The Fire Inside

The Fire Inside is a collaboration between Capn Rin Scotts and Odst grievous.

Chapter 1
You know what the first thing you feel is when you shoot a crossbow bolt into someone's heart? An ever so slight shift in how heavy the crossbow is. The second thing, for me, is a desire to go and get the arrow back. I act on that feeling and walk into the campsite and pull the arrow out of my target. He's a middle aged man with greying brown hair and a beard. I flip the body over and shut his eyes before wiping the arrow off on his jacket and leaving. Who was he? I don't know. All I know is my boss wanted him dead, so dead he is.

I jump on my motorcycle, which is parked on the side of the road. I have certain upgrades for it that make it somewhat unappealing to mortal eyes, that way it doesn't get vandalized or something. I start it up, sling the crossbow over my back, throw on some sunglasses and start driving down the highway. A heavy sigh escapes me as I reflect on the last few months. I gave up my guardian duties, writing to Natalie and Ava to take care of Arthur. Sounds irresponsible of me, but, with all the danger I am, it was better for him to not stay with me. Since then, I've been traveling. Killing any and all Zeus tells me to kill. He said that when twenty targets ceased to be, I would be able to take a five month vacation.

I've had worse bosses.

As I drive down the highways, I go deeper into memory lane. Michael's death at the hands of the Nemean Lion only months ago. Kyra's death in a car crash two years before that. Me telling Ava I couldn't be with her anymore when we were twenty. Gods, that last one was tough. With all the demons like me in the world, eighteen of the original twenty alive and sixteen of them wanting me gone, I couldn't endanger her. That, and I'm immortal. I couldn't take watching her grow old and die while I would endure and watch the world burn around me.

Time blurs on, and I eventually make it back to New York. I get off the motorcycle and push the button that turns it back into the key-chain. I walk into the Empire State Building, taking care to manipulate the mist so that nobody sees the crossbow strapped over my back. I walk up to the security guard.

"I need to make it to the 600th floor." I mutter to him. He goes through the same old routine, trying to convince me there is no 600th floor. I roll my right sleeve up and hold my forearm near his head. The black tattoos that are actually the faint outlines of the other half's wings show clearly. He nods and gives me the key to Olympus, and I head in the elevator and head on up. What I will admit to being thankful for, is that they finally updated the elevator music. Now there's at least a grunge playlist going on Olympus. There's hope after all.

The door opens and I get out and walk down the streets to Zeus's throne. I find him sitting there, looking ready to kill someone. Then again, he always looks that way, so I don't need to worry. I bow once, never giving him the full courtesy of kneeling. I never have, and never will.

"Have your contracts been completed?" He asks, sounding exasperated.

"When are they not, my lord?" I point out. He cocks his head, agreeing in a tired manner.

"Do as you will for the next five months." He says and waves for me to leave. I walk out of the room immediately and head straight for the door. I'm down the elevator as soon as I can and head over to the parking garage where I keep my truck. I get in and look over what I have. A hatchet, a sword, three extra quivers of arrows, a knife, a suitcase with changes of clothes, a sleeping bag, a pillow, an acoustic guitar that belonged to an old friend, an electric guitar I picked up in Vegas once, and an amp for it. Its a modest place to live, but I don't have any other home anymore.

The first thing I do is head to a small diner for food. Burger, fries, drink, and leave. I saw a few random women watching me as I ate alone, but paid them no mind. I guess I have a redneck look some women are into. That and the slightly longer hair from traveling seems to be a thing nowadays. I stop by a convenience store to pick up a few snacks for the drive Northeast.

I'm headed to the coast in Maine. From there, I can shadow travel to Nova Scotia, wait a few hours to recharge, and then travel across the Atlantic to Iceland, my destination. My mom always talked about taking me there when I was little, before she died. I don't know, I guess it is a pilgrimage of sorts. I feel drawn there. My family is from there. My grandfather was a Son of Tyr who had my mother with Nemesis, who had me with Ares. Going further back, I'm a direct descendant of Viking explorer Leif Ericsson. Yeah, it really is a pilgrimage.

I'm at the coast in three hours. I park near a beach, grip the wheel tightly, and shadow travel. My face feels like it is being torn from my skull, which I did experience once, and then it stops, and I'm at the coast of Nova Scotia. I feel exhausted, and head to a food stand for something to eat before having a nap. I wake up in an hour and do it again. I'm in Reykjavík, I can tell by the signs. I pull over and sleep through the night.

The next morning, I decide to drive around the perimeter of the country until I find a good place to stay the five months. About halfway through the trek, I'm alone on the highway, and as I'm driving, some genius goes and stands in the middle of the road. I slam on the breaks and screech to a stop. I get out.

"What the hell, man!?" I yell in Icelandic. He looks up, and then jumps toward me faster than any human, or demigod, could move. Luckily, I was faster. I sidestep and he faceplants into the cement. I step on his back.

"Real clever, genius. Care to explain the antics?"

"Voice...back of head...kill you..." He says, muffled by his face on the ground. I realize what he means. He's like me. A person with a demon fused to his soul. One of the twenty. I sigh.

"Number?"

"Nineteen!" He croaks. I shake my head.

"Five is better than nineteen." I say and drag him into my truck, find something to gag him with, and knock him out. I throw him in the back seat. I'm a dangerous person to mess with, but messing with me while I'm on vacation? That's fatal.