Pain radiates out from my thigh, and a bit of rain falls over me. Rain? I shake my head and refocus myself. Where was I? On the ground. Am I alive? Well, yes. The pain in my leg and my ears ring like nothing else prove that to me. I glance around. Dust hangs lightly above the ground. Even through it, I can see countless bodies covered in the earthen javelins. Were they our’s I don’t know. It could just be the corpses from the previous battle. Cacophonous pained groans and sobs become apparent as the ringing in my ears settles. I was alive, and from the sounds of it, I wasn’t alone.

More rain falls on my face. Dammit, when did it start raining? It’s hot and muggy. How much am I bleeding? Not a whole lot, thanks to the fact that the spike was still in my leg, and it hadn’t pierced me all the way through. How was that possible? I grab hold of the spike. Blood runs down its length, and a nauseating panic overwhelms me.

No. Don’t look, Lawrence. It's raining, nothing more. Don’t look. Don’t look. You know what’s there. You know who was standing by you, and you know why you’re still alive. Don’t. Look.

I have to.

I turn my head up.

“You’re alive...” My father’s voice was barely a whisper.

A spike stuck through his back, out of his stomach, and into my leg.

Another had done the same through his shoulder, the other barely poking at me through the scale shirt beneath my tattered hoodie.

“Dad...”

“I’m okay, son...” He rolls off of me and collapses onto the ground, the part of the spike in my leg breaks off. I spring up as quickly as I could.

“I’ll heal you, Dad!” I grab hold of the spike in his gut, and he winces. “I’ll... I’ll pull it out.”

“Son.”

“Just hang on!”

Oh god. Do I push? Pull? My shoulders tremble. What have I done? What have I done?

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“Son...”

I try both and he grunts in pain.

“Sorry Dad, I’ll... I’ll do something.”

“Son!”

“Dad. Please...what do I do?”

“Son, just...just let me be with your mother.”

“Dad, no I can fix this, I can...”

“No. Son.”

“Dad, I’m sorry. I can fix this.”

“Let me go, son. I want... I want to see her again.’

“Dad... Dad, please.”

My father shakes his head weakly.

“I’ve been a bad father for a long time, I should be the one saying they’re sorry.” He chuckles and sputters.

“No, Dad. I disappointed you, I —”

“You were hurting somehow. I know it. I knew it every time I looked at you. I know, son."

“Dad... Dad, please don’t go.” I pull his head up onto my shoulder. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there for you when you needed it. I’m so sorry, Dad. Please.”

He raises his arms and places it around my neck. His fingers are cold and rough.

“I can...” My voice breaks. I know it’s a lie. “I can...heal...” None of my spells would work. I know it.

“I love you, son.” His voice a croaking whisper as his arm drops away from my neck, and his gray eyes go dark.

I bite my tongue and force the bile back down my throat. I swallow my sorrow as I cradle my father’s corpse for a moment. The General’s words ring in my head in a desperate attempt to keep the grief at bay. If there was a time and place for everything; now was not the time to mourn. I slam my fist into my injured leg and pull out the tip of the spike, and heal it until it no longer flows blood. Now was the time for war.

Damn it. I slam my fist on the ground. Damn it. He was right here. He was right. Here. I could have done something, I could have done...no, it wasn’t my fault. It was his. I push myself to my feet. The dead and dying cry out around me. It was that apostle’s fault. He had kidnapped my father and mother. He had brought them here. The sorrow, as if passed through some alchemical process, transmutes inside of my body into an animating rage.

I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him. I bend down and pull my wand from a pool of my father’s blood. I’ll kill him. I’ll kill them all. The apostle. His army. Those who abandoned us in here to die. I’ll kill them all. I’ll invoke Zeus once more if I have to.

No. Not Zeus. I wanted to see that bastard die, and I don’t want Zeus taking my sight. What else could I call upon? A god? An angel? No. I need something from the darker recesses of creation.

I place the wand on my head. I pour what points I have from my two gained levels while holding onto the wall into Creativity, and close my eyes. Over the last week, closing the doors with Monica and William, I had put a certain medieval poem on my phone as an audiobook, so I can learn more about our reality as Shawn had first suggested. He might be dumb as a brick when it comes to teamwork, but he was smart in that regard.

“From that eternal battle upon the muddy banks of the Styx, From the Fifth Circle I call upon you, oh spirits imprisoned in Wrath. You who animate the rage of the damned, come into me, oh thou Furies, and upon the wings of Anger, bring me victory, or carry me to death."