Sorry that's it's been a long time that I've been away from this fic, I've started school and apparently I now lack inspiration for chapter names :]
Disclaimer: I don't own the right to Percy Jackson and the Olympians, only my OC, sadly enough. I'd be very rich tho.
Chapter 2 (Rewrite)
It was June 2006, and the summer air in Denver (of all places, why) was thick with the promise of adventure. I was holed up in a dingy apartment, staring at the TV with a mix of wonder and confusion. My name? Sebastian Oluwabamigbe Isibor. But you can just call me Sebastian. I've been around for quite a while, though my biological clock still insists I'm just eleven. Now, let me take you back a bit, to the days before World War II was brewing, and the gods hadn't sworn off making any more little demigod bundles of joy. My mom, Adelola Isibor, was a clear-sighted mortal with roots deep in Nigeria. My childhood was far from the ordinary picket-fence dreams. I grew up in a Catholic home, the kind with crosses on the walls. My dad, or Hades, as you might know him, wasn't much of a weekend visitor. Turns out, gods are terrible at family game nights. He was too afraid Zeus or Poseidon would catch wind of him having a demigod son. But when he did drop by, it was more like a sneak-in-the-night-and-don't-wake-the-neighbors kind of visit.
Flashback to when I was just a kid in Atlanta, Georgia, circa 1935. A tiny tot, oblivious to the world of monsters and gods. Well, that was until a hellhound decided to crash my fifth birthday party. To me, it looked like a rabid dog, but the scar on my left cheek was a stark reminder that my reality was a tad different from the other kids. Mom patched me up, told me it was a freak accident with a dog, and life went on. Fast forward to a trip to Nigeria at the ripe age of eight. Mom's homeland to be exact. That's when she taught me the art of survival – cooking, speaking the language of the Benin Empire, and navigating the world with the kind of wisdom only a demigod mom could impart.
Now, school. As a demigod, I attended a school for minorities in Atlanta, a place where my ADHD and dyslexia marked me as an outcast in a sea of misfits, courtesy of ADHD and dyslexia, the demigod starter pack. You know the drill – weird looks, bullies, and teachers who didn't quite get why I saw ancient Greek instead of English on the chalkboard. But Mom had my back, always there with a comforting word or a lesson in self-defense. But it wasn't them that haunted my memories; it was the man my mother brought into our lives when I turned eight – Elliott Jameson, a venomous mix of charm and cruelty with a knack for turning kindness into torment. "On your feet, you little waste of space!" his voice echoed in my mind, a relentless taunt that fueled my anger. The breaking point came on my eleventh birthday, a day bathed in the flickering flames of Hades' fury. As Elliott spewed his poison, my powers erupted like black hell-fire, and he crumbled in my grasp like dust in the wind. That was my gift to dear Elliott, and oh boy was it an intense one.
Enter Hades, my absentee dad, offering sanctuary in the Underworld. War clouds loomed on the horizon, but Mama, wise in her mortal clarity, chose the Lotus Hotel and Casino, a sanctuary hidden in plain sight. Right before she and I set out, she gave me the silver rose pendant containing a photo of the two of us, telling me to never, ever lose it. A stormy drive, a lightning strike meant for me, and Mom's life extinguished in an instant. Hades sent Alecto, one of his Furies, to check on me. My mother was gone, and the Lotus beckoned. What seemed like a fortnight turned into seven decades of blissful ignorance. And here I was, June 2007, blinking at a world I barely recognized. So, what's a demigod got to do when he wakes up to an iPod, a flat-screen TV, and a city that seems so boring? First, prepare himself for a heavenly enlightenment, because hey, I'm a demigod after all. Second, figure out how to use this strange contraption called a smartphone. It's not like they had those in the 1930s and 1940s.
But behind the sarcasm and the quips was a demigod grappling with the psychological toll of time lost. Seventy years in the Lotus might seem like a vacation, but it messes with your head. Friends lost, moments stolen, a life snubbed from me, and a sense of displacement that clung to me like a second skin. So, here I am, Sebastian Isibor, son of Hades, survivor of monsters and time itself, ready to navigate this brave new world. My goal? Simple. Unravel the mysteries of my past, survive the monsters that lurk in the shadows, and maybe, just maybe, find a place in this modern Olympus where I can belong.
The neon glow of Denver greeted me as I stumbled into the city, weary from my impromptu shadow travel. My legs wobbled as I tried to regain my composure, blending into the bustling night crowd. The city lights were a stark contrast to the desolation I had left behind. Still, the shadows clung to me, a constant reminder of the darkness within.
My first order of business was finding a map. A quick scan of the area revealed a convenience store with a flickering "Open" sign. Stepping inside, the jingle of the doorbell echoed through the empty store. The cashier, a disinterested teenager with headphones dangling around his neck, barely acknowledged my presence. I made my way to the back where dusty shelves held an assortment of goods.
The map section was tucked away near the magazines, and after a brief struggle, I managed to unfold a map of the United States. I traced my finger over the twisted lines, trying to decipher the sprawling network of roads and cities. The realization hit me—my journey lacked direction. I needed a destination, a purpose beyond Hecate's cryptic advice.
With the map spread out before me, I pondered my next move. Hecate's words echoed in my mind, urging me to embark on a journey of self-discovery. But where should I go? The United States stretched out like a vast, unfamiliar puzzle, and my finger hovered uncertainly over the map.
As I contemplated, a soft chime from the cashier's counter caught my attention. Glancing over, I noticed a display of travel guides, each promising to unlock the secrets of various cities. My eyes settled on one for New Orleans—the vibrant city of jazz, mystery, and supernatural lore. It felt like the right place to start, a city with a rich history and perhaps some answers to my questions.
I approached the cashier, who seemed more engrossed in his music than my presence. I grabbed the New Orleans travel guide, figuring that a demigod in search of himself could use a bit of jazz and magic along the way. Using the plastic card with unlimited funds (courtesy of my time at the Lotus Hotel and Casino), I made the purchase and left the convenience store.
The neon glow of Denver welcomed me back as I studied the map, tracing a route to my chosen destination. New Orleans, it was. The journey might be long, but demigods aren't known for taking the easy path. Folding the map and stowing it in my backpack, I set out into the night, the shadows dancing at the edges of my vision.
As I walked through the city streets, the sights and sounds of the modern world surrounded me. Cars whizzed by, their headlights streaking through the darkness. People passed me, their faces illuminated by the glow of smartphones. It was a far cry from the world I remembered, a world that had left me behind.
The weight of seventy lost years were pressed onto my shoulders, but I refused to let it crush me. My mother's teachings echoed in my mind—survival, adaptability, and resilience. The city became my training ground, a place to hone my skills in this new era.
Soon, the cityscape gave way to a park. The night air carried the scent of blooming flowers, a stark contrast to the metallic tang of the city. I found a quiet bench and sat, gazing up at the stars. It was a familiar sight, a connection to the past that transcended time. The constellations whispered tales of gods and heroes, a celestial tapestry that remained unchanged.
With a newfound sense of purpose and the map tucked securely in my backpack, I resumed my journey towards New Orleans. The road stretched ahead, a ribbon of asphalt disappearing into the unknown. The night air grew colder as the outskirts of Denver gradually gave way to open roads, and the distant silhouette of the Rocky Mountains served as a haunting backdrop to my solitary trek.
The night held an eerie stillness, broken only by the occasional howl of a distant wolf or the rustle of leaves stirred by an unseen I walked, shadows clung to my every step, a constant reminder of my divine lineage. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching, lurking just beyond the veil of darkness. The monsters that roamed this world were elusive, and I needed to stay vigilant since the night air seemed charged with an otherworldly energy, giving me the feeling that unseen eyes were watching my every move.
The road became less traveled, the occasional passing car a fleeting reminder of the bustling city I had left behind. The landscape transformed, from urban sprawl to open fields and distant mountains. My senses heightened, attuned to the subtle shifts in the environment.
It wasn't long before the stillness was shattered by an otherworldly growl. As I walked, a low growl reached my ears. Instinctively, I tightened my grip on the hilt of the Celestial Bronze sword tucked in my belt. A pair of glowing eyes emerged from the shadows—an approaching hellhound. This wasn't my first encounter with the monstrous creatures, and it certainly wouldn't be my last.
The hellhound lunged, its massive form charging at me with unnatural speed. Drawing my sword, I met its attack with a swift, calculated strike. The sword cut through the shadows that cloaked the beast, revealing its true form—a creature born from the Underworld itself. Their eyes glowed with malice as they hissed, recognizing the demigod in their midst. But this was no ordinary hellhound; it was a scout, a harbinger of more to come. As if on cue, more monstrous forms emerged from the darkness—Empousai, eager to feast on the essence of a demigod like me. The odds were stacking against me, but I refused to be overwhelmed.
I needed an advantage, something to turn the tide. And then... it happened. Feeling the surge of power coursing through my veins, I raised my hands, and with a primal invocation, I summoned the spirits of the dead. Skeletal warriors clawed their way out of the earth, emerging to stand at my side. It was a power I hadn't fully grasped, an ability to command the very essence of death itself.
The undead army clashed with the advancing monsters, a spectral battlefield hidden from mortal eyes. I, Sebastian Isibor, son of Hades, fought alongside my newfound allies as I engaged in a dance of death with the Empousai. My sword cleaved through them like how a knife cleaves through fresh meat. But the monsters were relentless, their numbers overwhelming. In a desperate bid, I channeled the power of geokinesis—manipulating the very earth beneath my feet. The ground trembled as I called upon the forces of the underworld, creating a chasm that swallowed the monsters whole.
With a deep breath, I surveyed the aftermath of the battle. The undead returned to the earth, their duty fulfilled, and the monsters were nothing but echoes in the night. I stood alone on the darkened road, catching my breath.
Shadow traveling was the next step in my journey. Closing my eyes, I focused on the destination—St. Louis, Missouri. The shadows enveloped me, a surreal experience of being neither here nor there. It was disorienting, like a rollercoaster ride through the void.
The world reformed around me as I materialized in St. Louis. The Gateway Arch loomed in the distance, a monument to a world that had moved forward without me. Exhausted, I stumbled forward, my vision blurring as the toll of shadow travel weighed on my young (still prepubescent) body.
As the city lights blurred into a haze, consciousness slipped away, and the last thing I remembered was the echo of distant voices and the sensation of falling into an abyss.
The transition from unconsciousness to awareness was a gradual one. The world around me shifted from darkness to a muted glow. I lay on a park bench, my body sore and my mind groggy. The night had passed, and the dawn painted the sky with hues of pink and orange.
Pushing myself into a sitting position, I took in my surroundings. St. Louis, waking up to a new day. The city seemed to pulse with life, oblivious to the demigod who had traversed the shadows to reach its streets.
As I stood, testing the stiffness in my limbs, a realization struck me—I needed guidance. The shadow travel had left me disoriented, and I couldn't navigate the twists and turns of this city without a plan. Wandering through the waking streets of St. Louis, I let my instincts guide me. As the day unfolded, I found myself drawn to a freaking graveyard—the Bellefontaine Cemetery. It was a place of quiet reflection, a sanctuary for the departed.
The towering monuments and weathered tombstones whispered tales of lives long lived and loves long lost. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the cemetery, I felt a presence—a familiar, otherworldly aura.
And there he stood, amidst the graves and the fading light—a figure in dark robes, crowned with shadows and gems. Hades, my elusive father, observing the boundary between the living and the dead.