Where the Self Resides

Where the Self Resides is a spin-off of my previous story, Thaumaturgy of the Prophet. Basically it's just a self-indulgent fic and it will be the last thing I ever write on here. Since TotP was deleted, it isn't necessary to have read that in order to read this. - Annie  Leonhardt  21:06, June 2, 2014 (UTC) =Part One= On the ten year anniversary of the apocalypse, Samantha Yune had been piecing together the remnants of a book which she had found in an abandoned auto repair shop. Among other things, she also found a car wrench and a box of matches next to the mangled body of a man she assumed had been in his forties, but the state his body was in made determining anything about him near impossible. On top of finding the abandoned auto repair shop, it started to rain, so she started to piece together the pages of a weather-damaged book.

She pulls up the hood on her sweatshirt, the wind howling as it runs through the broken windows of the houses across the street. When she looks up outside, she sees a fork of lightning reach for the ground before it disappears. Two trucks are in the garage: the one which she sits on is significantly more appealing than the other considering its windows aren't smashed in and the inside doesn't reek of dead animals. She considered attempting to hotwire it – it had been used recently – but ruled that idea out because she didn't want to attract bandits.

She looks back at the pages of the book – most are yellowing, some have water stains, but it is mostly readable – and runs her fingers over the cover page. It is just a phone book with lists of names of people who have probably been dead for years.

Her boots touch the pavement as she stands and looks outside. The rain has lessened to a steady drizzle; she might as well start moving before the sun sets. She slings her backpack over her shoulder and tosses the partially repaired phone book on the mangled body. It hits him square in the face. “Hope you get to where you want to go, Tom.” she mutters to the body before she leaves. ~ ~ ~ The steady drizzle turns into a downpour ten minutes after she leaves the shop. The crunch of her boots on the gravel is drowned out by the rain; she constantly looks behind her in case someone is following her. Generally, in this world, more people will break your leg, steal whatever you have, then leave you to die rather than befriend you. She knows this well.

Her hands slide into her pockets, her breathing becoming more quiet, as she walks. With any luck, the rain will settle down so she won't have to stop before the sun sets. Lightning arcs into the ground, lighting up the darkened sky as hail begins to pelt her arms. She pulls her hood down more before she catches a hail pellet and brings it in her line of sight. Not golf ball sized at least.

The shriek of a bird makes her stop. She looks behind her to see dark shapes coming towards her and without hesitation she breaks into a run. She takes out her knife from its sheath as she runs - the hilt is familiar in her hands. The rain and hail pelt her, numbing her body under the thin sweatshirt, but she ignores that. She feels a thump on her back and winces as her shield digs into her body. Her legs begin to tire, her breaths coming in gasps as she runs, but she doesn't allow herself to stop. Another bronze feather hits her shield. Then another. It takes three tries for one to sprout from her shoulder. Pain spreads throughout her shoulder and down her arm; she does not look back. She sees blue Honda a few yards from her so she bolts to it, flinging open the door and pressing herself to the floor. She hears an indignant huff from the front seat but doesn't bother to tell the other person to duck.

Bronze feathers break the glass, then beaks peck at the window. Sam stays down, her knife held tightly in her hand. A bird head breaks through the glass and she drives her knife through its eye before dragging the blade out. She kicks the bird in the head repeatedly before it finally relents and flies off with the other two. Finally, she sits up and takes the time to look at the other person. They turn around, their blond hair sticking up all over their face. “You're a demigod.” The words are spit out of his mouth but lack the venom they might have usually carried.

“Yes.” she replies as she sits on the backseat and sets her backpack and shield down. She unzips her hoodie, draping it over the headrest to let it dry. “The birds'll be back soon.” she adds as an afterthought.

“I know. I've traveled with demigods before. I don't recommend their company.”

“Neither do I.” She looks at his face which looks like someone attacked it with a Sharpie. “You might make good bait. How well do you run?”

He raises his eyebrows before realizing it is supposed to be a joke. “Did everyone else run away from you in fear?”

“Something like that.” Her eyes sweep over the damage the Stymphalian birds caused to the car: all the windows are broken, letting rain and hail in, the hood is dented, and blood is splattered on the seats. Her eyes lock onto the air freshener and realizes why it smells like rancid oranges. “Can you fight?”

He shows her a gun. “Don't freak, I have Celestial bronze bullets, too.” He turns back around and opens his car door to step outside to survey the damage. As he's preoccupied, she takes the gun from the front seat and sits back. When he returns, he looks pointedly at her. “Give me the gun back.”

She doesn't respond.

He sighs. “Fine. Just give it back before you go barreling out of the car once those birds come back.” She doesn't bother to respond. Her eyes look outside at the lightning which strikes the ground. A pellet of hail hits her arm hard enough that she knows a bruise is going to form later. A thunderclap shakes the car.

She sees the approaching figure rather than hears them a few minutes later. As they grow closer, she sinks back into the seat. The boy mirrors her gesture but she doubts he even knows what is approaching. “Come out, little demigod, I know you're there.” Medusa's voice is sickly sweet as she slithers towards the car. Sam sets her knife down then unloads the gun and puts the cartridge in her pocket. She tosses the unloaded gun in her backpack and takes the knife in her hand again. She slides out of the car after she puts her hoodie on just as lightning strikes the vehicle. The boy stumbles out hurriedly, tripping face first onto the pavement as he tries to get out. Medusa whirls around to look at who caused the noise and looks at Sam from behind her sunglasses. She smiles – her teeth are jagged – and Sam begins to step back just as the boy jumps up and runs towards her. She can practically feel the fear radiating off his body.

She steps backward as Medusa approaches, her pace quickening as Sam's pace slows. She eyes the boy who is still staring at Medusa as if he is frozen by fear. She turns away from Medusa and breaks into a run; the boy follows her lead. Hail bounces off her head and arms as she runs, and the rain soaks through her clothes. She positions her knife in her hand so that she can see Medusa as she approaches, and once Medusa is only a few feet from the boy Sam stops. The boy bumps into her, stumbling, when Sam turns around and ducks behind him when she sees Medusa take off her sunglasses. Sam's hands grip the sides of the boy's head then she forcefully turns it so he's staring into Medusa's eyes.

His legs turn a gray color as cracks appear in the stone. Lines like spiderwebs form on the boy's flesh as his skin turns gray as it solidifies. With all her strength – and the aid of the slippery ground – she knocks the newly formed statue into Medusa, effectively pining the monster to the ground. Sam's boot connects with Medusa's head, shielding Sam from Medusa's gaze, and once she unsheathes her sword she slices off the monster's head. As she wipes the dust from her sword, she kicks Medusa's head to the side. Once she sheaths her sword and grabs her stuff from the Honda, she turns around and begins to run.