20 - Continue

The sky was black, and the air foggy. The last thing Kakó remembered was saying goodbye to Nazarius and Korítsi, so how had he ended up here?

Kakó slowly stepped forward, the sound of his flip flops clacking against stone as his eyes flicked around the surrounding buildings in search of any clue as to where he was. From the looks of the stone exteriors, pillars, and small yards, he seemed to be in a residential area, though he didn’t know which one. Then the fog cleared, and Kakó’s eyes widened in fear.

On the end of the stone road sat a house he only remembered going to once several months ago. One day while he was looking around the shops, he remembered Nazarius running towards him with an excited gleam in his eye. When he arrived, he mentioned having found a whole drachma, but, when he ran his hands through his pockets, he found that it had somehow disappeared. Korítsi arrived while Nazarius was fishing though his tunic, and suggested backtracking to find it. About an hour later, he remembered approaching these very walls as Nazarius told him to wait outside while he checked his bedroom.

Kakó’s eyes opened wide as sweat trickled down from his forehead. How did he get here? There was no way he accidentally wandered over. Their houses were on completely different sides of the city!

For some reason, Kakó’s legs forced him forwards towards the door. He tried to resist their movement, but he found himself unable to as they slowly dragged him towards the place he hoped to never see again.

Kakó’s toes began to freeze, followed by the tips of his fingers, his feet and his hands. Horror encapsulated his soul as he gradually lost feeling throughout his entire body. Soon enough, he had arrived at the door, which began creaking open by itself.

Darkness sat inside of the house, but Kakó could swear he heard soft cries of despair emanating from beyond… and he was pretty sure he knew why. He tried to scream, but his throat refused to move. His sandals continued inching forward, bit by bit, until, finally, Kakó took a step through the doorway.

Kakó’s eyes suddenly snapped open as a groan escaped his lips. The light from the sun peeked over the horizon of his window and into his eyes, alerting him that it was time to get up.

‘But wait…’

As Kakó looked downwards, he realized that he had once again fallen onto the floor while he slept. With a sigh, he traced his skin for any sign of injury. After confirming that he at least wasn’t fatally wounded, Kakó stood up and contemplated his dream as he dressed himself for the day.

Over the past two weeks, Kako’s lifestyle had changed completely. For one, he would wake up on the ground half the time, and two, he couldn’t feel a thing. That included hunger, thirst, injuries, heat, and more. Anything Kakó could physically feel before was now incomprehensible to him.

For obvious reasons, the lack of hunger and thirst were the main two problems aside from being unable to walk without falling. However, Kakó figured that as long as he ate and drank just about as much as he did before he’d be fine.

As Kakó made sure his best toga was fastened correctly, he wiggled his feet, just to make sure he could control them. ‘Well, at least there was no blood that time,’ Kakó thought in an attempt to comfort himself.

Kakó’s mind traveled back toward the time when Nazarius found the drachma. At first, Kakó had thought that he was blatantly lying. A whole drachma just sitting on the ground? Please. The odds of being personally chosen by a god were higher than that. But, as time passed and they continued searching, Kakó began thinking that he might have done it after all. Why would Nazarius spend so much time looking for something that didn’t exist?

But, if he did actually find it, that raises the question why he would bring it to him. A few months ago, Kakó would have assumed that Nazarius did it to belittle him, but now…

‘If he did ever end up finding it, what would he have done? He wouldn’t have shared it with me, would he?’

All the times Nazarius had come to him for help played back in Kakó’s mind. The time Korítsi was injured, the drachma incident of course, and the most recent one…

‘Did he really see me as a friend the whole time,’ Kakó questioned himself as he slid on his sandals. For years, Kakó had constructed many theories as to why that annoying kid would always approach him. Was it to annoy him? To brag? Something else he couldn’t think of?

Kakó laughed at himself as his eyes fell towards the ground. ‘All that time being angry at him… and for what?’

Determined not to cry again, Kakó took a deep breath and took a step out of his room, checking to see if breakfast was ready. However, before Kakó’s foot left his room, he managed to catch a whiff of cooked eggs and olives.

Peeking out his doorway, Kakó noticed his mother mechanically cooking in the kitchen while his dad sat down at the table, book in hand. Kakó remembered buying his dad that book. What a fool he had been.

Kakó creeped through the hallway leading to the kitchen, doing his best to keep quiet. He wasn’t able to completely suppress the clacking of his sandals, but, luckily, his dad seemed too focused on the book to spare him a glance.

The kitchen was, as per usual, pretty dull with the only noteworthy thing being his father’s bookshelf, which sat conveniently behind his seat.

The bookshelf was huge compared to anything else inside the house except maybe for his parent’s mattress. It contained a dozen different rows, each of which was filled with papers both loose and strung together with string.

Kakó eyed the page his father was currently on, making notes of the rugged edges, small holes, and discolorations from bark that were littered all over the place.

‘All those meals skipped, and for something as ugly and useless as that,’ Kakó complained to himself as he noticed the broken leg on his chair that he had tied back on was once again on the ground. With a sigh, he decided he wouldn't bother with it today. After all, he had other matters to prepare for.

still trying to muffle his footsteps, Kakó trotted over to his mother and scooped himself up a handful of olives from the tray she was cooking on, causing her to frown slightly. “Doesn’t it burn,” she muttered under her breath. “What,” Kakó sputtered as he turned around with slightly widened eyes. “…Nothing,” his mother whispered before going back to cooking.

With a sigh, Kakó proceeded through the kitchen and into the hall towards the door while making sure his best toga was tight enough. He made sure not to tighten it too much. He wouldn’t be able to notice if he was suffocating himself, so it would be better to play it safe.

As the damp, slightly rotten door creaked open, sunlight began pouring through the doorway into Kakó’s house. After a nervous gulp and a deep breath, Kakó stepped outside and began walking towards the blessing ceremony.

…

After breakfast had finished cooking, the kitchen had become almost completely silent with the only sounds being the rubbing of paper against paper. On one side sat a blonde woman with shallow blue eyes that was staring at a plate full of eggs and olives. Across the rotting wooden table sat a man whose green eyes flicked across the book in his hand, his thin hand occasionally rising to turn the page.

“Hey, uh,” the man suddenly muttered in a shallow, monotone voice, “Can you tell Ka… uh… Ku… Kid to go grab some water from the well?” The woman rubbed her wooden fork in her fingers and sighed. “He left already,” she muttered robotically, causing an unsurprised ‘Huh’ to escape his mouth. “Were we supposed to do something today,” the man asked as he turned a frail page. The woman stared at her food for a second, but eventually shrugged. “Don’t think so.”

…

Darkness.

Silence.

Scentless.

Touchless.

Tasteless.

Ándras felt like he was losing his mind. How long had he been locked in this room? A day? A week? A year?

His thoughts causing him to become disturbed, Ándras suddenly tried to jerk his whole body upward, only to once again feel resistance from an unknown force. ‘Calm down,’ he told himself. ‘Remember, think of good or calm memories.’

However, as time passed, that simple task seemed to get harder and harder as reality doused Ándras over the head like a bucket of ice-cold water. When left alone with nothing but his thoughts, his mind tended to wander towards… unpleasant experiences.

‘Don’t think about mother right now,’ Ándras scolded himself: though, the mere thought of what he’d lost sent waves of nausea pulsing through his body. ‘Damn it, focus!’

Taking a deep breath, Ándras’s thoughts wandered back to the week before he was locked in this sensory deprivation area. ‘Be grateful that monster isn’t frying your nerves anymore. Compared to that, this is paradise,’ he chided.

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After what felt like an eternity, Ándras felt… things. He felt things! He was out of that hellhole! “So, how was it,” a somewhat deep, abnormally upbeat voice inquired. “…How bad will the actual thing be compared to that,” Ándras responded shakily, causing a small chuckle to come from Droserós. “Significantly worse,” he commented, sending a shiver down Ándras’s spine.

“Anyway, I didn’t come here just to free you, I’m afraid. You see, he has arrived.”

Realizing that the time had come, Ándras’s eyes fell to the ground. He had been so determined to do this just two weeks ago, but now… No, he couldn’t think about giving up. He had to do this. If not this, what else would he do?

“Would you mind having a little chat before we depart,” Droserós suddenly asked, causing Ándras’s eyes to widen. “I guess,” he responded, resulting in Droserós reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a familiar bottle.

“Moró’s quite tired from the journey, so we will start tomorrow. I just wanted to have a talk with you. Just in case…”

Ándras didn’t need Droserós to finish in order to understand. Realizing that this may be his last opportunity to speak, Ándras sighed. “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask something. Why have you been so hospitable towards me? You spent resources training me even though I show little promise. Hell, I was your enemy when I first arrived, and it didn’t seem like you cared. It’s like you knew this would happen. So what is going on?”

Droserós’s eyebrows arched, but soon fell along with his eyes, forcing Ándras to wait. “Well,” he said as a small grin replaced the previous look of melancholy, “I don’t exactly have anything to lose from helping you, especially if you do end up stronger. But, I suppose there is one thing that I do want if everything goes according to plan.”

A shiver slipped down Ándras’s spine. What would the cost be? He had nothing but his life, though even that wasn’t guaranteed. “Help me, Ándras. Help me… no, us. All of us. Help us earn our place in the world, to teach the gods that, even though we all die young, we are equal to them and will not stand for lesser treatment. What do you say?”

Ándras was a little stunned at this speech. “But… how do we intend to do this? The gods don’t have to listen to us. Hell, if they want to, they can just kill every living thing and remake it all in their image. I’d be more surprised if they even bothered to hear us out, actually. You’re not stupid, I know that much. So, why are you so confident?”

Droserós smiled softly. “You may be right,” he began. “Gods can do whatever we want with us. Kill us, strip us of our blessings and feed us to beasts, use us as toys; but, humans possess something that no god has or will ever have. Do you know what that is?”

Ándras shook his head slowly. “It’s spirit. Or, rather, the ability to have spirit,” Droserós clarified. Ándras’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Unlike gods, humans have feelings. The gods may have desires, yes, but emotions? Their immortality has stripped them of such a thing. Feelings are the one, true blessing that we have, and the gods will never be able to take them away from us. Even if they kill us, throw our souls into the depths of the underworld, and subject our essences of being to inhumane amounts of torture, as long as we have emotions, we will never truly die. Feelings are what allow us to have spirit, and being capable of having spirit makes our souls unkillable. Keep in mind that no man innately has spirit, but in every man lies the ability to have it. One can make it themselves using determination, or have it given to them by others. Don’t you see, Ándras? As long as we have emotions, we will be just as immortal as the gods, even if our flesh shells rot away, for as long as in our souls lies spirit, our souls cannot be destroyed. So, the only way the gods can truly kill us is if we give up and become like them; empty.”

Ándras’s eyes widened. “So… you’re saying that as long as we keep our emotions, we’ll be unkillable?” Droserós nodded, causing Ándras’s head to spin. This man really was completely insane.

“Now then,” Droserós blurted before handing the bottle of whiskey to Ándras, “what are your thoughts on all of this?”

“I think you’re fucking crazy,” Ándras immediately blurted before his mind could stop him. Droserós laughed. “Insanity is based on perspective. To you, I might seem to be out of my mind; however, to me, my thought process is normal, and yours is more likely to be the weird one.” Ándras rolled his eyes. There really was no arguing with this man. “I also think,” Ándras added with a sigh, “I want to drink this whole bottle.”

“I did give it to you, so you are free to do so. But do you think you could wait until we go to my office,” Droserós chuckled as his footsteps began echoing through the hallway. “I guess,” Ándras sighed.

…

“Damn it. Sneaking up on him didn’t work. If I try to hide, Private Ay will get killed almost immediately. How am I supposed to protect someone else when I can’t even protect myself, dammit!”

The cafeteria was, as per usual, near empty with the only exception being Fíle, who was, as per usual, muttering to himself. “Pierre should be back today, right?”

With a sigh, Fíle threw the last of his lunch into his mouth, briskly put his plate up, and sped walk back outside. Over the past two weeks, Fíle had been getting an ever increasing bad feeling about the place.

Suddenly, just as Fíle was about to walk outside, the door opened on its own, smacking Fíle on the nose hard enough to cause maroon drops to start leaking out of it. “Ow,” he cried as he looked up and found a painter’s glazed over eyes. “Uh, hey,” Fíle blurted. However, once again, his greeting was ignored as the painter walked past him without acknowledging his existence. ‘Whatever,’ Fíle thought to himself, ‘the last thing I want is for Private Ay to drag me back to the maze, so I should probably hurry.’

Swiftly, Fíle opened the door and walked outside only to be met with the sun’s rays falling down upon him and the rest of whatever forest he was in. ‘And here I thought all land around here was barren,’ Fíle thought to himself again. The large amount of biodiversity in an area so close to a damn near desert continued to surprise him, even after two weeks.

With a sigh, Fíle walked over to a square shaped stone that a small path led up to and planted his feet on it. ‘I’ll just wing it this time,’ he thought.

Almost as soon as Fíle stepped on the rock, a familiar set of cloudy, liquid walls descended from nowhere, encasing Fíle in a maze of water. Soon after this, Fíle felt a familiar tap on the shoulder as a vaguely human-shaped water blob walked in front of him. “Look man, I can’t even protect myself, so don’t you think you can help me out here and try to run when Bee pops up,” Fíle asked the entity. In response, Ay twisted its head left to right before falling on the ground and grasping its leg while rocking back and forth.

“Why do you have to pretend to be injured? You’re literally water. You can’t get hurt,” Fíle griped, causing Ay to cross his arms. “Whatever, just… Please at least hide.”

As Fíle began rounding the first corner, his hair dyed golden, and his eyes turned green. ‘For the love of Apollo, please let me do something other than get thrown into a wall again,’ Fíle inwardly muttered as he touched his nose to see if it still hurt. It definitely did.

Cautiously, Fíle peeked his head around a clouded wall. After making sure there was nothing but grass, he rounded the corner and quietly tip-toed over to the next one. This time, there was a little more than dirt prancing in the corridor.

Fíle scowled. Over the past two weeks, he had grown to hate that stupid big smile more than anything else. It seemed so innocuous, yet, if you approached it, you’d be flat on the ground in less than a second while gasping for air.

‘I’ll get you today, you bastard,’ Fíle inwardly cursed as power filled his legs. With one mighty jump, he flew into the path with a raised fist. Despite having the element of surprise on his side, Fíle’s fist met nothing but air as Sergeant Bee pivoted his foot to avoid the impact. “You’re also just water! You shouldn’t be able to do that,” Fíle complained.

Despite his griping, Bee didn’t listen, responding with nothing but a fist flying straight at Fíle’s face. Not wanting to get his nose smashed for a second time, Fíle crouched, causing the punch to fly right over his head. Quickly, Fíle tensed his leg muscles and raised his fist, preparing to give Bee a nasty uppercut. However, the Sergeant turned, leaving Fíle’s entire body exposed. In retaliation, Bee winded up his fist once more, preparing to smash Fíle’s face in. With a twist of his hips, Fíle managed to dodge the punch by a few hairs’ breaths.

After a breath, Fíle cocked back his left fist and aimed for that infuriating smile once more. He darted towards Sergeant Bee swiftly. Anticipating the attack, Bee raised his left hand while preparing to block. However, just before Fíle’s left hand made contact with the Sergeant’s palm, the young boy’s right leg suddenly smashed into the side of Bee’s head.

Fíle smiled brighter than he had in weeks. He had finally landed a blow on this liquid lump of lard! ‘And all it took was—’

Before Fíle could continue celebrating, a transparent fist smashed into his shoulder, turning into liquid water on impact to avoid any bodily harm. Stunned, Fíle looked back at the water man, only to see him begin evaporating: a sign that the match was over.

“Damn it,” Fíle loudly cursed. “I had him!”

”Yep. You sure did. Too bad you celebrated too early,” a deadpan, low voice chimed in, causing Fíle to jump. “You’re back,” Fíle screamed out of fright. “Yeah,” Pierre muttered anticlimactically, causing Fíle to sigh. “Missed you too,” Pierre said.

“Anyway,” Fíle said to change the subject, “now that you’re back, would you mind actually explaining why your water guy dragged me out of my bedroom everyday just to make me fight another blob of water?”

Pierre shrugged. “Training. Wasn’t that obvious?” Fíle grinded his teeth. “What do you mean training? I didn’t learn a thing!” Pierre scratched his face in response. “I can tell. At this point, I thought you’d have been able to beat Bee already.”

Fíle clenched his fists tightly. “How was I supposed to beat him when I don’t know how to fight,” he screamed, causing Pierre to sigh. “You may not know how to fight, but that may not be true for those surrounding you,” he spoke while flicking his eyes towards Private Ay. “Him? All he did was pretend to be injured the whole time,” Fíle griped. “Injured doesn’t mean incapable of fighting. In fact…” Pierre paused as Private Ay manifested from the atmosphere and kicked the air at breakneck speeds. “He’s pretty damn strong.”

Fíle was speechless. “But what was I supposed to gain from getting him to fight?”

“A few things. First off, in a fight, you are almost never alone. You have teammates to watch your back. Never forget that.” Fíle rolled his eyes at Pierre’s words. “And second, I wanted to teach you how to ask people for help.” This time, Fíle raised an eyebrow. “Why,” he inquired.

“Well, how do you think people learn how to do stuff? Trial and error is possible, yeah, but, if possible, asking someone else to help or teach you will almost always be faster. I want you to know that you can ask for guidance: just don’t expect it, especially at the academy.”

Fíle sighed in annoyance. “Couldn’t you have just told me that instead of wasting two weeks of my time?” Pierre sat down in the grass. “I could have, but you are much more likely to listen to me now that two weeks have been used to learn this lesson instead of a few seconds. If I just told you, it wouldn’t have stuck as much.”

Gears turned in Fíle’s brain. Yeah, he wasn’t wrong, but still. “Even still, there had to have been a better solution,” Fíle griped before sitting down next to Pierre.

“How’s your aunt,” Pierre asked while staring at the horizon. “Fine. The doctors said she’s stable, which is good since she probably won’t die, but…” At the same time, she was less likely to stir.

Understanding what he was implying, Pierre yawned. “Anyway, I got you a bow. It’s not great, but it’s better for beginners.” Fíle’s eyes widened a bit. “Can I see it,” he inquired excitedly. “Later. I left it inside,” Pierre responded, sending a wave of disappointment through Fíle.

“Anyway,” Fíle began, “Now that you’re back, can you teach me how to teleport?” Pierre opened his mouth, but, before he could answer, the doors to the building slammed open loud enough to where the two of them could hear it, causing them both to narrow their eyes.

Standing up, Pierre peeked into the surrounding area, only to see a doctor sprinting as fast as he could towards them. Within a few seconds, the doctor had arrived at Pierre’s feet, panting heavily. “Pierre,” the brown, spiky haired doctor groaned. “One of the painters has collapsed.”

…

Pain. Nothingness. Pain. Nothingness. Pain. Nothingness. Pain. Nothingness.

For as far back as Nazarius could remember, the only two things he could feel were pain and nothingness. How long had this been going on? He didn’t know. All he knew was pain and nothingness.

Currently, he was feeling nothingness as he sat down, warm and wet with his feet glued on the ground. He knew it would end soon, though. It always did. As if on schedule, a familiar buzzing reverberated throughout the cave. It was one of those bugs again. It always was. And soon, it would come over to him and start eating him.

Immediately after Nazarius thought this, a sharp pain ran through his left arm before it was ripped straight off of his body. Hm. Usually they went for the organs first. The pain was unbearable. Screams built up in the depths of Nazarius’s lungs, but…

Nothing came out. That was strange. He usually screamed. Maybe he had finally gotten used to it. Or maybe he was just too worn to try. Minutes passed, and the familiar sound of rushing water began echoing off the walls. But something seemed… different this time. The water didn’t seem to have as much force as it usually did.

Within seconds, both Nazarius and the devil bug were knee deep in the liquid of pain. That was strange. Usually it passed well over his head.

Before Nazarius could think about how strange this was, he suddenly felt as if he was falling sideways. No—he wasn’t falling: the beast was.

The body of the beast smashed against the ground, causing the bug to hit hit’s head against the wall and become unresponsive. Nazarius was glued down, but the force was great enough to rip off one of his feet and completely mangle the other one. ‘It hurts,’ he weakly thought to himself. But he knew his foot would be back. That horrific liquid would make sure of that.

A gut wrenching, but muffled slicing sound began making its way into Nazarius’s ears. ‘I guess it got killed by something,’ Nazarius thought. For the first time in a while, his heartbeat began to speed up. ‘Am I… free?’

Nazarius’s heartbeat quickened rapidly. ‘I’m free,’ he screamed inwardly until his body froze when hit with a realization. ‘What if that thing kills me instead?’ Dread not felt in weeks built up in Nazarius’s chest as he desperately thought of what to do when his gaze suddenly landed on his mangled foot. ‘If I remove it, I’ll be free,’ he realized: but the thought alone was enough to make him want to vomit. ‘Relax,’ he coaxed himself. ‘The river water is down there, so I’ll heal as soon as I fall.’

The slicing noises began growing louder, driving Nazarius to action. Before he could properly process what he was doing, his arms wrapped around the remaining flesh and bone and bent as hard as they could. For the first time in weeks, Nazarius screamed. But he couldn’t stop. Not if he wanted to live.

More, he wiggled and bent his flesh and bone while desperately awaiting some sort of crack. Finally, after his eyes began rolling up into his head and the ringing in his ears was louder than the slashing, he felt himself enter free fall.

Once more he was in pain. But, at least now, he could get away. Or so he thought. As Nazarius raised his eyes, the orange glow of the remaining water revealed the figure of a headless man standing over the young boy.