The Hammer stared in disbelief. Stone didn’t blame him. A punch like that would put a dent in a fire door. A punch like that would break most men’s wrists.

But Stone worked his jaw from side to side, wiped the blood from his upper lip off on his forearm, and raised his fists.

The Hammer’s disbelief curdled into anger. Before the champ had been frustrated and annoyed. Now he was pissed off.

The crowd picked up on the change in mood and loved it. They shook the chain-link fence like zombies trying to get at the two fighters’ flesh. The bales of barbed wire rocked back and forth wildly. People were kicking the ever-living shit out of the shoulder-high barriers.

The din sounded like a battlefield in hell.

Stone grinned and moved forward. The Hammer was fast. He moved like Mike Tyson, that explosive power. Glide step in, duck and to the side, up and then a detonating fist to the side of the head.

His favorite technique?

The Hammer stepped in, shoulders hunched, head bobbing from side to side more out of habit than any real concern and probed at Stone with a couple of jabs.

Cream puff shots.

Stone kept his fists up, took the punches on his own knuckles, and looked for an opening.

Instead, the Hammer just bull-rushed him behind an elbow that knocked Stone’s fists into his own face before the man’s bulk lifted Stone right off the ground and slammed him into the wall.

Bone jarring force.

The Hammer wasn’t done. He unleashed a barrage of body shots, their heads pressed together, the big man working him like a heavy bag.

Stone hunched over, took the blows, felt his ribs creak, felt his breath blasted out of him. The punches came too fast to count.

A dozen maybe.

The Hammer darted back, then paused. Evaluated the damage.

Stone wheezed as he raised his fists, but his lip curled up as genuine joy suffused him. The Hammer was hitting with Her power. That’s why this fight had lasted this long. But then again, how long had it been since he’d had this good a match-up?

Probably not since that Mongolian bare-knuckle boxer down in El Paso.

“Good,” rasped Stone. “That’s right. Give me what you got.”

The Hammer straightened, disbelief writ large on his blocky head. “So, you’re one of those sick fucks.”

“You’re about to find out.”

And now Stone went on the offense. Sure, his body hurt like somebody had worked him with a tire iron, but that was passive, distant pain.

His body was his finest tool. His bestest friend. No matter how badly he treated it, no matter how much he went through, it simply never failed him.

Unlike people. Society. The whole fucking world.

His fists and bones and muscle were always there when he needed them.

Stone waded in. The Hammer, wary now, gave ground, flicking out jabs, but Stone took them on his shoulders, his brow. Came in steadily like a man cornering a pig, not rushing, side stepping when the Hammer tried to weasel out.

Then the big guy realized what was going on.

The crowd was laughing at him.

He was being herded by Stone, and his confusion and disbelief became evident. Became a sudden fury.

With a bark of rage, he glide-stepped forward and headbutt Stone in the bridge of his nose. Followed it up with a demolishing cross, then stepped in tight to plant an uppercut deep in Stones’ breadbasket.

“And stay down,” said the Hammer, turning away with righteous arrogance.

Stone swayed, blinked, grinned. “Good punches.”

The Hammer stilled.

Stone spat blood, shrugged his shoulders, and raised his fists. “Now it’s my turn.”

The Hammer whipped around, his fury edged with panic now, but Stone didn’t give him a chance to react.

One simple step. Inside his guard. He lowered his torso as if about to tie his shoes, locked his arm, and then exploded upward. His uppercut hit the huge man under the chin.

The Hammer’s head snapped back as his bulk lifted up off the ground.

Time seemed to slow. The screams from the crowd grew slurred. The Hammer’s three hundred pounds rose to the balls of his feet, his heavy muscles rippling as the shockwave ran through his mass, his chin going up, his face turning toward the night sky, blood spattering up into the air along with teeth.

Stone followed through. His fist kept rising, a hydraulic piston that could lift the world.

The Hammer’s feet left the ground. Just outside the perimeter the man’s managers were screaming, reaching for their fighter, eyes wide in shock.

Stone felt savage exultation.

This was right. This was true. This moment, this moment alone, he understood down to his bones.

Time snapped back into motion.

The Hammer rose up, his bulk following his head as it snapped back, and he crashed down onto the ground, arms bouncing off the sawdust, whole body limp, eyes rolled up in his head.

Stone dropped back onto the balls of his feet. He’d split a knuckle with that punch, done something to his wrist, but that didn’t matter.

The crowd actually stilled. Everybody just stared, not quite believing what they were seeing.

The Hammer sprawled out. Stone standing over him, nose broken, blood still running from one ear, from his nostrils.

Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.

“Holy shit on a fuck ball!” screamed Fuentes, his showmanship forcing him into the ring, mike in hand. “The Hammer is down! The Hammer is out!”

The crowd cheered, but they seemed unsure. Stone could sense their disbelief, their realization as to what had just happened.

Some nobody homeless guy had laid out the champ with one punch.

Stone rolled his head about his neck, causing it to pop, and inhaled deeply. Her presence was lifting from the other fighter like curlicues of steam from a coffee mug. Leaving him.

What did it mean? Why had She blessed the Hammer? A test? Had he passed enough of them? Hadn’t he given everything he had, time and again? Was there a single altar out there in this wide wicked world that he hadn’t made an offering on in Her name?

Stone tongued a loose tooth. Her presence in this ring meant he still had Her attention, but he couldn’t deny the low, simmering anger. It wasn’t the old rage. That fury at the injustice of it all. But more bleak resentment. For how long would She test him? Just what the fuck did he have to do to prove his worthiness?

Fuentes was babbling on, his face gleaming with sweat, his eyes wide with amazement and greed. The man was praising Stone, doubling down on the Fallujah bullshit, building him up, not doubt setting the stage for his next fight.

Stone wanted none of it. He shook out his hand and turned to the exit.

That’s when reality split. That’s when She made Herself known. The crowd froze, Fuentes shut the fuck up, the mangers crawling around the Hammer went absolutely still.

Stone inhaled sharply and turned to the growing portal. Only three times had She appeared to him. Three times in twelve years.

Each time had marked a major turning point in his life.

Was this it? Was She finally going to declare him worthy? His cruel, delicate goddess, his reluctant sadist, his broken love?

Was this the moment it all came to an end?

The portal unseamed itself and became an oval of black fire, out of which stepped an alabaster skinned man with flowing white hair. He was dressed like an extra out of a Lord of the Rings movie, and his irises with circles of blazing gold.

Still, Stone felt nothing but remorse. Not Her, then.

“Abraham Stone,” called the angel. “The hour is upon thee! You are summoned to Her Ladyship’s side, to leave this mortal realm and serve Her faithfully on the truest plane of combat. Will you answer Her call?”

Stone rubbed the blood from his lip again. “You mean I have a fucking choice?”

The angel drew himself up, his expression so familiar, the same look he’d received from cops and bar tenders and old ladies and everyone else in this world: disapproval and disgust.

“Of course you do. She only takes willing Champions. You shall fight in Her name and bring Her glory. Such service cannot be coerced.”

Stone’s heart raced. He felt shivery and hot. Was this actually it, then? The ever-promised anointing?

“Well?” The angel raised his chin. “Your answer?”

Stone forced a grin. The angel flinched at the sight of it. “You think I’d say no?” Stone’s laugh was like a file being worked over rusted iron. “‘Course I’ll fucking come. I’ll do whatever She fucking wants. She knows that.”

“Well, good.” The angel glanced uneasily about the ring, at the frozen crowd, at Fuentes with his mike and his shiny scalp gleaming through his combover. “Then let us depart this realm for fairer climes. Come. Follow me through the portal.”

Stolen story; please report.

And he turned and stepped into the fire.

Stone drew himself up. He shuddered as emotion ran through him. His eyes teared up and his knees felt weak. Was this… was this actually it? No. It had to be another test. Another torment. She was nothing if not inventive.

He thought of Her, his Lady. So beautiful, so pure. Too good for this world, a martyr that stained Her hands out of dire necessity. She’d told him bits and pieces about Her home world. Rauthgar. How tormented and war-torn it was. How She needed a hero to right so many wrongs.

How he could be that hero.

Her Champion.

Love swelled in his heart. Oh, he’d loathed Her for years. But over time, as she’d followed punishment with tenderness, as She’d soothed his wounds with Her pitying tears, he’d come to understand the truth. She was the real victim. Her world had forced Her to act so cruelly. For the greater good She’d done dark deeds, and he was Her only hope.

It was a blessing to be chosen.

It was a blessing to be tested.

There was no greater honor than to be Her Champion.

Raising his chin, he stepped into the black fire, and left the world behind.

* * *

“There you are.”

Her voice echoed through the great hall, and for a moment Stone felt lost. He turned about, seeking Her, then saw her throne through a great archway in the next room.

And upon it, his goddess.

Stone’s pain disappeared. The ringing in his ears went silent, and his heart began to pound. The sight of her perfect features drew so much emotion from his cracked core that in the end he simply felt numb.

Overwhelmed.

In a trance, he crossed the ivory floor, passed through the ornate archway, and entered Her presence. Where she sat the air seemed lit with silver light, causing her silver armor and fair features to glow with an inner light. Star-kissed. She smiled and leaned forward, her familiar features causing his throat to close.

“Come to me, Abraham Stone. The hour is finally at hand.”

How he reached the steps that led up to her throne he could never thereafter remember, but he found himself on his knees at her feet, his brutal hands lying in his lap, his face turned up to Her glory.

She smiled fondly at him and caressed his cheek. “How you have struggled. How you have suffered. Never have I seen a braver heart, a more worthy Champion. No matter what I did to you, you persevered. I took everything from you, Abraham. Your honor. Your reputation. Your loved ones. Even, at the end, your dignity. Yet here you are. Why?”

“Why?” Stone blinked, coming back to himself. The question was a torment in and of itself. It made him question the past decade. Interrogate his life. His futile resistance, his growing devotion.

“It is my final test for you.” Her smile was perilously beautiful and oh so sad. “Why do you still wish to serve me after the trials I have put you through?”

Stone lowered his gaze. He couldn’t think while meeting her eyes. His whole body was shivering. His past was a wasteland he normally refused to visit, but now, prompted by Her, he cast a weary eye over those haggard, brutal years.

When had his hatred for Her turned to love? When had he ceased to think of her as his own personal devil and instead realized that she was an angel?

The lines were blurred, yet there had to be a reason.

She awaited an answer.

In the end, there was only one answer that rang true.

“Because… because you found me worth your attention.” It was the basest truth, the final refuge of his broken pride. No matter how she’d made him suffer, still, the fact remained that she’d chosen him for her trials. Something within him was worthy of her time. And that realization had pulled his mind back from the abyss. “You… for all your power, your… divinity… you said that you needed me.” Now he did raise his eyes, and they overflowed with tears that ran down his weathered cheeks. “When nothing else made sense, that was all I could hold to. That there is something in me that you need. And that need is my blessing.”

She wiped away his tears with her thumb. “Oh, Abraham. You are correct. I do need you. And your path has been awful but know this: every moment of pain and loss that you suffered was to make you stronger for the world to come. In Rauthgar your devotion will be rewarded a hundredfold. Your power shall stem from your faith, and you…” She smiled. “In your eyes I see a devotion so pure it breaks my heart.”

He didn’t understand, but then, he didn’t need to understand. If She said it, then it was true.

“You pass the final test and shall be my Champion. Before I can bring you to Rauthgar, however, you must be Anointed, as all Champions are.”

“There are other Champions?”

She caught Herself, her smile quickly reappearing. “But of course. I am not the only god. Others seek to have their interests represented on Rauthgar. All Champions must pass through the Anointing so as to be given their full power. Do not worry. It is quick. But pay heed: the Master of Ceremonies is a treacherous bootlicker and will seek to trick you for the sheer delight of it. Don’t believe a word he says. Just accept your powers and know that I shall await you on the other side.”

Stone tried to process all this, but in Her presence he felt dazed. “Yes, of course.”

“Good.” She drew back, and at the loss of Her touch he felt a pang of grief. “Remember that. He shall tell you all manner of scurrilous lies. Never doubt my love for you, Abraham Stone. Or that you above all others are dear to my heart.”

“Of… of course,” he rasped. He rose, knowing that their audience had come to an end. “I shall… you know that you are my…” He was never good with words. They failed him now, but she smiled sweetly.

“I know. Go. The time for your reward has come. From here on out it shall be nothing but glory. And if you stay true, then you and I, well.” Her smile grew demure, and a faint blush arose on her cheeks. “You and I shall be able to take our relationship to the next level.”

Stone gaped. It was only the angel’s polite cough that brought him back to his senses. He bowed low, his whole body shaking. “Thank you.” It was all he could say, but he put a universe of emotion into those two words. “Thank you.”

“Very nice, very nice,” said the angel. “Now if you’ll follow me?”

Stone felt as if he walked on air. Could it be? That he, coarse and broken, dirty and worn, might sit by Her side? That they might…?

He followed the angel in a daze. Through rooms and chambers, down hallways and stairs. He saw none of it. Always Her eyes hovered before him, filled with falling stars and the promise of love.

The angel stopped in a large ivory hall. “Here we are. You are to proceed through that doorway there. The Master of Ceremonies awaits you within. Remember. His job is to lie and test you.”

“I… I thought I was done with the tests?”

The angel sneered. “Existence is a test. Now be quick. Ask no questions, give no answers. Demand only what is owed to you, and the process will be over quickly. Understood?”

Stone shook his head. He didn’t understand. He still felt intoxicated for having been in Her presence. Entire years had gone by at times without his seeing a single sign of her in his life, and to have now knelt at Her feet, to have felt Her touch, to have been promised more than he’d ever dared dream…? It was too much.

The angel sighed. “Just go through the door and keep your trap shut. And remember - all you will hear within are lies. Yes? Very good. Now go on.”

The angel gave his shoulder a gentle shove, and Stone reacted on reflex alone. He gripped the angel’s wrist, pulled the being before him, then drove his forearm into the angel’s elbow, snapping the joint and forcing it to bend the other way.

“By the Goddess!” snarled the angel, leaping back and clutching his ruined arm.

“I - I’m sorry!” Stone reached out helplessly with both hands. “I didn’t mean to hurt you -”

“You can’t hurt me.” The angel snarled and his arm healed itself instantly. “But you apparently can annoy the ever-living shit out of me. Don’t you dare lay hands on me again, you cur.”

Stone flinched as the last word was spat at him. He kept his brutal hands up, but knew it was too late to make amends. “I’m sorry,” he said again, then turned to the doorway. The sooner he moved on the better.

It was a simple door, given the grandeur of the other rooms and entrances. A normal door, albeit made of solid gold. No handle. He approached and it swung open before him, revealing a hallway beyond.

“Should I…?” He turned back, but the angel was gone.

Uneasy, overwhelmed, Stone rubbed his jaw and entered the hallway beyond. No, not a hallway, a long room. At the very end was a large desk, its surface covered in piles of paper and a freestanding glowing rod, and behind it a cadaverously thin man with gold-rimmed glasses resting on the tip of his impossibly long nose. He was dressed like an old-fashioned bank teller, complete with a waistcoat and cravat, and glanced up at Stone irritably.

“Come on, come on, I don’t have all day.”

Stone shifted his shoulders, rubbed at his stubbled jaw, and strode down to the man’s desk. “I’m here about the… Anointing.”

“Yes, yes. And look how brightly your Devotion Meter shines!” The man gestured at the brightly burning rod. “Now, let’s see. Did they even bother to file the paperwork?” The man - or elf? Maybe another angel? Rifled through some papers and then plucked out a form. “Ah, they did indeed. Abraham Stone, of Planet 78X2, Champion-Elect of the goddess Anahydra, who is… yes. A rank 47 deity. It’s all here, very good, very good.”

Stone gaped. “Her name…? Anahydra?”

“Hmm?” The man studied him. “Ah, yes. Correct. She no doubt meant to tell you when you exited the procedure. Never mind. Prolific, she is. Where’s that folder.”

Stone could only gape again as the man opened a drawer and finger-skipped through some files before pulling out a thick vanilla folder. “Here we go. Goddess Anahydra. She has been busy. Not too discerning, is she?” The man grinned bleakly up at Stone. “You’re her fourth attempt at a Champion this year alone.”

“What?” His voice was a croak. “What do you mean, her fourth?”

The Devotion Meter on the desk dimmed slightly.

“Hmm?” The man set the folder down. “Do you understand numbers? One, two, three, four?”

“Her fourth?” Stone took a step back. “You’re lying.”

“Of course I am.” The Master of Ceremonies sighed. “Because there’s nothing I want more than to engage in theatrics with a foul-smelling human from Planet 78X2. Never mind, forget I said anything. You are, of course, the first mortal she has ever plucked forth from all the cosmos, the only being she has ever graced with her attention, and most definitely, most absolutely, the only man she has ever promised her favors to.”

The man’s smile was so sharp it could have sliced diamonds. “There. Is that better?”

Stone pressed his hand to his temple. Once, he’d been a good judge of character. It’d been a requirement for him as an officer. He’d been able to read people like card sharks read marks. Once he’d been known for his calm and piercing ability to gauge a man’s character.

He’d not trusted that old instinct for over a decade. But now here it was, undeniable, calm and assured, and it told him one simple thing: the Master of Ceremonies was not lying.

The Devotion Meter dulled to a resentful glow.

Stone felt his world shiver, felt the ground beneath his boots shake.

All of it, his torment, his pain, his grief, his losses, all of it had only made sense while he’d felt special.

While he’d known he was the sole object of her attention.

But… to be the fourth? This year?

He staggered back, suddenly unable to breathe.

The Master of Ceremonies studied him, eyebrows raised, then sighed. He seemed to relent. “My apologies. I forget how personally you Champions take this. I was unkind. Look, if it’s any consolation, you’re still quite special. You’re next in line to work her will. There could be billions of others standing before me right now, but instead it’s you. Doesn’t that cheer you up?”

Stone tried to grasp those words and hold onto them. His mind felt like it was tearing, his soul catching fire. “All… everything I suffered. Lost. The… the years of pain. Of being tested. There were others?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. And still are, to be honest. The odds of your lasting long on… where is it you’re going? Ah, Rauthgar. Nasty place. The odds of your lasting for long there are really quite slim. Anahydra has… let’s see. Seventeen other Champions in the works. She’s clearly hedging her bets.”

Seventeen?!

He shall tell you all manner of scurrilous lies. Never doubt my love for you, Abraham Stone. Or that you above all others are dear to my heart.

“You’re lying,” Stone rasped.

“Am I? Very well.” The Master of Ceremonies closed his folder. “I honestly can hardly control my indifference on the matter. Let’s move right along, shall we?”

Stone stared at the man, searching his lined face, seeking some sign of duplicity. He saw nothing but pity and boredom, and those twin emotions hit him harder than any set of fists ever did.

“Seventeen?” His voice was a whisper. Stone sank to his knees and stared emptily out at nothing.

“She’s a busy goddess,” agreed the man. “One of the most industrious. Then again, she really has a lot to lose if this war goes against her, so it’s understandable. Now. Are you ready to proceed?”

“Seventeen.” Stone stared at his scarred fists. All those long nights. Those empty years. All the trials and suffering. He’d not been special. He’d just been another iron in the fire.

Which meant… what?

The Devotion Meter went dark.

He raised his gaze to the Master of Ceremonies. “What do I do now?”

The man understood what he was really asking. “Well, to be quite honest, the degree to which the Anointing imbues you with power is directly correlated to your devotion and faith. Nominally that must be in your patron, but if that’s lost, you’re going to come out a very weak Champion indeed.”

Stone frowned. Struggled through the waves of despair to understand his words. “Faith?”

“Mmhmm. You were positively burning with it when you walked in that door. A little less so, now.” The man smiled apologetically and gestured at the dark meter. “My fault, I suppose. But I do grow so tired of watching the gods and goddesses dupe innocents into doing their dirty work. I suppose I get a little… impatient with the masquerade of it all.”

“There’s no going back? To my home?”

“What’s that? To planet 78X2? Oh no. You’ve seen far too much. You’re going to Rauthgar now, assuredly.”

Faith.

Where before he’d had a burning certainty in his goddess’s love, now there was a shuddering void.

Faith.

He’d suffered for so long. Been ridiculed and ostracized for too many years. If he was going to this Rauthgar place, it wouldn’t be to suffer more.

He glared down at his raw knuckles, his brutal hands.

What did he have faith in?

His emotions calmed and his fractured mind grew still.

There was one thing that had never failed him. One truth he understood and worshipped above all else.

Even above his goddess.

He curled his hands into fists.

The meter on the Master’s desk suddenly blazed to life, far brighter than it had ever been.

“Well now.” The man sat back, astonished. “Isn’t that something? I don’t think I’ve ever seen the like.”

Stone rose to his feet. “Will that do?”

The Master of Ceremonies gave him a toothy smile. “Oh yes. That will do quite nicely. I think Rauthgar is in for quite a shock.”