The unmistakable sound of a punching bag getting the non-existent life beaten out            

              of it echoed through the raggedy apartment of one Catherine Tharros. She was   

              sleepless yet another night. There were a lot of things to blame: her less than ideal 

              diet or even her drifting internal clock that had never quite set, but she always blamed 

              it on the recurring memories of her young adulthood training under her teacher. He 

              had trained her, but he had also given her an inescapable burden; one so heavy she 

              had joined the military against his wishes as an act of rebellion to prove a point.

She let out a sigh of annoyance, stopping the punching bag mid-swing with the palm of her hand, letting herself catch her breath. She looked at the clock, two fifteen in the morning. Letting out another sigh, she walked over to her bed, and drew an imaginary door frame out of thin air, starting at the floor, and tracing her finger along the aged wood, stopping after three feet before ascending toward the roof, stopping just above her head and repeating the motion in reverse for the other side.

Taking a step back, the imaginary lines turned blue, with her index finger, she pushed in the dead center, and reality itself moved forward, revealing darkness. Walking in, and shutting the “door” behind her, there was no sound, there was no light, no air, no feeling. Snapping her fingers, a ball of light emerged from the abyss, lighting her invisible walkway. Below her feet were rows upon rows of shelving one would find in a warehouse, taking a seat she waved her finger in the air, one by one a shelving unit flew up to showcase its contents. When its contents didn’t meet her need, she scoffed and swiped left with her finger, sending it away to the back of the line. She repeated this several more times, a shelving unit housing clothing, guns, vehicles such as cars, motorcycles, an aircraft carrier, full suits of armor from her brief time in the military, another three sets of shelving units full of books, crime novels, and photos of her family. A private unit marked with gold trimming marked specifically for the books of her ancient order housing the books she’d taken from the storehouses, the secret hideouts, and the grand library she’d collected in her five year exile, taken under orders she’d been given. She stopped the assembly line to look at the books, running a hand across the old leather, sadness overwhelming her senses, an unbearable feeling crept up her stomach, an old familiar feeling she didn’t want, or need to feel at the moment. Careful not to mistakenly hurl the contents all over her personal abyss, she carefully sent it away, continuing the assembly line until finally, after what felt like an eternity, she found what she was looking for, the personal shrine she’d dedicated, to the Sigils of the Pantheon.

Six items rested on the shrine, each sitting on it’s own special red velvet pillow. The first Sigil, the Ring of Balance, a golden-silver ring with an infinity symbol separated by a small line of blue-silver representing its purpose, to grant a regular human the power of a God in case the pantheon itself grew too content and needed to be taught a lesson in fear, and in the hands of an Abnormal, granted them greater level of power of what they already had, and temporarily unlocked those that were kept from them. 

Next, the Trident of Poseidon, it granted those the power over the seas. 

The Logbook of Hades, it granted the user the power over the domain of Hades, able to call forth the spirits of the dead, and send those who perished to the Underworld.

 The Sword of Athena, truth be told, she had no idea what it granted, nor did she want to. 

The Boots of Hermes, it granted the user speed. Catherine remembered fondly in her childhood, Alexander allowed her to wear them briefly, she remembered the feeling it gave her to be able to run across the entire continent in a matter of seconds, the feeling of joy that it gave her was near unmeasurable, but she had to push the happiness aside.

The Hammer of Hephaestus, it allowed the user to craft whatever item they wanted, as long as proper materials were around. 

 And finally, the Bolt of Zeus, it was fairly self explanatory it was a literal lightning bolt that granted the user the power of Zeus, from her reading Catherine learned it had only seen usage once in a Great War, that by legend is why the three continents split apart. While there were six Sigils, there are seven spots on this shrine. The seventh item was never found, the Fire of Prometheus: What was said to be a fiery orange gemstone that housed the original fire given to humanity by the God, capable of setting the entire world ablaze with a single spark. She’d never found it, and during her journey she had found several leads, all pointing to the conclusion that it was destroyed at some point before the Pantheon had crashed. Not satisfied with the result, but content with it, she had decided to head home, fulfilling her unofficial Task that was given to her.

Catherine looked around her Void, remembering the day she was taught how to access it by Alexander, she remembered when he told her he would be entrusting her with housing the Sigils he collected, and how one day, she would have to collect them as well, after he visited an Oracle, she forewarned him of a great evil that would one day collect the weapons of power, and Alexander would not be able to stop it. Catherine remembered being told what the Void was, a space where those of her race would store their most prized possessions without fear of theft or loss. It was an endless space, one that could be changed and altered through her own desires. She could make it rain candy, the ground could be changed to sponge cake, or constantly play her favorite music but she never did. She loved the quiet, she loved the ambiance, the feeling of being able to be alone for a while, with no threat of someone walking in, as the only way to get in, was if an Abnormal personally walked someone into their Void. Catherine remembered journeying around the world for several months with Alexander, gathering the Bolt of Zeus, and the Boots of Hermes with him, being told how to shift and change her Void, and him sternly telling her never to let anyone in her Void, or else risk the balance of the world. She remembered not understanding the very weight of the situation, but she was confident she would see it through, and she did. It only took her five years to hunt down and collect the mystical items.  She did often wonder what would happen if some normal human would collect them, what would they do? Would they really be able to cause that much damage? More damage than had already been done to the planet? 

Catherine, satisfied with her trip down memory lane, and the small break she’d given to herself in the peace and quiet, decided it was time to get back to reality, she stood up and began to walk toward the door, out of her Void.

Looking at the clock, it now read six-ten. Four hours had passed in what was only a few minutes to her within the Void. This had always perplexed her, as she remembered falling asleep within the Void, and upon exiting, only ten minutes had gone by. After taking a quick shower, she looked at herself in the mirror, the steam fogging up the glass, wiping it away, she thought to herself “How do I want to look today?”, imagining several different options, blue lines appeared over her nude form, spreading out to beams of light, perfectly fitting fabric appeared over her, an all-leather bodysuit, black as the night sky. “No, at least, not in the daylight.” With the blink of an eye, her clothing had disappeared, shattering into little pieces of glass, vanishing from existence. Next, she tried a simple blue sundress  that went down to her knees. “No, too formal.” Trying one more time, blue jeans, a black tank-top with an image of her created character, Ronin staring down at a blue rose, with blood emerging from his hand. With a smile, she thought to herself, “Perfect.” Creating a leather jacket with a logo of a cartoon white fox on the back flashed into existence over her t-shirt, she walked outside her door, locking it behind her, only to be greeted by a horrid, putrid smell of rotting garbage, and gasoline. The smell nearly made her double over in disgust, but she chose to hide out here, not wanting to draw attention to herself. Walking past her neighbors, not trying to look them in the eye, she made her way downstairs, and North toward the main city, hopefully to find some breakfast, praying the stench of her surroundings wouldn’t attach itself to her.

Catherine walked up the crowded street, littered with trash from the night before, carefully stepping over the occasional passed out person, the smell of alcohol radiating off of them. She contemplated to herself, wondering if she’d made the right choice not buying an apartment in the richer section of the city, knowing it would place a bigger target on her back, and arouse more attention from anyone who would know her from her past. But now she was surrounded by a constant feeling of sadness, the section of the city she was in was the home to not only the lazy, the unmotivated, but it was home to an alarming number of war veterans from the last Spartan Conflict, the same war her father had fought in. At the end of that decade-long conflict, the government had offered them monthly checks, in return they were to not divulge anything about what they saw overseas, what they did, who they fought, how many people died. Some took the offer, but tried to spread the word through anonymous outlets, it never worked, the government always tracked down the reporter and made them talk, through bribery or pain, and the veterans were cut off, hit with heavy fines, normally double whatever they were paid to spread their story. Those who didn’t take the bribe would be placed under heavy surveillance for an undisclosed amount of time. One of Catherine’s father’s old squadmates refused the offer, not out of anger, or intent to talk, but out of sheer pride, she remembered a late summer night on the porch where he told her father, Troy that he was always being followed, monitored, he found his phones tapped, and later he found a GPS device by his car tire. Catherine hated the thought the government would go to such lengths to cover up what they did to people who were now being touted as their close friends and allies.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Catherine’s other neighbors, also war veterans, but fought on the other side, the Spartans. They were driven to from the East to Athens in search of work for their families, she did a report during high school where she interviewed a Spartan war veteran who lost his left arm in a battle, and could only find work in a shipyard, and his salary barely provided for his family due to the heavy taxes that were involved with hiring someone of his origin. In recent years, new policies had been enacted to alleviate this, but most Spartans were still treated as the enemy, to many in Athens. The current leader of the country, Robert Grace touted equality for all under his banner, one of his slogans being, “If you can earn it, you deserve it!”, frankly, a garbage slogan, but it earned him the Spartan vote, as they worked ten times as hard as the average worker, but earned half of it. Catherine mused to herself, thinking about the possibility of going into politics, to destroy the invisible barrier to make everyone happy, but she knew it would be impossible. If anyone found out she was a member of the Ichor Brotherhood, or an Abnormal, no one would vote for her, and condeem her for attempting to rule them as a God, she could almost imagine the reporters scurrying to cover that story now.

Catherine, after almost a half hour of walking, had finally made it to the city proper, gone was the grit and grime, instead, a dozen cleaning robots sweeping the streets, flying beneath her feet, not allowing a single speck of dirt to dare invade her space. Cars floating inches above the ground, flying past her, not so much as disturbing the water puddles at the side of the road. The people enjoying the fruits of the country’s partnership with Orion, their neighbors to the North. After the Battle of Bloody Bay, in which a band of cultists attacked the city of Benin where the last Oracle was in the middle of a harmony tour to symbolize the arrival of Orion citizens onto Hades soil for the first time in centuries, lead to a, three day long battle between Athens’ military, and around a hundred cultists, which lead to the deaths of thousands due to the explosives strapped to each individual cultist member. In the ensuing fighting, a member of the cult had infiltrated the capitol building where the Oracle was being housed and set off a bomb, killing her, and the three dozen citizens around her, including two representatives from Orion. Following the incident, the countries of Orion and Athens came to an agreement, a treaty was signed, in which Orion would share their scientists, and technology with Athens, in return, Orion would be able to immigrate to Hades, and assist in the radiation clean up of Sparta, which had been hit with a Safí Bomb, an experimental weapon using ore found in the center of Mount Olympus, which ashed half of Sparta, turned the other half into an irradiated wasteland uninhabitable by natural, human life, and only a year later, it was found the radiation was starting to spread East and South due to the wind tunnel the surrounding mountains, as two hikers noticed that the plant life was starting to die off, unnaturally. Henry Tavis, the Exarch placed in charge of Hades did only the bare minimum to help the people of Hades, issuing a lockdown of Sparta and its surrounding area, however, it was discovered that the radiation was changing local rock formations into  crystals, clear rocks who’s centers seemed to glow different colors. These crystals became hot items on the market, and people rushed into the areas, ignoring the warnings, and returned home with heavy radiation poisoning, only to die hours later. Robert Grace in retaliation ordered a heavy border be placed, and care packages be dropped for those in affected zones.

Catherine arrived at a coffee shop, The Cooper & MacGrath Caffeine Courier, a popular hangout from her childhood, Catherine opened the door, expecting bright colors, a ball pit, and a jungle gym, but was greeted with crushing disappointment of a drab brown interior, normal looking swivel seats, and half the shop being cut off with private ball booths. Catherine starred in disbelief for a hot second when a waitress walked up to her.

The woman chirped, “Good morning! Would you like a booth, or a chair?”

Catherine cleared her throat, “Uh I’m meeting a friend here, have you se-”

“Oh so you would like a private booth, right this way!” The woman said cheerfully interrupting her mid-word, mildly annoying Catherine

Catherine watched as the woman pressed a seven digit code into the pod, and two invisible doors opened. Inside there was a single round table, and a couch cushion that spread around the interior of the pod. Catherine stepped inside, the roof barely eclipsing her head.

The woman bent over to meet Catherine eye-level, “I’ll be back to get your order!”

Catherine raised a hand to stop her, but she’d already turned away, “Hey wai-” as the door slid closed behind her. Catherine mumbled, “This place is god damn weird.”

After only a few minutes, the door opened again, and plopped down a different woman, a raven haired, green eyed beauty with tanned skin, and a popping multi colored tank top shirt, and a button up blazer folded neatly on her wrist. It was the one and only, Jessica Ravel.

Catherine gave her best practiced smile at Jessica she could, showing off her pearly whites, and spouting cheerfully, “Morning, nightshade.” 

Jessica returned her smile, and slapped her hand on the table with force, but the table itself refused to budge. “Alright!” she shouted with gusto “Lay it on me.”

Catherine sighed, reaching into her non-existent pocket and materializing a thick stack of papers, and placing it in front of Jessica, before repeating the process with three different highly detailed paintings. 

“Six volumes completed, three different covers, whichever you think would sell best, I really don’t care.” Catherine said with a literal hand wave. 

Jessica ignored the covers, reading through the comics Catherine had created, giving approving noises with each page turn, “So” she said, keeping her eyes on the book, “She’s in prison for this section, and it’s one of those break out stories, yeah?” 

Catherine eyed her, she really didn’t want to continue the conversation, she just wanted to get out of here, return to her apartment, hide from the lights, the sounds, the people, she squirmed in her seat a bit, her growing discomfort was not hard to spot, but she did not want to be rude, or cause any ill feelings from her long-time friend.

Catherine cleared her throat, “Yeah it’s...she allowed herself to be imprisoned in the last Arc to prevent the Empire from directing it’s vengeance onto an innocent village of common...people.”

Jessica nodded, turning her attention to the covers Catherine provided, looking them over, her smile never vanishing from her face, as if the amount of pride and joy she felt for Catherine overrided any faults she’d find in the writing, or the artwork, or in Catherine’s own mental state right in front of her. 

“So we have, woman half naked in bright, light chains, kinky,” Jessica said, choking down a laugh, much to Catherine’s embarrassment, “A nice shot of the protagonist in full color, handcuffed being walked down a hallway with the guards in black and white, very symbolic, I like it, Or lastly, a very generic shot of the protag in a center shot while looking at an endless jail maze.”

Catherine cleared her throat, “Yup.”

“I think I know which one we’re gonna pick.”

“Please don’t pick the kinky one.”

“We’re going with the walk of death one.”

“Oh thank god.” Catherine said, thankfully, sinking into her seat.

Jessica hummed a light tune, carefully packing her new belongings into her bag, “So are we donating all your kickback into relief funds again, or do you want a check for it?” She asked, knowing the answer, but had to ask for legal issues.

Catherine nodded, “Yeah but, to Spartans, specifically.” 

Jessica stopped, raising an eyebrow, “I’m sorry?”

Catherine looked at her, “You know, the slums? Give money to their relief fund, something to help them get through.”

Jessica nodded, her smile wavering, “I mean, your stuff sells, and you’d be getting more if you just green lit the movie rights, but this’ll get them a few meals, maybe some new clothes, but it’s not going to save them, you know that.”

Catherine nodded slightly, “I know. Just… something.”

Jessica finished packing her things,  and looked Catherine dead in the eye, “So new topic, what were you doing these past few years? Really long vacation?”

Catherine spread her hands, almost shrugging, “Classified.”

Jessica glared with annoyance written all over her face, “Of course it is. Well, my advice, go out and talk to people, but not all at once, don’t throw some huge party, I know you. You’d slink off to your room and hide till everyone’s gone. Just start small, have one-on-ones till you’re more comfortable with being out in public again.”

Catherine gawked in anger, “What do you mean!? I’m doing fine!”

Jessica let out a tiny laugh, “You haven’t been able to sit still since I got in here, I get you’re an intro, I get people make you uncomfortable, but this would be good for you, trust me. Also, you really need to get out of that apartment of yours more often, okay?”

Catherine sighed, defeated, “She’s right,” Catherine thought to herself, but she didn’t want to really admit it.

“What are you gonna do when whatever money you have runs out? You don’t exactly strike me for a dock worker.” Jessica said, “And you don’t take any money from these comics you make.”

Catherine sat back in her seat, folding one leg over the other, “Oh, I got that covered.”

Jessica smirked, “You got some secret war time gold stache I don’t know about?”

“Oh, even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

The two laughed a bit as the waitress returned, they ordered a pair of coffees, and Catherine listened as Jessica told her about her day-to-day job working at the local law firm, Kyle & Yost, and part-time at the local publishing company, PARROT Publishing, and her regular hardships and annoyances that go along with it, but how at the end of the day she loved both her jobs, as she only worked four days a week, at most a nine hour shift, and more than enough money to have a steady, enjoyable home life. After about an hour, with the two coffees finished the pair decided to leave. 

Catherine rubbed her neck, struggling to find something to say, to leave their meeting on a happy note, but nothing came to mind that she liked, Jessica took note of the struggle and cleared her throat, “Anyway, I gotta get to work, you, please take my advice, take it slow, seriously.”

Catherine nodded, but turning her head away a bit, “I’ll think about it.”

Jessica put a hand on Catherine’s shoulder, “That’s all I ask.”

Jessica hailed a cab, and hopped in, blowing a good-bye kiss as the car drove off.

Catherine looked up into the sky, reaching into her jacket she withdrew her pack of cigarettes, prepped to light one while she pondered what to do with the rest of her day now that she was alone...

At that moment, her phone started buzzing, taking it out, a text message appeared. 

“MEET ME AT THE OBSERVATORY, TEN MINUTES. ~ MP.”

Catherine sighed, “God dammit.”