We do not own Percy Jackson & the Olympians or any works of Rick Riordan. All rights go to their original owners. We only own OCs and concepts we're introducing to the canon.
Writing credits go to Uzumaki Ricky, Monsterhuntergod, Sharad the hedgehog, and Traines.
Masters of Defying Destiny
Book 1: The Frozen Trails
Chapter 11: Hell of a Choice
Argos sat alone in the mess hall, the darkness of night still cloaking the camp. The dim flickering candlelight was his only companion as the staff worked in the kitchen. Before him was a simple plate of cold meats and cheeses, with an equally grim-looking bowl of porridge. Yet despite all of that, his face remained expressionless. He didn't taste the food, didn't feel the morning chill, or the lack of people in the empty mess hall. Even though he heard the mess hall doors open loudly, he didn't flinch.
"Argos? What are you doing up this early?" The voice of Mike asked.
Argos didn't turn to look at him, keeping to his breakfast. "We're supposed to be up this early. Figured I'd just get breakfast out of the way first." He answered with a shrug.
"You do know that having a full stomach isn't good when you exercise, right?" Mike explained, sitting down in front of him.
Argos shrugged again at the words. "I've been here for half an hour. It'll be fine." He replied.
"Are you okay? You don't seem like yourself today," Mike said worriedly.
"Don't worry about me," Argos said, before grabbing his plate and bowl. "I was done anyways."
Argos walked over to the central brazier and scraped the remaining food into its glowing embers. As the food began to burn away in the flames, he walked towards the door. By the time he made it to the doorway, he heard a creak from one of the floorboards. Within mere moments, he felt Mike's massive presence behind him.
"So, what are we doing for training today?" Argos asked.
"Well, we have a break day, so we got a lot more time to work with," Mike replied.
"We get break days?" Argos asked.
"Yeah. What, did you think that every day at this camp was spent training?" Mike asked quizzically.
"'Training' wouldn't be the word I'd use to describe it," Argos muttered.
Mike frowned a bit. "Relax, Argos. You'll get there. Do you honestly think anyone here didn't suck when they first started out? Even though I wasn't nearly as good as I am now. I used to destroy things all the time because I couldn't control my strength and I sucked at anything weapon related." He explained.
"At least you were good at something, even back then," Argos replied.
"I wouldn't call 'nearly crushing your own weapon because you got mad' being 'good' at something…" Mike muttered.
"Whatever. All I can do is swing a sword. In a camp where everyone can swing a sword," Argos said.
"At least you could do that much. Other than being the strong guy, I wasn't good at literally anything at first. But I got better because I kept at it. You keep at it and you'll get better too," Mike explained in an attempt to encourage his friend.
Argos slowly turned his head to look at him. "Can I really get better if there wasn't anything there to begin with?" He asked cryptically.
Without another word, Argos walked away from the conversation. Leaving Mike standing there, confused at what had just happened.
Later That Morning
Argos sat in the bushes outside the back of the mess hall. He watched as the staff worked diligently and swiftly to make breakfast for the rest of the campers. His eyes narrowed, waiting for an opportune moment. Then, as the staff shifted to a different part of the kitchen, he made a mad dash for the nearest table. With his hand moving with blinding speed, he grabbed the nearest sharp knife from the table, before rushing back into the safety of the bushes.
'Alright, Argos. You've done this before. You know what to do. You just… you just…' Argos thought to himself as he looked down at the knife, seeing a reflection of his own eyes in the polished blade.
He felt the hand he held it in begin to shake, forcing him to grab it to stop it. He then poked his head out of the bushes to observe his surroundings. His throat dried up in horror as he saw Mike and Lupe talking on a bench near the mess hall. Just when he tried to make a break for it, one of them called out to him.
"Hey, Argos! Come join us! We were talking strategy for the next Capture-The-Flag game next week!" Lupe called out, waving to him.
Argos gulped and swiftly stuffed the knife into the left sleeve of his long-sleeved camp shirt. As he did that, he failed to notice the cuff on the right sleeve had rolled itself slightly, revealing part of his arm. Swiftly, he brushed some leaves off himself before walking over to them.
"Hey. Sorry. I was… practicing my stealth skills. Guess I got some more work to do," Argos nervously said.
"Well, at least you're better than Mike was at first. He couldn't hide himself to save his life," Lupe playfully said.
"I thought we agreed never to speak of that," Mike said pointedly.
"He tried to hide himself behind a tree that was too thin to hide him, so he stuck out like a sore thumb," Lupe giggled, ignoring her twin's attempt at saving face.
Argos smiled a bit at hearing that. "I guess you weren't kidding when you said you weren't that good at things at first." He replied.
Mike nodded. "Of course. Nobody here starts out good at much of anything. The only things we start out good at are whatever gifts our godly parents pass down to us. Everything else, we suck at until we start training." He explained.
Argos face hardened up at that. He felt the hairs at the back of his neck bristle at being reminded of his other half.
"Fair enough. Well, I'll see you two around," Argos said as he took his first step to walk away.
Lupe frowned. "Argos… instead of focusing on what you suck at, focus on what you're good at. You're great with a sword and you've got great aim with throwing weapons. I've never seen someone hit a bullseye with a javelin as easily as you." She told him, trying to be encouraging.
"See? You've got talents. You just need practice…" Mike added before his gaze drifted down to Argos's exposed wrist, his eyes widening.
"I'll keep that in mind. See you," Argos replied swiftly, and made a few more steps to get away.
Mike frowned as Argos left. He swore he saw what looked like scars on Argos's wrist. The kind you do not get from combat or combat training…
Meanwhile: Near the Amphitheater
Argos panted as he rushed into the woods behind the Amphitheater. Putting out a hand, he leaned against a tree as sweat began to soak into his shirt. Even under the forest's shade, he could hardly stand the heat. With a sigh, he let the knife slide out of his sleeve back into his hand. He then stared at the sharp blade, contemplating his options.
'Will it work? I've tried this seven times, and it hasn't worked yet. Then again… maybe it will this time,' He thought.
With a heavy sigh, Argos rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. A deep tan line had formed on his wrist, with hands being now darker than his arms. His pale skin was slick with sweat from the ever-rising heat. Swiftly he turned his hands inwards to look at the underside of his forearms. Each of them had a matching set of horizontal white scars across that side of the forearm.
'Good thing they didn't see these. The last thing I'd want to do is try to explain. I don't think a kitchen accident would cover it.' He thought before he bit his lip.
Gripping the knife in his left hand, he readied himself to cut the middle of his right forearm. The sharp edge touched his wet skin, and he closed his eyes. He never could look when he did it. But right before he made the cut, he heard a deep, rumbling growl. Argos forced his eyes open and frantically looked around. He could not see what was making it, but the growling persisted.
With a heavy sigh, he held the knife out as he followed the sound of the growl. He walked deeper through the forest and the underbrush, and, with each step, the growling grew louder and louder. Finally, he pushed through a large hazel bush to be met with the shimmering boundary of the camp. Refocusing himself, he looked straight ahead. Standing right there on the other side of the boundary to the camp was the distinctive black clad form of a Hellhound. Baring its large teeth, it scratched and battered at the boundary harmlessly. Its red eyes squarely locked on him.
Argos stood there watching the Hellhound. It was almost majestic in appearance when it could not physically hurt him. Then his eyes shifted from the monster before him to the knife. He stared at his reflection for an uncomfortable amount of time.
"You know. I have to thank you, big guy," Argos said to the Hellhound. "You made this a hell of a lot easier for me."
Shifting himself into a sword fighting stance, he held the knife out. He felt his heart begin to race as he readied himself. This was it. It was now or never. He dug his heels into the dirt, ready to spring forth at the beast. It would all be over. Until he heard a loud, familiar voice calling out through the forest.
"What! The fuck! Do you think you're doing?!" The voice bellowed out as a large hand wrapped around one of his wrists.
Argos wheeled around on his heels to see Mike looking down at him. His face curled and contorted into a disappointed snarl and his eyes narrowed with rage. In that moment, looking up at Mike, all the adrenaline that Argos built up vanished. His hands began to shake, causing him to lose his grip on the knife. Once it fell harmlessly onto the ground, Mike spoke to him again.
"There is no way in hell I'm letting you take on something like that! Not armed with nothing but a steel knife and some kind of death wish! Are you fucking nuts?!" Mike snapped at him.
"This doesn't concern you," Argos replied, trying to steel his nerves.
"The hell it doesn't! You're my friend and we risked our asses getting you here! I'm not about to let you throw your life away!" Mike replied before turning to face the Hellhound, slowly putting on his black leather gloves as he did so.
Argos grit his teeth into a snarl at hearing that. "You shouldn't have bothered! You all should have just left me alone to wither on the-" He snapped before getting cut off violently.
Without even letting him finish, Mike backhanded Argos across the face without even looking at him. Blood shot from Argos's mouth as he swore he felt his teeth rattle from the force of the impact. As time seemed to slow to a crawl, Argos barely registered that Mike had hit him. Soon, time seemed to speed back up as Argos was sent tumbling across the forest floor before slamming into a tree. Groaning in pain, he tried to get up as he looked up at Mike in disbelief, blood dripping from his mouth.
"Shut up and listen, dumbass. I won't let you kill yourself. If you're gonna die, I'm gonna make sure it's like a real Greek hero. On your feet in a way that matters," Mike coldly told him, looking back at his friend.
"Arrrggghh. That. Almost. Did it," Argos replied, fighting through pain to simply speak.
Cracking his knuckles, Mike punched his fists together. In a flash of brilliant light, his gloves turned into cestus wrappings made of Celestial Bronze with spiked knuckles. Flexing his hands, Mike turned to look at Argos. "Watch and learn, rookie. This is how a Greek demigod fights." He said before punching his fist into his palm as he walked forward.
As soon as Mike stepped out of the boundary line, the Hellhound snarled viciously as it leapt to attack him. Dodging the lunge, he brought his knee up into the beast's jaw. The monster yelped in pain as the blow sent it back up into the air only for a blow from Mike's fist to send it flying back. Whimpering, the Hellhound struggled to get back up.
"Get up, mutt. I'm in a bad mood and you're the perfect thing to take it out on," Mike growled, his eyes as cold as ice.
Shaking its head as it got to its feet, the monster snarled furiously as it lunged at Mike again. Its claws gleamed in the light as it tried to slash at the demigod. Dodging again, Mike slammed his fist into its jaw. The blow sent it tumbling, rattling its brain as it crashed into the barrier.
Walking up, he grabbed the beast by its throat, lifted it up, and slammed it back into the dirt hard enough to crack and crater the ground. The Hellhound howled in agony as it tried to get out of his grip. However, he simply grabbed it by its back and lifted it up as high as he could. With a vicious gleam in his eyes, Mike brought the monster back down with full force, smashing it spine-first down onto his knee as a sickening crunch echoed through the forest.
"And that. Is how you do it," Mike said, looking back at Argos as he let the beast go, its body slowly dissolving into dust as just a pelt was left behind.
Argos with a sigh slumped down the truck of the tree. "Like it matters. Like any of this matters." He replied glumly.
"Argos. I don't know what you've been through, and I doubt you'll tell me any time soon. But the past is the past and there's no changing it. What matters is what you do now. How you try to move forward," Mike told him, looking his friend in the eyes.
"It's… it's not just the past. My past and present are the same. What is there to move forward to?" Argos asked, turning his head away from Mike as he spoke.
"That's the beauty of the future. It can be whatever you make of it. But this moment? This day right now? It's proof you're still standing. That whatever you've been through hasn't broken you yet. That's not a burden, that's a gift. That's why it's called the present," Mike told him as he picked up the belt and walked over to Argos.
"Where'd you learn that one? Off the back of a fortune cookie?" Argos sarcastically asked.
Mike smiled playfully. "My stepdad, actually." He replied, patting Argos on the back "gently."
Clenching his hands into fists, Argos forced himself to look up at Mike. "Is it really that simple? That's all it takes to make life have meaning?" He asked.
"Life has whatever meaning you make of it, bud. As long as you're doing something that makes you happy, something that gives you a sense of purpose, life has meaning," Mike told him.
"I don't know what makes me happy. I don't… I don't know anything really," Argos said.
Mike gently placed a hand on Argos's shoulder. "Then let's figure it out together. By moving forward." He told him, giving him a smile.
Argos turned to look Mike in the face. As he stared into his blue eyes and his wide smile, it was different than others he had seen. It was genuine. The longer he looked at him, the more he began to think about everything he had been through at camp. Everyone he had met, everything he did. It was genuine. He then looked down at his self-made scars, trying to divine any form of meaning to them.
"I… I guess I'll try. For what it's worth," Argos replied unsurely, not trusting his own voice.
Mike nodded as he hefted the pelt. "C'mon. Let's head back."
Argos nodded before walking over to pick up the knife he stole. As he held it, he looked into his reflection again. He let out a deep sigh before turning to Mike.
"Do you… got any short-sleeved shirts? This thing's getting kinda warm," He asked.
Mike smiled. "I'll get you a new one. I know a guy." He told his friend.
"Does it have anything to do with that pelt?" Argos asked.
"Yup. And maybe I can get whatever's left over made into a nice hoodie," Mike replied with a grin.
Hearing that got a small smile out of Argos. Then the two began their walk back to the camp. With the smile staying on Argos face as they walked. For the first time since he arrived at camp… he felt happy to be there.
To Be Continued…