It was the day Paul exploded a public library.

For starters, as a student of the Pennsylvania Institute for Gifted Children, he was a problematic kid. In fact, he was surprised at all that the school would even take him in with his long and storied resume of expulsions, although the school had a misleading name: it was a school for delinquents and problematic kids that didn't fit anywhere, a place where they'd try to whip them into something resembling useful members of society.

Normally, something strange, crazy or just plain terrible would happen, catching Paul in the crossfire and ending with his expulsion. But not this time. Paul was determined to finish his high school's freshman year spotless.

When it came to his education, Paul's history was something to behold: whenever he started in a new school, strange things would happen that would end with him being expelled. Like the time during sixth grade where his class went to the Philadelphia Zoo and he got lost from his group. No one believed when he said that he wasn't trying to open the cages of the hyenas nor that the hyenas had called his name.

Or the time in sixth grade when they visited the Philadelphia Museum of Art and Paul activated the fire alarm, making everyone leave in a hurry only to see that there was no fire. He got detention for a whole month: two weeks for the stunt and two other weeks for lying. Apparently, he got lost from his group after wandering off, mistook a security guard doing his rounds and thought that his cap was somehow a dog's head.

After a while, he stopped reporting the strange things he saw, something most teachers said were probably hallucinations and delusions. The less charitable just chalked it to Paul being an attention-seeker making up stories and pulling stunts to get attention, something he clearly wasn't getting enough at home.

He knew that it was getting harder and harder for his dad to change jobs and move around each time he was kicked out and yet, he always found a way. It was tough for both of them, but his dad? Changing jobs as he did was not good for his resume and Paul felt awful whenever they received a letter saying he wasn't invited to return next year. But the worst part? His dad understood. He was always kind, was always nice and never… never said anything bad or even looked annoyed, resigned or anything of the sort. He just said they'd start over as much as needed. "No funny business", he muttered to himself. No weird hallucinations, no fire, no unsolicited visits from Uncle Art at the most inopportune of times and nothing that would justify yet another expulsion. He would rein his stupid ADHD and stupid dyslexia. Paul was going to be normal even if only for a day. His freshman year was not going to end with something stupid. He wouldn't ruin an entire year in just a day. Even him couldn't do it.

"What's wrong, Andrew?" an unbearable voice teased. It was Pierce, who laughed with his lackeys, using the same stupid joke he repeated for the entire year.

"It's Andrade", Paul snarled, unable to contain the frustration that practically seethed from him. Pierce didn't care, why would he? "Not that your small brain could understand the difference, Pierce."

Just like Paul, Pierce was a problematic child dumped into the PIGC. However, unlike Paul, his parents were rich enough to throw money at problems until they went away. With his brown hair, blue eyes and smooth face, he looked every bit as the new-rich that he was, proclaiming he never wore the same shoes twice and he'd burn clothes that were over a week old. His lackeys always laughed at his lame attempts at jokes and he would go out of his way to ruin Paul's day, all with the same shaggy blond hair and grey eyes. Paul often wondered if they were brothers.

Pierce snarled, his face turning an ugly shade of red for a brief moment before he narrowed his eyes and smiled."Hey, I heard that your stupid father is looking for a new job." The lackeys laughed."Think you could tell him I'm hiring? I need someone to mow the lawn of my new summer house. Maybe the people in the hellhole he came from know what a lawnmower is? Or should we teach him what the big machine that eats the plants is?"

He curled his hands into fists, but, before he could ruin his normal day, Mr. Greene, their History teacher, intervened.

Mr. Greene was their History Teacher and the only one who didn't despise Paul. He had dark skin, a short goatee and brown hair under a bennet. Now, with his green tweed coat over a mustard vest, round glasses, white shirt and bright green tie, he looked like a cross between a hippie and a university teacher. He walked with a wooden cane, whose color contrasted with his black pants and his big sneakers, which were the only out-of-place thing in his university teacher look. His smell was a mix of aftershave and clean fur… Maybe he lived in a small farm nearby?

Paul did his best in his subject, although his failing grades were proof that it didn't mean much when he was barely able to read a history book properly when the letters started floating out of the page, twirling and contorting like they were rehearsing a ballet routine.

"Children!", he said. His voice was clear, like rainfall. "Now we're at the James V Brown Library." He did his best to ignore the audible groans of the students. "So please, I ask you again to be in your best behavior during this excursion. Our guide is almost here, so I ask you again, best behavior and everyone gets extra credit, okay?"

That was enough to shut some of the complaints. Some, but not all. Even Pierce snarled but decided that extra credit was worth toning it down for an hour or two.

They left the bus, with the tour guide waiting before officially starting their visit.

The guide was excitedly telling the story of the library, one that Paul paid only half a mind to. Most of his classmates (which included Pierce and his hyenas), on the other hand, paid none. Apparently, it was founded by a guy who donated tons of money to the city and then asked them to make a library with a part of it. He made an entire plan of how the place should be ran and everything. Kind of impressive, really.

But, for him, the place itself drew more of his attention than the guide chattering about its history. It had a total of three floors and a basement and the first was honestly kind of cool: bookshelves filled with books, disposed in lines with the librarian's isle in the center. The way everything was sorted made Paul think of ripples in a lake. There was a door to their right and the walls were made of glass, letting them see the outside, which let the ambient surprisingly light, as he often imagined libraries as closed and stuffy places, filled with dust.

And the shelves, they had everything, all labeled, from DVD's and CD's to board games, from beginner level books to audiobooks. Most seemed to be juvenile and young adult, mixing old and new titles. Paul saw some titles he recognized, like "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea", "Around the World in 80 Days" and "Time Machine".

"So, children, please, with me!", the guide said, beaming as she made her way to the right. Paul walked, being near the end of the group because it was easier for him to not mingle. It's not that he hadn't tried, but things became awkward when people found about his lineage.

Most people treated him like he was a caveman straight out of the ice age. Some tried acting normal, but he could see how it was faked, but at least it was something. Then there were people like Pierce and some of his teachers, which seemed to take particular pleasure in tormenting him.

While, yeah, Paul might have been born in goddamn York, it was hard finding someone who didn't treat him like an alien from outer space when they found out about his father.

He still remembered the week of detention he got when he exploded at Pierce in History class about the creation of the airplane. Paul regretted not reigning his temper.

He didn't regret telling Pierce that, with a catapult, even his useless mom could fly.

Nor did he regret decking him in the face when Pierce told him he at least had a mom.

Pierce sporting a black eye for days was worth it.

They made their way into the second floor, which looked more like a traditional library. It had small tables set near the bookshelves, which were packed to the brim. Atop the tables, there small lamps lighting in the tables meshing with the ceiling lights, filling the place in an atemporal golden light, one that almost made him think he could see James Brown (the library guy, not the musician) just around the corner, reading some book that Paul wouldn't be able to for the life of his.

He stood there and tuned out the guide's excited ranting about the history of the place, how they connected with the community and the events they held regularly and was just waiting for it to be over. He just wanted to finish this and go home.

Unfortunately, Pierce and his minions had other thoughts in mind.

They stayed behind, pushing Paul out of the stairway after everyone had gone to the third floor. It gave them a solid twenty to thirty minutes to do as they pleased and Paul was outnumbered. There were five and he was only one.

Paul tried screaming, but the sound was muffled as Pierce walked, his small circle of sycophants following him. The staff spaces were currently empty and Paul tried measuring his chances.

"Now now", Pierce said, with malice. "Just be a good idiot and stay silent. I won't hurt you… Much. All I'm going to do is teach you a thing or two about respecting your betters. Then again, you can barely follow my words, don't you, Nean?"

Nean. A lovely nickname Pierce crafted for Paul. It was short for "neanderthal". Paul tried growling, but it sounded more like he was mumbling something under his breath.

"Now shut up. I don't know where you've been and I don't want to get some weird disease from wherever you're from", the new-rich said, disdain written all over his face.

As someone with a supreme control over his temper and not a petty bone in his body, Paul did the only sensible thing he could and would in that situation.

"YOU LITTLE—" Pierce yelled, clutching his right hand with his left where Paul had bitten him, right in the index finger, retreating a couple of steps. "I'll destroy you for this Andrade!"

There was only one response that came to Paul's mind.

"So now you know my name, huh?"

However, Pierce's goons… They were laughing. And laughing. They didn't stop even as Pierce looked at them in confusion. Their bodies grew, getting taller, teeth sharpening into fangs, fur growing from their arms, legs and all sorts of embarassing places. The fur was shaggy and dirty, like their hair was, and only their eyes and fangs were visible.

The grey eyes were the only beautiful things, shining like two diamonds in a pile of old coats that were used as a chew toy by a very enthusiastic dog with extremely poor dental hygiene.

"What the…" Pierce said, confused, looking at the… Things, be whatever they were.

Paul's body was moving even before he was, tackling Pierce into the ground, both falling in a mess of arms and legs and rolling before hitting one of the shelves.

"What are you doing? They are the monsters!" Pierce shrieked.

"Get off of me!", Paul grunted before kicking Pierce away with a well placed knee to his gut.

He got on his feet and looked around. The stairs were behind the things and Paul could probably go fast enough to avoid them, but what would they do? Would they hurt the others? Would they try to hurt Pierce? Paul hated Pierce, but he didn't want him to die.

He looked around as the things kept laughing, nonstop, the laughter increasing in pitch as they approached. Slowly.

Paul tried reaching for anything that he could use as a weapon, grabbing one of the lamps.

"When I say go, you run for the stairs… I think I can distract them", he told Pierce. "You can escape."

"You're going to get killed!" Pierce shrieked back, all color leaving his face, leaving his face white..

"Windows."

"You'll break both legs… But if you've gone crazy and wants to die, then who am I to argue?" Pierce shot back. Paul counted mentally and was going to rush the things and buy time for Pierce to escape.

The things were faster, with them going one full second before Paul did. Pierce screamed and ran away while Paul tried hitting one of them with his lamp. The thing did go down with a THUD!, but the others seemed didn't seem to care all that much for their fallen companion, with one in particular tackling Paul and pinning him to the floor while the others sneered, their insae laughter increasing yet another pitch.

Only now he felt the smell. Oh heavens, the smell.

It was a mix of bitter sweat that burned the eyes like acid mixed with rotten meat and mud, a mix that choked and almost made him barf. They were also stronger than they seemed as he struggled under the one that pinned him and the thing didn't even budge. Its head tilted towards his face. The thing's breath burned away his skin, leaving his eyes red, swollen and teary. And its smell… He'd rather not think about it.

"Dammit, I'm late!" Mr. Greene's voice was heard, with Paul struggling to turn and face his teacher, who now held something in his hand. He couldn't see very well, but it seemed to be brown… A piece of wood, maybe?

"Mr. Greene, it's too dangerous, go!", Paul yelled.

"I won't leave you behind, Paul." The teacher said. "Taking care of you is my job." He said in a serious tone and, before Paul could say anything, he brought the wooden object close to his mouth. A flute. A wooden flute.

Paul tried telling his teacher that practicing for a concerto wouldn't help them much here, but the thing let him go. No, it's not that it let Paul go. It was stuck in place, held tigether by vines that bloomed through the gaps in the wooden floor.

"Wha…?"

"Not now, it won't hold the Khromandai forever. With me!", the History teacher said and Paul didn't discuss as they now went down the stairs.

"Mr Greene, how… What… What are those?", Paul asked, his breath ragged as the adrenaline started settling down.

"Khromandai" Mr Greene answered. "Dionysus used them during his conquest of India."

However, before Paul could ask anything else, the Khromandai laughed. The sound was cold and shrill and filled Paul with more fear than if they had screamed in anger.

"We need to go. Now."

"But where?" Paul asked. Mr Greene normally was so calm and controlled, but seeing him that annoyed and anxious was making Paul even more jittery than he already was.

"Long Island. There's a safe place. You see Paul, you're special", Mr Greene said. "But I cant tell you everything here. I promise I'll answer all of your questions… But let's leave before…"

Before what, Paul never found out as the Khromandai were already going down the stairs. One hairy finger pointed at them from one of the hairy… Things. He still didn't know what they were, aside from being aides when some guy conquered India, a country he recalled was very much not ruled by a dude named Dionysus.

"Styx!", Mr Greene cursed.

"Hey, Mr Greene", Paul said. "The vine thing… You think you can do it again?"

"Why?" The History teacher asked. "I don't have time to make something that can hold them, Paul!"

"Just try to make them again! As much as you can!", Paul asked and his exasperated teacher gasped before he dashed again, trying to draw the things' attention unto himself.

He gulped as he tried looking for something to use. Nothing. The place was deserted. However, a member of the janitorial staff seemingly forgot a mop and a bucket in a corner, which were a blessing in disguise, so Paul rushed to take those while the Khro-something ran towards him, their fangs clicking and shining with malice.

He swept the air, using the mop like an oversized bat. The thing was hit in the head, but it didn't seem to do much damage aside from annoying it. It rushed and Paul ran, all while a song vaguely hummed in the background, something that reminded him from some obscure 80's pop punk band.

He bypassed the staff isle and ran to the other side, back to Mr Greene, who played into his flutes like their lives depended on it, which they did right now. Vines sprang from the floorboards and Paul kind of hoped that he would be able to buy them time until Mr Greene flooded the floor with plants to give them a chance to escape.

However, when the windows blew, he knew no such luck would come.

The first sign was the sound, a loud buzz similar to the sound a bee the side of a cat would , the glass started melting before the red projectile hit the ground with the force of a meteorite. They would have been vaporized if Mr Greene didn't tackle Paul, pushing the two of them away from it.

"Dammit! Now Laestrygonians too?!"

The crater was about six feet in diameter. At the center of it, there was a cannonball, made of bronze. It was pierced and seemed to have some sort of furnace inside of it, because fire was coming out of its holes.

"What the hell?!"

"Paul… We must go." Mr Greene said, but another cannonball hit the library, destroying the shelves and spreading ashes and burnt pages everywhere.

"I have an idea… We must distract them with something. Something big."

"I don't like your idea, Paul" the History teacher said, as he played into his wooden flute (which Paul now knew was made of bamboo).

"It'll work", Paul replied, although it was ahrd to know if he was doing that to calm either Mr Greene or himself. Probably both. As the song started filling more and more of the library, Paul went to the ruined windows and began yelling.

"HEY YOU BIG JERKS!" He yelled. "SHOOT AGAIN IF YOU GOT COURAGE!"

Paul's plans were simple: step one was recognizing he needed a plan. Step two was a big, nebulous area that he figured as hen went on. Step three was success. Sweet, simple, to the point.

Hence, it probably didn't come as a surprise that step two included running and praying to not be crushed to death by cannonballs with the impact of comets. So Paul had to run a lot as he yelled, not allowing himself to be made an easy target.

The second shot came about five seconds later, pulverizing the "Juvenile/Tween History & Geography" shelf, just little more than three feet to his right, with Paul barely containing a shriek as he felt warm death closer than he could have ever wanted.

He got up and ran once more, going to the windows.

"HAHA, YOU MISSED, YOU BIG LOSERS! MY GRANDMA COULD SHOOT THEM BETTER WITH ONE HAND TIED BEHIND HER BACK! NO, TWO HANDS TIED BEHIND HER BACK!"

And so he ran once more, taking refuge in a shelf filled with board games he never heard about, like "Probe", "Cartagena", "Arkham Horror" and "Hooop!". The sound was even louder than before and this was stronger… The cannonball almost broke the floor this time. He gulped, not even imagining what it would do with him if he got hit.

"Teacher!"

"Almost!"

He breathed in and got up, now walking slowly, trying to not think about the destroyed books, ruined floor and everything else. The floor burned, fizzling with smoke, cracked in places where he was sure it wouldn't hold. The glass was in tatters… Not merely broken, but melted, giving way by the sheer heat of the shots way before they made contact with it. The shelves were ruined, wood deformed, burned to a crisp, splintered and utterly destroyed. Burned books filled the ground, with varying degrees of "burned", that went from salvageable to completely ruined. Some of the burned pages still floated in the air, falling slowly like snowflakes in winter.

Snowflakes that had the awful smell of burnt paper.

As Paul walked, his expression could be read as a form of confidence by someone else and, to a degree, they were right. Although his confidence wasn't exactly that and was more "My fear was scared out of me" kind of deal.

"HEY, YOU CALL THAT A SHOT?", Paul taunted. In the corner of his eyes, he tried looking at some signal from teacher Greene, but the man was still working as far as he could see. "I KNOW A GUY WHO CAN DO BETTER AND HE HAS NO ARMS!"

Paul didn't know exactly why, but he survived.

For some reason, it was as if time itself dilated. He could almost see the giant curse and grab one of the balls with his bare hands and shoot it at him straight into his face. He could see the projectile of death spinning unto itself, glowing red from its heat and the friction with air, flying towards him with a deadly buzz and much stronger than the last shots.

He could feel Mr Greene still playing his song, which was clear even though the deadly whistle of the cannonball was getting louder and louder, deafening almost every other sound.

"NOW!"

Paul ran. He didn't even think twice before grabbing Mr Greene and running, barely reaching the emergency exit door before the massive explosion rocked their worlds, sending them tumbling into the nearby alley.

On the street, people were already pointing at the explosion in the library. With the corner of his eye, Paul saw the other students of the PIGC, all in shock blankets and being watched over by rescue workers. One in particular locked eyes with him.

It was Pierce.

"Him! It was him!" Pierce said, pointing at Paul. "He burned the entire school, get him!"

Mr Greene cursed again before looking at Paul, brown eyes digging deep into his.

"We must go to your house. Now."