Game of the Gods

Chapter 2

My father lunges at me without warning, not even giving out an ambush scream to ready me . I realize where his attack was aiming and block his blow with ease, our swords clashing so hard they were quivering.

"You've gotten better, haven't you?," my father asked, trying to overpower my defense. I position my leg back, gaining some balance. After my father has seen that there is no way to realistically defeat me without getting stabbed or thrown off guard, he holds up his hand to stop the sparring.

"Thanks for noticing," I reply, twirling my blade around a little to loosen my wrists. We stand there for a while, taking a breath. I ready my stance, taking the moment of weakness to attack him. He dodges and counters the blow without taking a breath, swinging his weapon expertly and hitting me in my side.

"Ugh!"
I yell out, feeling the dull strike even with my armor blocking most of the pain.

"Got you!" Father chimes lightly, sword softly tapping the imaginary wound it caused. "Shall we stop?" My father asks, backing away to see if his weapon was scratched.

"This early in? Hell no."

My father smiles brightly, pointing at me with a healthy dose of parental enthusiasm. "I like your spirit." he said, bumping a fist proudly on my chest plate.

We continue to fight, my father critiquing my moves and attacks of choice all the while. He taught me how to properly strike down the blade with just enough pressure to knock a man unconscious, and after about an hour we take a short break, me being the one who needs it, obviously.

"Ugh! You are too good father. I don't think I'll ever beat you." I lament, looking over the wall of weapons at the far side of the room. I picked up a battle axe, testing the weight and sharpness before trading it for a smaller dagger about the size of a shoe.

"Eventually you will." My father assures me, taking the blade from my hands and placing it back in its original spot. He patted me on the back warmly, taking an arrow from my grip and laying it back in its quiver. He ruffled my hair and gave me a hearty chuckle, showing how much he believed in me. "With enough practice you'll surpass me some day."

"Lord Emsbry," Gunter called. "There's a call for you."

"Well, I have to get that." Father said, giving me a final pat on the back before turning to attend to his errand. "Keep practicing," he told me, smiling and smiling and smiling. "It won't be long before you have enough skill to match Ares!"

Father walked off to attend his errand, waving as he trotted off. Gunter waited until my dad was gone from sight, peering around the door frame to make sure, before nervously crossing the room and bowing. Apparently he needed to address something to me...

"Lord Mark?" he asked, not lifting his face until I gave him my pardon. I dismissed his formal demeanor and placed a hand on his shoulder, instructing him to stand up.

"What is it Gunter." I asked, hand unmoving as my eyes scanned his uneasy face.

"T-t-there's something you need to know." Gunter started, taking a step back to shrug off my arm. He looked so unsure and... worried. I looked at him with a bit of concern, mouth tilting downward a bit. "What is it?" I repeated when Gunter didn't speak. The butler swallowed, fiddling with his hands as his brow furrowed in scared thought. "Your father..."

"AAAAAUUUGGHH!"

My head whipped to the door, the loud cry so close, so close. "The scream came from the kitchen!" I yelled, grabbing Gunter by the wrist to lead him away to help.
We ran to the kitchen passing through various rooms on the way, Gunter trying to find one of the servants' shortcuts we could use to get there faster. This was one reason why I hated our house; so many nooks and crannies that nobody can keep track of them all.
When we finally get to the room, my eyes immediately focus on my dad, fallen on the floor. Father is collapsed on the ground in a pool of his own blood. He's dying. Oh, Lord, he's dying, I know it. I know it and I still try to push away the thought, even though it's embedded in my head.

"Father!" I run over to him, shaking his body to get him to stir. "Father! Dad, come on, NO!"

"Mark," he said softly, raising a hand to touch me, only for it to fall lamely back to his side. "Don't cry, everything will be fine. It's all okay, okay? I swear it's fine..." he tries to assure. His voice is  weak, though, and at almost every other word he coughs up blood. More blood. More and more and more of it... if he doesn't get up he might drown in it. Gunter turns to the doorway, screaming something about getting more help before dashing off, yelling for anybody to bring a medic.

I just shake my head, my hands stained and wet, dripping with deep ruby horror as I hold my father. "I-i-i-it doesn't look like it!" I say, bawling. I pick his head up, leaning his neck on my legs, trying to get him to breathe right. He just keeps wheezing and coughing up red that dribbles down his chin and stains his skin. Even his hair is sticky with his own crimson liquid.

He chuckles, taking now of all times as a sign to laugh at me. "Just know, Mark, that a journey for you is beginning. A journey. Be careful on it though, Mark, it's quite a dangerous one..." he says, eyes focusing on nothing. He closed his eyelids, hands going limp in a puddle of rose colored fluid. His face was pale and red-rimmed, his steel armor was red, his pearly teeth were red, I was red, deep deep shades of red that just kept filling up the room. I forgot Gunter even left, I just wanted to clean up the red and fill my dad back up with his blood instead of the room. I might drown in it if nobody does something!

I put my ear up against his chest, hesitating, hoping I'll find something that proves this situation wrong. Badum.
Badum.
Badum. A few more lonely beats in an empty place before his heart stops. Just stops, so foreign for it to just not work like it's supposed to.

"No..." I hunch over, disbelieving the sound, or lack thereof. "No, no, no, no, no!" I scream, gripping his stained shoulders, hard. this isn't happening. This isn't real no matter how much it seems it is. "No, Father, wake up," I shake him gently knowing he's gone, knowing he won't respond. "No, Father, wake up. Wake up, please. Father! WAKE THE HELL UP, FATHER!" I weep, clear water spilling onto his clothes and face and ground, mixing in with all the growing blood.

I hear something rustle in the background, a few pots and pans moving around on the floor. I look up to see a mysterious person in a cloak, his face obscured by the drooping fabric for all but his chin. He looks at me sobbing miserably over my dead parent and opens his mouth, reaching a hand behind his back as if ready to bow.

"You're next."

He pulls out a sword and charges at me. I sit there. Emotionless, trying to comprehend whatever the situation is. I don't even get to manage a single thought, as he lunges, stabbing the blade right through my stomach.

"AAAUUGGH!" I scream, collapsing backwards, away from my dad. I immediately clutch the spot where my wound is, trying to suppress the bleeding with my palm, only for more blood to spill out, mixing with my father's and spreading out farther across the room. Everybody's going to drown in it, there's just too much to clean up and nobody's here to try and start.
Nobody's here, nobody's here, I think, my strength failing and my vision blurring, obscuring the assailant with thick lines of dread. Why is nobody here to let me live?

--------

"Mark..." a strange voice says, calm and coaxing. I think I've just imagined it, pre-death hallucination or maybe an angel come to take my soul away, but the voice keeps talking, gentle and soft like clouds made up her throat.
"Mark... Mark, please, it's not your time yet..."

I wake up, my head throbbing and my abdomen clean and without a single scar or bruise. I look around me, the room I'm in, taking in the stark atmosphere. It certainly wasn't the palace infirmary; all the walls are white and there's nothing in the room except an archer's bow and quiver. A mystical spirit appears In front of me, her face ethereal and unblemished and a cloak(just as white as the rest of the room) covering her pale body. She leans in close, placing her hands on my cheeks as she inspects my face, trying to see if there's any damage or maybe to just examine my looks in closer detail.

"Hmm..." she says, stroking the side of my face and giving me a heavenly smile. "Hello...I am Apollonia. The goddess of light."