The Olympians: The Fall of Kin

The Battle of Fools Part 3

Thirty Minutes Earlier

Devyn Davis--AKA The Wendigo--lay on his bed in his dank little cell, watching the coverage on the attack in Washington.

Serves them right.

Those bastards deserved this shit.

So, why the hell is my conscience telling me to go and fucking help them?

"Because it's the right thing to do!" His inner angel beamed.

Shut the fuck up.

They didn't deserve his help. They were all terrible people. Not that he was one to be judging in the first place. He wasn't like them. He knew that he was a terrible Godkin. And they all hated him for it. Treated him like garbage for something that he couldn't help.

I can't live without flesh. I'll starve to death.

When he got hungry, he became like a wild animal, unable to control himself. And that always led to someone or another's death. And what did his so-called allies in The Shredder Corps. do to solve that problem? They just stuffed him in a hole, deep in the belly of Shredder Headquarters' Detainment Wing. Sure, they fed him a death row inmate once a day, but that was the only connection he had to the outside world besides his TV.

Well, she visits you regularly.

She was the only one of the Shredders he would think about saving.

He clicked the TV off with a heavy sigh. Then, he stood and went to the metal door to his cell and leaned against the glass window that was centered in it.

"Hey, Juzou." He called to the guard that worked the night shift outside his cell. It was kind of flattering that they had a guard just for his cell. Moreover, he had an entire separate wing for him. He supposed that Clarion had had it designed like that in the case that Devyn escaped.

"What is it?" Juzou called out as he looked up from his phone, on which he was most likely playing one of those MMO things. Juzou loved those games.

Juzou was a Japanese immigrant. Or, rather, his family had been, back in early 2020, after some forgettable disease caused a mass migration Westward. Now, he was seven generations into this backwards ass country. From all the conversations they had, Devyn had deduced that Juzou came from a family of eight, and he had five brothers. He'd grown up with a bit of a complex about his individualism, so he adapted his appearance to fit the image he wanted. Which was why he had bright pink hair and wore a three-piece suit of the same color.

"Would you say that we're friends?" Wendigo asked nonchalantly, examining his fingernails to illustrate.

"I mean, I wouldn't say that I hate you. But you're kind of a dick. I don't know. Maybe frenemies?"

"Close enough." Wendigo snapped his fingers. "Anyway, you cool if I ask you some advice about something?"

"Go for it."

"So, I hate everyone. In The Shredder Corps., I mean. They're dicks."

"Like you?" Juzou interjected as he leaned back in his chair, holding the back of his head in his hands.

"Hey, don't compare me to them. Anyway, I'm not so good with words, but...they're just dicks. They treat me like shit, like the grime on their boots, and then when they need me to go capture some rogue Godkin, they call me. And after that, it's back in the hole...ignored."