Johnny didn't know why things always went so badly for him. Despite every single minor mishap during his youth and childhood, he never considered himself THAT unlucky. The ones that constantly get in trouble or get bogged down in sticky situations because of something outside their control were always reserved for the storybooks. A good laugh for the audience. They were often the side characters of every hero or adventure, prescribed as little time on paper as possible and only put in for some comic relief, eliciting some laughter from the reader. They, too, were reserved for the story books...until now.

Johnny's gloomy thoughts were cut short as a growl shook the trees around him, sending plumes of rainbow birds shooting into the air in a cacophony of screeches and chirps of protest. The bushes around him rustled. Whether from a predator or the wind, he couldn't say. The man stayed stock still, wishing and praying that the cheap enchantments he had been given would hold. They did.

Johnny had never been so conflicted in his opinion on the immortals that reigned over their realm. Alas, there was no time to ponder this topic. It was time to move out. Time to deliver critical information to the authorities!

He rotated his head around, taking in the forest floor and canopy. The birds were back in their roosts. The danger had passed. With another sigh, Johnny shook his head and continued on.

Day and night, he trudged on, fuelled by the terror that one of those red and yellow men, no monsters, would find him. Bags of black skin encircled each eye, giving him the look of a dead man. To some aspects, he was. Whenever he scaled a tree in hopes of finding sleep, nightmares waited and prowled at every corner of his dreamscape. He revisited the battlefield where the people he had fought beside had died, saw their terrified faces, heard the whistling of spears, the crunch of steel through bone and felt the blood-tinged air on his lips. The air forever smelled of blood no matter asleep or awake like the paint residue on a cleaned brush. Forever stained. Forever a reminder of his failure. Sometimes he dreamt of the battle, sometimes the moments of his cowardliness, the betrayed glares of his comrades burning into his back as he crashed through the undergrowth. But no matter what, he would awake shortly after, only to gaze at the Sun or star to find it having barely moved from its position in the sky. The gods were punishing him...or so he assumed.

On and on and on he marched. His glass jars of water and water bladders ran dry. The cheap, tough-as-nails provisions grew thin, and nothing back crumbs remained. He savoured them. It held twelve crumbs on the day after he devoured the last remaining piece of jerky. Then eleven. Ten. Nine. Eight.

They dwindled. His throat burned, clogging his vocal cord in what seemed like a thick, unmoving layer of mucus. He tried talking only to find a hoarse croak like a dying frog exit from his cracked, bleeding lips.

The rational part of his mind demanded he finds food and water. Alas, that part wasn't the one experiencing the nightmares, nor bearing the guilt for their deaths. It commanded him to go to the nearest garrison and report there. That thought was stamped out. He must go to the capital and report directly to the general. It was his penance. His punishment. It was the one sole hope that drove him onwards. To redeem himself in the watchful gazes of God and hopefully alleviate the curse that bound him. Only then, and only then, will he be truly free. Or so he hoped.

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The Sun rose and fell in a predictable pattern. The night sky was a carpet of small light sources. The trees and terrain never changed. He could only gaze into the empty horizon from the tree tops in hopes the faint traces of the capital would appear.

Doubts gnawed at the edges of his frayed mind. "Was he going the wrong way?"

"What if the Gods don't let free him?"

"What if...what if..."

His mind flared and crushed the meagre resistance. His consciousness repelled the vicious, crude thoughts, "I have always had a tack for sensing directions. It has never done me wrong, even if it isn't strong enough to develop into a trait!" With the mental argument finished, Johnny returned to his pilgrimage.

After many days, he stepped out of the forest, greeted by a vast open plain. The Sun greeted him in all its glory at last. He took it as a sign of goodwill from the gods. Shoving the guilt and shame into the back of his mind, Johnny continued his long trek.

He passed many villages, many small towns and roads. Alas, he never entered. It was his sole duty to arrive at the capital without aid lest the gods determined his actions as insincere.

The hot sun burnt his flesh to a crisp, painting them a bloody red. The edges of his vision blurred, occasionally flickering to black. Johnny no longer thought of the local star as anything but a demon made to taunt him. Alas, its feeble attempts at re-routing his plans failed. He marched on. The soles of his boots were long gone. He trudged on, bare-footed. Resilience is the path to achieving great things.

Johnny saw many bushes and trees brimming with wild fruit, ripe for the picking. He would lick his lips and imagine the sweet, juicy taste in his mouth. That was enough to satiate his desire. Many a time, he glimpsed snakes and other creatures, even laying eyes upon a wild goat. He took these sightings as signs that he was on the right path. Life was unending, forever flowing and changing. Nothing was ever static.

The world spun. It had begun long ago. While Johnny cared very little about it, nothing could be done. It had worsened over the past few days but he simply couldn't care less, his task held the utmost importance.

On and on and on he marched through the savanna of rolling hills where small towns dotted the distance. "Don't stop," he muttered, "Don't stop," he never did.

The world finally stopped spinning one day. Darkness took its place instead.

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A bearded man in a black suit gazed at the screen, currently presenting the live view of the collapsed teen. He clicked his tongue and turned to another man, "What do you think? Do you approve of my choice?"

The other man nodded, "Yes Kratos, he'll make a fine Saint. We have gone over this..."

He raised his hands over his shoulders in a surrendering gesture, "Just double-checking, just double-checking!"

His companion groaned and placed his head in his hands.

Kratos grinned, "In that case..." The screen's image zoomed out, pausing before zooming back in, showing the image of a walking family of three, "I think they'll make the perfect role models!"

The man sitting across nodded, "Sure, sure..."

Peering at his counterpart, still in a face-palm motion, the God of Strength shifted his body as if readjusting to a more comfortable position, obscuring the console from sight. Behind his back, his fingers tapped several buttons.

The screen flickered, and the image blinked before resuming its normal functioning. "Wonderful, then we are in agreement."