Mark had begun pacing around his living room, even the nonexistent pain had almost entirely escaped his mind. He had gone over the dream - the VISION, a thousand times.
Virasuta, Virasuta, the name of god, god has a name? How does god - goddess have a name?
He couldn’t understand why the Goddess had chosen him at first. He had gone over every mistake, every single fuck up in his life. Needless to say this had taken him an obscene amount of time.
Do I have to stop eating pork and shellfish?
The thought would have been funnier in any other context.
He kept going over it, until he’d thought about what she said about her previous choice of champion.
‘I still had faith in his bloodline’
A cowardly and backhanded way of death. My old man had died in an ambush, and apparently he’d taken enough of them out alone. That certainly sounds far more likely than anyone else I can think of. My grandparents died of old age basically, stroke and heart attack. My great grandparents weren’t even alive during the invasion, and died of relatively similar cases.
My old man was so good even God took notice, good shit old man.
The thought of his fathers death brought his mood down, but the panic induced energy didn’t fade.
She wants me as a champion, as HER Champion.
Do I have the right to say no? Do I even want to?
The image she had painted wasn’t a good one. If our world really was at risk of getting raided again there was a good chance he could help, or even stop it outright by joining her.
Mark thought back to the Goddesses eyes, the stars inside and the crippling anxiety he felt thinking of them. He realized that there was a good chance that she herself was an Invader herself. After all, if they could cause soul damage they could certainly fix it, right? If she really was a God, he could certainly demand more proof, or some kind of assurance she wasn’t one of them?
She said she knew I wouldn’t trust her. This isn't her first time doing this. She either knew that whatever was going on in the dream wouldn’t work while I was awake or she really didn’t want me to freak out while inside of it.
Her eyes flashed inside of his mind again, and he accepted the second reason without any suspicion.
He knew that if he wanted to ever become her Champion for real, he’d need to talk to her. To see what she was all about. There was no chance in hell he was going to join her and ‘spread her name’ to the world if she demanded the sacrifices of children, but if she could protect them from destruction he didn’t know if he had a choice. He had to talk to her again, and that wasn’t his adoration speaking this time.
“We will meet again, you just have to pray”
The thought of praying seemed foreign to him, he didn’t think he’d ever prayed. Even when his father died and his mother fell ill he didn’t offer more than a few hail mary’s hoping god or someone else was listening.
Wait a minute, my knee is fixed.
The realization made him switch to another issue at hand almost immediately. He began thinking about the treatment again, and the cash he still hadn’t touched since he had been injured. He knew he had a chance of treating her by going back to the pits, but he also knew the chances of him running into the cartel that apparently were selling ‘product’ to the pits in the city was above zero.
If I keep fighting, what are the chances I make the cash up before they find me or I run into one of them again? Would any of them even recognize me? It isn’t like the same two people run the entire city, right?
He thought of the woman, the way she had easily dismantled him like a toy she’d had enough of playing with. Mark knew he didn’t stand a chance against her as he was.
If I joined Virasuta, would she let me destroy them? The cartels and the Guild whole? Would she forbid me from punishing the people who took my father from me?
They killed her first Champion, would she spare them herself once she had a hold on the world?
Mark knew, one way or the other, that he had to speak to the Goddess again, he just didn’t know if he was ready for it. How does one ring up a God and demand an explanation? Would she smite him for annoying her or would she act more like the loving gods that humanity loved to preach of and explain everything without a care? She had told him to pray to get her to visit him again, but would she even bother explaining anything to him? If she was an Invader herself, this could just be a massive trick to get him to serve her more readily.
His mind kept flashing between the two possibilities, God or Invader. Once again however, he realized he would have to push it back towards their next meeting.
As he stood in the middle of his living room he looked out the window, where the sun was rising to start the new day.
I make around two grand a fight, more if I am lucky. I can do around two fights a week, if I don’t get lucky and someone is willing to hire me for more than that in a single day. If I can find a pit near the eastern side of the city, where the Chinese gangs are the most prominent, I won't have to deal with the cartel since their groups never got along. All I have to do is try to make sure none of those fuckers kill me for some random reason like they are prone to.
The Chinese gangs had cropped up shortly after the Invasion, with millions of displaced refugees after the war the country had tried to help them as much as possible, and failed. That wasn’t to say it was entirely their fault, they had almost been destroyed as well and could barely help themselves let alone millions of people whose culture and language were so vastly different. Where in one culture something was seen as okay, in another it was seen as improper, or rude.
Couple this with massive amounts of crime, looting, the threat of civil war, and the government almost turning into a dictatorship and you had the perfect storm for normal people to become darker versions of themselves. Mothers standing in roads to trick transports to stop, only for gang members to ambush them for their food or medicine, children approaching soldiers only to bait them out for an IED to take them out, gangs releasing Altered animals into cities to cause confusion while they raid warehouses.
While most of the issues had been solved, the slums that most of the refugees had taken refuge in hadn’t really improved either, meaning the people there didn’t improve much at all. You can’t fix something like that by simply offering free food or pardons, it required a genuine effort on both sides, and it seemed that at the time neither really cared to do so.
Generations later, and the slums on the east side were filled with gangs with little patience and even less mercy.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
If I go to the east I have to be on my best behavior, those fuckers will gut me for giving them the side eye.
Looking across the room at where his phone was he knew all he’d have to do is call one of his intermediaries, and he’d have a match within the week easily.
Be better.
The promise came back then, in the worst way. The realization that to save his mother he’d have to break his newfound promise didn’t help his already unstable emotional state.
If I do these matches, and make the money up I don’t have to tell her. I could always just say I got lucky with the ‘job’ that Johdi hired me for, then move onto something else. With my knee fixed I can work practically any job, maybe even go join the transport services if my mother doesn’t beg me not to.
What can a few more fights hurt?
Walking over to his phone, he picked it up and opened up his contacts list. ‘River’ Vishaan was an Indian man, older than he looked, small of stature and didn’t look like someone you’d expect to be an intermediary for so many dangerous gangs, but that's why he was one of the best. You never expect the old and feeble to be more dangerous than the thugs wearing their nature on their chests. While they had never worked too closely together since he tried to stay away from the east side as much as possible, he had still talked to him when working near the borders between the two.
Southeast, Northeast, while they were usually more dangerous areas due to territorial disputes and other morons just looking for someone to fight, they usually still had borders and ‘owners’. Luckily he’d never worked too close to the borders of the gangs either, but the few times he’d gone near it his asshole had still puckered into diamonds.
I’m gonna get you well ma, and with a Goddess at my side, can I even fail?
As he wrote the text down he began planning his day out, regardless of when his next fight was he had to make good with the people of his life. He had to be better, and that included paying back the people who had helped him out in life, as few and far between as they were.
As he tossed his phone back onto the couch he walked towards his small bedroom. Within was a barren room save for a bed, dresser, and closet. I never was one for decorations. As he looked inside his previous slump had become obvious, while the main room and bathroom were clean due to Donovan visiting enough to warrant cleaning, his bedroom had barely been touched. Moving from the mattress on the floor to the couch had become too much effort, so he’d cut out the middle man.
I need to clean, I should do it now, since I can actually bend over or kneel down without any pain.
Walking through the room he gathered the empty wrappers, old plates and dirty clothes before putting them where they actually belonged, namely the garbage, sink, and hamper. Pulling the hardly used broom, dustpan, and mop from the closet in his hallway on the way back he began sweeping the floor inside while thinking about the future. Namely how he could repay Donovan for all the help he’d given him over the last week.
I should buy him something, maybe some of that tea? I bet he and his wife would love that stuff.
As he finished sweeping he placed it back into the closet before taking the mop bucket into the kitchen to fill it with water.
He deserves something, I think he’s the only one who actually stuck after the first two days, and he barely knew me before. My few friends barely visited after they learned I might not be able to fight anymore, fucking hanger-on's and bastards.
Taking the mop back into his bedroom he began mopping up the hardwood floor.
I don’t know where I would even get that tea at, I could always ask Dinah. Even if she knew something about Rebecca being about to break up with me it isn’t her fault, nor is it her place to play couples therapist over two grown adults.
The fact he still liked Dinah was comforting, he knew she didn’t deserve his anger over something that wasn’t her fault.
A small smile spread across his face, he could feel himself lightening up, his previous mood nearly entirely forgotten.
As he finished the mopping he picked the mop and bucket and drained the water in the kitchen sink, before placing both back into the closet.
I can’t go out like this. He realized. He hadn’t worked up a sweat cleaning, but the sweat from his meeting with Virasuta and the previous few days of not properly taking care of himself had added up until he’d begun to smell foul.
Returning to his room he tried to avoid stepping on the wet floor as much as possible as he gathered a new set of clothing to change into, after he took a shower of course. His wardrobe was almost entirely made up of cheap clothing, he only had a suit he’d worn as a child to his fathers funeral, and was sure it didn’t fit anymore. He grabbed a sweatshirt, a pair of jogging pants and some socks and boxers before leaving the room and entering his bathroom beside it. As he got to the bathroom he slid the door open.
His bathroom was small, a sink with a toilet on the opposite side, at the end was a small bathtub with a small shower. He couldn’t remember the last time he bathed, but he usually showered twice a day, and the fact he hadn’t showered in days made him feel itchy when he finally saw the shower.
Placing his clothes inside the sink he started the shower up before stripping and stepping inside. He was quickly met with heat from the shower, and the feeling of the sweat and dirt literally washing away was near divine.
Goddess thank you.
The small prayer snapped him out of his blissed state, and he had to do a double take. He hadn’t prayed much in his life, but knowing that he might have to start doing it daily gave him an odd sense of anxiety. However he had done it practically subconsciously while enjoying his shower of all things.
Does it matter how or why I pray? Does she hear my thoughts if they are related to her? I don’t know how I feel about someone being literally in the back of my mind forever. A mind reading Goddess might get annoyed if I am constantly thinking of her, do I stop myself from thinking of her?
His thoughts began entering dangerous territories, so he did his best to shut them off as he finished cleaning with soap and shampoo. If he was going to join a religion, even one proven to be based on a real Goddess, he couldn’t allow himself to get paranoid over every aspect of her. A healthy amount of suspicion was fine, but he couldn’t risk the world over his own stupidity.
I just have to pray to her and she’ll return, right? So tonight when I go to sleep I just have to make sure I pray first and we can sort everything out. Easy enough.
Turning the shower off after finally feeling clean he slid the curtains over and grabbed a tower off of the shelf beside his shower. Drying off inside the shower he threw it down and used it as a mat to get to his clean clothes and changed.
I should go visit Donovan now, thank him for his help and then go to the shops. Need some proper food for once, the last few days have been too hectic for more goddamn rice.
As he began to leave he grabbed his phone and keys and left the apartment.
Entering the hallway he walked to the end where the elevator was and pressed the small button to call it.
If I can’t get my hands on the tea, I could always buy him something else, maybe a mana lamp? Some kind of cutlery? I don’t really know what he likes besides his whisky collection, and his wife will kill me if I give him more of that…
As he was thinking the elevator opened, thankfully empty, and he stepped inside before hitting the button for the first floor where Donovan lived. The elevator began the descent, just slow enough for him to wonder if Donovan would be happy with an empty bottle he could refill with dyed water himself, or if he should do it himself.
As the elevator made it to the first floor and opened he entered the hallway where a woman was walking by with her two kids. He’d never seen her before but he didn’t interact with most of the residents here anyways so it wasn’t entirely surprising.
Making his way further down the wallpapered hallway he looked around and realized that Donovan must have redone the walls lately, as the wallpaper didn’t have any tears or stains anymore.
At least until one of the teenagers ruins it by smoking in the hallways, again.
Arriving at the end where the door for Donovan's apartment was, he knocked twice before stepping back so he could be seen through the glass hole that acted as the main security point for the place.
He needs to get some camera’s or something, he isn’t that old to not know how to use a computer.
As he waited he could hear some small shuffling behind the door before it unlocked and swung open. Standing there, slightly shorter than him, was a small woman in her late sixties. Mira was a small plump woman, not fat but with a weight that came with age. She had rather bright white skin contrasted by her dark brown hair and eyes. With a rounded face and a small frown she looked at me before looking back and shouting into her apartment.
“Donny, Mark is here!”
Chuckling to himself at how strong her voice sounded compared to her size he waited for a few moments before Donovan came around a small corner in their apartment and they could see each other.
He seemed shocked that I was there at all, the shock only grew greater when he looked down and saw that I wasn’t using my cane at all.
“You got your leg fixed?” He exclaimed, shock evident in his voice.
His wife walked past them before returning to whatever she had been doing before, possibly morning television, and Donovan quickly took her place in the doorway looking down at me.
“I heal quick, told you that before right? No more cane or nothin’, good as new.” He looked at me with a grin appearing on his face as he slapped me on the shoulder. If I hadn’t been healed I probably would have fallen over as the man was nearly as strong as an Altered after his years of service and manual labor.
“I thought you said your healing was busted? I figured it was some kind of magic shit, gangers are getting wiser all the time with that stuff you know.” He finished his sentence with a light laugh as he brightened at the fact I was actually fixed.
“I met a.. woman who was kind enough to heal me, it turns out that it wasn’t as serious as I thought.” I hesitated for a moment, almost referring to her as a Goddess again before catching myself. While he’d probably laugh it off I didn’t want one of the few people I still liked thinking I’d cracked.
He laughed a bit before replying “Yeah, musta’ been some woman if she were capable of fixing something even the hospitals couldn’t of, lucky bugger.” Yeah, lucky.
As we were talking a phone call sounded from inside the home, before his wife called him over to get it. Looking at me he gave me another smile before gesturing towards his apartment.
“Listen, that’s probably my repair guy, I gotta go deal with this and it’s gonna take a bit so why don’t you come back later? Or I can come over in a few hours once I’m done, we should be able to talk a bit about this ‘Woman’ then, yeah?” I thought of the trip to the store I was planning on making, and figured I could get my shopping done while he was busy with his own life. It seemed like the obvious plan. No reason to waste a day when he can get all his chores done at once.
“Yeah, Donovan, we can talk later then.” He nodded towards me, before grabbing the door and gently closing while saying his goodbyes,
Now I just need to head to the store and pick myself something good to eat, maybe ‘Big Meats’? Haven’t had an Altered steak in months.