Thread: Percy Jackson: Next Generation (Naomi David X Nefarious)

Chris, we need to move! Christian Bennett ducked, very nearly being disemboweled by a harpy who shrieked and hissed in frustration, flapping her leathery wings and rising up into the dark cloudy night sky. Christian didn't have time to shout a response to his companion as the harpy came hurtling back out of the inky sky down towards him, claws outstretched and razor-sharp teeth bared. The harpy smashed into the pavement where Christian would have been only seconds ago if he hadn't rolled out of the way, quickly getting back onto his feet and pulling out his Xihpos from the sheath attached to his belt. His hazel eyes focused onto the harpy who was picking herself up from where she crashed into the ground, spitting and cursing. He readied his sword arm, feeling the muscles in his legs tense up as the Harpy flapped her wings, diving straight towards him once again. Christian moved at the very last second, twisting his body out of the way while bring his sword down in a precise, smooth arc, the bronze blade making contact with the harpy who screeched in pain before exploding into vile yellow dust, some of which clung to his orange Camp Half-Blood t-shirt. He grimaced, quickly brushing the remains of the Harpy from his shirt as he turned to look back at his companion. Oh fuck. Victor, his friend, was being scratched and clawed by two harpies, his orange t-shirt ripped and bloody as he tried to fend them off with his bronze-tipped spear. Christian sprinted towards him, ramming into one of the harpies with his broad shoulder and sending her sprawling onto the ground where he swiftly thrust his sword through her chest, making her dissolve into more of the horrid smelling yellow dust before turning to face the remaining harpy who was slashing at Victor who had collapsed onto the pavement, bleeding profusely from his wounds. Before Christian could reach his friend, the harpy turned to face him, a gruesome snarl on her twisted face. Christian didn't hesitate, charging towards her, his sword whistling down at the monster who shrieked and started to flap her wings, trying to get airborne. Oh no you don't! He growled, his right arm shooting out to grab the harpy by the ankle as she tried to take off into the sky, pulling her back down onto the ground, his sword slashing at her, shattering her into dust. He looked around the deserted car park, making sure that the two of them were not going to be ambushed again before jogging over to Victor, kneeling down beside him. The blood oozing from Victors' multiple wounds quickly drenched Christian as he held him, helping him up into a sitting position. Vic.. You're hurt pretty bad, man. I need to get you to a hospital. Victor coughed, his eyes straining to focus on Christians' face, Y-Yeah, those fuckers got me good, huh? He croaked, struggling to remain conscious. I can't go to a hospital, I'm supposed to make sure you get the girl back to Camp in once piece. Look, you've gotten me far enough. I'm going to get you to a hospital and then I'm going to make the rest of the trip to Miami by myself. --- 10 Hours Later --- Christian was getting odd looks from the other passengers of the bus. He assumed it was because of the sheathed Xihpos on his lap. Of course, mortals wouldn't realize that it was a sword, the Mist probably made it look as if he had large stick or something along those lines resting on this lap. He had never really understood how the Mist worked. It was some sort of magic that stopped mortals from seeing things they weren't supposed to. They could walk past a Minotaur and not give it a second thought. He tapped his foot impatiently against the dirty floor of the bus, turning his head to look out of the window. The glass was so filthy and coated with muck that all he could see was his own faint reflection. He stared at himself, taking in the large hazel eyes, the strong defined jawline and the unruly, wavy blonde hair. Although he didn't like to admit it, Christian knew he looked good. A lifetime of physical exercises and sports had left him with a well toned, muscular physique, standing head and shoulders above most people at the height of 6'3. When he had first arrived at Camp Half-Blood at the age of 14, he had been the focus of attention for a lot of the girls as well as the Nymphs but he had quickly made it clear that he wasn't interested. He had spent most of his time honing his combat skills, determined to please his father, Ares, the God of War. Sadly, the only time he had ever even come close to getting the attention of his father was when he had single-handedly led his Cabin to victory in the weekly capture the flag game. Now that he was older, with his 18 birthday coming up soon, he had completely abandoned all thoughts of making his Godly parent proud. Years of being ignored by his father had made him disillusioned and disdainful of Ares. The bus came to a grinding halt, jolting Christian from his thoughts. He looked up and saw that it was his stop. Attaching his sheathed sword back onto his belt, he made his way out of the bus, stepping down onto the crosswalk. Clean salty sea-breeze blew through his hair as he looked out towards the sprawling Miami beach in front of him. He dipped his hand into the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper on which there was a hastily scribbled address. After a few minutes of walking and asking people for directions, he found his way to a large beach house. Checking the address on the crumpled paper to make sure he was at the right place, he climbed up the short steps leading to the door and knocked, soft enough to be polite but still conveying urgency.