A/N: THE FIRST FOUR CHAPTERS HAVE BEEN REWRITTEN AND IMPROVED! Also, posted a new Spider-Man fanfic! Check it out!
Fate/Defiance
Chapter 33 - Grub
Most of the children in the camp were wary of the larger boy whose dense muscles wrapped tightly around his smaller frame. After all, they'd all heard how he had brutally killed his previous mentor in a sudden bout of anger.
…All except two.
"Hey Heracles, come punch the shit out of this wall I built! I wanna see how strong it is!" Icarus yelled, practically vibrating with excitement.
"Oh! I want to see!" Jason echoed, sprinting over with wide, admiring eyes—all of which were glued on the slowly approaching Heracles.
Heracles approached hesitantly, unused to being addressed so openly, let alone with such… friendliness. "You… want me to hit your wall?" he asked, baffled.
Icarus nodded in quick repetitions with excitement blatantly blazing across his face, "Yes, yes—punch it as hard as you can!"
"…Why?" Heracles asked nervously. He had seen the work Icarus put into that wall. Days of effort, and Icarus still worked on it even at night long after everyone else had finished their cabins.
Heracles knew his own absurd strength—and the consequences that came with it.
People feared him. And not without reason. The memory of his mentor's mangled corpse would never allow him to believe otherwise.
His own mortal parents hid the fear in their eyes whenever he came close. And though he knew, painfully, that they still cared… that ache never left.
It was subtle alienation, still better than the normal, overt kind—but no less painful.
People feared what they couldn't understand. And Heracles, a boy feared by everyone who crossed his path—couldn't even understand himself.
He was far from the Hero of Legend he would one day become… not just in body, but in mind.
…Because right now, he was just a lonely boy with low self-worth, trying desperately not to mess up the first chance at friendship he'd had in a long time.
"Why? So I can see if it's strong enough," Icarus said, staring at him with a 'didn't I already say that?' kind of expression.
Heracles blinked, speechless. Hundreds of questions crowded his mind—Aren't you afraid of me? What if I break it? Why do you trust me with this?
But all of them died on his tongue as Icarus raised his voice again. He pointed at the large white brick wall and dramatically yelled…
"Remember—maximum effort! Punch it with all your strength!"
…and then immediately retreated behind a tree, dragging Jason with him.
Heracles stared. Then, having run out of excuses not to, he squared his stance, raised his fist—and punched with all his strength.
Instantly the clearing erupted! Dirt and dust blasted upward as the sheer force of his strike tore the foundation from the ground. The wall slammed sideways into the earth as the soil around it was uprooted and hurled outward.
Icarus watched as it occurred with narrowed, analytical eyes. Jason, huddled beside him beside the tree watched with stars in his eyes, awed.
When the dust finally settled, Icarus jogged forward. Other than the uprooted dirt torn up by Heracles' inhuman force… the wall was fine.
Perfectly fine, even.
Icarus beamed, kissed his fingers dramatically, and declared, "Ha! It's perfect! C'est magnifique!" Then he turned to Heracles with a smug grin, "Looks like you're still stuck behind 9-B bud, no Wall Level Tier for you!"
Heracles and Jason did not understand the words. Icarus did not care. He was too exhilarated. It was a staggering achievement for his wall to take that punch unscathed.
Even young and far from his prime, Heracles was terrifyingly strong. He had nearly killed Icarus with a single blow when they first met—while injured. And yet the wall remained pristine.
"…Now I just have to build the rest of it," Icarus muttered. It was a tedious prospect, but quality did not compromise!
He must have his own Batcave!
…Icaruscave? Fortress of Workshopitude?
Meh, whatever.
"…I could help, if you want?" Heracles offered quietly. The nervousness trembled in his voice. They may have fought before, may have formed a strange camaraderie, or even rivalry, from that clash… but they hadn't really interacted since.
Icarus blinked, genuinely surprised—then smiled, wide and honest. "Oh? …That would be much appreciated."
Heracles felt something warm bloom in his chest, and for the first time in a very long time, he smiled back genuinely.
"Now then," Icarus said, clapping him on the shoulder, "Help me dig this pit. It's good practice for scooping up shit."
…Heracles' smile quickly became slightly forced.
-------------------
Icarus had adjusted his plans.
Instead of building his entire home from concrete bricks, he would use them to construct his workshop as a basement, then build a normal cabin on top. He only had so much volcanic ash—and without a volcano nearby, that supply wasn't growing anytime soon.
He could either build his living space or his workshop out of them—not both.
So he chose the workshop.
With Heracles' help, they dug the pit in far less time than he expected. Heracles tore through the earth as Icarus made and laid bricks with mechanical efficiency.
Icarus also had Heracles move the previously made wall into one side of the basement before laying out the floor and remaining walls.
By nightfall, the basement was done.
He still needed to make an entrance, and then construct the cabin above… but it was excellent progress.
"Thanks," Icarus said, exhausted but smiling as he patted Heracles' shoulder. "I appreciate it."
Heracles smiled back, barely winded. "I'm glad I could help."
"Now let's go get some grub!" Icarus shouted as he walked off, beckoning Heracles to follow.
"…Grub?" Heracles repeated, baffled, but followed with the shake of his head.
They reached the camp as a bonfire crackled beneath the dusk sky. The fire burned strangely stable, the flames steady and serene rather than dancing wildly.
It felt peaceful, framed by stars and planets glittering above.
Icarus felt the pull to stare upward, but even a glance at the celestial bodies stung his eyes painfully. Staring directly risked… well, exploding eyeballs.
But even the briefest glimpse revealed something — the planets held the same strange color, aura… metaphysical resonance as the other campers.
Except Atalanta, and himself.
"Truly a fated pair, umu." He muttered to himself. But he took his thoughts more seriously, as it was definitely something to investigate later.
Icarus then approached the fire, where Jason was loudly bragging to Castor while Pollux cast fleeting smiles toward Atalanta—who nibbled delicately on a small roasted leg like a rabbit.
…Asclepius, the homebody, wasn't present.
Icarus walked over and placed a hand on Atalanta's head. Seeing her nibble meat instead of tearing into it like a feral beast was a relief.
And also… really cute.
"She's savoring it," Pollux said with a wide smile, one that had her dimples deepen. "She hunted it herself, with a bow!"
Icarus jerked in surprise. He stared at Atalanta, stunned. He had been training her, yes—but this was her first real hunt.
And he missed it.
He swallowed the pang of sadness and forced a thrilled grin. "Oh? And what was it?"
Atalanta puffed her chest proudly as she broke her greasy lips from the cooked meat and replied with a joyful tone, "A w-wabbit!"
Pollux squealed and swept her into a hug—and shockingly, Atalanta didn't resist. Not even a mangly claw or scratch.
Icarus felt a spike of jealousy.
His little sister was being stolen! And the thief didn't even have to bleed for it like he did!
But then he saw the tiny smile Atalanta tried to hide.
And… the jealousy eased.
Although he may have missed her hunt, he was glad that Pollux was there for her in his stead. He wanted her to grow. To have friends. Not to rely solely on him.
Even if it made him a little grumpy.
…And thinking about that naturally reminded him of his useless wings, which made him grumpier.
But then he remembered Chiron's comment about improving them with Magic Circuits, and his mood rose again.
Eventually he gave up thinking entirely and grabbed a skewer of meat, chewing aggressively with the expression of a man personally wronged by the universe.
Heracles watched with mild amusement, still silently trying to understand what "grub" meant.
-------------------
"Your physical strength still needs some work," Chiron commented from the side.
"Y-yeah," Icarus wheezed, nearly collapsing as he dug his heels into the sand for another step. Sweat poured from his pours and onto his face so intensely it stung his eyes.
He had been doing resistance running on a long stretch of deep, uneven sand Chiron had prepared. It wasn't just sand—it was enchanted to shift subtly beneath his feet, forcing every muscle, joint, and tendon to stabilize constantly.
The tendons in his ankles felt like they were screaming.
"Lift your knees," Chiron called calmly. "The sand punishes shallow footwork."
"I—am—aware—!" Icarus managed to gasp, though each word came through like it was his last.
His legs felt like they had turned into wet noodles.
Angry wet noodles.
Angry aching wet noodles.
Chiron walked alongside him at a leisurely pace, completely unbothered. "Breathe evenly. Control your rhythm. Use less force, more technique."
"I'd—like—to—see—you—do—this!" Icarus barked out.
Chiron gave him a look that every mentor gives when their student forgets they're being trained by a literal primordial-divine-horse-man-creature… thing.
Man, what even was Chiron?
"I can," Chiron said. "I simply don't gain anything from doing so."
"…Fair point," Icarus coughed, stumbling as the sand shifted under him like a living thing.
The centaur continued in a calm, lecture-like voice—because of course he did, "You rely too much on your natural strength. Strength is not enough. You must move with intent. A human must learn efficiency. Even Heracles will crumble if he wastes strength."
Icarus made a sound that might've been a laugh or a dying animal. Hard to tell.
Chiron cleared his throat. "Now, sprint to the marker."
"What, marker—?"
The ground thirty meters ahead erupted upward as a wooden post burst from the earth like an angry tree root.
Icarus stared at it. "…I hate you."
"You'll thank me in a few years."
"…You're not wrong. I apologize then."
So Icarus ran anyway. Or tried. His legs spasmed as his feet sank half a foot with each step, with the sand greedily attempting to suck him down.
The enchanted sand actively shifted against him, resisting him more the harder he tried.
He was halfway through when his legs gave out and he face-planted straight into the sand with a muffled groan.
He didn't get up right away.
He considered death.
He considered becoming a Partridge like Perdix.
…Nope, nevermind—both were too scary.
Eventually, a shadow fell over him.
"Up," Chiron ordered simply.
"Ugh, I'm broken. You've destroyed me—I can't believe you've done this."
"You are eight."
"…Emotionally broken." Icarus muttered as he slowly pulled himself back up.
Chiron's tail flicked once. A moment later, Icarus felt a sudden magical tug hoist him back onto his feet like a fish being reeled in. He wobbled dangerously, then somehow stabilized.
"Again," Chiron said.
"I think I left my soul back there."
"Retrieve it later."
"Sheesh."
Icarus resumed running.
The moment he reached the post—barely—his body stumbled against it. He panting violently, drool practically hanging from his mouth.
Chiron raised an eyebrow. "Time for the cooldown."
Icarus toppled over like someone cut his strings.
Chiron walked over and peered down at him. "Cooldown does not mean 'collapse.'"
"You say that," Icarus said into the sand, making sand angels with his arm, "but this is my cooldown."
Chiron let out a long, patient exhale. "Remember to breathe—"
"—breathe, yes, yes, I know," Icarus said automatically, forcing himself into the practiced rhythm. Slowly, the racing beat in his chest eased. Warmth spread through his body as his breathing technique kicked in, soothing the worst of the tension..
"…Aaah. Much better." After some time, he sighed in relief, before being interrupted as a magical gust slammed into him. He yelped as the wind blasted away the sweat and sand on his form, "Rude!"
"Cleaning," Chiron said simply. "Now, go take a bath."
"On it," Icarus grumbled, defeated, dragging himself upright like a man ten times his age, "Thanks, teach!"
Chiron watched him go, then nodded to himself once.
"Better," he said quietly.
A few minutes later he submerged himself into a steaming personal bath, infused with Asclepius' experimental medical treatments.
The little doctor-in-training would force them to write detailed notes on the bath's effects—about everything they felt and thought of, and if any of the campers were unlucky enough to catch him while he was out and about… he'd subject them to a full examination.
Thankfully, Icarus had evaded him this time.
His aches melted away as he sank until only his face remained above water, as he lost himself in his thoughts
Training. Inventions. Cabins. Hatches. Wings. People. Too much on his mind, and not enough stamina for his young body to bear it with.
Although his strength had improved, he wasn't like Heracles, Castor, or the rest. He didn't possess that raw divine weight he saw with his eyes—eyes that wanted to peer deeper, burning themselves on the metaphysical core of others.
But when he looked at himself…
He lacked that same overwhelming weight, that god-saturated glow.
But he was not empty.
He was full of something — something impossible to grasp, impossible to describe. A color without a name. A memory from a dream that dissolved the moment one tried to speak it.
And he saw it everywhere.
In grass. In stones. In people. In gods.
But within himself… it was purer.
Stranger.
Deeper.
A mystery he carried in his very being.
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Author's Note
Surprise! Hahaha, only took um, a couple years for an upload.
My b.
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