Hi, y'all! Whether you're new or have been with me on this journey before, y'all are welcome with open arms.

Disclaimer: I do not Percy Jackson and the Olympians, they all belong to Uncle Rick. Songs in order: (title) Sparrow— Emile Sande, Keep Your Head Up Princess— Anson Seabra, Luli (Hurrem's Lullaby)— Muhtesem Yuzil (a Turkish series), and yep that's it for songs. Honestly all recognizable characters ain't mine. Plot and OOCness are. Hmmm, that 's it. No infringement of copyright intended.

Warning: mentions of child abuse(read torture, maybe), moral ambiguity, violence, and possible gore...

Enjoy!

Introduction: Part One: Sparrow

~WYDETU~

"Mama. NO! MAMA!"

The little girl screamed. She was terrified, and didn't know what was happening, couldn't comprehend it. She and her Mama were just hanging in their apartment, baking cookies and singing along with the radio. (The little girl was so happy her Mama let her do the mixing.) When suddenly it all went south when men broke into their home.

The little girl couldn't remember much, it was a blur later on to her. But what she did remember was the terror and her Mama's words, "run, run, run and don't stop running. I'll find you, baby girl, just as I know you will too. And please remember, you don't belong to no one."

So she ran, and she ran, and ran and ran and ran until she could no more. She was exhausted of days of running. Her instincts were always on high alert, she couldn't sleep without the slightest of noises waking her up. She'd learned early on that with her adorable, gorgeous looks she could get away with so much. She ate but not enough, and was now malnourished. It was a miracle the five-year-old survived the first week.

She also discovered that even awake, her nightmares seemed to be following her. The stories of monsters and heroes all came to life. Except… there were no heroes and not all monsters were demons and beasts, some of them were human too.

The little girl had always been empathetic, but during her run it was obvious that she was not just empathetic but an Empath. She knew whom to avoid and whom to ask for help. Who meant her harm, and who did not.

On one especially terrible day, a big, black-green dog with chilling, beady violet eyes wouldn't leave her alone. No matter how fast she ran— and she knew she was fast— and no matter how many times she would stop and ambush it, it still wouldn't die. It wasn't like some monsters she'd met. It wouldn't turn to black goo, or sand, or sulphuric dust or just a miasma, no. The little girl could have clawed and spilled its innards and left it dying and bleeding out, but somehow it always came back. And she knew it was the same one, scars were coalescing on its body from all of the wounds she'd inflicted, day after weary day.

Her claws didn't work, her new-found affinity for using her voice (if she'd scream loud enough, she'd rupture vital, internal organs, escalating until a combusted cadaver lay in front of her— she'd run non-stop for hours after the first time, trying to get away from the blank look of horror on a demon dissolving to goo) didn't work. She'd thanked her lucky stars her claws appeared indestructible, but her voice didn't seem to carry the same immunity. She'd screamed herself hoarse, and could no longer utter a coherent sound.

And, yes, the little girl decided, she hated all dogs with a fiery passion that put a flame demon to shame. She'd deduced that the creature was immortal, and that it belonged to the men who hurt her Mama. They wanted them both, alive. And that thought alone was the only modicum of ease she held close for the past weeks, she'd see her Mama again. She felt the truth of those words every time she'd thought them, they'd become her mantra.

But today, they weren't enough. She hadn't eaten for days, hadn't slept for days either. She was tired and exhausted, her beautiful face was caked in blood and grime, her once long and silky black locks mated now with unmentionable filth. The beast had cornered her into a dead end alley. Its mouth was frothing with a neon green slime that, from experience, she knew was worse than acid. The dissolving pavement can attest to that. She'd never wished her Mama was nearer. But she wouldn't cower to this beast, no. She'd bested it far too many times. Her claws were out, and though it towered over her and she was pathetically small compared— barely reaching even its knee— she looked it defiantly in the eye.

Clank!

She didn't know where it came from— though in her peripherals she'd swear she saw a blinding glow followed by the oddly comforting scent of roses. She dared a glance at her feet. And nearly wept in gratitude. A dagger lay there, a simple needle-point Spanish dagger to be exact, a misericorde— her Mama was a master with knives. It was made of pure iron, the triangular blade, the guard, with a simple and thin leather grip, the pommel however was ruby-embedded sphere. She could feel the magic rolling off of it- the ruby that is, the blade was pure iron with no enchantment. It was beautiful. And without a second thought, she attacked the canid.

She would freely admit that she had no idea what to do or what she was doing, not uncommon for her these days. But a deep, primal and instinctual impulse drove her, she'd learned the hard way not to fight it. And in the span of seconds the foul creature had the iron blade embedded deep in its skull. The ruby flared and the beast was ash.

The five-year-old couldn't contain the sense of triumph and satisfaction that fluttered in her chest, nor the tears of joy. The dagger was back in her hand, gripped tightly, as if she'd let go the monster would reform from the sickly green ashes in front of her. She didn't care for the bleeding claw marks reminiscent of the chase or the noxious stench of acid that was eating away at her lungs.

It began to rain and the girl couldn't remember ever being happier to hear the thunder and see the lightning. The ashes were washed away, leaving behind the sense of finality. This was the last time she would be seeing the beast.

Her moment of relief was to soon extinguished, as she froze in her spot when she heard footfalls, splashing and heading directly in her direction. A tendril of panic shot through her at the tenor of their—yes, multiple— voices. She could sense the rage and bloodlust as if it were a tangible matter— shaped as arrows and embedding themselves in her weak and tattered self.

Her pursuers.

Run, run, run!

But there was nowhere to run, so she hid in an alcove that by all means she shouldn't have fit. She looked over the edge and that panic settled like a heavy weight in her belly. Same apparel, different men, but they all served the same purpose, the same master. She prayed they did not spot her. The creature had been a bloodhound and they were its trackers, she realized. Thanking her lucky stars again, she watched as they searched and saw nothing but debris and the guck of its acid. They cursed, and in that moment she'd never had wanted to kill someone as she did now. They'd hurt her Mama, they'd hurt her, and the fury that bubbled was the most terrifying yet pleasing sensation she'd experienced in the weeks of her running.

She couldn't reign in what would happen next. She watched in horror as pikes of serrated ice impaled the three men. She screamed as blood and gore splattered. She was trembling and frozen in place, just like the ice that had just killed them…

Any sensation of delight was washed away in the strength of the crashing wave of terror. She cried out and ran again, praying again that the rain would wash away evidence of what had happened.

She'd escaped for now, but she knew she would eventually be captured. And despite the foreboding trepidation in her bones, she knew with absolute certainty that she wouldn't make it easy for her captors. For the sake of her Mama and herself.

Now, however, she let herself get lost in the exhilaration of the speed of which she ran, at the delicious temporary freedom, at the rain and wind that should have weighed her down. And if she listened closely, she'd pretend that they were speaking to her, urging her to run. Like her Mama. She decided she liked the rain.

Because, for a child, it was easy to enjoy the little things in life.

~WYDETU~

"Aaaah! Please, no. Argh! Let me go! Oww, aaaaah! No! Noooo…. "

~WYDETU~

"I can't! It's not working."

It has been three years now since she'd been caught. And she had never been more miserable. But, the girl thought bitterly, being here was the lesser of two evils. The Seelie Court was no less crueler than the Unseelie Court, but at least here, she had the breathtaking scenery and less-monstrous-looking folk to….

Oh, who was she kidding! At least the Unseelie Court didn't hide the wickedness and vile monstrosity behind gorgeous terrains and Glamours. She did, though, have to serve time there for two months after and a month before the Winter Solstice, thanks to her heritage.

And wasn't that a whole other can of worms she had no one but her great-great grandparents to blame. Because, apparently, Changelings were outlawed, and they didn't seem to have gotten the missive. Long story short, her great grandparents were of either Courts, a scandal if you'd ask anyone in Faerie, her grandparents got married, joining both the Seelie and Unseelie bloodlines in the girl's Mama and in extension her as well.

Now, her father… she didn't even know who the mystery man was— nor did she care to—, but she did know that thanks to him, her life got a great deal more complicated. There really wasn't much lost love for that side of her family.

And, now, she was stuck with the mentality of an eight-year-old in the body of a five-year-old— her only and last way of rebelling against her captors, they could really do nothing about it, she hasn't aged physically a day since entering this realm.

The Seelie Queen and Unseelie King had been there personally for her arrival, a great and terrible honor others would later claim. She was struck speechless at their appearance. They were both inhumanly beautiful at first sight, but that faded swiftly. The Queen, petite and pale, had auburn hair flowing down her shoulders in silky locks, fluttering on a nonexistent breeze along with her grass green gown. Her eyes, the entirety of the eyes, were a cold cobalt blue, and when she smiled, a petrifying, glacial curl of her lips, the little girl had seen steel fangs.

The King's sentiment hadn't been all that different, except he had no interest in hiding his true nature, and his smile spoke sadistic savagery in waves that almost knocked the breath out of her and her sensitive senses. And like all his cruelty had bled out of him, the contrast of the sides of his face made it seem like it was divided down the middle. The right side was the face of a handsome young man, clean and uncannily beautiful, while the left was heavily disfigured, with tight, gray skin and several scars revealing bone, his eyes were entirely black pits. It seemed irises weren't a feature of the Fae— unless Glamoured on. Huge, bone-white horns protruded from his forehead and curled around his head in a parody of a crown, as if the simplicity of the gold band he wore wasn't enough. His elegant garb did nothing to hide his tall and lean frame.

Their elongated, pointy ears weren't lost on the girl, neither were the jewels both were adorned in, or the sleek, well-hidden (she supposed) weapons. They'd both latched onto her as soon as she'd arrived. She'd fought through the haze of fear that had seemed a permanent fix in her heart for the last month, and remembered her Mama's word of her not belonging to no one. And had fought tooth and nail to fulfill at least one of her Mama's wishes.

An agreement had been struck, eight months on Seelie lands, three with the Unseelie and a month with the Wild Fey— since it was they who had caught her. She'd be trained in all manners and matters, weaponry, the arts, combat, her apparent powers, her also apparent forms, et cetera, et cetera. Anyone would have been thrilled to learn they had powers and had a chance to hone, enhance and perfect them. But for her, she'd rather it was the sound of death knells than the clap of thunder sealing their bargain. Her Mama would've been the better candidate… five years ago. But thanks to whomever her father was, her power was the "most delicious they'd laid eyes upon in centuries", they had claimed. And Faeries can't lie.

Her Mama was condemned to a lengthy sentence of 'chastisement' for hiding her in the Unseelie Court (it was why her time in the Unseelie Court was shorter in comparison to the Seelie Court, they had her Mama all year long), since her Mama seemed to have an acute grip on her own capabilities thanks to her deceased uncle. It was the only reason she had stayed sane, she would get stronger, find her mother and get out of the horrid place as soon as she could. She had no doubt they knew that as well.

She was now being taught the piano, or pianoforte as they'd called it, she was only given a month to master whatever it is she was taught, longer if the skill demanded it— new languages took two, why they saw she needed them evaded her.

But she couldn't play, not today. It may have had to do with the fact she had been starved for the third day today, and that her tutor refused to heal her broken fingers, or let her do it on her own. She was exhausted and she just wanted to cry and stay in her filthy excuse of a room.

But, no, she couldn't show weakness, she would be squashed and humiliated even more so than she already was. She didn't want another public flogging, as if she were some filthy animal. The pain often took over her humiliation, at first she'd scream and make noise, thinking it would help her. It didn't. Not at all. The assimilated crowd would laugh at her expense and pain. She'd pass out, too. Now, she wouldn't move a muscle she wouldn't scream, she wouldn't make noise. It frustrated whomever the punisher was, and it only made her pain intensify. They also had a tendency to rub salt in her bleeding welts if they were feeling particularly vindictive. On the bright side, she had developed a very high pain tolerance.

She loved music, and perhaps that was the only reason she hadn't just given up and took the beating that would follow and wait for her own speedy healing to take place overnight (if they chose not to block it again tonight). Her once smooth and golden skin was now littered in scar tissue and calluses. But there was also the muscle tissue she'd gained since she arrived. She was lean and graceful, just like any one of her feline forms- she was a Cat Sidhe. She'd adapted much from her Seelie heritage— the grace, the silvertongue, the guile, the beauty. And she'd also adapted much from her Useelie heritage— she was also a Siren, the contrast in Orders (subspecies) counteracted and instead of destroying her, they'd molded to her will into an explosive potency, enhancing all the power she'd inherited from both her Mama and elusive father. Her ears though not as pointy as her fellow Fey, were slightly pointed, she was more enchanting, she had a sick streak for vengeance and ruthlessness she adored.

Her features had also changed marginally. She now had the elongated canines of a cat, but could with but a thought snap a full set of sharp pointed fangs she'd inherited from her Siren. Her eyes were more defined in what a human might call naturally kohl-lined eyes, pronounced at all times like a tiger ready to strike at a moment's notice. Sea green, cerulean blue and lavender purple constantly clashed in the irises of her wide-innocent (ha!) eyes, but she could forgo the irises and pupils whenever she desired. Her dark and long inky black hair was always plaited, and in certain conditions, it would become tinted. Her small, wee figure and striking yet innocent veneer fooled many into underestimating her. Not that she complained much about that.

She was the current favorite plaything of the Queen and King— the reason for the ephemeral concord between the Courts— they enjoyed personally 'educating' her, much to her displeasure and pain, of course she'd pick up more than just her pride every session.

She sometimes feared her own Mama wouldn't be able to recognize her. She's changed so much, but her love for her Mama, her gratitude at hiding her no matter how short it was never wavered or lessened with each strike or throb of pain.

"You can and you will. But I'm certain anymore broken digits would have your task infinitely more arduous." Faeries can't lie, the only advantage she had over them. Not much of an advantage, they were a clever people and loopholes were never far behind, but neither was she.

The only other advantage she had was Loire, her misericorde dagger, they couldn't take that from her or force it away from her. Iron was a physical weakness they couldn't overcome, it was poison and immune to their Magick. Loire always rested around her neck on an iron chain miniaturized, tucked into her day's attire. The ruby always exudes a sensation of comfort and serenity. Loire was as invaluable as her own eyes.

Oh, and the gift she should be thanking her dear father— there couldn't be anyone else— for was the immunity she had against their charms. Coercion and Glamours did not work— at least not for long— on her, but she had mastered their arts a few months following her arrival.

But she knew her tutor wouldn't hesitate to go through with her threat. So she swallowed the pain, nausea and fatigue, put on an easy grin and did as she was told.

One day she was going to cut off each of the tutor's fingers. She would make a crown out of them right in front of the bitch's eyes, then… then she'd rip her heart out.

~WYDETU~

"So keep your head up princess 'fore your crown falls. Know these voices in your head will be your downfall. I know it gets so hard but you don't got far to go."

"Keep your head up princess, it's a long road. And the path leads right to where they won't go. I know it hurts right now but I know you'll make it home."

"So keep your head up."

"So keep your head up…"

And so she did.

~WYDETU~

Four years in Faerie were enough to drive anyone off the road of sanity. The girl had no such issue, she soaked it all up like a sponge. She adapted and grew, she earned the respect of many. She was adored throughout the courts— no one wanted to make an enemy out of her. She was notorious for the many things she loathed she mastered. But it was all for her Mama.

Throughout the Seven Courts— Solar: Day, Dawn and Night, or Seasonal: Spring, Autumn, Summer and Winter, whether the Seelie or Unseelie sectors— all welcomed her. She had earned it all, and she would quash anyone who said otherwise. She was capable of going through all the court territories and the Seelie and Unseelie divisions without all the tedious formalities getting in the way. She was Seelie and Unseelie, she was from a Seasonal court— Unseelie Winter— and a Solar court— Seelie Night. She would never choose, though, she belonged to no one, but all laid claim on her, so she wasn't of the Wild Fey. She was just a wild card.

It also helped that one of her Cat Sidhe forms was a tiny tabby kitten, barely a handful. She was black all over except for the tips of her ears and tail, her paws and a white star on her chest. There was also the spattering of lines paralleling with her tiger form, but that was neither here nor there. Point— she could get to places no one would expect to be overheard. And she had accumulated enough 'dirt' to build fortresses, and one never knows when she might accidentally run her mouth near the wrong crowd with a few well chosen words.

And though the fluidity of which she could traverse the realm, she hadn't heard even a whisper of her Mama. And she'd been utilizing every skill she learned, the only thing left was dream-walking. And though she was of the Night and Winter courts, she had struggled and suffered through mastering that particular ability— she'd fallen into Oblivion more times than she cared to count. It was most definitely an experience she would not wish on anyone, her nightmares before paled greatly compared to those she was now forced to endure silently in the confines of her room. Everything can be used against you, she'd learned it the hard way.

But she would do anything and everything for her Mama, just as she knew in her young but tainted heart her Mama was doing.

~WYDETU~

The girl had never seen such devastation. And it was all her doing. She was the one that caused their pain, saw it, heard it, felt it. But she didn't look back.

Did that make her just as bad as they? Yes.

Did that make her a horrible person? Yes.

Was she any better than them? No.

But, most importantly, did she care? No.

They were the ones who'd caused her pain in the first place, they were the ones that made her life a living Hell. They were the ones that made her into this… this thing she was now. And it was high time they reaped what they sowed.

And they deserved it, with every beat her giddy heart beat she believed it. They deserved it.

~WYDETU~

The girl let the music flow from the violin as she started singing. Her Mama gasped in delight and pleasant surprise, a true, soft smile spread across her lips.

"Ay Lu Lu Li Luli, Na Lai Çili Vulli, Na Lai Çili Vulli, Tai Silli Na Luli. Stali Do Ma Tia Dat, Çim Did Yat Ko Gadovaht, Çi Buble Çi Met Con, Çi Solot Ki Moloç Ko. Mi Buble Tçka Cupit, Ay Me Dotçok Flupim, Ay Kaş Kima Vari, Ay Malatçkasparim. Colisotçka Ri Ri, A Di Tin Kah Spit Spit, Kohl Misatçka Ne Ne Stala, Naç Kolune Stala."

The girl's eyes had drifted shut with the lullaby. She opened them to see tears streaking down her Mama's face. Her face fell as she rushed to her Mama, she hadn't meant to hurt her.

"I'm okay, baby girl. I'm okay. More than okay," she murmured in her daughter's hair as she held her close in a crushing embrace. They both were terrified of being separated again. "Where did you learn it from, baby?"

"A Ukrainian lullaby I first heard from a Turkish series— the Wild Hunt had no chill," the girl muttered as she inhaled her Mama's comforting scent. They had more than earned their evening of cuddling.

Needless to say, her escape from Faerie had greatly exhausted her. And she did not want to revisit the painful memories. They were just discharged from the hospital after being found unconscious after being missing for ten months, apparently. Their case seemed to be an ongoing investigation of a breaking-and-entering gone wrong, which had escalated to homicide somewhere along the line. Anyway, thankfully, her five-year-old body wasn't as much of a hassle as she had thought it would be if she ever made it to the human realm. It had been a shock to her mother, though.

They'd spent a month in the hospital recovering. And it was a profound pain to hold back her abnormal healing at bay. It probably was why she'd spend longer in that dreadful room with the overpowering stench of antiseptics and the pungent miasmas of various diseases burning her nose and lungs with every breath, keeping her in a haze between consciousness and unconsciousness. She loved that her senses were sharper than Loire, but at times like those she wished she could find a way to dampen them.

She most certainly did not want nor need to hear the tedious details of Mr. Makmillan's prostate exam, or Nurse Lopez and Doctor Josiah's lesbian affair in the supply closet, while their husbands had their own thing going on in the other supply closet— they should consider polygamy or an open relationship— nor did she ever need to hear what everybody was up to in the restrooms. And under any other circumstances, she would have been thrilled with all the information her eidetic brain gleaned, but she'd only wanted the assault on her senses to stop.

When the lovely authorities had arrived to harass information out of them— "to help you bring justice to those who wronged you"— both her Mama and her had claimed amnesia. That led to a tedious talk about Stockholm Syndrome.

She was just glad she got out of both deathtraps.

"I love you, Mama."

"I love you, too, baby girl. Always."

~WYDETU~

It was beyond frigid, but she'd expect nothing less of the Russian Tundra. It was why she had chosen it. She wanted to let her powers out away from human eyes and judgement and, even worse, discovery. If she left her powers unbridled, not mentioning the monsters that had come a-knocking— those she could deal with— humans had started taking note of her imposingly wild aura, and even their buried and suppressed basic instincts steered them away from her. And there was nothing worse than humans fearing something they couldn't understand. (At first, she'd wanted to go to Antarctica, for all intents and purposes, really— the population there was barely over a thousand, and she loved animals, so it was a win-win situation really. But circumstance...) But, she'd learned how to restrain that power she would normally flaunt in Faerie. It had its negative effects, but it served its purpose. Still, she had to unleash it from time to time, or risk spontaneous combustion.

She threw her platinum, icy blue mane over her shoulder as a pale hand gripped Loire, the other with claws extended. Her kohl-lined, snow blue eyes flashed with excitement. Her Unseelie form— the King point blank refused she come onto his lands looking like she did on the Seelie's, since Ice was the element she possessed from her Unseelie half, she'd frozen herself in panic and fear of a corporal punishment and the looks stuck— her Icy Mien.

Her Mama finally deemed her a worthy sparring partner after she took down a pack of Hellhounds on her own. She lost herself in the adrenaline and exhilaration of the spar, she was still wound up from the scuffle she and her mother had with a very old and very powerful Wendigo, followed by a horde of ice demons. Demons were a pain, elemental demons even more so.

She very much enjoyed sparring with her Mama.

~WYDETU~

The girl decided that skydiving on the back of a human-falcon hybrid in the middle of a splendid night in the City of Angels was, perhaps, not her finest of moments. How she got in this predicament, she had no idea. One moment she was minding her own business— not really— the next a murderous hybrid out of a horror movie came thirsting for her blood. She'd had to Glamour the thing to not draw the attention of humans and cause a mass panic worldwide— as much as she enjoyed the privileges of the internet, it became a pain in her behind at moments like this, and there were more than enough conspiracy theories going about. And Glamouring an ex-human with feathers extending from its arms, a notched beak puckering from its lips, with wild beady eyes and patches of plumage scattered haphazardly across its naked, pink, jagged flesh, overcome with instincts that clearly weren't the human's but the falcon it was merged with, fighting its human instincts was a very tricky, but not impossible, task. The fact that it wasn't naturally Glamoured also led her to reason that it wasn't a creature of legend or myth— it wasn't a cursed shifter, no, it was a human creation and therefore the laws of magic and the supernatural wouldn't apply to it and keep it hidden from human eyes.

Also the fact that it was nigh impossible to kill really did not help improve her mood any. Neither, for a matter of fact, was diving head first through a building's window.

She was furious when she landed, the shattered glass a mere nuisance compared to the flailing avian she was straddling. "Just. Fucking. Die. You. Son. Of. A. Bitch!" She enunciated every word with a smash of the creature's head to the dark, marble floors of whichever penthouse she'd crash-landed in.

She tried beheading it, amputating it, burning it, smashing it, even plucking the damned thing didn't work! It was more resilient than her own waning and volatile sanity! It was unbelievable. A clearing of someone's throat brought her attention off of the battered hybrid… that was already regenerating. Ugh!

"Oh," she blinked. "Hello, Mama," the girl said with a beaming, innocent smile, the feral snarl melting as soon as she noticed her Mama's astonished face, as if she wasn't straddling a monster and had come crashing through the windows.

"Baby… what is this," her Mama inched closer and put a firm hand on her daughter's shoulder. She had a fierce look on her face, half-disgust and half-fury, as she gazed balefully at the creature with flaming blue eyes.

"A hybrid of sorts," the girl said, with a grimace on her enchanting face as she lifted a feathered arm. Even at the ripe biological age of seven, she was as beautiful as ever, despite the gore and glass shards her Mama was picking out absentmindedly out of her hair as she observed the creature, completely ignoring the suddenly silent occupants of the adjacent room. Her Mama didn't seem too concerned, then neither was she.

"I can see that…," her Mama murmured as she plucked a feather and turned it in her hands. She delicately sniffed the air, then turned to her daughter, "Falcon…. What have you tried?"

"A lot," she ground out, looking murderously at the creature she couldn't kill. She relayed to her Mama all her gruesome yet feeble attempts at taking its life as she took out vials from her magically, space extended inventory pouch, she fancied wearing as a wide black stripe tattoo on her upper left arm— she kept a lot in there— and started gathering samples she would later study, from the translucent venom that had knocked her out for a good ten minutes— it would've killed any human, and incapacitated a magically endowed one for weeks if they weren't dead already— to the shards of metal under its skin.

"That's awfully bothersome," her Mama shuddered delicately. "Dying would have been a mercy several attempts ago."

"It doesn't feel pain," she replied faintly. At her Mama's incredulous looks at the writhing creature's groans, she rolled her eyes, "That is not a reaction to pain— I would know. It's its reaction to what its body believes should be the proper reaction…"

Her Mama put her hand on the thing's jagged forehead, she was a healer, and those diagnostic scans were second nature, "The pain receptors stopped working from overstimulation. The only emotion the amygdala is processing is oppressive terror. Sheer, blind, oppressive terror."

The girl nodded in agreement, the thing rank of it. It hurt her nose and brain, nevermind her empathic abilities.

The creature groaned, and her head snapped back with a furious snarl. She delivered a powerful punch to its head, and rather than dying, a cracked skull and marble flooring was all that she gained. Her claws extended from her nails, and she thrust them into the creature's chest, holding its heart in a vice grip, a poor attempt to stop the abnormal, speedy regeneration. The skin was nigh impenetrable, followed by a thin layer of platinum underneath. The blood was a slimy matter that was eating away at the ephemeral layer of protection she coated her hand with. The thing was still struggling, so with a mere thought, she waved a hand and crystalline chains extended from the marble, trapping the creature. It would lose consciousness in a few seconds for a few seconds.

"Now, I'm just trying to overstimulate its regenerative functions until it becomes too much," the girl explained, joyously.

Her Mama nodded, thankfully, unbothered by her display of ferocity. "Like a cancerous tumor? How is that working out for you, how long has this been going on now?" She asked with a hint of amusement.

Her daughter growled savagely and enunciated it with another mind-boggling punch to the source of her ire, "Since a bit after you left. An hour or so after, maybe." Which happened to be at 9:00 PM, it was past midnight now. She had enough power and stamina to go for days, but it was frustrating her inner wildcat, her Fera, which hated the futile and frustrating chase of this pathetic prey. On the bright side, she was now squeaky clean, barring her hand, and she straightened and kissed her Mama's cheek in thanks.

"How about I introduce you to our host and his guests?" Her Mama suggested softly. She put a sound-canceling gag, and reinforced her crystal chains on the creature and nodded.

"Oh, no, please do go on, don't let us interrupt you," said a heavy-accented, cheery voice chimed. She was dazzling with tanned skin, dark almond eyes framed by thick lashes and eyebrows, strong and sharp features and red full lips with two thick braids swinging behind her as she tilted her head at the creature. The large golden ear hoops, bangles, anklets and the flowy, chiffon olive green abaya with golden embroidery only served to enhance her Middle Eastern features.

"Era," the girl rolled her eyes. Ereshkigal was the Mesopotamian, revenge-driven Underworld Queen, but that was millennia ago, according to her she now just squats with her counterparts every now and then. "Been a while."

"Can I have a turn with it, please?" The girl narrowed her eyes at the request. "I'll try to kill it," the goddess promised and edged a bit more.

"By all means," the girl sighed and pointed to the still living hybrid in an all yours gesture. She already took what she needed, what was left was knowing how long its endurance would last under the right circumstances.

Her Mama looked intrigued, "Faerie?"

"Faerie," her daughter nodded. The women squatted pretty much everywhere she wanted.

They turned the corner, cleaning the grimy- slimy blood off her hands.

"Little Lady?" A hesitant and disbelieving voice reached her, and it made her freeze in her steps. She turned around slowly, and no longer had she laid eyes upon the familiar male did she launch herself at him. He staggered back from the force of her speedy impact, and a small smile graced his inhumanly handsome features as he hugged her back.

"Arawn," the girl breathed in delight. The Fey claimed immortality, but they mostly just had ridiculously long, extended lives and could be killed and die of illness. Arawn, their Underworld numen, was a dear friend of hers. He would hang out with Gwyn ap Nudd's Wild Hunt during her time allotted with the Wild Fae. One would think that the deity of the Fae Underworld, terror, war and revenge wouldn't be this friendly, but she and his lifelong friend were exceptions. She had weaseled her way into his blackened heart, and according to him— he had no problem with it. He was one of the few she could really trust, despite their less than flattering first encounter. "I missed you."

"It's been long," he agreed warmly, with a gentle peck to her forehead. His expression darkened obviously, as he addressed the other occupants of the large, dark and modern room, with a tone capable of freezing over the Sahara, "Seems like the subject of our conversation has arrived."

"How do you know my daughter?" Her Mama asked in a soft voice, veiling an unfavorable threat. There was no good way of knowing Arawn, and they all knew it. Overprotective Mama Bear, she thought fondly. And after the astounded gazes of recognition of the other allegedly cold-hearted and ruthless sovereigns of the dead, her Mama had every right to be.

"I believe," a British-accented voice drawled. "That is a question we all want an answer for, dearest Sally. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, it seems."

She slowly turned her head, an equally lazy smile appeared on her face. "Lucifer," she nodded in acknowledgment. "You look as charming as ever."

They had all settled in a sitting room of sorts, she sat happily on Arwan's lap. "Osiris," she acknowledged the Middle Eastern-looking man.

Her Mama sighed in exasperation, and muttered something low in resignation. The beam on her daughter's face never wavered even as her Mama got a crystal decanter of what smelled and looked like whiskey.

She turned to the very curious audience, "What?" Her Mama rolled her eyes, and admonished her for her rudeness. The girl scoffed, "I wasn't the one talking about others behind their back."

"Would you believe me if I said that none of us knew we were discussing the same individual?" Osiris asked calmly. The faint smile on his face permanent apparently, as if everything amused him— it's been there since that time she accidentally portaled to Egypt.

Off point. "Not really," she replied. "But I do wanna know why you all were here gossiping about me?"

Lucifer opened his mouth to reply, but Era interrupted with a bubble of maniac laughter, as she swept in with a bloody trachea in her hand. "I ki~lled i~t," she sang, happily. Before the girl could burst her bubble, the gurgling creature did it for her. "What!?" Her screech had the occupants of the room blinking from the ringing in their ears.

"Where did you even find it?" Her Mama questioned her.

"I was minding my own business when—"

"Lies," Arawn drawled curtly, a knowing look mirrored by her Mama on his face.

"Actually, this time I was," she defended herself. Then shrugged. "Mostly. But out of nowhere the thing attacked me."

"What was your 'business' exactly?" Lucifer asked curiously.

She was silent. And if all eyes weren't on her, they would be after the heavy silence.

"Well?" her Mama stressed, her eyes were burning a hole in the side of her head. She abruptly stood and walked to the shelf of books.

"Those are mine, little Siren," Lucifer drawled.

"I'm well aware whose house I'm in, Mr. Morningstar," her curt, detached reply, had them all on edge. Her aura strengthened with the force of her anger and escaped its confinements. She heard deep intakes of breath and internally cursed her frayed nerves. The semi-fluffy mood she had created instantly soured.

"Baby, what happened?" The contrast of command and concern in her Mama's voice made her look up from the book she was mindlessly reading— something in Sumerian about lost cities. "Where were you?" The command was clear now.

She knew that whether she spoke or not her Mama would get her answer. Her Mama left her in an entirely different state— Las Vegas, Nevada, in fact—, and it was a miracle she hadn't already questioned her about that. Her Mama was the nicest person she knew, the best mother anyone could ever ask for or deserve, but the fact that she was invited with the literal Devil and his counterparts told much about her Mama. Like mother, like daughter, she supposed.

She looked her Mama in the eyes, "I was at the Lotus Hotel and Casino."

Her Mama took a deep breath, the strain to not go and strangle her daughter and start ranting about how stupid that decision was…. But it was a pointless topic to pursue, she already knew. And her Mama wasn't talking about the time swallowing pit it was, no, that she could handle— it was the fact that that Casino was enemy territory that had her losing her cool. "You are going to sit down, and explain yourself."

She didn't move an inch. If she was anything it was stubborn, and though she was loath to admit it, prideful— you couldn't not be prideful if you wanted to survive the horrors of the land of the Fey. But her Mama was even more so.

"Now."

~WYDETU~

Once again, she crashed through the windows of the posh penthouse, rolling and standing with a vicious skri-ip! that made her unholy host wince. She stood and dusted herself from the glass shards.

"You do know," the familiar accented voice drawled. "That there are doors to my house. Don't you, little Siren?"

The girl looked behind her and gave the Devil a dazzling smile, "Do I?"

"I'm beginning to suspect that you actually don't."

"Oh, shush, Luce," she waved him off. He was right though, in all the times she's visited, she had had to repair the windows— it wasn't that hard and with but a thought and a flick of her hand, it was usually done. She dropped the head she had ripped upon landing. She shook her head and pointed towards the carcass, "More important matters— look at this."

"Like last time?"

"More or less, yeah."

The thing was at best described as a hybrid out of some horror, sci-fi movie gone wrong. Terribly wrong. It wasn't unlike that of the first one she'd crash-landed with months prior. Her theory was correct— a day with Era and the creature had combusted. She thanked her stars, this was far easier to kill than it's former counterpart. She'd had no sympathy for the creature then and she didn't now either— she'd put it down as soon as she'd tracked it here.

"I was in San Francisco, running errands," the girl began explaining as she and Lucifer examined the creature. She handed the smartly dressed male a pair of latex gloves and a few vials she'd taken out of her tatt-pouch. They took samples as she talked, "Again, the creatures are human made" — she ignored his skeptical look— "Science. Proof: no magical residue, no curse—besides his hideous appearance— just a science experience gone wrong or too right."

"How so?" Lucifer murmured, not taking his eyes off of the nightmare incarnate.

"The experiment worked, they— whomever they are— lost control of the human-falcon (again), the thing escaped and with no safety failsafe, yet again— they couldn't bother with it. And with the abnormal regenerative properties it showcased, it probably didn't have a very long life expectancy."

"And…," the Devil hummed, intrigued.

"The thing was not as easy to kill as expected due to all the contradicting yet overwhelming instincts it was overcome with. Not unlike the last one. However this one was surprisingly fast, it managed to somehow fly— hollowed bones, perhaps? It was nigh invulnerable— the skin was impenetrable to most metals, beyond that was a thin layer of something… but not platinum as it was apparently too much to handle. But, thankfully, there had been an Achilles Heel this time— the neck, thus ripping its head off. And since it was a human creation, I had to Glamour the thing. I brewed a storm to follow the creature, covering up the mess it left. Maintaining that and tracking the creature was a bit tricky."

"One hell of a storm it was," he smirked, and she rolled her eyes. "What? It was all over the news."

Lucifer led her to a little alcove where she had requested a lab to study all her findings. He was close to most of the LAPD operators, and it wasn't hard for him to convince their forensics expert to help set one up.

"Lovely place," she commented as her eyes swept over the new and sleek, and most importantly modern technologies and machinery. Despite her deep rooted hatred for Faerie and the majority of its occupants, she was grateful for all that she had learned, millennia worth of knowledge and skills were all forced upon her in the five years she had stayed— still though, two years out of that place and she still would wake up drenched in her own sweat and blood.

It was also how she had met Lucifer initially— she'd accidentally opened a portal to Hell, while it was supposed to be to the Unseelie King's chambers, she thought of that hellish place and landed in actual Hell. But she was the type of person to go through Hell and come out with the Devil owing her a favor.

"You have four hours," Lucifer called. "Use them wisely, little Siren."

Her only response was a fangy smile. The girl flipped her platinum, bluish white ponytail, turned the vents on and started working, her seven year old body not hindering her at all.

The four hours passed and she had admittedly learned a lot— not as much as she'd originally wanted but still a lot— and though the creature was dead, his cells were not, at least for two more hours— unfortunately the majority of the first creature had combusted soon after she took it out of her stasised Tatt-pouch. Enough though, that with her own experience, knowledge and potions, she may have started developing a theoretical antidote of sorts, it would kill off all parasitic cells and regenerate the missing or replaced human parts. That was her goal, but since she didn't know much about the procedures, nor the people behind this entire ordeal, she was only working on theory and with the dead specimen she had. Not much at all. It frustrated her.

A tentative knock sounded, a moment later followed by Lucifer sauntering inside. "You're awfully stressed," she commented distractedly, as she was testing the blood's reaction to hydrochloric acid— and she was frustrated to see that it had little to no effect, she couldn't say the same for the petri dish however. She disposed of it and started going down her list of acids. Sulphuric acid, maybe some fluoroantimonic acid. "Something happened with your meeting?"

"The usual," he took a sip of whatever liquor was in the crystal glass, ignoring her half-hearted chastisement of not drinking in labs. "Underworld deities aren't the most social, or friendly of the bunch."

She hummed in agreement. She had met a few down in her time in Faerie. Arawn, for example, is a dear friend of hers, though the circumstances of their meeting was anything but friendly, but then again none of her connections' and friends' meetings were. "Some are lingering."

"Hmm?" He looked confused for a moment, before sighing in resignation.

"Don't you have better things to do?" The girl asked. "Like a club to run?"

"Mazikeen is more than capable…" He looked momentarily bemused, before grimacing as the faint sound of smashed glass and shouting permeated the dull silence. "On second thought, I don't think she would mind if I intervened." He smiled tightly and sighed. "I'll be sending them up," he grunted in agitation. "Try not to hurt him or get hurt."

She smirked as she left her little lab behind Lucifer— making sure she left nothing behind and everything was in her Tatt-pouch. She plopped on the couch and fiddled with Loire as she waited for whomever Lucifer's disgruntled, havoc-wreaking guest was.

Ding!

"What put your panties in a twist?" She called out as soon as the elevator sounded followed by the clacking of fancy shoes. She looked back to find a tall and slender man, his long, inky black hair contrasted with his pale complexion and only enhanced his striking, otherworldly angular visage. The form fitting, Italian suit he was wearing did nothing to hide his aura— a very powerful one, and since he was agitated and angry, his aura was even more oppressive and suffocating to her sensitive senses. His anger, resentment, and the minute guilt were doing quite the number on her Empath abilities, they borderlined wrath, and the strength of that emotion made her dizzy.

"Brothers," the being murmured, obviously drunk. Then he laughed bitterly, his voice deep and dark, "It's always my brothers."

"Can't sympathize with that, unfortunately," she replied softly in response to the violent storm of his nearly, well-hidden emotions. "Don't have any."

"Lucky, lucky, lucky~," he sang deliriously, and despite whatever it was that got him this drunk, he still plopped gracefully next to her on the couch.

"And who may you be, sir?" her wide, now snowy white-blue eyes shined with an innocence that did not belong there.

"Hades."

"Like the Greek devil?" She knew she was stepping on eggshells here, she already started panicking. The male was notorious for killing his nieces and nephews in more recent times than he did millennia ago, she didn't want to be the latest on that list. And she was glad for going with the Icy Mien, otherwise she would have been easily detectable— her Mama always said that she looked like her father.

"Of course," he muttered bitterly. "That is all everyone knows. Hades is the Devil! The bad one, the… evil one. Chaos, even the Devil himself isn't as evil as everyone believes! He is just a punisher, and I rule over the dead. But, no, all because of some stupid… draw, I get remembered as the evil one. Nevermind the rapists and murderers my little brothers turned out to be! I just mind my own… damned business, and do what needs to be done. They do nothing and get extolled! My home, my godsdamned home— they took it from me! Exiled me, for no reason at all! Paranoia will someday be that insufferable, spoiled bastard's own demise, mark my words."

The earth began to shake, and she quickly reacted. Hades was trembling in the fury and unfairness of his situation, she couldn't sympathize with it, but she more than understood. She lost all pretense of cluelessness, and tried to stem the tremors he was projecting to the best of her ability. It significantly lessened, and Los Angeles was in no more danger of toppling over.

"And an oath, a simple oath!" He raged, "And even that was too much for them to uphold." It seemed he was too inebriated and angry to realize what she was doing.

"Hades," she called out softly, and though her voice was low it wasn't weak and radiated power that forced the great immortal to stop and listen. "What did you do?"

He wouldn't be this angry unless something happened, again, something that should have seen her bolting the second she knew who he was. "Excuse me?"

She repeated the question calmly despite the intensity and the barely veiled threat in his voice.

He straightened and looked at her with sober clarity. She stood still and kept her gaze level with his, averting her eyes would mean submitting, showing weakness and she didn't do either of those. A sliver of respect and suspicion gleamed in his eyes, he realized that the seven year old in front of him was more than what she appeared. His eyes assessed her scrupulously, then narrowed in recognition and even more rage.

She anticipated his next moves, and in less than a blink of an eye, she was on the other side of the room, as the couch she was seated at suffered the brunt of the immortal's anger. She let him project all of his frustration. She didn't retaliate, though she kept herself out of danger's way, and was hampering and rebuffing his attacks, so the city of Los Angeles or even the state of California wouldn't be affected by the brunt of the angry immortal's power— and Lucifer's home can only take so much. She would get hit eventually, it was the only way Hades would stop his assault.

She knew his attack was against his Ancient Laws, he couldn't attack a mortal unprovoked personally, still… she kept silent. And though she couldn't help relieve him of millennia worth of pent up anger and rage, perhaps taking a century off his back was in her power.

As she evaded hits and blows, she thought amusedly of Lucifer's reaction to his destroyed home. She had always thanked her stars for her small figure, though many viewed it as a disadvantage, she could wield her body as efficiently as she could any other weapon. She took Loire out in a rush of adrenaline and instincts, and nicked the immortal's side as she was getting away from a definitely fatal blow from his soul sucking bident. Loire couldn't really do much against the bident, but she wasn't risking using any of her other weapons against the raging male. Loire would get her through.

She avoided the bident like the plague, she loved her soul being in her body, thank you very much. She rolled under a swipe, she didn't pay attention to the glass shards piercing her skin. The cuts were instantly healed, she would only have to worry about the shards in her blood stream later. She kept on the defensive, while Hades didn't let up with his offense. She faintly heard the elevator chime, followed by a rather vicious curse and another chime. Lucifer was a smart man.

An hour later perhaps, Hades' anger had been placated enough for him to regain his composure. Nothing like a good spar to calm you down. They both knew that they could go on indefinitely, and though he was vexed and exasperated at her not retaliating, he was grateful he didn't nearly murder another niece of his, one was enough for one day. She was pinned to the wall, the bident prongs on either side of her neck. She looked calmly at the heavily-breathing Hades, and with a leveled and blank voice asked, "Are you done now?"

She barely caught the imperceptible nod, but smirked when she did, "Good."

She struck out and clawed off the hand gripping the bident, with the other she thrust the end of the staff at his chest, followed by a kick to his crotch and a swinging blow to his head. She twirled and thrust the weapon at his head, pinning him to the floor, a foot pressing his crotch, and the other over his immortal heart, a blade extending from the forefront of her sandals ready to pierce him at the wrong move.

He was baffled. The immortal didn't know what hit him, he was completely startled and did not expect any retaliation— yet one of this caliber and inhuman speed! And though his pride was more than bruised, he knew when to yield— unlike his brothers and fellow immortals. He acknowledged her victory, and accepted her extended hand.

She handed him his weapon with an impressed look, "None of the immortals I bested reacted like you."

He nodded with a sour, pained look, "I give credit where credit is due… niece."

"Uncle," she returned his nod with one of her own and a welcoming, soft smile.

He sighed heavily and dropped into a conjured seat (the other lavish seats were in pieces, ablaze or drenched from their scuffle), patting the space next to him. She beamed at her Uncle, and ignored the seat and sat on his lap. She doesn't enjoy touching people, but she could be very affectionate with those she deemed deserving. She went to hug her Uncle, his emotional state didn't sit well with her. He stiffened, obviously unused to affection from virtual strangers. For a second, she feared he would push her back— reject her… like he was by his family, but he hugged her back, uncertain and tentative at first, but as if something suddenly clicked, he tightened his hold on her. He let out an incredulous breath, that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. "You are a strange one, niece."

She hummed, she knew that now all the pent up violence was out of the way, her Uncle would return to the reasonable and just male she had read and studied. "I love my brothers, I do. But they always take matters too far. And a man can only take so much."

She let her Icy Mien melt, and color returned to her. "How peculiar…." But he then nodded, "That makes more sense, I suppose." He also told her that since she was surprisingly the first and only demigod daughter of his brother and the features all her late brothers had shared were not there at first inspection and therefore he had written it off as a peculiarity of being the only female demigod offspring of her father, regarding her Icy Mien.

The elevator chimed again, and when Lucifer emerged, the girl couldn't contain her giggle at the gobsmacked look on his face. He muttered something about needing new, mentally stable friends. "I called a healer." That statement got their attention to the wounds they were sporting, the bident and Loire had left wounds that would take a while to heal. And were quite painful.

He stepped aside, a smug smirk adorning his face, and all the blood drained from the girl's face. She watched in utter horror as her Mama's eyes took in all the destruction in the Devil's loft, and the spattering of red blood and golden ichor. She had not faltered once when she stared the King of the Underworld in the eye, but she trembled and struggled to maintain eye contact with her furious mother's sparkling, Cerulean ones.

"Percillia Rhea Jackson…." Her full name. She was screwed. Oh, so, screwed.

~WYDETU~

"We got magic in our bones, Just like the stars, we're gonna shine, bright and golden, ooh. We go bang down all the doors. Make sure we take back all the things that were stolen."

"Yeah, we're gonna take the long, the long way home, yeah. Oh, we're gonna take the world, the world by storm."

"See, with the heart of a sparrow. Oh, tell me what arrow could ever bring you down, yeah. Oh, the escape, it was narrow. But what a gift, the courage you found. See, with the heart of a sparrow. Oh, tell me what arrow could ever bring you down. Oh, the escape, it was narrow. But what a gift, the courage you found, yeah."

Sooooo... whatcha think?

I personally think I need help, 'cause why, oh, why would I put a five-year-old through all that s***? But I love my baby regardless. Also, watch think about Lucifer? Does anyone watch the show? I honestly couldn't resist adding him. Also, our ruthless Fae monarchs, ooh and for copyright and all that, their appearances belong to Cassie Claire, what do ya think of 'em?

Also, two words, Percy Jackson TV show... okay more than two words but congratulations, dear fandom!

Please dudes and dudettes, tell me what do you think! I seriously need something, but then again I also know how hard it is to actually gather yourself or something and write a review. I've personallywritten less than a handful.

Istg I've read this like a thousand million times I honestly don'tknow anymore... My eyes are so used to it, I've given up on spotting any grammar or spelling mistakes.

And it's three AM, and I have an AP exam tomorrow... today, whatever. Heh.

Please wish me luck, I need it.

Also, this may seem all over the place (like this A/N), but it's how I want it set up, if you went up you'd read that it said Intro, so still don't worry. I just wanna establish connections for my girl, before I shoot her headfirst into a brawl with our dear, dear Olympians.

-3anona, out!