Chapter Text
Today started out normal. Woke up, got ready, went to school, came home for a little bit, then got taken to my taekwondo class at Gotham Taekwondo Gym. Don't let the name fool you - it's in New York City. And, no, Batman doesn't go here. I wish he did, though. That'd be sick.
I squeeze Ammi tight, giving her a big hug before I have to go to my session.
"Belladonna, sweetheart," she chuckles, ruffling my already tousled curls with one hand and patting my back with the other, "you have to go. Dojo Kyra is waiting for you."
"Noooo," I whine, holding her even tighter. I don't even know why, honestly. I love taekwondo. For some reason, today feels... off. Like something bad is going to happen the moment I step through those doors. "I don't wanna go yet." I look up at her, pouting, my chin digging into her collarbones.
"You never make this much of a fuss when Baba's here." She sighs, brushing some hair out of my face. "C'mon. You have to go. We pay for these classes."
I huff dramatically and let my arms drop from her sides, my head drooping low as I step back. "Fine," I grumble, mock-angrily tugging at the edges of my dobok to fix the wrinkles. I move past her to grab my duffle bag from the backseat. "Bye." I shuffle past her, my sandals scuffing against concrete.
I sigh as I push open the door to the lobby, still dragging my feet as I step onto the linoleum. I walk through the halls, climbing up the stairs until I reach the right room. 34G.
Walking in, I'm greeted by the dojo, Kyra. She's new. Well, technically, I'm new, too, but only to her group. We're the first group she's had. I got moved here after trying to fight other people in my last group for reasons other than just a "friendly spar."
There's another girl in here that's new, too, but she's older than me. Maybe by four or five years. Her name's Lilliana. I said she's new as in brand-new to taekwondo. I think she's disabled or something - no offense, though. I mean that genuinely. She walks kind of weird. Like, she limps. And she can't do a lot of the kicks. The ones she can do, however, hurt worse than other kids. That's not the point. She's nice to me, unlike most of the others. I think it's because we're both weird, so nobody else wants to hang out with us. I'm "weird" because I'm quiet, she's "weird" because she's just got something wrong with her lower body that makes her walk funny.
I don't even like talking to other people that much. Baba says I'm introverted, or shy, or special, or whatever other excuse he can come up with. I just don't like people.
I set my bag down where everyone else's are, although a little ways away from theirs. Closer to Lilliana's. Hers is a pretty sage green color, mine is black. I take off my slides and put them beside my things before heading over to the mat to do my stretches.
In the middle of a side lunge, I see someone I don't recognize walk in behind a group of other kids in the group that I can't bring myself to care enough about to remember their names. It's some woman. She's got a lanyard on, so... she's probably staff. Maybe one of the higher-ups. She walks over to Kyra and starts talking to her about something, but I'm not sure what.
The woman's eyes land on me. She smiles. It's kind of creepy. Unsettling. Her eyes, too. They're a weirdly vibrant shade of brown. A reddish brown, I guess. Not like a warm honey brown. Maybe more of a maroon? Burgundy? I have no clue. Either way, I don't like it, and I've probably been staring at her for too long, stuck in the same side lunge. I manage to tear my gaze from hers and focus on my reflection, watching my form as I stretch side to side.
I think I might be pretty, in a foreign kind of way. People like traits that they don't see often. Light brown skin, black curls, but vibrant light blue eyes. I used to not like it. I used to think it was weird. I've never seen anyone that looks like me with the same eyes. So did the kids around me. They said my eyes were creepy. But Ammi and Baba made me start to see them as a gift, as beautiful and rare as the necklace I have around my neck.
The necklace. It was a gift from my birth parents, whoever they may be. Baba says that I was wearing it when he first found me, laying beside the railroad tracks as a baby. He likes to joke that my birth parents were horrible enough to leave me to die, decent enough to not let me get ran over, and kind enough to leave me with a gift in case I did survive. I don't find it funny.
"Alright," Kyra says, clapping her hands together loudly and drawing the attention of everyone. "Today, we've got a very special guest. A judge for Nationals is here to watch us practice. Everyone, pair up or find a training dummy if you'd prefer to be alone." She looked at me specifically when she said that last part.
I sigh and grunt quietly to myself as I push myself out of my pancake stretch, swinging one leg over to the other from the opposite side of my body and standing up. Naturally, I go over to the training dummies and pick my favorite one - the torn and tattered one in the corner. Nobody else really uses it because of how much damage I've done to it in a short period of time, and because they know it's mine. I like that.
I start running drills, practicing my jabs and hooks and kicks with good form. Kyra says I'm one of the fastest learners in her class, and that I'm on the path to being the strongest. I think it's because she wants to make me feel better about being the odd one out every time.
Lilliana takes the dummy next to mine, as usual. Her form is... kind of sloppy, I'll admit, but I don't blame her. She tries, even despite her limp, which is automatically better in my book than the other kids.
As we practice, I can practically feel the woman's eyes on the back of my head. Watching my every move. Staring. Studying me. I can't see her, don't bother to look at her, but I know she is. I can feel it. I hear her whispers, muttering something quietly to Kyra. I hear Kyra say my name. Then, the clinking of the woman's heels, getting closer and closer to me.
"Hello, Bella," she says, crouching down a little to be at my eye level. Most would take this as an attempt to be more friendly. I take it as an attempt to be more intimidating. That smile, those eyes... I don't like it. Makes me feel weird. And I hate it when people call me that. That's not my name.
"Hi." I don't look at her, don't stop what I'm doing. I don't want a conversation. I know she knows that, based on the way her smile fades for a moment.
"My name is Miss Tia. I've heard a lot of good things about you."
"...'Kay," I say, barely giving her a sidelong glance out of the corner of my eye without meeting her gaze fully, still striking the dummy. I don't go all out. I wanted to practice a 540 roundhouse, and I was earlier when she came up to me, but I don't want to show her. She's weird.
Miss Tia purses her lips, not finding my curt responses to be charming. Good. They weren't supposed to be. But they don't deter her, either. Sad.
"Have you ever thought about competing before?" She asks me after a moment, tilting her head to the side in a gesture that was probably supposed to seem innocent, but it just felt passive aggressive. Everything she does feels weird. Creepy. Unsettling. I don't like it.
"I did a competition last week," I say, still avoiding her gaze. Those eyes. I hate those eyes.
"Ah," she nods, her smile widening. "Of course, of course." She pauses, watching me jab at the dummy. She sighs and stands up straight. "I think it would do you good if you looked at people when they're talking to you. Lets them know you're interested."
"I do when I am interested," I mutter, briefly glancing at her again. But she's already walking off, moving to watch the other kids.
Miss Tia is still watching me as class ends. I walk over to Lilliana, where she sits on the floor beside our bags, getting some water.
"Lilli," I whisper, moving to sit beside her. "Did Miss Tia talk to you? That woman over there?" My eyes flicker to her across the room. She's still looking.
"...Yeah?" She looks at me, confused, her dark brows furrowed. "She just- she talked to me about my form. Why? Did she say something to you?"
"Isn't she weird?" I say, not answering her question. I look between both of her eyes for moment, flickering between the left and the right, searching for... something. The same unease I feel, maybe.
"Kinda," she shrugs, rubbing the back of her neck and looking away from me. Like she knows something. She's hiding something from me, I can tell.
"What? Do you know her?" I ask, leaning in a little. "Has she done something that I don't know?"
She fidgets with her hands in her lap, ignoring my question. Just then, her phone buzzes. She grabs it, checks the notification, and sighs. She looks relieved.
"My mom's here," she says, standing up and stumbling a little as she does so. What a convenient excuse. "Bye, Belladonna. I'll see you tomorrow." She gives me a little wave and grabs her things before limping out of the door. The other kids are starting to leave, too, and soon, it's just me, Kyra, and Miss Tia.
I check my phone, hoping for a text from Ammi or Baba saying that they're on their way or that they're here already. Nothing. It's only a flip phone, by the way. Ammi says I'll get a better one when I start middle school, but for now, I'll use this one. Just to text and call them in case of emergency either here or at school.
I sigh and stand up, deciding to wait outside. It's a better option than waiting in here with Miss Tia.
But on my way out, she stops me.
"Bella," she says, stepping into my way right when I'm about to head out. I hate how she keeps calling me that. "Why don't we have a little chat in my office? I'd like to talk to you a little more."
"...No thanks," I say, hardly meeting her eyes. But she doesn't move. She won't let me leave.
"I insist," she says, putting a hand on my shoulder. Her gaze on me is intense. The longer I look at her, the more uncanny she looks.
"Yes ma'am," I mutter, a slight scowl on my lips. I may be a bit rude sometimes, but I still have manners. I just don't like using them on people like her. "But when my ride comes, I'm leaving."
"Deal," she says, her expression looking annoyingly proud. Like she did something there. Like she's planning something.
She leads me out of the room and down the stairs, taking me to an office on the first floor that I've never been to. She almost pushes me inside, shutting the door behind us.
"So... what is this about, exactly?" I ask, looking around the office instead of at her. There's trophies in a glass case, locked closed. Stacks of papers are piled high on a desk in the center, with two chairs on one side and one on the other. Shelves filled with other things like books and paperweights are pressed against the walls, the empty spaces covered in taekwondo posters. "The competitions, I assume, since that's... what you do, I guess."
"You think you're so clever," a voice hisses from behind me, making me freeze where I stand. It sounds like Miss Tia, if she got possessed by a smoker demon or something. "You went so, so long under the radar, sweetheart.... It was only a matter of time before we found you. Filthy half-blood."
A clawed hand grabs my shoulder, its talons digging into my skin, clawing through my dobok as it forces me to turn around.
That... that is not Miss Tia anymore. It still has her eyes, those creepy, beady little burgundy orbs that stare into my soul, into my darkest fears. It still has that smile, though its teeth are much sharper now, displayed in a frame of red lipstick curled into a hungry, inhuman grin. It's taller than Miss Tia. Its skin is a neutral grey, covered in dull scales that don't shine or gleam. A pair of large, leathery bat-like wings stick out from its back, fluttering behind it.
I recognize this creature.
"You're... you're a Fury," I squeak, eyes wide as I regard her, shrinking in on myself. Baba had read me a book about the Furies just the other day.
"You know what I am?" she chuckles, a demonic, evil chuckle. "My name is Tisiphone." Her claws tighten on my shoulder, making me wince. Her smile drops. "But enough pleasantries."
She lets go of me and starts circling me, stalking me like prey. "I'm surprised you've lasted this long, half-blood."
There it is again. That word. Half-blood. I don't know what it means, but I'm too scared to care enough and ask.
"At the same time, though, I'm glad I'm the one who gets to take you down. It is my job, after all, but I mean... I thought someone else would've eaten you by now." She hums in amusement. A cocky hum.
She suddenly stops walking around me, stops eyeing me like I'm her next meal.
She lunges at me.
My instincts kick into full gear, and I dodge, sliding across the linoleum between her legs and behind her. I scramble to my feet, panting, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I don't know what to do. Before I can think of anything, she tackles me down to the ground again, sending us both rolling.
"Little half-blood," she growls, her face inches away from mine as she slams me into the glass cabinet, her claws digging into my shoulders again so hard that I can feel the warm stickiness of my blood dripping down my skin and soaking through my dobok and her breath fanning across my skin like a gust of wind, hot and gross and uncomfortable, smelling like musk and brimstone and smoke.
I would cry, but I'm too shaken to. I would cry, but the sob gets caught in my throat. I would cry, but I'm frozen in complete and utter fear.
"I- I don't... I don't know what you're talking about," I manage to stammer out in a shaky whisper, my lower lip trembling, my eyes stinging with moisture that should've been there already if I wasn't scared stiff. "I don't know what you mean. I don't know what you want with me," I shake my head, sniffling. A single tear falls from my eye. I reach up and wipe it with my palm.
"Of course you don't," she chuckles grimly, tightening her grip. She yanks me forward and tosses me to the side, my back hitting the desk. I wince in pain and topple to the floor. I can't breathe. I can't move. I can't do anything. It feels like my whole body is numb and yet on fire at the same time, the pain so strong that it's dull.
She crouches next to me, kneeling and bending over my limp body. She reaches to toy with my necklace. The singular momento I have of my birth parents. I want to smack her hand away, to scream at her not to touch it, not to touch me again, but I can't. All that comes out is a choked sob.
"Of course you don't know," she repeats, shaking her head as she twirls the beads between her fingers. "Your little Baba and Ammi haven't told you yet, have they?" She pauses, as if she's contemplating something. "I could tell you," she shrugs, "let you know why you're dying before you do. But where's the fun in that?"
The only strength my body seems to have left is used to cry, to sob, to tremble and shake in fear and agony.
Until she yanks my necklace.
The clasp snaps open.
My hands instantly shoot upwards, one grabbing her wrist and the other the necklace, trying to pry it from her claws.
"Give that back," I choke out, though it comes out more like a strangled wheeze of a sob.
"Give it back," I repeat, raising my voice. I rip it from her grip, and, as my fist retreats back, I force it back up as a jab right to her nose. It's not very effective, but it catches her off guard, breaking her amusement at my struggle.
I hit her again. And again. Over and over. The necklace starts to feel warm against my palm, but I ignore it. It's just what happens when you hold metal; it conducts heat, and the heat is from your body.
Until I notice it glowing. Through my haze of tears, I hadn't realized it was.
Tisiphone eventually backs up, tired of this little "game" of back and forth. "You've had your fun," she scowls, standing up. "But you're done. You're dying today, half-blood."
I stand up, too, using the desk as leverage to bring me to my feet, my legs shaky and knees weak beneath my weight. But I stand my ground.
The necklace feels... heavy, in my hand. Heavy and warm, and out the corner of my eye, I see it still faintly glowing. I don't look at it. I don't tear my gaze away from Tisiphone. Tears stream down my face, probably bruised, like the rest of me. My dobok is still soaked with blood at my shoulders, dried and crusted in some spots, the warm stickiness of it dripping down my front and back and sides in thin little dribbles.
I stumble towards her. Oddly enough, she looks less confident. Her eyes are on my hand. On my necklace that dangles from my fist. I adjust my grip on it, grabbing the end.
But it feels different.
I look down at it, brows furrowed. In my hand resides not a beaded necklace with gems and charms in shades of purple and black and silver, but a weapon. Two sickle or scythe-like hooks, made of something akin to copper or bronze, with handles, connected by the beaded chain of my necklace, just... thicker. Larger. Heavier.
I limp closer. She steps back. Backed up against a wall, like I was. Ironic, isn't it?
"I don't know what you want with me," I hiss, my voice weak and hoarse, yet strong, in a way, "but I don't go down easy. Think you would've known that by now, if you really were a judge at Nationals."
"Shut up," she scowls, but I can see the fear in her eyes. She takes a breath. "...Where did you get that?"
"Necklace." Simple answer, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, but it's all I really know.
Without another word, I charge at her, swinging the... thing. The weapon. I don't even know what to call it.
One of the blades stabs her right in the stomach with a sickening, fleshy squelch. Tisiphone screeches in agony, stumbling forward.
"You... you can't get rid of me so easily," she sputters, foaming at the mouth, spit and blood and dust escaping her. "I don't die. I will come back, and I will kill you next time." Her voice is getting louder, stronger, but her form is becoming weaker, crumbling into dust. She falls to her knees, clutching the weapon and gasping for air. "I will. You bastard dau-"
I yank the weapon from her stomach before she can finish. I don't care for what else she has to say. She yowls in pain and drops onto the ground like a limp ragdoll, dissipating into dust and shimmering sand, spreading across the linoleum.
Panting, I, too, collapse onto the ground, clutching the necklace-turned-weapon so tight my knuckles turn pure white. Out of nowhere, I hear a crash behind me. I jolt and whip my head around to see... nothing, although the room is much more messy than it should've been. Papers and posters and paperweights from throughout the room on shelves pressed against walls untouched by the chaos that had just ensued. And yet they had moved.
Weird.
I know nobody else is there. Nobody else could be. The office was empty when we came in, the door was locked the whole time, and if anyone was hiding here, there's no way they would've managed to stay quiet during it all.
I struggle to my feet once more, still gasping for air. I stumble over to my duffle bag, luckily untouched. Or at least, I thought it was.
It should've been.
It wasn't.
It moved.
I furrow my brows, confused. I know I didn't set it like that, and it shouldn't have moved. We didn't go anywhere near it. It's on the opposite side of the desk from where we were.
...Whatever. I'll figure it out later.
I unzip the small pocket on the side and fish around for my little Nokia flip-phone, grabbing it and dialing up Baba's number.
It rings once.
Twice.
Then, a click.
"Hi, sweetheart," I hear a familiar, warm voice say, a hint of concern tinting his tone. "I've been waiting outside for a while. I'm in the car. I called you, like, five times, habibti. You didn't answer. What's-"
"Baba," I cut him off, still out of breath. "...What's a half-blood? Wh- what am I?"
Based on his silence, I know he knows the answer. But I also know he doesn't want to tell me.
He does, anyways.
"A half-blood, ya amar, is..." He sighs. "A demigod. You're a demigod. There."
Another pause. Neither of us know what to say now. I'm in disbelief, wide eyed and slack jawed.
"Demigod, as in, one of your parents was a human, and the other was a god. A Greek god, like in the stories we read you," he clarifies. Then, he asks, "...Did something happen to you today?"
"Yeah," I mutter, swallowing hard. "Something definitely happened." I pause. "...I'll be right outside. See you in a second."
I hang up the phone and stuff it back in my bag. I look at my dobok, realizing that it might not be the best idea for him to see me in it, soaked in blood. And... probably also not the people in the lobby. I've always got a change of clothes in my duffle bag, though, and the office has no windows.
I get changed as fast as my weak and strained and exhausted limbs will let me, slipping into a pair of black sweatpants and a plain black tee. I slide my sandals onto my bare feet, gather my belongings and bearings, smooth out my appearance as best as possible, and head out of the office.
I keep my head down as I pass the people in the lobby. There's no mirrors in that office, and I'm not sure how badly my face has been messed up - could look bloodied and bruised, could just look like the aftermath of a sparring session went wrong. Either way, I slip past them, undetected, and pad over to Baba's car.
I toss my duffle bag into the back seat with a heavier thud than normal due to the weapon shoved inside before climbing into the passenger seat beside him, continuing to keep my head down and eyes downcast as I close the door and buckle my seatbelt.
"...Hi," I murmur, looking away from him and instead out the window as he starts pulling out of the parking lot.
"Hi," he says back, his voice tired and worried, like it always is when he thinks or knows I've done something wrong. This time, it wasn't my fault.
Baba sighs, his eyes flicking between me and the road. He notices that my necklace is gone, and his eyes instantly go wide with panic. "Habibti, where's your necklace?" He swallows hard, his voice trembling with nervousness, and maybe a little fear, I think. "Did you lose it? I thought I told you to never take it off-"
"The clasp broke," I say. "It's in my bag."
He pauses and nods, his lips pursed, letting my words sink in. "Did it... change? When you took it off?"
"Yes, Baba," I sigh, running a hand through my hair, brushing the tousled and matted curls away from my face. "It's... some... some weapon, I think."
"It's called a kusarigama," he murmurs, glancing at me for a moment before back at the road. "It's a Japanese weapon, I don't know. Er, the necklace transforms into a kusarigama. Most don't do that," he chuckles, trying to make light of the situation at least a little. It works. I smile.
"Long, long, long story short, it's enchanted," he continues. "Your birth parents gave it to you to protect you."
"Even though they left me to die?" I ask sarcastically, looking over at Baba with a deadpan expression.
"...Kiiiind of," he winces, then sighs again. "Look, they didn't-" he glances at me once more, "they didn't leave you to die. Sure, you were left at an unconventional place, but... one of them wasn't mortal. That was normal for them. Probably. I don't really know."
"How do you know this stuff, then?" I retort, narrowing my eyes at him a little. "Who are my parents, then? Really."
There's another moment of silence.
"...I can't tell you that," he says with a quiet sniffle. He's trying not to cry. "I made a vow I wouldn't. One that I can't break. But... they'll reveal themselves with time. They'll tell you. Eventually."
I go silent for a minute, too. I don't even want to look at him. I know it's not his fault, but I'm still upset.
"Let me guess, they made you vow to not tell me about this until I have a near-death experience with some monster too, right?"
He stares out at the road for a moment. Then at me. "...Yeah," he murmurs, looking back at what's ahead of him. "I wasn't allowed to tell you until you found out who you were through... other means. The sooner you come to terms with who you are, the sooner monsters can detect you. Unless, like in your case, your presence is... potent, per say, and they discover you before you can find out for yourself."
The rest of the car ride goes silently. Neither of us have anything to say. Or, at least, I thought we didn't.
As soon as we get home, Baba runs to Ammi and ushers her to their room, recounting everything I told him in hushed, panicked whispers.
I go take a shower while that goes down.
After soothing my aching muscles with the stream of hot water and cleaning the gashes on my shoulders from Tisiphone's talons, I dry off, get dressed, and come into the living room to see them both sitting there on the couch, whispering.
Ammi notices me first and clears her throat, making Baba see me, too.
"Belladonna," he says, patting the spot beside him on the couch. "Come sit."
I nod and walk over to them both, sitting beside him. He wraps an arm around me, tucking me into his side.
"...We're gonna send you away for a little while," Ammi says, hesitant, toying with her rings.
I frown.
"You'll be safe there," Baba explains. "It's... it's a place meant for kids like you. It's called Camp Half-Blood. It's, uh..."
"It's not too far from here, ya amar," Ammi coos, reaching over to give my knee a little squeeze of reassurance. "We'll be hardly as much as a two hour drive away."
"You won't be there for long, either. Just until the next school year starts up."
"They're gonna help you there."
"They'll keep you safe from monsters."
"They'll train you, help you control your powers and learn to protect yourself."
The car ride to Camp passes mostly in silence. I packed a bag. My necklace-weapon-thing is still in it. The kusarigama. My neck feels empty without it, the phantom of it lingering on my skin.
As if reading my thoughts, Ammi looks at me through the mirror, brows furrowed.
"Ya amar, why aren't you wearing your necklace still?"
"...Because it's a weapon," I say. Should've been obvious.
Ammi looks at Baba. Baba looks at Ammi.
"I forgot to tell her how to put it back on," he sheepishly murmurs, returning his gaze to the road.
Ammi sighs. "Get it out of your bag."
I do.
"You see the two blades? They're hooks, right? Hook them together."
I do.
And, seemingly as magically as it turned into a weapon, it turned back into my necklace, the clasp being where the blades were just hooked.
"Huh," I chuckle. "That's cool."
"When you open the clasp, it transforms," she says simply before going back onto her phone. Baba turns up the radio again.
And just like that, we're back to being quiet. It's a nice quiet, though, with The All-American Rejects playing on the radio. I like that band. I hum along as we drive, unclasping and clasping the necklace, watching it transform in my hands over and over, feeling its weight and power in my palms.