The First Favor

A/N: Hey y'all! I am back from summer training. I should get back to updating regularly! Please know that while I have been focusing on Marcus lately, I promise that Jaya will be the main focus of the story very soon.

Also, I can't remember if I have mentioned this, this will be a very slow-paced story. It is not meant to rush through Rick Riordan's stories but rather explore the universe thoroughly as we follow Jaya's Journey.

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(Marcus 3rd POV)

A soft patter of rain bounced off the road as a black sedan made its way down a dark, dimly lit street. The moon would have loved to shine brightly but was restrained by the dark storm clouds that shielded its beauty.

Marcus peered through his tinted windows and into the drizzle outside, keeping an eye out for the correct road to turn down. His knuckles gripped the wheel as he drove silently. It had been a week since the incident with the monster and the satyr, as well as the reveal of his limited lifespan to Sally.

Sally had taken it less than ideal. She was mad that she was just finding this out. She felt like she had little life secrets from Marcus and vice versa, they had grown very close over the years but Marcus had never confided in her about the watch.

Marcus saw the road he was searching for and banked onto the drive as he recalled the chaotic end of last week. Especially the phone call, the reason why he was driving right now.

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Marcus sat on the couch across from a very serious-looking Sally. Marcus glanced at the clock on the wall and lightly sighed as he realized it was almost 1 in the morning.

Marcus had just finished telling the story behind the watch in detail, and they discussed what would happen to Jaya after he died. Sally agreed to adopt Jaya, but on the condition that Jaya agreed to it.

It was a difficult talk to have, but a necessary one nonetheless. Marcus looked at Sally before opening saying, "Thank you, Sally. For everything. You have been a huge part of Jaya's life and I'm sorry I have to put this on you."

"Marcus. Stop apologizing. Don't apologize about your literal death. Who knows, maybe Nike will extend your life more or hell even get rid of cancer. Don't give up hope yet." Sally said.

'That would be nice, but Nike has done enough for me already. I am able to live and raise my daughter.' Marcus thought before responding to Sally, "We will see." As Marcus said that his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out and grimaced at the number.

Viktor.

"Sally I have to take this call, but I thank you for being there for me and for Jaya," Marcus stated as he walked into the kitchen to take the call. He flipped open his blackberry and held it to his ear. He heard that dangerous slow-spoken Russian accent once more.

"Hello there Marcus. Glad to see that you are up at this hour."

"What do you need Viktor," Marcus asked in a terse tone.

"Why so angry my old friend? Can I not call my old champion?"

"Get to the point." Marcus heard a huff before any happiness that the voice may have contained was stripped away, leaving only the voice of a mob boss, the voice of a killer.

"It is time to honor your end of the bargain Marcus. I have scratched your back, and it is now time for you to scratch mine. One week from tonight. Arrive by 2200. Same location as before."

"Fine."

"I will see you there Alejandro Marcus Gonzales. Do not be late." With that, the voice on the other end of the line cut out as the line hung up.

Marcus turned around to see Sally giving him a disapproving look.

"What was that?" She asked.

"I owe a favor to a man... One that I used to work with. Work for. He would organize fights, and I would fight in the arena. This was before I entered UFC. We used to have a good relationship. Then I found out what he truly was. I knew he was a dangerous man. But not how far the roots ran deep. He was in charge of some deeply messed up things, and one day I had enough and left."

Marcus grimaced, "I wanted to do something but he has men and connections everywhere. From the streets to the Senate. So instead of doing anything I simply distanced myself from what he was doing. We separated on less-than-ideal terms. But I owe him two favors, and he called me back for one of them. One fight. One week from now."

Sally was silent for a bit. "Be careful Marcus."

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(Present Time)

Marcus pulled up to the building. It was a skyscraper in the middle of the city. It seemed golden in nature and was one of the tallest around. A giant ornate golden symbol was labeled over the entrance of the building. It seemed to be three interlocked T's forming one T. It was apparently part-time banking center, part-time fighting arena for the rich and influential.

Two men in suits were standing in front of the main door that towered over them. Their build just screamed, 'Please fuck around so I make you find out.'

Marcus got out of his car and handed his keys to the valet. A man that could have passed for Alfred from DC if not for the well-manicured raven-black hair walked out of the golden-tinted doors. His name was Ivan and he was one of the biggest pricks that Marcus had ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

"Late as ever Mr. Alejandro I see. Nothing has changed since you left. Let us go. Pakhan Viktor is waiting." And with that statement, Ivan walked inside without letting Marcus say a word.

(A/N: Pakhan is what a Russian mob boss is referred to as. From what I can tell I used this correctly, if not let me know)

Marcus entered the doors into a lobby three stories tall. In front of him was a golden engraved dragon-shaped fountain that took up the center of the lobby. There were two marble staircases lining the walls up to a second floor. On the opposite side of the lobby, beyond the fountain, lay a receptionist desk, laid ornately with black marble.

Throughout the lobby were scattered men and women dressed in extravagant suits and dresses. Scattered around the area of suits were men and women wearing exotic clothing, greek chitons, Indian kurtas, and Russian fur coats.

None paid attention to Marcus and Ivan as they crossed through the crowd, too engrossed in indulging in the food waiters brought throughout the venue, gossiping with one another.

Ivan led them to the left of the receptionist through a dark oak employee's only door.

"It seems busy today," Marcus said while glancing at the paintings that lined the corridor, only broken by various doors leading around the first floor.

"They have heard tell of the previous champion returning for his fight. Many want to see you crush your opponents once more," Ivan glanced back and smirked at Marcus, "But many more want to see the famed champion fall."

Ivan arrived at a dark door. Carefully carved onto the door was a man, a boy, falling. His back was adorned with wings that were falling apart, feathers drifting above him. His face depicted a face of pure terror.

'Nice decorations they have.' Marcus grimaced, "Place hasn't changed a lick, huh? When's my fight?"

Ivan glanced at him dismissively before stating, "It will begin in 30 minutes. Before that Pakhan Viktor has called for you in his viewing arena. You know where it is." Ivan faced him fully as he said in a more professional tone, he sounded like a recorded message, a saying that had been said a thousand times. "The rules are the same as usual. Once in the ring, the fight begins. Any and all weapons must be dull before stepping into the arena. The fight ends when the opponent is either unconscious or dead. The usage of drugs, steroids, or performance-enhancing substances is allowed and encouraged. This is a no-holds-barred fight. Fight hard or die trying."

And with saying that Ivan left down the long corridor leaving Marcus alone.

'I had almost forgotten why I stopped this line of work.' Marcus thought as he entered the door. In front of him were a set of stairs descending for at least three floors. Marcus could dully hear the sounds of screaming coming from down the stairs.

It was not the screaming of someone in danger but rather the screaming of someone for blood. Fights always bring the beast out of an individual. There was a reason that Rome had the colosseum to distract its citizens despite the mortality rate. Because it did a damn good job at what it was meant to do.

Seeing two beings fight to the death brought out the madness most people seek carefully to contain. Irrational people do not question their leaders, they would rather indulge themselves in sins. Especially in the viewing of one of the original sins. The brutal murder of another human being.

As Marcus stepped down the last step he entered a waiting room. Scattered around were well-crafted chairs, benches, tables, and food. Along the walls contained marble statues of men fighting beasts, men fighting men, and beasts fighting beasts. Fighters were scattered throughout, some looking at the screen, others at statues. In front of the stairs on the opposite side of the room was a giant projector screen, detailing the current fight.

An adult tiger covered in scars prowled around a teenager, seemingly of Arabic descent. The teenager was armed with a spear and a shield. The camera was behind the teenager focusing on how the boy kept the shield between him and the predator. But then the camera betrayed the teenager, panning around and showing the audience the piss running down his legs, the tears flowing from his cheeks, and the expression of hopelessness on his face.

'Motherless fucks, getting off on something like this.' Marcus thought as he averted his gaze and took into account the individuals in the waiting room.

There were individuals from all walks of life. Teenagers who looked piss scared, tattooed thugs, silent able-bodied women, and what looked to be a giant posing as a man.

Marcus made his way to the left corridor, where Viktor was waiting in his office. As he walked through the crowd many turned to stare him down. Some of the smarter ones recognized him and returned to watching the screens; however, one man adored in thick leather armor and an overly ornate golden spear approached him.

He looked well off in a nouveau-rich type of way. Slicked-back dark hair, blue Nile diamond earrings, hell even an upturned nose, this kid had it all.

"Hey old man, you're the old champ right?" The guy sneered, "Why don't you just return home rather than get embarrassed you washed up a piece of gar-"

Without saying a word Marcus simply reached his left hand and grabbed him with a solid grip around the throat and kept walking. The guy fell sputtering backward into Marcus's grip as Marcus just kept walking towards the corridor with the man in his left hand as if nothing had happened.

As Marcus entered the hallway the man gripped at his throat with both hands trying to pry off Marcus's iron-tight grip, legs splayed. Doing anything he could to get one more breath of air.

Marcus maintained a completely neutral expression as if he was dragging nothing more than trash. He had met this type of person many times before. They had never experienced pain. They never experienced hardship. Yet they inflicted it on others.

Marcus may have preached to his daughter to have no enemies, but that was his daughter. She would take a different, happier path than him. Marcus knew only one way of dealing with miscreants such as this man. Show them an infallible wall of pain and suffering and do it quickly. It would leave them with mental scars and take away Marcus's headache. Hopefully, Jaya would find a different way.

As Marcus approached the door at the end of the corridor there were 8 men in suits that lined either side of the door. Marcus knew from experience they each packed various weapons that are capable of instantly killing a man.

As they saw him, the two closest turned to face them and Marcus dropped the now barely conscious man on the floor five feet away and stood his ground facing the guards.

"Cough... cough... cough... Do... do you know... who I am... my father is... I'll kill you." The man sputtered out, desperately gasping for air. He shakily stood up and approached the security guards, stupid move. "Listen... peasants... 1 million... to kill him."

One of the security guards walked forward, his aviator glasses betraying no expression as he reached into his pocket and retrieved a golden eagle.

"Yes.... hahahahahahaha! Now... old shit... do you understand... your mistake. If you kiss my-" And at those words the man's head exploded as the security guard's eagle bullet introduced himself to the man's brain matter.

'Damn. Brutal. I never even got his name.' Marcus thought as he looked at the security guard who just looked at him. These men were guarding the Pakhan, the boss, a man who was in charge of it all. If there was no meeting, there could be no people in this hallway. The guards were instructed to kill on sight. All knew the rules. An unlucky few forget them.

The security guard spoke up, "The Pakhan is waiting." Before falling back into line on the walls and leaving the dead body on the floor. Luckily the carpet was a dull red so the blood blended in, but it did provoke the question as to whether the carpet had always been red.

Marcus approached the double doors and two guards opened it up for him revealing an extremely nice bar and reception room. Lush red and brown couches were spread around the room. Vibrant paintings were spread around the room. Faint violin music was playing, a direct contrast to the harsh violence this place was built for.

The right side of the room had a window that overlooked an arena covered in blood. The arena was one that Marcus was very familiar with. It was round with a diameter of 100 meters, with walls of spikes that were 10 meters high. There were craters in the dirt ground that looked like cannons had hit there. The ground once a light brown was now a permanent pink from all the blood that had been spilled.

Despite the soft and classical atmosphere, the dimly lit room was suffused with an air of foreboding. A figure of authority resided upon an exquisite throne of opulence facing the door. The Pahkan. Viktor.

Viktor exuded an aura of unyielding power, commanding the space with an iron presence that leaves all who dare to meet his gaze trembling.

The chair upon which he sits is a testament to his status and dominance. Crafted from the finest materials, its regal presence commanded attention, serving as Viktor's symbolic throne of authority.

The plush upholstery, adorned with intricate patterns, concealed secrets whispered within the depths of the underworld. It spoke of Viktor, the homeless teenager who turned the world into his oyster, becoming a mob boss who carved a piece of this affluent world for himself with nothing but his own willpower and ruthlessness to seize it.

Dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, every crease carefully pressed, the mob boss exuded an air of refined menace. His gaze was cold and penetrating, cutting through the room like a sharpened blade, sharpened by his brutal journey. Every movement Viktor made was deliberate and calculated, betraying the meticulous mind that lay beneath his hardened exterior.

Although he reclined slightly in his seat, his imposing frame filled the space, emanating an aura of overwhelming strength and cunning. The scars etched upon his face, a testament to battles fought and won, speak of a life entrenched in ruthless pursuits. His hands, calloused and weathered, serve as a reminder of the countless lives he has touched and altered forever.

Marcus may have left the man and disliked him for the things he had done, but Marcus could not help but hold a grudging respect for the man. The type of respect a general gives an enemy general of equal caliber.

In the face of this formidable figure, Marcus stood with crossed arms looking up at him. "I'm here," Marcus spat out, his tone low.

The mob boss stared at Marcus for a moment before a smile crossed his face. The smile while praised by many around the Pakhan was marred by his scars and could be mistaken as a snarl by those who didn't know the man.

"Good. I am glad I did not need to use force against an old friend," Viktor said in his thick deep Russian accent. "Luckily for you, the arrangements did not come into play."

"Arrangements?" Marcus asked in a low dark tone, the pit of his stomach sinking. What had Viktor done?

"Well. I know your bad habits of flaking on me, so I made some preparations so that you would arrive of your own will." Viktor gestured towards the window where two men in suits sat, a small gap between them. Marcus couldn't see it due to the back of the couch. "But since you have arrived safe and sound, I have no need for such uncouth blackmail. Sergei, Anatoly, you may leave."

The two guards left without saying a word. There was an indentation on the couch still, meaning someone still sat there observing the fight that was still going on.

Marcus growled loudly as he looked between Viktor and the couch, "Who?"

As Marcus growled he heard a gasp from the couch as the light of his life stood up and looked at him. He and Jaya locked eyes and Marcus felt sick. Why was she here? Was she okay? Where was Sally? Was she okay? Where was Percy? Was he okay?

Marcus immediately regretted ever calling Viktor on that night.

The sweet voice of his only daughter called out interrupting his thoughts,

"Daddy? You're here!!" Jaya squealed out as she ran over to him.

Marcus looked away from his daughter for a split second and made eye contact with Viktor who had the same snarl grin on his face as his void black eyes stared directly into Marcus's.

"Suprise." The monster in human skin said darkly.

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A/N: An extra large chapter today for y'all. Once again thank you for reading and please leave any advice or constructive criticism you may have. This is my first time writing and I very much appreciate the feedback.