The Eight of Earth

12: Victor Bells- *Nightmares*

"Hades?..." I feel a touch on my shoulder and jolt awake. I nearly fall off the bench. I look around, and I'm back in the gym where Fargo dropped me off, a young Oltish boy stands in front of me. My heart pounds, sweat-drenched through my shirt. "Sir..." The young boy gazes at me with star-struck bewilderment. I look back at him with stone eyed confusion. "Dansro said it was ok to ask for an autograph." I swallow hard as I come to, rubbing my eyes. Dansro! He's leaned against a wall across the gym, speaking with a group of young Warlord trainees. Not strangled to death by my own hands. He glances over at me. Something about my expression must concern him because he dismisses the trainees and makes his way toward me.

I sign for the young boy, and he darts off in delight, boasting to his friends.

"What's gotten into you, kid?" Dansro lifts an eyebrow at me, his posture, relaxed and carefree. A part of me is still rattled. Still coming down from the terror of the dream.

"Just a bad dream, no worries," I say deflecting.

"They say dreams are a window into our soul." Dansro spouts, attempting to sound philosophical.

"And who exactly are they?" I ask.

"You know... they. Them. The wise. People much smarter than you or me."

I roll my eyes and reach out my hand.

"Ah, yes, how could I have forgotten about them? They are truly brilliant. My apologies." I rub my hand along the back of his neck after he hoists me up. "Let's get to work o wise one."

I wipe the dream from my mind, and for the next two hours, we train. Dansro runs me through drill after drill. Conditioning, strength, dexterity, accuracy, hand to hand combat, stamina, the works. The other members of the gym flock to my workout. Watch in appreciation. Some of the more experienced Warlords keep to themselves, either jealously or indifference keeps them at arm's length. They watch and see Hades work. See him strike against practice dummies. Watch him prepare. But what they truly witness is me. They watch me prepare for when my body runs on autopilot. Preparing my instincts and my reactions for when I no longer control them. For when Hades takes over, and all hell breaks loose. He'd be nothing without my discipline and precision.

I'm nearly done with my workout when I hear a weaselly voice squawking from across the gym. Silva walks through the door with a band of idiots by his side. A gang of imbeciles.

"Well, what a treat. Hades and Dansro. Everyone's favorite father-son duo. We walk upon haloed ground gents." Silva curtsies as his cronies laugh.

"Silva... Surgs... nice of you all to join us today. If you're looking for lessons, check the sign-up sheet on the counter, I think I should have an opening after a couple of these pups." I point down to the young Oltish boy and his friends, as they snicker at Silva.

"Tempting, but I've found a mentor." As Silva finishes, a colossal man lumbers in through the door. Tattoos of heaven and hell streak down each of his four arms. His jet-black hair woven into a thick braid splits his back. His jaw as square as physically possible. It's unmistakable who he is. I can't believe it. Pyra the Immortal. My idol. My childhood hero. The greatest warlord to ever live.

The entire gym stares in disbelief. No one has seen Pyra in years. Many were convinced he was dead. A death in the Arena hasn't happened in decades, but rumors swirled that Pyra had been killed, and they were keeping it quiet. The last anyone saw of him, he was mangled beyond recognition. His suit nearly destroyed underneath the boot of Hades. The day the Arena stood still, and the day Hades and I skyrocketed to stardom. The best and worst day of my life. I knew he wasn't dead. He couldn't be. I always held out hope. I couldn't live with myself if he were.