Fate Breakers

Chapter 2

Liam

"Cripples have no place being Balor Candidates."

"I'm not a cripple."

Specialist Rojas hated me from the moment she laid her eyes on me. Second Lieutenant Makatza hated me even more. Somehow, they believed that me being Balor Sergeant Major Eugene's younger brother led me to have things easier.

I didn't hate my brother. I just hated being compared to him.

Eugene was born magically deficient. For someone of his generation, he did not have all of the magic he needed to get where he wanted to go. So when he was taken in as a Balor Candidate, he made his way up the ladder by using brute force. Everyone used to call him Balor Beast. Eugene typically ignored it.

I couldn't ignore it. I stick out like a sore thumb. Having glasses was already bad enough, but my prosthetic made everything worse.

Specialist Rojas made it worse. She whacked my right arm all the time, and every time it made me flinch. I'd only had my prosthetic for two years by the time I was taken in as Balor Candidate. The socket connecting the prosthetic to the rest of my arm still ached with most touches, and my skin around it was often left red and raw.

Getting my arm crushed in a machine was hard enough for me. Learning to use this stupid prosthetic has been an uphill battle. Specialist Rojas constantly taking cracks at my arm back then made it that much worse.

She'd hit me at the start of formation. I flinched and bit my tongue, but I didn't dare break my form. She seemed annoyed by the fact I didn't immediately crumple to the ground.

"You slow any of your fellow candidates down, I don't give a shit who your big brother is, you're out," Specialist Rojas snarled, turning her back to me so she could address the other candidates.

↻

"Your brother is a Sergeant Major?"

Of all the candidates in our platoon, Basil was the only one I liked. Basil wasn't a meathead who joined the Balor because he thought it'd bring him glory. He also wasn't one of the candidates dragged into the division kicking and screaming. Basil came willingly.

We were washing dishes together. Originally, being a dishwasher was a punishment, but Basil and I were the only ones who could clean the utensils and plates right without breaking anything. It just kinda became our job.

"Yeah, he is," I answered, continuing to scrub at the mysterious green substance that remained on the plate in my hands.

Basil shook his head. "Man, that sucks."

That wasn't a response that I was expecting. Like. At all.

"What?"

"I mean... that sucks," Basil repeated, shrugging his shoulders at me. "The Balor sucked both of you into this death trap, and since your brother's someone important, now you're stuck in his shadow. You're kinda already down on your luck being a tin-man, but now you're also getting bullied by full grown adults acting like toddlers throwing tantrums."

That made me go silent. It's what I'd been saying since Eugene had brought me to the camp. I hadn't thought anyone else thought the same way I did.

"I'm not a tin-man," is what I said in response, going back to washing the dishes. "I have one prosthetic limb. That in no way makes me a tin-man."

Basil gave me a smirk. "Makes you one fourth tin-man."

"No it doesn't. The prosthetic isn't even made out of tin!"