Bleach, Percy Jackson and the Olympians 1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson and the Olympians or Coke Cola. But if I owned Coke Cola, I could rule the world!

"We should not fret for what is past, nor should we be anxious about the future; men of discernment deal only with the present moment."– Chanakya

**Chapter I**

To those of you who are reading this and feel a sudden chill run down your spine, I wish to you the best of luck. Others have felt it and immediately stopped reading this, for they knew what would happen if they continued into this story. It would only be a matter of time before they find you.

To those of you who are reading this and don't feel the chill, good for you. Continue reading if you please to do so. You will only find this amusing since it has nothing to do with you what so ever. You won't have to face the same problems as the others reading this.

Now that I have finished my useless banter, allow me to begin this story. You could say it started in a dormitory somewhere in Illinois. Even though winter didn't arrive, taking a step outside at the end of autumn weather was like being slapped in the face with a block of ice. You never expect it until its right behind you and driving over you with a bus called reality.

Aside from the weather, life was rather bearable. That is for everyone except Thomas Spitfire. One might say he wouldn't stick out in a crowd of people. That would be until you took a look into those eyes hidden behind shades. Some people may consider them as attractive or cute. The few that truly know him can only imagine what horrors tainted those dark orbs of chocolate at such a young age.

At this time, he decided to take a walk through the neighborhood in the afternoon. The sun was still shining the sky, much to Tom's misfortune. The mixture of sunshine and cool air was not appealing to him as he continued on his stroll. He began to shiver as his stroll passed on of the gated communities. He couldn't bear the thought of being cooped up with a bunch of rich snobby people.

As his stroll directed towards the bad neighborhoods, he began to relax a little but stayed a little tense. The sounds of dogs barking echoed throughout the community. The boarded houses caused him to reflect briefly on his traumatizing childhood. He shook his head as he did not want to be reminded of it. Thankfully, a glass bottle sailed past him to shatter his painful reflection.

From behind him he could hear, "Hey, you little shit!"

Slowly he turned around to see a group of black "gangsters" begin to slowly circle him. Most of them had their torn shorts and pants sagging against their legs. Some sported tattoos and piercing on their lips, arms, and necks. One or two wore hats crookedly against their shaved heads. As they moved closed towards Tom some of the "gangsters" began to chuckle and flash gang signs. Tom counted six of them, an easy amount should he need to fight them.

The one who first spoke, also assuming the one who threw the bottle, stepped in front of the others and said, "Nigga, don't you know that this is our territory?"

Unfazed by their attire and tone he questioned, "Don't you know that belts are made to hold up pants, not to make them sag? Or those hats are made to provide shade for the eyes instead of hanging sideways?"

Turning back to his fellow "gang", he jerked a thumb back at Tom and said, "This cracka thinks he's funny."

They all laughed out loud at his comment as he continued, "Let's show this cracka what happens when you mess with the Klacks."

After saying this, the "leader" pulled out a small stiletto. This caused the others to pull out melee items such as sticks, bottles, and short metal pipes. This may have been intimidating to other people, but this only caused Tom to sigh in annoyance. He outstretched his left leg, bending his knees, as he brought his loose fists closer towards his face.

"Fine," Tom responded. "If you are lucky, I'll teach you the difference between you and real gangsters."

The leader, Tom supposed that he was either the bravest or the dumbest, charged at him. Thinking he could easily stab Tom, he jabbed his knife forward. What he didn't anticipate was for Tom to catch his hand, jump up, and slam into his elbow; causing it to become dislocated. The pain in his arm caused the leader to cry out.

Taking away the blade and placing it in his pocket, Tom looked up to see two more "gang" members charge at him. Scoffing lowly, Tom surged forward and punched the closer one in the rib cage. Upon contact, the sound of breaking bones resounded along with the loud gasp for air from the hoodlum receiving the blow. As the hoodlum fell, blood trickling from his mouth, Tom confiscated the bottle from his left hand.

The third one raised his metal pipe above his head as he rushed at Tom. As the pipe was aimed to hit him, Tom stepped to the side as it was within inches from his face. Visibly surprised, the hoodlum began to turn his head as the pipe made contact with the ground. Smirking slightly, Tom swung the bottle down onto the back of his neck, causing the bottle to break on impact. After the bottle was lazily tossed away, the hoodlum slumped down onto the ground and slipped into unconsciousness.

Tom didn't react to another hoodlum charging at him with a bar raised. Before the bar could make contact with Tom's head, a firm hand grabbed his arm. Turning his head, the hoodlum received a backwards kick to the abdominals. Having the wind knocked out of him, he was unable to react to the haymaker coming from somewhere to his right.

Turning to his helper, he smirked and commented, "You know… when I go out for a walk I prefer to be alone?"

Crossing his muscular arms, the recipient of Tom's snarky response stated, "Well knowing you, whenever you go outside, you get yourself into some sort of trouble."

Chuckling at his remark, he mentioned, "Yes but at least I can take care of myself."

Having been ignored, one of the conscious remaining hoodlums dashed at the aid of Tom, heavy stick extended. Unfortunately, the rescuer simply caught the bar with left hand. Audibly gasping, the hoodlum tried to jerk the bar from the muscular man's grip, failing to succeed. Because his attention was focused on getting the bar out of the teen's hand, he did not notice Tom's right uppercut until it connected with his jaw.

Once the hoodlum fell to the ground, Tom and the man slowly turned towards the remaining "gang" member, standing in shock. The last one seemed to be no older than 13 years of age. The individual was visibly shaking as Tom stared at him and said, "Now, why don't you try and give me your best shot, kid?"

Blindly, the hoodlum rushed forward yelling at the top of his lungs with his melee weapon outstretched. Giving a quick glance at each other, the two gave each other curt nods. Once he was within striking distance, the two twisted their hips toward each other, pulling their fists back. Before the stick could be swung down, the two struck the last individual in the face with lightning fast speed. Once the fists made contact, one of the fists jerked a piercing loose; blood slowly inching its way from the new opening.

After a few seconds, the stick dropped to the ground as the last hoodlum slumped onto the ground, blood flowing from his nose and bottom lip. Slowly, the two turned to each other and did a quick, firm handshake before they heard the pained yell of the leader. The leader was attempting to sit up from the ground with his only usable arm. As his back leaned against a nearby sign, Tom walked other to him and crouched down next to the leader.

"The difference between you and a real gangster," Tom stated, "is that a real gangster has class, not swag. You flash "gang signs," a real gangster can efficiently pull off organized crimes successfully. But lastly and most importantly, a real gangster wears suits, you sag your pants."

Immediately after stating this, Tom punches the hoodlum in between the eyes. As the hoodlum drifted into unconsciousness, Tom ordered, "Now pull up your pants."

Standing back up to his full height, Tom turned back to his aid. "You know," Tom began, "I keep telling you there is no need to worry."

"That is when I worry the most," the teen stated.

Chuckling at his statement, Tom walked past the teen, giving him a pat on the shoulder as a sign on condolence. "I didn't need the help. I could have taken care of it myself."

The teen turned back to Tom as he began to stroll back in the direction of the academy. After the teen caught up with Tom, he asked, "How long do you think it will take them to recover?"

"Well Mark," Tom began, "the first one would take at least three weeks for the arm. The second will need six weeks for the fractured ribs. The third, fourth, and sixth will need a few months for his traumatic brain injury. And the fifth's bruises will heal shortly."

Shaking his head, Mark replied, "I'm still amazed that you know this kind of stuff."

Hearing this, Tom stopped his walking. As he looked up to the sky, he stated, "I have learned quite a few things in the past. Some that I wish not to discuss."

The duo soon arrived at the academy. The wooded area added to the beauty as it encompassed the academy. The lingering scent of pine trees drifted through the air as the birds chirped from within the trees. The sun was setting slowly against the tree line, the air beginning to chill slowly.

Soon the two week in their dorm room, taking off their jackets in relaxation. The dorm itself was not complex. It consisted of two twin sized beds, white walls, a small desk pushed in front of the window, and a mini refrigerator underneath the desk. Thank fully, they managed to find a small dresser for their clothes.

As Mark set his jacket down on his bed, Tom retrieved two Coke Cola cans from the mini refrigerator. Sitting upon his bed, Tom handed one of the sodas over to Mark. As they sat there enjoying their drinks, Tom couldn't help reflecting on their past. Well, their brighter past at least.

Back when Tom was in the sixth grade, he was considered the weird kid in class. He would always look out the window and swear he could see some sort of thing that others did not. This imagination of his caused him to get many colorful names from his peers. After constant teasing from his classmates, he began to keep his mouth shut.

Some weeks had past and the school year was half way over. He still didn't have anybody that he could call friend. At most, he caused a lot more people to start bullying him. The bullying didn't seem to slow for anytime soon. That was until he met him.

He was sitting at his table, staring out at the window. The lunch bell rang sometime later but Tom didn't move an inch. He knew that if he took even one step outside, he would become the center of attention for bullying. He would be pelted by wads of paper, spitballs, pencils, and pebbles. People would point, tease, and laugh at him until he would be out of sight.

He didn't notice someone walk near his desk and stop. He only turned his head when this person tapped him on the shoulder. When he looked at the figure, he began to take in the characteristics of the person. For a 6th grader, the person was rather stocky. He had muscular arms for his age. His short black hair was in a fohawk style. He wore a pair of glasses over his amber eyes.

He stood there for a while, probably wondering what to say. As he looked down at Tom's desk he said, "That is a nice sketch you have there."

Looking down, Tom was reminded of the image sketched into the paper. In boredom, his imagination washed freely over the paper. The image on the paper had grown into a small knife resembling a trench knife. Before he could respond, the teen picked up his sketch to examine it more closely.

Smiling, the teen returned the paper saying, "An interesting design you have here. It could use a little more length in the blade though."

"How could you know anything about blacksmithing," Tom questioned.

Shrugged he responded, "My mother used to be a blacksmith over in Chicago. She taught me quite a bit before she sent me here."

The teen outstretched his hand saying, "The name is Mark, Mark Ford."

Eying his hand, Tom slowly shook his hand replied, "Thomas Spitfire. You can call me Tom though."

If Mark's smile could get any bigger, his smile seemed to stretch from ear to ear. "You know," Mark answered, "There is a place that I like to practice blacksmithing without complaints."

Raised an eyebrow, Tom questioned, "Is there now?"

Mark nodded saying, "Yeah. You would have to meet me after school for me to show you."

It took some time for Tom to respond to the constraints set forth. After a few hours of consideration, Tom lied on the ground in the shade of an oak tree. Even with his eyes closed, he could here Mark stride over to him. Lazily looking up, he could perceive that Mark was holding onto two black mountain bikes. Somehow, Tom knew he would be doing something physical.

Almost an hour passed, and the two arrived to an old warehouse. A large amount of dust had accumulated on the outside of the warehouse. Tom could spot several broken windows at the top. The wind whistled as it passed through the openings of the building. Tom looked down to see Mark open a small hole in the side.

"I found this place a while ago," Mark stated. "It's been abandoned for some time from what I can assume."

"Creepy as hell is what it is," Tom retorted. "How am I supposed to trust you? For all I know, you could be a serial killer."

"There are two things I take seriously," Mark replied. "The first being food. You can never go wrong with a rack of barbeque ribs. The second will always be the practice of blacksmithing. You can choose either to trust me or not. I would try to make up your mind before the wolves get here though."

As if on cue, a series of loud howling sounded throughout the forest. Thinking quickly, Tom decided to choose life over imminent death. Sliding through the hole, Tom held it open for Mark to enter. Immediately after Mark scurried in, Tom bent the metal back to keep the incoming animals outside. No sooner, the loud sound of scratching resounded throughout the warehouse. Luckily, the scratching ceased as soon as it had begun.

Sighing with relief, Tom turned to the inside of the warehouse. What little light the windows provided stretched to large objects in the center of the warehouse. One of the objects appeared to be a metal container filled with some sort of liquid. An anvil was set on top of a large metal table. The largest object appeared to be a large pit with some sort of old fashion fan attached to the bottom.

As Mark strode over to the pit, he pulled out a small lighter from within his pocket. Slowly he reached into the pit and turned on the lighter. As a small fire began to form, Mark pushed down on the fan causing the fire to grow. Soon the fire heated the coals set within the pit, where Mark soon placed a piece of metal to heat up.

Walking over to a metal coat rack, Mark removed his jacket and put on an apron. After putting on work gloves, he eyed Tom. "Well don't just stand there," he retorted. "Come over here and give me a hand with this."

Walking out of his daze, Tom quickly set to work helping Mark. They spent hours in the warehouse forging, bending, welding, and finishing long pieces of metal. Before they knew it, the sun had sunk behind the trees, darkness consuming everything the light could not touch. Luckily, the light shining from the full moon caused them to realize how long they had been working inside of the warehouse.

After pouring water onto the fire in the pit, the duo made their way to the entrance of the warehouse. As they walked outside, they stared up at the sky in amazement. Some of the stars where not spotted due to the brilliant light of the full moon. The light shimmered in rays of glistening white reflecting off every surface.

Without turning his head, Mark questioned, "So… Are we friends?"

Quietly he responded, "Yeah… I guess so. Can I trust you?"

"Only if I can trust you," Mark smirked.

Tom couldn't help but give a small smile as he said, "I guess we are on the same page then."

It appeared that Tom had spent a long period of time staring off into space. Following the ending of his past reflections, a small object was tossed to him. His instincts kicked in, allowing him to catch the object before it could come in contact with his face. With closer examination, Tom could tell it was a crushed soda can.

Looking up, a concerned look was etched into Mark's face. "Tom, what are you thinking about," Mark anxiously asked.

Shrugging, he replied, "I'm just thinking about the past."

Not convinced, Mark raised a questioning eyebrow. "The time we met," Tom retorted.

Rising from his bed, Mark grunted, "Alright. I'm going to showers if you need me."

Before he exited the room, Mark said, "I know that your past wasn't the best, Tom. You are right; I have no idea what kind of things you have experienced in your past. I know it is a very sensitive subject but even after two and a half years, you haven't so much as said a damn thing. You still need to remember; I will not judge or look at you differently as your friend."

After adding his input, Mark left the room quietly. Once the door was shut and Tom knew he was out of distance, he let out an audible sigh as he lied back on his back. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tom tried to focus on anything other than the images of his past. Looking toward the window, he could see a sliver of the full moon rising over the tree line.

As the moon rose upon the night sky, the crisp air began to chill with the blowing of wind. Dewdrops would soon begin to form on the grass in a few hours from then. The croaking of frogs cut through the silence of the night like a katana would cut through ice. It appeared everything reminded of Tom's achievement of finally gaining a good friend.

Tom finally began to ease from the events of today as he let out a sigh of relief. As he watched his frosted breath dissipate into the air, Tom stared out at the night sky. No matter how many times he did this, the night sky always calmed his anxiousness. There was something about the full moon that caused all of his worries to be washed away.

Thinking back on what Mark stated earlier, Tom tried to look back on his life without any of the traumatic moments. He was raised in an orphanage until he overheard of the faculty talk about his mother. After listening to that conversation, he ran away from the orphanage at the age of 6. Immediately, he searched for a place he could call home. By some miracle, he found a safe haven, attended public school, and learned useful street skills that helped him live on his own. It was only until he finished 5th grade that the police found him, with immense luck, and put him back into the orphanage.

Before he knew it, he began to shed silent tears. As he felt the tears fall off of his face, he couldn't stop his mind from wandering. He pondered what he was supposed to do with his life. It was in no amount of excitement: instead, it was filled with boredom and pain. Even if he could manage to graduate from high school, what was he supposed to do after it? He had a limited attention span combined with his earlier diagnosed dyslexia.

Tom shivered as his concentration was broken by a strong, cold wind passed over him. It seemed he would have to worry about that thought some other time as he had bigger things to worry about. He only had to last one more week of school before it would end and summer would commence. He could practically here the horny teenagers shaking with summer fever. With that thought in mind, Tom slid his way over to the side of the roof where he could get back into his room. As he climbed into bed, he reminded himself that the week would end before he would know it.

And so ends the first chapter of this piece. I sincerely thank those of you who used your precious time to read this. Submit a review in the box below. Favorite and follow the story if you enjoyed it. A new chapter is in the process of development at this current moment and should be published in the following weeks.

As always, you will hear from me in the next chapter. Bye bye!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own PJO. That rightfully belongs to Rick Riordan.

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"It is in our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light" – Aristotle Onassis

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**Chapter II**

Being shaken from the dream, Tom sprang into a sitting position as he panted heavily. Taking in slow, deep breaths, his heart rate began to ease with the silence of the room. He shifted to the edge of his bed to gaze out the window. The morning light of the sun would soon seep through the gapes between the trees. Letting out a loud sigh, Tom stood from his bed and walked over to Mark's bed.

Gazing down at Mark, Tom couldn't help but envy his friend. Mark layed upon his bed in a weird position. The blanket hardly covered his midsection as a result from his tossing and turning. His short dark brown hair was ruffed and standing up against his head. The loud snoring escaping from his lips showed signs of deep, comfortable sleep.

Glancing at the clock that hung from above the window next to the loud speakers, Tom could recognize that time was running out. Soon, the other loud and obnoxious students would awaken to the sound out the wake up call. The school would play some sort of trash over the loud speakers in order to remind the children that it was time to wake up.

Being the ever so gracious friend, Tom ripped away Mark's sheets in an attempt to wake his friend up. This action only caused Mark to moan unpleasantly, letting his hand search for his blankets. Observing this, Tom went to the dresser and lazily tossed some clothes over to Mark's face. Upon contact with his face, Mark began to sit up and grabbed his glasses from the desk.

Glaring up at the clock, Mark displayed his feelings towards the clock by flipping the bird. As he turned away from his morning enemy, he spotted Tom getting dressed over by his bed. Getting the message, Mark hurridly began to get dressed. After the two were outfitted for the day, they grabbed their backpacks from undernear their respective beds.

Taking one step out of the door, Mark said, "Wait a minute. Are we forgetting something?"

Confused, Tom went back inside the room and checked the school calender. For every month in the calender, there was a picture of either the school or the surrounding areas. The calenders were used to remind students of what is to happen in their weeks of school. Although the school had regular morning announcements, students were given calenders to write down events pertaining to students.

As he examined the calender, Tom realized that he did forget one thing. Last week, their substitute P. E. teacher, Ms. Carter, announced that there would be a swimming unit the last Friday. She notified her students to bring swim wear so they could begin on the first day. That thought sent a wave of chills down his spine.

If there is anything Tom hated more than anything in school, it was Ms. Carter. She became the substitute teacher after their original teacher became extremely ill at the end of the first semester. She was an average blonde lady in her mid twenties that appeared to be straight out from college. Nothing appeared to be frightening at first glance but the shivers would soon begin once she spotted Tom and Mark.

Her once comforting eyes would soon morph into a malicious storm of blue after gazing at them. Her eyes resembled that of a predator when it catches sight of prey. The way she spoke was no picnic either. Once words escaped from her orfice, they would make the air of a warm room drop ten degrees. Ms. Carter had the students wrapped around her finger ever since she arrived to the school.

The duo did a vast amount of investigation into Ms. Carter. As far as they could tell she was not married, her first name was Liana, she had no children, and no sort of family. The two were glad nobody had married her. They would have felt sorry for the poor fool that would have even thought of having any relationship with her.

Not wanting to get in trouble with her, the two grabbed their swimming shorts and headed out the door. They quickly made their way to the cafeteria before the morning rush. The only problem with the morning, other than the annoying wake up calls, was the morning breakfast rush. The school served breakfast to its hundreds of students in a buffet manner. If students arrived late, there would not be any good food left for them.

As the entered the cafeteria, their shoes squeked against the waxed floor. The energy efficient lightbulbs shined brightly above the clean, long tables. The windows sparkled as sunshine began to stretch into the room. Everything had the look of sanitation that only came from the school's custodians. Before the two could think of anything else, the smell of sizzling bacon wafted troughout the room.

After the pair grabbed their plates, the morning wake up rang out. It seemed someone in the office wanted to ruin the day by playing another one of "greatest hits of the year." Tom could only glare at the speakers with malice in his eyes. Whenever a song that Tom disliked was played, he had the sudden urge to strangle someone. Unaware of his plate beginning to crack into pieces, he felt a hand touch his shoulder.

He didn't have to look at the hand to know that it was Mark's hand on his shoulder. Closing his eyes, he menatlly counted to 10. The counting was a recommended technique that his counselor suggested. Once he got to 10, his grip loosened on the plate. Finally gazing at Mark from over his shoulder, he nodded and shrugged off the hand.

Filling their plates with food, the two walked to the outside tables as students began to swarm the cafeteria. Tom lead Mark over to their usual quiet table located behind the cafeteria. Setting down their food, the started to eat as birds began to awaken from their night slumber. More of the sunshine was being reflected off of the morning dew.

The sounds of students eating and talking echoed out of the cafeteria and into the surrounding area. The ringing of the next bell was all Tom could wish for. He did not want to be near any of the other students. Most of the students found amusement in angering Tom. There was a fine line between teasing and angering for Tom. It's either being ignored or having to take a trip to the hospital.

A few minutes passed and students began to go out into the quad area. Some went to nearby tables to chat or play games. Others decided to walk around until the bell rang. Tom could only glare at the easiness of the common rabble. At least most of them didn't know what bullying felt like.

His thoughts were interrupted by a brown object zipping past his view. Knowing his face was almost in contact with the object, Tom could only snarl at the sound of laughter resounding from one of the nearby tables. Without looking at where the noises came from, Tom walked over to where the brown object landed. As he slowly strode over, he judged that the object was a new looking football.

Looking around, Tom made sure nobody could see him. Satisfied that nobody would spot him, he quickly pulled out the stilleto he confiscated the other day. With lightning fast speed, he slashed a long, clean cut in the side of the football. Putting away the knife he tossed the remains of the now airless football to the now silent children.

As he sat down, he could hear the clacking of heels coming from the other table. He knew what was coming his way but it seemed only Mark decided to recognize her. Sitting on the table, the girl appeared to have her attention fixed on Tom. He, however, was in a cold state of mind as she put her finger under his chin to try and gain his attention.

"Hey there," she spoke softly. "I noticed that you broke something of my soon to be husband's property."

Taking a different route, he replied sarcastically, "Oh you're in love? Who is it this week, Heather?"

Knowing this was going south fast she responded, "What can I do that will make you pay for a new football?" After saying this, she began to unbutton her shirt slowly.

Looking over at Mark he could only sigh at his friend's antics. Mark looked envious at Tom as he was in this position. He looked Mark in the eye and shook his head to the side. His friends motion surprised Mark but he soon began to relax a little bit.

Without looking at Heather, he said, "You can keep your clothes on and get the hell off of my table."

Her face turned slightly into what others might consider seductive. "Aww," she whined. "Not even a little squeeze or look at my panties?"

As Heather questioned him, she grabbed his hand and tried to put his hand on her breast. Before his hand could ever come in contact, Tom managed to jerk his hand out of her grasp. Undeterred, she spread her legs and places them next to Tom's sides. As she lifted her skirt, Tom could hear Mark's jealousy steaming out of his ear. To her surprise, Tom never to the initiative to look at her skirt.

"You can try all of your little tricks on me but they won't work," he responded.

Her face scrunched up in annoyance. Seeing that her tactics had failed, she got off of the table and strode back to her group. Thinking that he finally got some peace and quiet, Tom decide to pull out a book and began to read. His noiseless moment was ruined as he heard three pairs of feet walk up. Putting his face in his signature unfazed look, he continued to read his book.

The sound of approaching feet stopped a short distance away from the table. As he turned the page, one of the group spoke up.

"What's wrong," he questioned. "My girl not good enough for your high and mighty ass?"

Tom said, "Well, you players go for bitches. I, on the other hand, go for the princess. Something you poor bastards wouldn't understand."

This only served to agitate his buddies. Lifting his hand, his groupies stopped their complaining. As he put his foot on the table seat, he leaned in closer to Tom. "Do you seriously know what I'm capable of," he asked lowly.

Tom's face began to scrunch up at the memories that he had with Drake .

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It all started about a month after Tom became friends with Mark. The two spent most of their time around each other ever since they first did blacksmithing together. When they weren't blacksmithing in the warehouse, they were usually walking around town either chatting up a storm or trying whatever restaurant they came across. However, that day was different for the two of them.

Tom decided to go walking around the town without Mark. Mark notified Tom earlier that he had planned on going on a date that day. He was a little bummed out that his buddy would not be joining him on a walk. The only positive he could think at that moment was that his wallet would not suffer from another one of Mark's spontaneous eating contests.

As he wondered through the town, he began to take in his surroundings. He had managed to drift into the darker parts of the town. Some cars were parked along the sidewalks with broken windows. Most of the buildings were either boarded up or in ruin. The occasional car would drive by but at a fast speed; as if not wanting to be in the area any more than necessary.

Once he was just starting to settle his nerves, he heard a muffled scream to his left. There stood a small brick building with boarded up windows. The building was littered in graffiti on all sides. Beginning to close the distance between him and the building, Tom could hear muffled screams and shuffling noises from the other side coming more frequently.

Peeking his head around the side of the building, he quickly pulled his head back in shock at what he was just witnessing. Over on the other side of the wall, a short, red-headed girl was gagged and being molested by a taller blonde teenager. The girl was trying to scream for help but the only sound she made was a muffled cry. Her eyes were red with tears streaming down her face as the teenager's hands were groping her jean-clad butt.

Before the teen could shove his hands up her shirt to grope her breasts, he was hit by a blur of black. Upon contact with the ground, he was being pounded with quick, hard punches to the face. The teen was too shocked to actually respond to his attacker as his arms were pinned to the ground. The girl already took her chance and began to run away from the scene.

It didn't take long for the punches to start damaging the teen's face. First, the small cuts began to appear along his cheeks. After the cuts appeared, bruising and swelling became apparent near his eyes. Then his nose broke, causing blood to trickle out of his nose. The teen nearly blacked out once his nose was realigned and broke in the other direction.

Soon the punches stopped and the weight was removed from his chest. Feeling relieved, he tried to slowly get up. He was never able to sit up as he was kicked in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. As he struggled to breathe, his arms began to flail around. His left arm was then grabbed and pulled as two legs were wrapped around his neck. It was then that he caught sight of his attacker as he slipped into unconsciousness.

As the muscles on the arm went limp, Tom let go of the arm and stood up. Flipping the teenager's unconscious body over, Tom bound his wrists together with some zip-ties. Hefting the body onto his shoulder, Tom carried him to the front of the building. Tom dropped him to the ground and soon began writing on a napkin. When he was finished writing, he shoved the napkin into the teen's shirt as police sirens began to ring louder.

The teen's eyes began to flutter open after his body made contact with the ground. His vision started to clear up after Tom shoved the napkin down his shirt. With each step Tom took, the more anger rushed to the teen's vision. He tried to rise from the ground but he found that his body was aching very badly. Knowing he couldn't go after Tom right away, he swore to make his life a living hell.

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And that is exactly what Drake did. He eventually tracked Tom down and started fights with him whenever he could. Tom would always be alone when Drake started a fight with him. I wish I could tell you that he always came out on top, never losing to that scumbag. Unfortunately, life was no fairy tale narrated by Morgan Freeman for Tom.

Closing his book, Tom remarked, "I don't think you want to take the chance of getting your pretty face broken."

As Tom and Mark tried to rise, they were held down by the Drake's lackeys. A threat apparently didn't sit well with this guy. He was practically touching Tom's ear when he said, "That's not really friendly to destroy one's property."

"Neither is this," Tom retorted. With incredible speed, he grabbed the Drake's head and slammed it into the table. Before his buddies could react, they were elbowed in the groin by Tom and Mark. As they bent over in pain, the duo punched the two lackeys in the chest.

At the same time, Tom and Mark grabbed their things and began to walk away as the girl from before tried to rush over to her "hubby". Walking a few feet, the two heard a slap and a screech from behind them. Mark turned to see the girl grasping her face in pain as Drake tried to sit up.

Blood trickled out of his nose as he shouted, "Where the fuck are you going you son of a bitch?"

After Tom turned around slightly, a shiny object whizzed past the Drake's face. His eyes widened as he figured out it was a knife that stuck to the table next to him. He began to shake as the knife was removed from the wall by the cord it was attached to. The knife flung back up into Tom's hoodie sleeve.

"If you say one more thing about my mother or hit that girl one more time," Tom began with a deadly serious tone, "then I really will stick that blade in your chest, Drake."

Immediately after announcing this, the bell rang out across the campus. Students began to get out of their seats, unaware of what just happened. Tom turned away from Drake and his unconscious lackeys and strode off to class with Mark following behind shortly.

* * *

Time soon came to rear its ugly head as the bell rang for the third time that day. Students began to pour from out of all the buildings on the school grounds. Most of the students went to th regular shaped buildings but a few went to the two dome-shaped buildings. The guys went to the bigger building and the girls went to the smaller building.

As the guys entered their building, Tom and Mark lagged behind a bit. The day was already eventful enough and the two really didn't want to deal with Ms. Carter's punishments. Slowly but surely, they walked into the bustling locker room. Lockers were opening and slamming shut as guys were yelling at the top of their lungs. Pushing past the vulgar teens, Tom and Mark arrived at their lockers.

Once they were finished changing into their swim shorts, the teenagers were instructed to walk out of the sweaty locker room. After exiting the locker room, the male teens caught sight of the females in their swimsuits. Some began to whistle at the girls as they joined the large crowd of the opposite sex. Unlike the rest of his peers, Tom only shook his head in annoyance at the males' antics.

Out of nowhere a voice whispered in his ear, "Don't worry, Thomas. It's not so bad to have beautiful women around you."

The sudden words caused Tom to jump a few feet away from the speaker. Turning around he realized it was one of Ms. Carter's student aides, Patricia Sanders. Patricia was a tall brunette girl with sea green eyes. She would constantly try to flirt with Tom and Mark whenever she got the chance. She found it more amusing to scare Tom away with her flirting than to do anything productive with her life.

As if things couldn't get any worse, a voice echoed, "Alright, kids. Can I please have your attention?"

Tom knew that chilling voice anywhere. There was only one person who could cause the temperature to drop a few slowly, Tom spotted Ms. Carter standing in front of her multitude of students. She was gazing out at the crowd until she locked onto Tom. She gave a small smirk as her eyes began to turn into miniture storms.

She turned back to her students as if nothing happened and announced, "Now we are going to walk over to the pool. To make sure none of you wander off to do anything immature, you are to walk with another person."

Immediately, everybody started going into pairs. Some guys were "lucky" enough to get paired with a girl. Others went with their friends to be in pairs. This had to be one of Tom's many personal hell. He knew that no girl in her right mind would pair up with him. He looked around for any sign of Mark but spotted him pairing with Patricia.

Knowing the inevitable, Tom tried to slink away quietly. However, a soft but cold hand landed on his shoulder before he could even take a step. Gulping audibly, he turned to face Ms. Carter. She appeared to be smirking in success at catching him off guard yet again.

"Thomas you get the privilege of walking with me. There is nothing to worry about," She said.

A chill was sent down his spine after her words. _Oh but there is everything to worry about_ he thought. His heart rate began to rise at an unnatural rate as she pulled him closer. He tried to escape her grip but only caused her to pull him into breasts. This action made Tom grow green with sickness.

Without another word Ms. Carter started to walk towards the pool, dragging a sick looking Tom in the process. The other students were amused to say the least. Every student behind him was making jokes, laughing, or pointing at Tom. Every student with the exception of Mark. He was beginning to understand Tom little by little.

* * *

The walk to the pool only took a few minutes as the pool was located on the same block as the school. Unlike other pools in the area, this was an indoor pool. When the pool was not in use by the high school, it was open to the public to relax. Most of the community used the pool that is with the exception of Tom.

As they passed through the main entrance, the class began to mutter in excitement. Taking one step out in front of the class, Ms. Carter began to gander at the pool. The water shinned in the indoor lighting with the smell of chlorine wafting through the air. She turned back to the class while still holding Tom tightly around the neck.

"Class," she announced, "today will be a free day. No horseplay, diving, or running. And boys, try not to molest the girls."

After finishing her "speech", the male students practically dive-bombed the pool. The girls were a little more relax but still rushed into the pool via steps. The sounds of splashing and squealing echoed throughout the room. Only a handful of lifeguards watched over the loud class that day.

The only two who didn't enter the pool were Ms. Carter and poor Tom gasping for air. Halfheartedly, she released Tom from her death grip. Collapsing to the ground, Tom took his sweet time to regain the amount of oxygen. Pushing up to a seated position, a slow country song began to play over the loud speakers.

Raising his gaze, Tom spotted Ms. Carter over by what appeared to be a radio. _That fiend_, Tom thought to himself, _There is one thing that I despise more than anything, except sunshine and rap music, it is country music_.

Walking past Tom, Ms. Carter slowly entered the pool with her hips swaying from side to side. Some of the students began to stare at her with every step she took in the pool. Once she was waist deep in water, she turned to Tom with a come hither gleam in her eyes. He stood up and began to walk closer to the pool. It was only until Tom's feet were submerged in water to realize what he was doing.

Tom's grip on the safety bar couldn't be any harder as his feet began to shake violently. His breath became raspy and quick with every second of staring at the water. He didn't have the strength to move away from the flashes of the past entering his mind. The loss of air, his cold surroundings, his vulnerability; everything began to play over in his mind as clear as air.

A hand grasped his cold, frozen hand. Returning to reality, the first this Tom noticed was Ms. Carter's cleavage. His face immediately contorted to that of disgust. He tried to move away but Ms. Carter only pulled him into the pool further. The water began to visibly shake as Tom was pulled deeper into the water by his teacher.

When Ms. Carter was turned away from him, a voice spoke out in his mind. _Thomas_, it began, _this is all an illusion. Fight through the illusion and see the truth._

Looking around in panic he spotted Mark getting pulled into the deeper water by Patricia. The blank look in Mark's eyes only made Tom become more frantic. The Mark kept uttering, "I really like blonde girls." _That doesn't make any sense_, Tom thought. _ Patricia is a brunette, not a blonde._

The previous voice returned saying, _Fight through the illusion and see the truth. Your life will be meaningless if you don't snap out of it._

His eyes widened in shock. How was he supposed to see through an illusion? He could hardly read much less see through an illusion. A million thoughts were flooding his mind. Then, one thought stood out unlike all the others. If he wanted to see the truth, he needed to change his perspective.

Closing his eyes, he began to concentrate. He took away what he thought he was seeing. He tried to look past what his normal vision showed. As he began to open his eyes, reality began to shift in front of him. The truth was relieved and he did not like it one bit.

Ms. Carter no longer looked like her normal self. Her form shifted to a human-like bird with bird like legs. Her arms where covered in feathers that traveled down her back to her legs. Her fingers grew long talons that gripped into his arm, blood seeping past the claws. As she slowly turned towards Tom, her sinister smile and dark eyes shouted, _Danger!_

Reacting on instinct, Tom reached out to grab something to hit her with. His hand wrapped around one of the girls' high heels in panic. In an instant, he brought the heel of the torture device down onto Ms. Carter's head. Screeching out, Ms. Carter sunk into the water in surprise.

The sudden screech caught everyone's attention except Mark's. Unfortunately, Patricia's body also morphed into the same human-like bird as Ms. Carter. Without thinking, Tom chucked the footwear at her head. Luckily, the shoe met its intended mark as it collided with her left eye. Releasing her grip on Mark, she gripped her head in pain just as Mark was slowly escaping from her spell.

Tom knew that they didn't have long before the two monsters would recover. Hastily, Tom trudged over to Mark and pulled him towards the stairs. As they made their way over to the steps as the other students went to check if the other two were alright. Before the two could get out of the pool, a police officer ran into the the building, blocking the only exit to the entire building. He must have been there to "escort" Tom and Mark to the police station for their previous actions.

Upon spotting getting out of the pool, he slowly reached for his tazer and said, "Thomas peacefully or I will be forced to…"

That poor police officer never got the chance to finish his sentence as Tom slammed into his stomach with his shoulder. The grip on his tazer loosened as his body flew back from the hit. His head first made contact with the ground as sickening thud rang throughout the building. Loud screams could be heard from the pool as Tom picked up the tazer and put it in his pocket.

Fleeing the building, Tom and Mark began to run towards the locker room. Both of them were panting heavily as they ran past other classrooms in session. Mark looked over to Tom, trying to get some answers out of him but this almost made Mark run into a low wall. Swiftly jumping over the low wall, Mark tried to keep pace with Tom.

The duo soon came to the back entrance to the locker room. Mark tried to turn the door's handle but it wouldn't budge. Looking over to Tom he shrugged his shoulders in disappointment. Nudging him out of the way, Tom grabbed the handle and turned the other direction. Pushing slightly, the door creaked open, allowing the two access to the locker room.

As Mark walked in after Tom, the latter of the two grabbed a chair and rammed it underneath the door handle. Mark was already unlocking his locker as Tom quickly joined him. The two just finished putting on their regular pants and the locker room door burst open. Before the two could look in the direction of the door, a loud shrill pierced the quiet of the locker room.

The sudden shrill caused the two to clutch their heads in pain. They were too distracted by the noise to react when a pair of bodies crashed into them. The bodies then straddled them and pinned the duos' arms to the ground. They two looked up and began to struggle to get out of the clutches that were Ms. Carter and Patricia.

"Where is it," Ms. Carter screeched. "Where is the weapon?"

Confused, Tom shouted, "I don't know what you are talking about! Now get off!"

For a brief moment Ms. Carter, or whatever she was, released Tom's arms. As if realizing her mistake, she tried to grab Tom's arms. Thankfully, Tom managed to hit his previous teacher in between the eyes with his fist. The surprise punch caused her to roll back in pain as Tom shoved her off of him. Using the sudden advantage, Tom sprang off a bench and kicked the other monster girl's face into a locker.

With both of them in pain, Mark and Tom grabbed the remaining items out of their lockers and ran towards the front entrance. They tried to push the door open but it wouldn't budge. They frantically attempted to ram into the door to no avail. The sounds of talons scraping against the concrete floor resounded throughout the room.

The two turned and pressed their backs against the locked doors as they looked at their attackers. Both were visibly shaking against the door, hair raised on their necks. Unlike Tom, Mark's teeth were chattering loudly. They both knew there was no escape from these two again but that thought didn't stop Tom from thinking about another way out.

As if by the mercy of some deity, Tom spotted something in the corner. Sitting in the shadows of the corner sat a game die. The die was black with deep purple in each of the dots on it. The shadows seemed to shift around it like water being displaced.

_Summon it_, the voice said returning to Tom's mind. _Summon your weapon to your side and slam it into the shadows._

The monsters began to approach the two faster. Knowing this would be his only chance of survival, Tom swung his right hand at the die. The die swiftly flew into his hand as the creatures began to charge at the duo. Slamming the die into the shadows, the monsters were only a few feet away from their victims. In desperation, Tom swung his right arm at the lunging creatures; closing his eyes and waiting for the inevitable.

The attackers never hit them, only a cloud of dust ever made contact with the two. Slowly opening their eyes, they glanced down to see their clothes covered in dust. Before they could move to dust themselves off, the dust levitated off of their clothes and towards Tom's arm. The floating dust however was not what caused the two to gasp.

A short sword was held within the grasp of Tom's right hand. The blade was pure black and shaped like a leaf. Both sides of the sword were incredible sharp to the tip and did not have a guard. The handle was made of leather but it was purple. Both the light and the dust seemed to be sucked into it.

After a long period of silence, Mark said, "Well… That has to be the weirdest thing to happen today."

Throwing the sword into the wall, Tom observed as the sword pierced the concrete walls. The hilt dissipated into smoky shadows to reform as the die. Kneeling down, Tom picked up the die and placed it in his pocket. Glancing over at Mark, he stood from his spot and grabbed his backpack.

As he began to walk out of the room, Mark jogged behind saying, "Okay, now that is the weirdest thing to happen today."

And so a story of epic proportions continues. I apologize for the huge delay in updates. My beta reader wanted me to take a break from working so hard. Chapter three is a work in progress right now. It should be out some time soon.

* * *

As for the question about the characters, most of them will be OCs. Gods and monsters themselves will be a bit OOC. Most of the characters from Bleach will not appear until later on in the series.

If you like this chapter, feel free to type a review, follow it, or favorite it down below. And as always, you will hear from me in the next chapter. Bye bye!


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Bleach, Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Adventure, Hurt-Comfort