Descendants of the Lost

Descendants of the Lost

My version of the book-turned-movie, "Isle of the Lost"-turned-"Descendants." Except that, in this story, Mal, Evie, Carlos, and Jay aren't the transfers... The kids of Captain Hook, Dr. Facilier, Ursula, and Hades are. Prepare for a heartwrenching adventure in which these lost teens try to find out where they really belong...

published on November 18, 201526 reads 22 readers 4 not completed


Zzzziing! Sword clashes against sword in an epic duel. I circle Ed, grinning maliciously and holding my blade out in a defensive position. He tries to feint and attack, but I see the move coming and block, twisting in an attempt to get my blade on the inside and past his defenses. He quickly pulls his wrist back towards his chest, ultimately blocking my move. I growl and circle more, hoping to find a point to catch him off guard. But his defenses stay tight and secure, leaving no hole for me to manipulate my way into.
The small crowd cheers and jeers simultaneously, rooting for no one in particular but waiting to see blood drawn. I glance away for one moment to see Dad -- Captain Hook, as you probably know him -- watching me with a calculating look on his face.
My momentary distraction gives Ed a split-second to get into my defenses. I feel blood start to drip down my right shoulder, but no pain. My sword immediately drops and I know that I'm sorely wounded by the crowd's wild shouting.
I quickly transfer my sword to my other hand and raise it just in time to counter another attack. I'm not as good with this hand, but it'll do.
As the fighting quickly gets more intense, our blades start to move faster than our brains; instinct spurring us on. I get a lucky shot to his chest and he retreats, doubling over in severe pain. Even adrenaline can only do so much when you get a really bad wound.
The crowd cheers my name as I close in for the kill.

Smoke curls up my nostrils and wafts throughout my whole room, the chants of my dad -- better known as Dr. Facilier -- echoing eerily up the stairs. I shudder when I hear the whispering, raspy voices speaking back to him. Managing to ignore what they're actually saying, I quickly dress and escape out the back door before Dad sees me and tries to teach me to "commune" with them again. Evil's evil, but that stuff is downright creepy.
I quickly snatch some stale bread from a random market stall, a small cup of pitch black coffee from an unsuspecting -- and therefore stupid -- passerby before hurrying into a back alley. I'm one of the most talented thieves in all of the Island, but I prefer to only steal when I need it. Weird, I know. Almost... Good. But you'd be incorrect. I like to think of it as my naturally malicious laziness that prevents me. So there.
I slowly make my way towards the dungeon, chewing on the tough bread and sipping the cold and bitter coffee. A little kid sees me and immediately ducks away into the shadows. Smart kid. Some of the more naive ones that haven't yet figured out the street rules get... Disciplined, as a mocking way to put it. More like beaten to pulps, bet on -- who will pass out first and the like -- and used as guinea pigs for new methods of torture and bullying. What can we say? The Isle is a dangerous place, and the munchkins should learn that lesson sooner rather than later.

"Up, my little eel!" Mom -- you probably know her as Ursula -- squeals in that annoying bubbly voice of hers, splashing me with water from her pool. I groan and roll out of bed and into the floor opposite her, my slimy, scaly sea legs splattering against the hard stone floor of the cave.
"UP!" she squeaks even more irritatingly, splashing water even harder but only managing to soak my bed. I stumble to my feet as quickly as possible.
"Stop, mom," I mumble, rubbing sleep out of my eyes and yawning.
She splashes me again, making my legs turn purple and my arms black and suction-y.
"STOP!" I shout, trying to wring the water from my dripping limbs as I slowly melt towards the floor. "MOM!"
She giggles. "But it's better to be an octopus! I was eternally changed into this form -- why shouldn't you be? Why do you get away with being able to shapeshift between the two forms? You're going to have to go to school as a water creature!"
I groan -- as best I can as my mouth forms into an octopus's -- and flop around, trying to dry myself but succeeding in no way. In my opinion, it's extremely unfair how mom can still TALK in octopus form.
Fifteen minutes later, I'm mostly human -- only one octopus arm and some slimy suction cups on my left ankle -- and ready for the dungeon. I hurry out the door and towards the despicable place of learning before my mom can shift me back again.

I restlessly toss and turn in all night, unable to rest, tormented by the desperate and unceasing screams of the damned. After another sleepless night, I drag myself out of my deathly room and dress hurriedly, hoping not to attract the attention of my dad -- more popularly known as Hades, god of the dead and the Underworld. And since he's been banished from his kingdom and sent here, his job has gotten increasingly difficult and his temper increasingly dangerous
Damn it.
Hades marches down the corner, rage in his expression and fury in his eyes. I grit my teeth and force myself to stand my ground. I am NOT weak.
And yet I find myself flinching when his fiery hand makes contact and nearly sends my flying across the room. At least the bruise will give me some street cred...
"WHERE'S THE POTION?" He demands furiously, raising his hand to strike again if I don't answer correctly.
"I don't know, I'm sorry..."  I manage to mutter before he lands another hit. Wet blood spurts from my lip, but I ignore it.
Before I can dig myself into a deeper hole, Phobos spins around a corner and runs into my dad, a small vial of liquid in hand.
"Here, sir!" he squeaks.
As soon as my dad turns to examine the vial that won't actually have any magical effect, I dart away and out the door towards the dungeon, wiping the blood from my face with my shirt and hoping that the bruises will make me look like someone not to be messed with.

(A/N) And there are some beginning paragraphs from the perspectives of Jamie, Damien, Azure, and Zeck...
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Comments (4)

Ooh ;o
Ooooh thanks
on November 21, 2015
? I'm saying it sounds cool. ;-;
on November 21, 2015
on November 21, 2015
on November 20, 2015