in the dark. The smaller one's face was slathered in blood, and a few golden feathers clung to the side of his mouth. Buckbeak. The piolet didn't have time to mourn or grieve, for the next time the lightning flashed they were right in front of him, their serrated teeth shining. Then he realized who it was.

"Hello Roman demigod who helped Nico di Angelo, Frank Zhang, and Hazel Levesque escape the Laistrygonians," Perseus growled, his voice like a snake's whisper; tempting and unable to be ignored. The piolet whimpered. The demons eyes practically glowed as he drank up the sound. "Oh you are going to be so much fun."

-Ω-

Gwen tramped through the fallen branches and leaves with a pep in her step, despite the fact that she held a bowl of demigod blood within her hands, the crimson fluid sloshing around nauseatingly. Frank followed behind her warily, his eyes darting about. He had agreed to join Gwen on her trek to Perseus' this week, and even though he wasn't as terrified as he'd been before, he certainly wasn't relaxed. He'd seen the mass exodus of animals last week, the animals that were supposed to be used to Perseus by now. They'd returned soon after, though, and the camp supposed that there'd just been a commotion in the forest that had startled them.

"Are you sure that he's safe?" Frank asked her. She turned her head back to him, quirking an eyebrow, though she immediately had to return her attention on the path as she swerved to avoid a collision with a tree.

"Gods no," she scoffed. "But he's safer than any other monster we've faced. He's a really nice guy if you get to know him." This didn't do much to soothe Frank's nerves, and Gwen had nerves of her own. Ever since her mad dash to Percy when the animals had left, only to find Perseus casually munching on the leg of a deer, she'd been anxious about him. He'd looked…off. There was something in his eyes that hadn't been there before. Something dangerous. And she'd sworn that he'd kept casting wary glances at his burrow whenever he thought that the demigod wasn't looking. It was as if he'd been hiding something in that burrow, and at the time Gwen had assumed that it was just the rest of the body of the deer, stowed away so the demigod wouldn't be disgusted.

Thinking back on it, that probably wasn't the case at all, considering that nearly all of Percy's face was covered in blood and he was taking dainty nibbles out of the leg; if he was that neat of an eater, then why was his whole face soaking in the animal's bodily fluid? It would explain the absence of the rest of the deer's body better than the hiding in the cave, considering the fact that Perseus was the absolute opposite of embarrassed and self-conscious. He'd eat a whole moose in front of Gwen if he had the chance. That only made her shiver at the possibilities.

They finally reached the clearing and found it Percy-less, which was odd, considering that the demon had an incredible nose and was always waiting for her when she arrived. Gwen, of course, knew where the demon probably was and strode over to his burrow, despite Frank's hiss of disapproval. She knocked once on the tree and called out to him, which would undoubtedly jerk him out of his slumber, but there was no answer to be found. She slowly knelt down, not wanting to get her face ripped off, and peered inside. She was surprised to find all of the bedding old and brittle. Perseus usually replaced the leaves and grass every two days or so, but this bedding had long since rotted. It was clear that the demon hadn't been here in a while.

"This is bad," she said, turning to Frank, whose eyes were almost as wide as hers. "This is really bad."