Reincarnated as a Mutt

Chapter 12: Forgotten Memory from the Past. . .

[Somewhere. . .]

   A young Caucasian man stands in a dark room, confused yet cautious of his ever expanding surroundings. He is wearing a dark gray and black suit featuring a notch collar (with the graceful buttonhole on the left lapel) that rolled nicely towards a two-button fastening jacket. One welt, two flapped and two inside pockets. Dual vented jacket allowing for easy access to his gun holster on the back. The four buttons on the cuffs is made with the similar plastic material that is used for the construction of front fastening buttons. The suit has contemporary roped sleeve head and natural shoulders, metallic dark gray shirt, and a solid grey silk tie. The slim fit trousers have a low-rise, but enough to cover his waistline nicely. Straight cuffs were giving half trouser break. All in all the young man looked quite professional and dashing in his 3 piece suit. One wouldn't know he was a cold-blooded killer if it weren't for his demeanor and cold, calculating eyes. He felt a presence, reaching for his handgun and turning to aim at a woman wearing black Greek-like clothing, a golden black armlet and a black crown of wilted, barbed leaves, her eyes cold and cruel, porcelain-like skin and her silky hair blacker than oil. Her plump, black cherry lips curled into a smile, "Mortal, you dare point such a crude thing at a goddess?"

   The young man continues staring at the woman, his gun still pointed at her forehead without fear. The woman's charcoal eyes glimmer and unleashes an oppressive aura, causing the man's knees to shake and struggle to remain standing. She laughs lightly and increases the pressure slightly, surprised to see the man remain standing albeit struggling to maintain his balance. Satisfied, she retracts her aura and lifts her head, looking down upon the man with respect and acknowledgment. "You surprise me, mortal. To resist such a divine aura and stand without cowering in fear or fainting, you're very capable and not lacking in resolve." The goddess smiles as she holds out her hand to him. "I choose you to be my champion, Arrick Black. Take my hand and I will grant you power beyond your feeble mind could comprehend. Join me and your every desire will be fulfilled."

   Arrick stares at the goddess, his cold eyes unrelenting and unchanged during her test. "Not interested," he said promptly, resting his gun by his side, his back towards her as he walks away into the 'abyss.' The goddess' eyes were filled with shock and fury. Arrick's eyes widen slightly as his feet were no longer touching the ground and found himself floating in front of the wrathful eyes of a goddess. "Explain mortal. Why does power not tempt you? Do you desire women instead? A harem that spans across the horizon or do you wished be bathed in glory and riches? Speak and I will fulfill--"

   "Not interested," he spoke coldly, interrupting the goddess. "There's nothing you can offer me that will make me bow to a sow like you."

   The woman's eyes shook. She was outraged! No mere mortal would have the audacity to utter such words against a divine existence. She knew of one, however, it did not matter to her as the human's reincarnation fate was laughable and saw no interest in them no longer. To think a Lesser God would bow in fear before a mortal over a burnt purse. Lesser or not, they're supposed to be a god! Many mortals feared her and worshiped her as her power could crush all that stood before her, and grant immeasurable power to her followers and champions, to resurrect the dead so they could pursue their tormentors and take back what was stolen from them. She was Zilhena, Goddess of Hatred, Vengeance, the Betrayed and Fallen. But commonly known as Zilhene, Goddess of Retribution.

   Zilhena gritted her teeth as her hair rose up surrounded by blacks wisps of fire, her cold eyes ignited into an eternal flame of abhorrence. As she stared at Arrick she delved into his soul and something caught her eye. She softly placed him down and calmed herself down, smiling at the young man.