And unleashed hell.
A narrow stream of liquid fire blasted from my lips — white-hot venom igniting the second it hit air, like a miniature flamethrower bursting forward with a violent hiss. It struck the vampire dead in the chest, lighting up his hoodie in an instant.
The vampire didn't scream.
He charged.
Right through the fire.
Eyes glowing red, body smoking, fangs out.
He hit me like a train.
We slammed into the tile wall and I went full instinct.
Claws out. Arms moving faster than I could think. I hacked into him like I was carving through raw meat — slicing through his ribs, his arms, chunks of dead flesh peeling back in strips.
And he kept coming.
Even on fire. Even torn apart.
So I did the only logical thing.
I bit him.
Hard.
My teeth sank deep into his neck. I could feel the venom pouring into him, fire boiling under his skin from the inside out.
He shrieked.
First sound he'd made.
I slammed him back into the sink, he crashed through it and into the pipes, when the water touched him he screamed even harder, I tore at his throat with my teeth like a rabid animal, and didn't stop until—
Poof.
Golden dust.
Ash everywhere.
Just me, breathing hard, crouched in the middle of a scorched, wrecked diner bathroom with blood on my mouth and burn marks on the ceiling.
I stood up, wiped my face, looked at the mirror.
And muttered, grinning:
"Some motherfucker always trying to ice skate uphill."
I took a second to rinse my face on the busted pipe — mostly out of habit. It didn't help. I still looked like a bloodied-up pyro who'd just wrestled a furnace and won.
I looked at myself in the mirror. Just me again. Eyes a little wilder than before. Still grinning.
Then I stepped out into the diner.
The bell above the door jingled like nothing happened. Fryers hissed from the kitchen. A waitress refilled coffee for a trucker who hadn't looked up once.
Rhea and Jasper were still in the booth, finishing their food.
Jasper looked up first.
"Dude, were you gone for like twenty minutes or—" He froze mid-sentence. Eyes scanned my scorched hoodie, the burn marks on my sleeves, and the faint curl of smoke rising from my collar.
Rhea followed his gaze.
Then she leaned forward. "Did… did you get into a fight in there?"
I slid back into the booth like it was any other Tuesday.
"Yeah," I said, grabbing what was left of my hash browns and taking a bite. "Vampire."
Jasper blinked. "A what?"
"Vampire," I said with my mouth half full. "For real this time, a real vampire. No reflection. Spit fire at him but it didn't kill him fast enough so I had to bite him."
Rhea stared. "You bit a vampire?"
"He bit me first. I just bit harder."
Jasper covered his face with both hands. "I leave you alone for five minutes—"
I shrugged and chewed.
Behind me, the waitress passed by with a coffee pot and didn't even glance at the scorched cuffs of my hoodie.
Business as usual.
Jasper was still giving me the you-need-to-be-studied-in-a-lab look.
Rhea leaned forward across the table, eyes narrowed like she was trying to figure out if I was joking, insane, or just... me.
"So," she said slowly, "you're spitting fire now."
"Yep."
"Like, full flamethrower."
"Mini version," I said, picking up my water. "Might upgrade later."
Jasper looked from me to his barely-touched soup like it suddenly wasn't safe to eat anymore. "How? Why? You weren't doing this yesterday."
"You know," I said, wiping some ash off my sleeve. "It just… started."
They both stared at me.
I looked around to make sure no one else was watching — the diner staff couldn't care less, and the one old guy at the counter was too invested in his scrambled eggs to notice us.
So I leaned in, tilted my head back slightly, and opened my mouth.
Both of them recoiled instantly.
"Dude, what the hell—" Rhea hissed.
Inside, just under my tongue and behind my teeth, they could see it — a faint greenish fluid pooling, slick and bubbling just a bit, like it was already itching to ignite.
Jasper covered his mouth. "That's venom."
"Yeah," I said, closing my jaw carefully. "Watch this."
I turned toward the window, leaned to the side, and let loose a small luggie onto the concrete just outside.
The second it hit the air—
FWOOM.
A burst of orange flame flared up with a sharp hiss, then faded, leaving a small black scorch mark on the sidewalk.
"…Told you," I said, sipping my water like nothing happened.
Rhea blinked, then turned back to her toast like she needed to focus on something safe.
"So…" Jasper said cautiously. "This just… keeps happening to you?"
"Yeah. It's like…" I leaned back, thinking. "You know when you stare at the sun too long, and when you blink, there's that black orb burned into your vision?"
They both nodded.
"Well, I see those before I get something new. Just floating behind my eyes."
"And they… what?" Rhea asked.
"When one lights up," I said slowly, "something changes. I get something. A power. A skill."
Jasper leaned forward, whispering, "That's not a god's blessing."
"Don't think so."
They sat in silence for a second.
Finally, Rhea stabbed the last bit of her Meat Mountain and said, "Well… I'm just glad you're on our side."
Jasper nodded. "Yeah. Let's keep it that way."
I grinned.
"Anyway," I said, swallowing, "I'm good now. You guys ready to hit the road?"
Rhea raised her eyebrows. "Yeah, just as soon as I finish processing the fact that you drool venom, spit fire and mauled a vampire in a bathroom."
"I didn't maul," I said. "It was more like… tactical gnawing."
Jasper groaned.
I grinned.
We started going our way back to the bike. Road still waiting. And now, apparently, I was a walking venomous flamethrower with a mouth full of serrated teeth.
Neat.
CP Bank: 0cp
Perks earned this chapter: 100cp Bite of Uraeus (Egyptian Mythology) [Destruction] While the bite of a normal cobra burns well enough in the blood, the monsters of Duat are described as having venom even more fierce. Your teeth are now capable of producing potent venom and spitting it from your mouth, but this venom also ignites on contact with air, erupting into a great spray of flame. You are immune to the toxin of your own bite, and resistant to accidentally scorching yourself when spitting fire.
Milestones reached this chapter: noneWe rolled out of Salt Lake just as the sky started turning a weird hazy color.
The Harley purred beneath us, all three of us strapped in again, bags tight, gear humming with the usual "don't fall off at 80 mph" prayer.
I led us through the wide, clean streets of the city center. It was unnervingly quiet — too organized. Like a place designed by people who never expected to be chased by monsters.
As we turned a corner, we passed the Mormon temple — spires sharp against the sky, white stone almost glowing in the evening sun.
Jasper pointed at it over my shoulder. "Weird seeing a place like that after last night."
"Why?" I shouted back.
"I dunno!" he yelled. "Feels… stable. Like it doesn't belong in the same world where you bit a vampire to death."
Fair.
I didn't say anything, but I caught myself glancing at the temple as we passed.
It looked untouched.
Like nothing could ever scratch it.
Which made me wonder what it would take to get the divine to notice if something did.
We were already back on the open road before I could think too hard about it. The city faded behind us, mountains on either side, the horizon stretched long and empty.
Jasper tapped me on the shoulder.
"Where to next?"
I gave him a thumbs up and yelled back:
"Fort Collins! If the gods don't toss us into a volcano first!"
Rhea whooped behind him.
The wind picked up. The engine roared.
And the three of us kept going — one monster down, a thousand miles to go.
The sun was dipping behind the mountains when we pulled off the highway and into the woods.
Medicine Bow National Forest. Quiet, dense, the air thick with pine and the kind of peace that makes you a little nervous after too many days on the road.
We found a flat clearing tucked between some trees, far enough from the main road that the engine noise was gone, replaced by the sounds of wind in branches and birds calling out the end of the day.
I killed the engine. The Harley gave one last mechanical sigh before falling silent.
Jasper practically fell off the bike. "I can't feel my spine."
Rhea stretched with a groan. "That was way too much road in one day."
"Yeah," I muttered, popping the kickstand. "Time for a real stop."
We started setting up camp — the small folding tent we picked up at the Walmart back in Boise, unrolling sleeping bags, pulling out our stash of food and supplies. I got a small fire going with a bit of spit.
The flame glowed low and warm, painting the trees in flickering orange. Jasper laid back, arms crossed behind his head, staring up at the growing field of stars above us.
"Y'know," he said, "if it weren't for the constant threat of death, this would actually be kinda nice."
Rhea snorted. "Don't jinx it."
I didn't say anything. Just sat by the fire, absently turning a stick in the flames. The forest was quiet. Too quiet.
"Let's not light the whole world up tonight," I muttered, glancing at the trees.
Jasper looked over. "What, no fire show?"
"I just wanna sleep without catching a cryptid mid-snack this time."
Rhea tossed me a protein bar. "Amen to that."
We ate. Talked a little. Watched the stars come out.
Just two half-bloods and a satyr by a fire, the woods breathing around us, and the long road still waiting tomorrow.
Rhea was lying back on her sleeping mat, chewing the last bite of her protein bar, arms folded under her head like she owned the woods. Jasper was cross-legged, staring into the flames like he was trying to read the future in the flickers.
For a while, no one spoke.
Then Rhea broke the silence.
"You know," she said, voice quiet, "I didn't think I'd make it this far."
Jasper glanced up. I kept still, watching her from across the fire.
"I was in Spokane," she went on, "hitching rides, hiding in warehouses, sleeping in a shipping crate one night. I got real good at not being seen. But every now and then, one of them would find me anyway. Some monster with too many teeth, or some guy with dead eyes who smelled like sulfur."
She paused, staring at the sky.
"I kept thinking I was just buying time. That I'd die before I figured out who my godly parent was. Before I got to that camp. Before I met anyone like me."
Jasper looked like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.
I finally spoke.
"You're here now."
Rhea smirked. "Yeah. Chasing monsters and dodging vampires with the feral Alaska boy and the nervous goatman. Real upgrade."
"Still alive," Jasper muttered. "That counts for something."
She nodded, slowly. "It does."
The fire popped gently between us, casting soft shadows against the trees.
For a moment, the forest felt… calm.
Then I caught it.
Something in the wind.
My head turned instantly. My nostrils flared.
The warm scent of pine and smoke faded under something else — something wet. Metallic. Faint, but sharp. Like blood and moss and rotting leaves.
I sat up straight.
"What is it?" Rhea asked, already moving her hand toward the hunting knife strapped to her belt.
I didn't answer right away.
I stood up slowly, brushing ash off my palms, eyes scanning the tree line like it might blink back.
The scent was stronger now. Coppery. Reptilian. The kind of wrong that clung to your sinuses and didn't let go.
"Rhea," I said quietly, not taking my eyes off the dark.
She was already halfway to her feet, knife out.
"Protect Jasper."
Her eyes flicked to me. "You serious?"
"I'm gonna nip this in the bud."
Jasper looked up, pale. "You don't even know what it is."
"Don't need to."
Before they could argue, I was already moving — slipping into the trees, feet soft on the pine-needle-covered ground, the dark swallowing me whole like I belonged in it.
And in a way, I did.
My senses stretched out around me — ears twitching at every creak of bark, eyes adjusting to every shifting shadow. The scent trail curled between the trunks, old and heavy, slithering low to the ground.
I followed it.
I passed claw marks on a tree trunk. Long, deep grooves that looked like they'd been raked through hardwood like it was wet clay.
Droppings, too. Big. Twisted. Carnivorous.
Scales.
I crouched near one — palm-sized, black-green with a pearly underside, like armor peeled from a tank.
Whatever I was tracking, it wasn't small.
I kept going.
The trail curved up a rocky incline, past a dry creek bed, until I found the entrance — a cave tucked into the side of a hill, half-concealed by brush and shadows.
The smell hit like a wave.
Rot. Old kills. Reptile musk. Bone.
I crouched low just outside the mouth of the cave, the fire still sitting in the back of my throat like a loaded weapon.
I needed light.
So I let the pressure build.
The venom pooled under my tongue, burning softly, waiting. I leaned in just enough and hissed out a tight stream of air.
FWOOM.
A baseball-sized fireball spat from my mouth and shot into the cave, lighting up the stone like a flashbang dipped in napalm. The flame licked along the walls for a half-second before it sizzled out.
But I saw it.
Massive.
Coiled in the back of the cave like a serpent god, dark and glistening, thick as a truck's axle. Its scales shimmered black-green, blending into the rock. Smoke curled up from its nostrils. Its head was wide and blunt, with jaws lined in jagged teeth meant for shearing through bone.
And its eyes?
Gold.
Locked directly onto me.
And it did not blink.
"Yeah," I whispered, already grinning. "There you are."
My claws snikt out of my knuckles with a satisfying snap, catching the dim cave light.
I didn't wait.
I charged.
Boots slamming into the stone, heart hammering in my chest like war drums, grin wide and teeth sharp.
It let out a low growl — more like a rumble, deep and primal — just as I crossed the threshold.
The cave lit again, but not from fire.
From violence.
The Drakon reared back, its coils shifting with a low, thunderous hiss — massive body sliding against stone like a freight train coiling to strike.
I didn't slow down.
Didn't hesitate.
Didn't think.
I launched straight at its head, claws up, fire burning hot in my throat like a live grenade ready to blow.
It snapped its jaws at me—too slow.
I slid under them, hit the stone floor hard, rolled to my feet and slashed upward.
My claws tore through the soft underside of its chin — thick, rubbery skin parting like wet leather. A spurt of dark blood hit my jacket and sizzled on contact.
The Drakon roared.
It echoed through the entire forest.
It tried to coil, tried to crush — but I was already on top of it, digging into its neck, slashing at the thick hide with everything I had. The scent of burning scales filled the cave as I spat another stream of fire into its shoulder.
It thrashed, slammed me against the cave wall. Pain flared through my ribs, but I didn't stop. I bit into the thick muscle under its jaw, venom flooding into it from my fangs, igniting along the edges.
It howled, tried to retreat into the dark.
No chance.
I was on it again — claws ripping, fire spraying, my body moving on instinct now.
I sank both claws deep into the Drakon's eye — it shrieked and reared up, trying to shake me loose.
I held on.
I grinned.
"You're dinner," I snarled, and ripped.
The beast collapsed, its head smashing into the stone floor with a crunch that sent dust flying.
I stood over it, breathing hard, smoke curling from my lips, claws dripping black blood.
And for a second, I thought I'd won.
Then the cave floor shifted.
No — rose.
The Drakon's body uncoiled, muscle flexing like steel cables under pressure. One eye was gone, reduced to a sizzling pit from where I'd gouged it out — but the other flared wide and furious. Its tongue flicked once. Twice. The sound it made was deep and rattling, like the earth clearing its throat.
Then it struck.
It was faster this time — no rage-blind opening like before.
The tail came around like a whip and hit me full in the side.
I felt my organs turn to paste.
I flew across the cave, slammed into the wall hard enough to leave a dent in the stone, and crumpled in a heap.
I gasped, every nerve screaming. Blood in my mouth. I pushed myself to my knees, vision spinning.
The Drakon was already coming for me — maw wide, smoke hissing from between its teeth.
My claws twitched, half-retracted.
No time.
I lunged sideways, just avoiding the snapping jaws, and rolled behind a stalagmite.
The thing slammed into it a second later and shattered the rock like glass.
I spat blood.
Okay.
Not dead.
Definitely not dead.
It wasn't just some scaled animal — it was smart.
And angry.
The Drakon was on me before I could get to my feet.
It didn't lunge. It stomped.
One massive clawed limb came crashing down, pinning me to the cave floor like a nail through a board. I grunted, the wind knocked out of me as its full weight pressed down.
The Drakon's talons raked across my torso, tearing through skin, shredding muscle — but the adamantium frame beneath held. I could feel the flesh rip, blood pour, but my skeleton? That wasn't breaking.
Not today.
Pain burned red-hot in my nerves, but it sharpened my focus. My hands twitched, claws snikt-ing out like pure instinct.
I jammed both claws into the base of its leg — felt tendon, scale, and bone give way — and ripped sideways with a roar.
The limb tore free in a shower of thick, steaming blood.
The Drakon reared back with a bone-rattling screech, thrashing wildly as it stumbled off me.
I rolled to my feet, breath ragged, soaked in gore.
Then I rushed it.
No hesitation.
I slashed across its underbelly, opening a huge gash that spilled heat and viscera onto the cave floor.
The beast howled again — but I didn't stop there.
I dived in.
Straight into the wound, shoulder-first, carving deeper with each clawed thrust, dragging myself into the creature like a human scalpel.
It spasmed, body convulsing around me. I felt muscle clamp down, acid hissing from torn organs, the heat of a living furnace trying to cook me alive.
Didn't matter.
I carved through it all — lungs, guts, whatever passed for a heart — tearing it apart from the inside out.
I was a storm inside its chest cavity, a blur of claws, blood, and fury.
The Drakon thrashed wildly, smashing against the walls of the cave in panic.
And I was still inside it.
Still killing it.
The heat inside the Drakon was suffocating — steam, blood, smoke, and bile filling my lungs with every ragged breath.
Didn't stop me.
Couldn't.
I kept slashing, carving deeper into the pulsing meat and cords of muscle that wrapped around me. My claws tore through whatever they touched — slick organs, tough hide from the inside, arteries thicker than tree branches.
It couldn't shake me loose.
Every time it moved, I dug in deeper, claws ripping new trenches through its insides.
Then I felt the venom welling up again — bitter and sharp behind my teeth, coiled at the base of my tongue like liquid rage.
I spat it.
Again. And again.
Venom splashed across the wounds I'd torn open — and lit.
Fire exploded from the gashes, igniting the inside of the Drakon like a furnace turned inside out. The heat was unbearable, but it didn't burn me — it just added to the chaos, the pain, the destruction I was dealing from within.could feel its heartbeat faltering.
Could hear the air whistling wrong through its punctured lungs.
Could taste its end.
So I spat again — a fireball straight into the hollow of its chest, cooking what was left.
And then I slashed upward.
Through muscle. Bone. Scale.
And finally, with a scream that split the forest and echoed into the stars—
I burst out of the Drakon's chest, dragging myself through a hole I'd torn with tooth, claw, and fire.
The Drakon let out one final, wet, gurgling death sound — then it collapsed.
Steam rose off its corpse in thick curls. The walls of the cave were streaked with blood, scorch marks, and shredded viscera. I stood there, inside the wreckage, chest heaving, claws slick with gore, the faint smoke of venom-fire still wafting from my mouth.
Then—
Fwoosh.
It started to break down.
The massive body trembled, scales disintegrating like ash on the wind. Flesh turned to light, bones crumbled, and within seconds the entire monster exploded into a cloud of golden dust, filling the air like a god had shattered a star right in front of me.
I coughed, waved a hand through the haze, squinting into the glittering particles as they fell away.
And there — sitting on the cave floor, right where the Drakon's heart should've been — was something.
Something real.
I stepped closer, cautiously.
A pair of crocs.
Like, actual crocs.
Reptilian leather, dark green and black, a faint shimmer to them like the scales had been preserved. They looked worn in. Comfy. Lightweight. No logos. No tags.
Just… crocs.
Left behind by a death lizard from Greek nightmare zoology.
I stared at them.
Blinking.
Still dripping monster blood.
"…What the fuck."
I just stared at them.
Lying there on a patch of scorched stone, like the drakon had been hoarding comfort footwear like a dragon sitting on treasure.
They even had that weird "worn-in" curve, like they'd been custom-fit for me. Which made no sense.
Still covered in blood, I stepped forward and crouched down.
I sniffed them — purely out of instinct.
Didn't smell cursed. Didn't smell like drakon guts either. Just… leathery. Earthy. A faint trace of ozone, like old storms.
I poked one with a claw.
Nothing happened.
I sighed.
"God forgive me," I muttered.
And I took off my boots.
I slid my feet into the crocs.
They were perfect.
Like, stupidly comfortable. Cushioning. A little snug at the heel. Weirdly warm, but breathable. They even gripped well against the cave floor.
I wiggled my toes, still dripping in blood and monster ash, shirt torn, and now wearing mythic battle crocs.
I stared down at them.
"…These are amazing," I said aloud. "What the fuck."
The forest didn't make a sound as I walked back into camp.
Rhea was by the fire, sharpening her knife. Jasper sat cross-legged nearby, sketching in his notebook. Both of them looked up the moment I stepped into the clearing.
Jasper's eyes widened.
Rhea stood up fast.
They were both clocking the blood, the ripped clothes, the burns and claw marks, the dripping gore. Their faces shifted between "panic," "concern," and "are you a demon now?"
Then Rhea broke the silence.
"What the hell happened to you?"
I stepped into the firelight, flexing my fingers, claws halfway out, still caked in monster blood. "There was something in the woods."
"No shit," Jasper muttered.
"Big thing," I continued, like I wasn't drenched in gore. "Scaled. Smart. Mean. Took a bit to kill it."
Rhea narrowed her eyes. "How big are we talking?"
"About the size of a dump truck," I said. "Give or take."
Jasper blinked. "That wasn't just a monster, was it?"
"Nope." I grabbed a bottle of water from my bag and took a long swig. "It was a drakon."
That made them both go still.
"Like… Greek dragon drakon?" Rhea asked slowly.
"Yeah." I popped the cap back on the bottle. "Had to go inside it to finish the job."
They both just stared at me.
"I ripped it open from the inside," I added casually. "Venom. Claws. Bit a few organs on the way out."
Silence.
Then Jasper finally said, "You're disgusting."
"I'm effective," I corrected.
Rhea's eyes dropped to my feet. She tilted her head. "…Are those crocs?"
I looked down at the blood-splattered, beautifully reptilian leather crocs I had on.
Grinned.
"They were inside it. Gift drop. Check out the loot."
"You're telling me," Jasper said slowly, "that you murdered a drakon, exploded it from the inside, and it left you a pair of cursed jungle crocs?"
"I mean, they might be cursed. But they're super comfortable."
Rhea just dropped back to her seat and muttered, "I need therapy."
I stretched out near the fire, kicked my feet up on a log like I hadn't just committed mythic biological warfare.
"Anyway," I said, "we good for marshmallows or what?"
After the fire settled and I wiped most of the monster gunk off my face with a wet wipe, we got the marshmallows out.
Rhea found a few decent sticks nearby — and by found, I mean aggressively snapped them off a tree with a look that dared nature to complain. Jasper had a whole technique to roasting his — slow rotation, perfect browning. I stuck mine on my claw and then into the flame and let it catch fire like a caveman while my other hand played the lyre.
"Yours is charcoal," Jasper muttered, watching mine burn to a crisp.
"It's crispy," I corrected. "Texture."
The forest stayed quiet around us, just the crackle of the fire and the distant rustle of wind through pine.
Above, the stars started to really come out — not just the basic few you see in cities, but the whole sky, spilling open with constellations and cosmic dust.
Jasper leaned back on his elbows, pointed upward. "There — see that curve? That's part of the Great Bear."
"Ursa Major," Rhea said, flicking a bit of ash off her marshmallow.
"Yeah. And that one—" He pointed further left. "Orion. He's a jerk in the old stories, but he's easy to spot."
I stared upward too, jaw slack, marshmallow forgotten.
For a moment, we weren't demigods.
Just kids under a big, endless sky, listening to the world breathe around us.
Nobody was bleeding.
Nobody was hunting us.
It was… nice.
Eventually, the fire burned low. We packed up the last snacks, tossed some dirt on the coals, and crawled into our sleeping bags. Jasper mumbled something about constellations and Rhea kicked him in the shin, half-asleep.
I lay there for a while, staring at the stars between the trees, the crocs still on my feet like some ridiculous badge of honor.
And for once?
I let sleep take me without a fight.
The next morning, sunlight leaked through the trees in gold streams, cutting across our little clearing like divine spotlights. Birds were chirping again — which probably meant nothing terrifying was nearby. Yet.
Jasper was still curled in his sleeping bag, muttering in his sleep about constellations. Rhea had one arm flopped over her face to block the sun, snoring softly, knife still tucked under her pillow.
I stretched, quietly stepped out of camp, and looked down at my crocs.
They felt right. Comfortable. And somehow silent on the forest floor.
"Alright," I muttered, cracking my neck. "Let's get a real breakfast."
No more protein bars.
No more gas station jerky.
They deserved something hot.
The tracks led me deeper into the forest, where the grass grew tall and the shadows lay thick between the trees.
I dropped low, practically slithering through the brush, every step silent, controlled. My breath matched the rhythm of the wind. My scent? Buried under pine, moss, and the faint stink of drakon blood still clinging to my shirt.
Up ahead, the buck stood in the clearing — tall, broad-shouldered, antlers like a crown of bone. It was grazing, completely unaware of the apex predator slowly creeping through the undergrowth.
I got close.
Closer.Every inch forward was deliberate. I could hear its breath now, the soft crunch of its teeth on grass. My fingers twitched. My claws itched under the skin.
Three feet.
Two.
One.
SNIKT.
My claws snapped out — and in a single motion, I swiped across its throat.
Clean.
The buck gave a soft, choking noise — stumbled — and dropped without a sound.
No mess.
Just a perfect, silent kill.
I crouched over it, one hand pressed to its side, whispering a soft thanks. Then I got to work — quick and practiced, just like I'd learned from that strange hunter's knowledge. Skin, gut, quarter. I only took what we'd eat, what I could carry.
Once I had the buck cleaned, I pulled out a coil of bungee cord from my gear bag — beat to hell, but still solid. I wrapped it tight around the deer's legs and slung it up over a sturdy branch, hauling the carcass high to keep it safe from predators and let it drain.
It swung gently in the cool morning breeze, a clean kill now prepped for final butchering.
But we weren't all meat-eaters.
I dusted my hands off and muttered, "Alright, time for Jasper's woodland buffet."
I headed back into the woods again, this time on a quieter kind of hunt. My claws stayed sheathed. I moved low through the brush, scanning the tree lines and undergrowth, letting the hunter's knowledge guide me.
I found a patch of mushrooms under a fallen log — not glowing, not slimy, not the kind that made you speak in tongues. I picked carefully, checking caps and stems just like the memory in my bones told me to.
A few yards off, a berry bush thrived in a sunlit patch — deep red, fat fruit clinging to the vine. I sampled one first. Tangy. Sweet. Not deadly. Jackpot.
I grabbed a handful of wild herbs too — soft, clean-smelling leaves that would do wonders over the fire. Maybe even make this feel like a real meal.
By the time I got back to the hanging buck, my arms were full of forest bounty and my boots—sorry, crocs—were damp with dew.
I dropped everything at the base of the tree, claws out, and got to work.
No wasted motion.
Skin, quarter, wrap.
Good cuts went into a clean backpack lined with extra cloth. Ribs, tenderloin, leg — all separated and packed.
By the time the sun was fully up, breakfast was prepped and ready for fire.
Now all that was left was waking the others.
I came strolling back into camp with a full backpack of prime cuts over one shoulder and a bundle of herbs, berries, and mushrooms in my free arm.
The sun was properly up now, slanting golden light through the trees. The fire from last night had burned down to soft coals, but still warm enough to get going again with a bit of spit.
Rhea was the first to stir — hair wild, blanket half-off, one boot still on like she'd passed out mid-sentence.
Jasper sat up second, blinking blearily through his curls like a confused housecat. "Mmh... is something cooking?"
I dropped the backpack by the fire with a heavy thump.
"Check out the haul."
Rhea sat up and squinted at me. "Wait. Is that—?"
"Fresh buck," I said casually, pulling out wrapped bundles. "Scouted, tracked, throat-slashed by yours truly."
I pulled the herbs and mushrooms from under my arm and dropped them neatly on a clean patch of cloth. "Also grabbed the forest's vegetarian section. Got berries, herbs, mushrooms—none of which will kill Jasper, probably."
Jasper blinked like he was still dreaming. "You… did all that this morning?"
"I woke up hungry."
Rhea whistled low, crawling over to check the meat. "You butchered this perfectly."
"Ripped a drakon apart from the inside yesterday," I said, crouching by the fire. "A deer's nothing."
She grinned. "Show-off."
"I think I'm gonna cry. Actual food. Like hot food. You're a monster, but you're my monster." Jasper said.
I grinned, starting to lay out the meal. "You know it."
Within minutes, the fire was back to life — flames crackling steady and hot while smoke curled lazily into the morning air.
I set up a makeshift spit between two forked branches, propped it over the fire, and started laying down strips of the buck on flat stones and skewers. The herbs went straight into the fire pit, sizzling against the heat and sending up the kind of smell that could make a monster stop hunting just to snack.
Jasper helped thread mushrooms and berries onto sticks like it was a sacred ritual, muttering something about "presentation" while his stomach growled loud enough to make Rhea laugh.
She was already tossing seasoning on one of the larger cuts like a pro, hands moving quick and practiced. "Didn't think I'd be waking up to a forest barbecue," she said.
I grinned. "Life's full of surprises."
"Most of ours involve claws and death."
"And occasionally, grilled venison."
The meat began to sizzle and pop — the sound of victory, of survival, of actual flavor. Smoke mixed with the morning breeze, rich and warm. My crocs were drying by the fire, and for the first time in days, we weren't running.
Just sitting.
Eating.
Existing.
Jasper took a bite of his herb-rubbed venison and immediately leaned back, eyes closing like he just ascended to Elysium. "Oh my gods."
"Told you," I said, chewing a mouthful of perfectly seared meat. "Not all monsters. Just most."
Rhea toasted a berry-mushroom skewer over the fire. "We should open a food truck," she said. "Call it Half-Blood Barbecue."
"Only if we serve it with a side of trauma and cryptid sightings," Jasper mumbled.
I laughed.
The forest didn't feel dangerous right now.
The shadows were still, the fire warm, and the air sweet with cooked meat and pine.
For a while, we just ate in peace.
And for demigods?
That's rare.
Rhea was on her second helping of venison — legs stretched out toward the fire, hair still a mess from sleep, but her eyes softer now, less guarded. She'd been quiet for a bit, chewing and watching the flames dance.
Then she said, out of nowhere, "I used to hunt with my mom."
Jasper and I both looked up.
She didn't sound sad — not exactly. Just… like she was remembering something with edges.
"Out in the woods," she went on. "Not like this, not full-on skinning and field-dressing, but she'd take me camping. Showed me how to track deer, how to walk quiet. How to sit still for hours without moving. We never shot anything. She just liked the quiet."
She poked at a stick of mushrooms turning golden over the coals.
"After a while, I figured out she wasn't really teaching me to hunt animals," she said. "She was teaching me how to hide. How to survive."
She looked up at us, just for a second.
"I think she knew something was going to happen. Maybe not what. But something."
The fire cracked gently between us.
"She's in a home now," Rhea said, voice steady. "Stopped recognizing me two years ago. Says weird things when she sleeps. Greek stuff. Myth words. Names. I didn't get it back then."
She glanced at me. "I do now."
Jasper looked down, his jaw tight but sympathetic. He didn't try to say anything back. Just nodded, real slow.
I reached over, handed her one of the better cuts from my stash. She took it without comment and bit in like she was starving.
"You think she was a demigod?" I asked.
"Probably not," she said around the food. "But she knew I wasn't normal."
We were finishing off the last of the food, bellies full and fire low, just riding that rare high of being not hunted for once.
Jasper was stretched out with a satisfied groan, arms behind his head, staring at the sky. "I think I actually forgot what being full felt like."
Rhea was gently cleaning her knife with a cloth, humming something under her breath. Her whole posture was looser now — more human than soldier.
I was leaning back against a log, letting the warmth of the fire seep into my legs, the weight of the food settling nicely in my gut.
And then—