A/N: Yesss! I'm alive! School got really complicated, and well…Huh. Anyways, I would like to introduce my new fan fiction. Actually, I have wanted to do this for a while now. And many people have done this before, so I'll try to make it my own, okay? So this story is dedicated to my awesome (and patient) Beta, As You Die. Oh, and to SugarRush3 (if you want a Kingdom Hearts, she's your girl) for her inexplicable infatuation with Japanese guys in eye patches.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even Jesse McCartney.

Chapter 1: My Mom Is a Hobo

When I met my mother for the first time, it was in front of a gas station parking lot. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

My quest for revenge started on an ordinary Tuesday night: Dad was working and I was alone at home. It was quite late, 11:52 pm, and I vividly remember that night.

Dad worked late all the time, so I was accustomed to him being tardy. He emigrated from Japan when he was three, and people ridiculed him all his life for being an 'outsider'. As a result, Dad worked extra hard and stood for absolute equality.

That night, I was watching Disney Channel. (Excuse me. I was ten.) I was expecting my dad to be home any minute. My eyelids were drooping, and it was hard to keep my head up.

There was a knock on the front door. I jumped up, forgetting all my fatigue. Excited, I threw the door open, expecting to see a weary Dad in a wrinkled suit. I was not expecting, however, a white cop with a dark and brooding expression.

"Uh…" was all I could say.

"Ethan, right?" he asked. I knew neither how he knew my name, nor what to do, so I simply nodded.

"Your dad," he paused, and bit his lower lip. "He was killed."

All right. I must've fallen asleep while watching The Suite Life of Zack and Cody.

"Ethan, it may be hard to believe, but he was shot in a drive by." Death again. "Ethan?" he asked, sounding worried.

"This is a dream right?" I asked, expecting a talking zebra to appear and tell me I was Jesse McCartney.

"No Ethan." He pulled something out of his pocket and slowly handed it to me.

It was a picture.

A gray suit.

A giant red stain.

Dad.

I couldn't stop the tears.

"Ethan?" the cop person asked, but I didn't quite hear.

Dad wouldn't be coming home: no more bear hugs, no more lectures on equality of men. No more Dad.

"Ethan, gather your things. I'm taking you to the orphanage."

I nodded, eyes cloudy with tears. I walked to my room and realized that the cop was following me.

"Please," I begged, throat tight. "May I have some time alone?"

"Of course." The cop nodded, backing up.

I walked into my cold bedroom and locked the door.

Silently and quickly, I retrieved my big backpack from under my bed. I dumped all the clothes that I could fit into the black bag. Then I moved to my closet, shoved aside some boxes and found what I was looking for: a small blue can full of money. I shoved that in my pack, and looked around my room, one sorrowful last time.

Then I took a framed picture of Dad, my sister (who died when she was two) and me, then placed it on top of my clothes. I forced the bag shut and slung it over my shoulder.

"You ready?" the cop asked from the other side of the door.

"Almost."

I silently opened the window and rubbed the back of my hand across eyes, wiping away the stupid tears. Swinging my legs over the windowsill, I dropped to the ground. I turned and closed the window of my apartment.

Shedding a few more tears, I started walking.

"Now," I whispered. "I'm ready."

And I began my journey as a homeless, motherless, and fatherless kid.

….

My legs hurt like crazy. But I still kept walking.

It was almost morning, I knew that much. And yet I kept walking.

After walking a little more, I saw the glow of neon lights. With a demanding growl from my stomach, I realized with sudden joy that the source of the glow was a gas station with a diner.

I walked up the old street, past broken cars and hushed whispers. Nothing was going to stop my stomach from getting dinner.

Except the woman in all black before me.

Something about her gave me the creeps. A shiver ran down my spine as she left her place on the wall to walk (more like glide) to where I stood. I wondered if she was one of the hobos gathered around the fire behind us.

"Ethan." She smiled coldly, and my heart did this weird stuttering thing.

"How do you know my name?" I asked, completely terrified.

"I make it a point to know all of my children's names," she smirked. She was completely dressed in black: a long sleeve tee bearing a picture of some old time scales, black jeans and chains that hung around her waist. Even her hair was long and jet-black. Her dark eyes were sharp and cold.

"What?" I asked, taken aback.

"Ethan Nakamura," she glared. "You are my son."

"No," I disagreed. "Who are you?"

"Here's a question: Who are you?" she retorted.

"I'm Ethan Nakamura," I whispered. "Son of Satoshi Nakumara. I am an orphan with no mother or father." Please, don't ask me why I gave my life story to some stranger claiming to be my mother. Because even I don't know. The words just came out.

"Anything else?"

"N-No."

She sighed. "Ethan, you stand for equality, balance. Everything must be fair in your view." She looked directly into my eyes. "Do you know anyone else who stands for such things?"

"Dad." I muttered. She sighed and glared at me again. I adverted my gaze to her scale-imprinted tee. Balance. Equality. My mind flashed back to earlier this year in fifth grade.

We learned about the mythological Greek gods and goddesses. Zeus, for the sky. Demeter for harvest.

Nemesis for revenge. Balance.

The woman must have seen the shock registering on my face, because she smiled coldly and nodded.

"No," I shook my head disbelievingly. "No, that's not possible."

"But it is Ethan, and you know it," she whispered in my ear, her breath deathly cold.

"P-prove it," I demanded. Though she was right, I needed proof first.

She shook her head sadly and turned to the hobos behind us.

"Go," she hissed, and they scrambled up, gathered their things and as if death were nipping at their heels. Though, with Nemesis, it probably was.

Nemesis turned back on one heel and tossed something to me. Without thinking, I outstretched my arm and caught the projectile in one hand. My breath shook when I realized that I was now wielding a three-foot long sword.

"Well, hit me," Nemesis instructed. I gawked at the sword in my hand, then at her impatient expression.

"What? No! I'm not going to hit yo-AAHHHH!"

Before I know what was going on, another sword came down on me. Acting on instinct, I sidestepped and pushed forward. She blocked and swung, causing me to back away. But I wasn't going to give in. Thrusting all my weight into my sword, I pushed forth and knocked her over. Her sword clattered to the asphalt in defeat.

Smirking, she stood up. "Do you see now?" she asked.

Amazed and scared, I nodded. "Yeah."

"Good." She snapped her fingers and the swords disappeared. "Ethan, you my son, will earn the balance of power for the demigods. Is that something you wish?" she asked.

"Honestly, I don't know what that means." I admitted. Truthfully, all I wished for was my dad.

"Demigods are not cared for by their parents, their godly parents. Especially those of the counsel of Olympus. But I, Ethan, have watched over you. I have cared for you. Ethan, you understand revenge, correct?" she asked.

I nodded, starting to comprehend.

"Well, everything that has gone wrong in your life is due to the gods. You can defeat them, Ethan. There is a way," she whispered.

"Are you serious? I mean about the gods?"

"Yes, Ethan. Deadly serious."

Horror and hatred bubbled inside of me. It was the gods who killed my sister? The gods who took away my father? How could someone, anyone, do that?

"Tell me how to defeat them then," I growled, recalling all the pain I had ever gone through.

"I can give you the power. But I need something of yours: an incentive, if you will." Nemesis smiled.

"Anything," I promised.

"Good." she hissed and raised her pale hands to my face.

A burning sensation exploded in my left eye. I grew weak, and my body crumpled to the ground in exhaustion.