Randomness With Smosh_Fanfics

Fanfic Bootcamp Entry #6

She'd heard about the place from a friend.

"Under the broken sign," he'd said. "That's where everyone goes."

"What is it?" she'd asked.

"A bar," he'd replied. "A safe spot."

"There are no more safe spots," she'd responded. "They've all been destroyed."

"Not this one," Travis had promised her. "The only danger you'll be in there is what you do to your liver."

They were empty words, and they both knew it. Nowhere was safe now. Not even for mortals, let alone them.

Travis had told her stories. Before the battle, there had been safe places for demigods. Summer camps and cities, protected from monsters, where you could live semi-normally. He'd lived in one, once, with his brother; a place called Camp Half-Blood. She'd always loved it when he talked about that place. His eyes always lit up when he did.

But Travis was gone now, and she would never hear about that camp again. Instead, she was here, outside the building with the sign broken in half and blacked-out windows, the knife she had strapped to her leg feeling colder than usual against her skin. 

"Well," she whispered to herself. "Here we go."

Taking a deep breath, America opened the door and stepped in.

Everyone went quiet at the sight of her. There were only thirteen people inside; a bartender, five men and three women at a table, three more women at another table, and one man at the bar. They all had weathered faces and tired eyes. Then again, who didn't?

"State your business!" the bartender screamed at her, his hand resting on a knife. America noticed that everyone else had their hands on their weapons as well.

"My name is America Jordan," she announced, slowly raising her hands. "I heard that this was a place for demigods."

Murmurs broke out among the tables.

"You're too young," the bartender scoffed.

"I was saved by Travis Stoll," she replied. "He kept me alive. I am the last daughter of Tyche."

"You knew Travis?" one of the women who had startling green eyes and long black hair asked, sounding amazed. America nodded. "How is he."

America shook her head, and the woman's face fell.

"Well, then, daughter of luck," the bartender smirked. "Welcome."

"Thanks," she walked up to the bar. "Do you have any water?"

The bartender nodded and went to a room behind the bar. America tapped her fingers on the table as she waited. Everyone had pretty much gotten over her arrival, and had gone back to their conversations. A few seconds later, the bartender arrived with her drink, before going over to the biggest table and joining them.

America glanced over at the man who was sitting by himself. He couldn't have been much older than twenty-five. If America had to guess, she'd have to say he was from the last generation.

She walked over to him. If there was one thing America hated, it was seeing people alone.

"Leave me be," he said the second she sat next to him.

"No," she replied immediately.

The man sighed and took a swig from his bottle of beer. "Am I going to be able to shake you?"

"No," she said again.

He sighed and didn't reply. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

"So," she prompted. "Who's your parent."

The man didn't reply for a few seconds. Then, suddenly, he grabbed her wrist.

"How about I show you," he growled. Before America had any time to react, everything went black.

* * *

When she finally came back to her senses, she felt dizzy. She rolled onto her knees and closed her eyes, waiting for it to pass. After it did, and she reopened her eyes, she gasped.

She was on a roof, with the man at her side. Below her was open sky, all the way down to a bustling city that was obviously in chaos. Some battle seemed to be raging, but who it was between, she couldn't tell.

The roof she was on was classic Greek style, and was open in the middle, giving her a view of what was below it. There were three people; a black-haired boy with sea-green eyes, a blonde boy with golden eyes, and a blonde girl with grey eyes. The two boys were fighting, and the girl seemed to be hurt.

She recognized the black-haired boy from an old photograph Travis had shown her. That was Percy Jackson, the man who had failed the world. But that was impossible. Percy was long dead.

That's when it clicked. 

This was the battle of Manhattan, the day the world had been lost to Kronos. Which meant that somehow, miraculously, the man had taken her into the past.

"How-" she began to ask, but the man covered her mouth.

"Just watch," he whispered.

And so she did. She watched as Percy was disarmed, and the girl started to talk to the golden-eyed boy. His eyes started flickering back to their original colour. Percy started offering him a knife, and the boy, eyes no longer golden, starts to reach for it.

Then, in a blink of an eye, the exact same man who was standing next to her appeared and grabbed the knife himself, plunging it into Percy's chest. The girl screamed, and the boy's eyes went back to gold. The man disappeared, but the damage had been done. America watched in horror as the golden-eyed boy threw the girl through the floor and to her inescapable death.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened. The golden-eyed boy was Kronos, in someone else's body. And the man standing next to her was the reason why he hadn't been defeated.

Percy Jackson hadn't failed. He'd been forced into a situation he couldn't win.

"Why?" America asked in horror. "Why would you do this?"

The man looked at her, eyes glittering. "What son wouldn't help their father?"

America gasped. "You're... you're Kronos' son?"

"Yeah, that's what I said," the man replied. "My mother was a servant of Gaia. The earth goddess collected enough of my father's consciousness to form me."

"That's impossible," America cried. This was too much. It was because of this man, this one man that the entire world had developed into chaos under Kronos' rule. Because of him, that life had become a living hell. "You're a monster."

"I know," he replied with a smirk. "But I was made to be a monster. It doesn't bother me a bit."

"Why did you show me this?" America asked. "What do you get out of it?"

"What do I get?" the man asked. "I get some peace and quiet at the bar."

Next thing America knew, his fingers were wrapped around her throat, and he was holding her over the edge of the roof. She glanced underneath herself, and saw a hole in the ground. If he dropped her, she'd fall to her death.

"Goodbye, darling," he grinned. "Have fun being buried in a mass grave."

Before America could even open her mouth to beg for her life, he released her. As she fell through the ground, all she could focus on were his chilling, evil, blue eyes.

Then he was gone, leaving her alone to the whistling wind in her ears and the soon, inescapable, cold embrace of death.