mythosasked

[mythosasked]

Versus Them All: Chapter 1

Following The Food

1.

A carriage pulled by a hippogryph with broken wings moves a little faster than my pace. There are pieces of meat being handed out in the wagon along with bottles of water. Even the driver is taking a bite out of a drumstick while my stomach growls.

We walk the path in the middle of what looks like a parade of armor and other carriages and wagons. The trees have an abundance of cool shade, and are full of songs from birds that will be too happy to see me collapse. Their leaves are healthy, brilliant, blue and orange. There are spots in the blue grass where—even in the middle of the day—the tips illuminate almost white.

I am in over my head already. I should have eaten and I know not even the first thing about hunting or gathering.

I can keep going. I am not completely weak. There is still an indomitable spirit inside of me that will not be broken.

I follow the food. They will either lead me to more, or if not and I am starved enough, I will just rob them. They have swords, but I am willing to gamble that I can use one better than any of them. I can take one of their swords then I will have evened the odds. The driver has a spear resting on his arm.

Feeling as if I stand out, I look around for other people not in armor; other unprepared newcomers. It is just me today. Nobody else left without gear.

I have a sword and a book bag full of yistr. Not a bone of chicken, not even a boiled lizard on a stick. It is considered a delicacy, but I can acknowledge how disgusting it is to eat the body of a lizard. Some places gut and clean it, then stitch it back together. I like it when it has only been boiled though. It has the same taste, but it lacks crunch.

One of the hooded individuals from the wagon stands up and asks the driver, “How long until we make it to Driat?”

“A few hours. Eat and rest up. The way there is not likely to be treacherous, and if it becomes so, then we have all these young people who want to make names and prove themselves.”

“We can go no faster? We have to drive amidst them?”

The driver leans and presents the road ahead of him. More wagons, carriages, and people. “Unless you are paying me to run them over, but someone is going to cut the hippogryph’s leg eventually.”

The passenger sneers, takes his seat again, and throws a bone overboard. He ate it down to the bone I noticed as I stepped over it.

I heard people whispering about me as I walked past them to keep up with the wagon of hooded and armed adventurers.

“Look… an abomination…” I heard one wearing a leather belt attempt to whisper.

His companion responded, “Look at her tattoo… that’s pretty cool…”

“What is it?”

Do they really believe it is smart to whisper about us directly behind us…

Why does it matter… let them talk…

“Hmm… it looks like some snakes, ravens, and… a bunch of…”

“Eyes…?” They said together.

I walk faster. Ahead of the wagon. Until I could hear the boys behind me no longer. Hopefully I am lost in the crowd and their conversation has shifted to something else that can distract them. We walked long enough for them to get in front of me, and I looked at their belts. The one with jeans on under his armor had three daggers on his back. The other guy with brown hair has most of his valuables in the front of his belt and harness.

I start to reach for the dagger—just one. Then the perfect distraction roars in front of all of us. In broad daylight, a wandering behemoth. Any behemoth is a prize, just having a bundle of fur to display on an accessory or weapon, people will pay hundreds of yistr to look like they have actually killed one. A behemoth steak can cost up to three thousand yistr. The horn of one, small or big, easily fetches for ten thousand.

This behemoth is not built into a monster yet. It is still scrawny and not bursting with muscles and bulging veins. This one is still a kid. Even its roar does not quite shake the forest, it shakes us.

In the midst of the distraction, I snapped out of the shock and swiped the dagger. I crashed into the man’s back when we all stopped, and stepped away from him. I managed to pickpocket a thin blue vial from the furthest back satchel on his friend’s hip. The behemoth still had his attention.

Surely enough, everyone charged into the adolescent beast. It was swarmed and easily overwhelmed. I am certain the hooded group got out and got their cut, because when I checked their wagon, no one occupied it. Not even the driver. Back in the city if I noticed someone left a car running I would not hesitate to steal it.

I got aboard and poked my nose around in their bags while everyone occupied themselves with the behemoth. The first thing I found were drumsticks; I helped myself to two pieces. Then I found harnesses and belts. Swiped. I took a robe that matched theirs. I saw curved weapons, but avoided those. They would give me away in a flash, besides, what blacksmith makes a curved weapon in Visteria?

I jumped out of the carriage gnawing on a drumstick, one arm going through a sleeve while the other held a belt together around my waist. The dagger goes on my waist, and the robe zips up. Slightly more prepared now, I joined the ending of the hunt, throwing the bones behind me.

I took my share even though I had no effort in bringing the beast down. I cut off some skin and meat from its hip. It has plenty of dark purple fur.

My hands, thighs, and top are stained with crimson. My palms ache a little from dragging the dagger through flesh. I still devoured the meat I stole like an absolute animal, gorey hands and all.

“Hey! I’m missing my dagger!”

[mythosasked]

Versus Them All-Prologue: Part 3

3.

Another fancy thing about Death Row cells is that these boxes buzz. I just figured that out today. Is that supposed to be some sort of doorbell?

My eyes fall on the metal door. They are supposed to be built of titanium, and ten inches thick. “A-3689,” the guard—Oliver (his first name)—called as he opened the wicket. He spots me on the couch with a controller in my hand, shuts the wicket, then opens the door. “What game are you playing?”

He can see. I say nothing and the smile he walked in with wilted away.

“Ah, my son loves the God Sword games, too. Anyways,” he clears his throat, “There are a few changes happening since the King died and his daughter took charge of things. The first thing is that you get to watch the news.”

Wow... Jaw-dropping changes…

“Next is,” he counts off using his fingers, “there will possibly be alterations to your sentencing. Psychiatrists, therapists, and… another type of therapy person will be coming and visiting to see if any of the death row inmates qualify to be rehabbed or placed into the care of the asylum faculty.

“If you can get past that, or manage to bypass it with however this pardoning stuff is going to work, then you��ll be a free… woman. Also, you’re now allowed visitation. Not that you’ll use it, because you don’t call anyone. And~…” he taps his lower lip to remember, “Oh! Right, you’ll now be getting paid for your extracurricular work. Don’t get too excited about it, you’re only getting three yistr an hour.”

Yistr does not matter. I have an abundance of junk I can sell whenever I am let out of this place. It will add up at least.

“And last but not least—this is from Visteria Asylum and Death Row higher-ups—on the weekends, you all can wear normal clothes. That gives you something to… spend your new money you’re earning on.”

I nod with understanding.

“Alright, it’s lunch time. Get in the corner, face the wall, and keep your hands up at all times.” He says it so much he basically breathes out the order now.

I slide the controller across the table, sure to turn it off to save the battery. Stand up, exhale my frustration, then step into the corner, adjust my green shorts and sports bra, and finally raise my arms.

Oliver walks over and cuffs my legs and wrists. Males have to use the wand, but they can search my socks and shoes—flip flops. Oliver finds nothing then continues to search the room for drugs or weapons, and any contraband I may bring back from the forge.

“Which level is this?” He asks, knowing I will not talk to him. “My son just got past the part where Shin and Ackert get into the pyramid with all the mummies.” He peeks at the television and analyses what is happening with the game while it is paused. “Oh! You’re…” he stops himself from spoiling it. He sounds excited, like he enjoys the game himself. “Yeah, you just got a new weapon. Right? The Heart Breaker? That scythe that splits enemies hearts in two. Ugh, it’s ultimate attack is lethal!”

“Alright, bring the food in.” Oliver ordered. The tray is wheeled into the cell and parked by the door. Oliver takes my cuffs off. “Enjoy your lunch. I’ll be back in an hour.”

The door drags to a close. It grinds to lock. The cuffs were not tight but I rubbed my wrists, rubbing my fingers across the gems and stones that makes up my bracelet.

That buzz goes off again and I look around, wondering when it was installed. The volume of it is going to drive me insane if I am not already deemed insane. Again, the wicket slides open. Eyes that are not Oliver’s blue orbs find me at the wall. These new eyes are brown and have crows feet. These eyes are weathered, and unfamiliar.

She yells, “Inmate A-3689! You have a visitor! In accordance with the new laws for inmates that are being put in place, we will allow your visitation to occur in your cell! Do you understand me? I know you are mute, so nod your head.”

I nod my head all the while wondering who would want to see me? They do not have this entire process for when Vinny comes. He is walked right in.

“Your visitation will only last thirty minutes and not a second longer. And drugs, weapons, candy, drinks, books, or anything else not given to you by Visteria Asylum or us Death Row guards will be considered contraband and will deny you of any possibility of being pardoned. Do you understand?”

I nod again, contemplating if it is V or anyone else from the family. It would be best for any of my family to stay away. I do not know how to tell them I will not be coming back.

The wicket slams closed. A silent few moments pass before the door is pushed open. I hear a bracing breather.

“Thirty minutes,” the guard reminded the incoming party.

V walks in and I am warm and grateful, and even happy with the familiarity. There are no hugs shared though. She entered and stopped right at the door leaving enough space between us that it immediately turned awkward. There is a lot of silence until the door locks behind her. Leaving us both to each other's wrath.

V hesitates to say anything. She looks down at first, and holds up a finger. Her tongue traces her lips. “Honesty…” she holds her finger up higher, but I still did not formulate much more than thanking her for coming. “I will start with straight up honesty.” She comes closer, that distance shrinks to her being in range of a punch. “They used you as a fall guy. Somebody had to go. Badges hit the Family hard. We lost a lot of guys that day because of your…” V shifts tones entirely, and sounds like she is getting angry while I have to swallow that I was a fall guy. “… what the fuck even was that? You killed someone’s grandma? Wha—why?”

V angrily rants and I let her as I look down at my hands. “I keep putting myself in your shoes—or I’m trying to—and I just can’t see why the fuck you left to beat an old lady to death! In broad daylight! In front of a goddamn toy store? Can you explain—,” she sees the blankets in the corner and her thought trails off. “Why aren’t your blankets on the bed? Are you really crazy or something? Because let me know! I’ll try to get you the help you need. I’ll pay for a therapist,” she assures, “I’ll buy you an apartment in another district to stay away from the shit. Tell me what you need!”

What do I need…?

I bite my lower lip and rub it with my tongue. “I need to get out of this cell. After that, I will stay as far away as you need me to.”

V is visibly befuddled. “Is that it? You aren’t angry? You don’t want to fight? Argue?”

“Is that the reaction you were expecting?” I walk past her and get to my food. A plate with three thick fried tentacles, mashed potatoes with corn mixed in it, and a cup of some kind of marinara sauce. “I want to leave, but I do not have a future anywhere.”

“That’s nonsense. You can do anything if you put your mind to it.” V changes the topic back. “Are you really not mad? Like… I’m admitting to you right now, that I…” she swallows, “…I told them… to give you up.”

“That is what comes with the lifestyle. Now I need to think about whatever the future holds after this box.”

Her hands slide into her pockets. Then she rubs the back of her neck. “You’ve done a lot of growing, I see…”

“All I do is think all day...”

“And play the game.” I can feel her eyes on my back as I eat one of the chewy tentacles. “You’re doing as well as a death row inmate could be doing. What’d you do to get all this?”

“It all comes with the cell…”

“This is nothing like jail,” V comments, surprised. “If one of the guards heard you having fun in there, there was no fun. We couldn’t even have puppet shows.”

Turning around to look at V, she is a spitting image of a criminal. She wears purple on her crop top and her shoes. Her denim shorts are worn black. Earrings slot her lobes, glistening. She wears golden jewelry on her tattooed arms. All of her clothing looks brand new, fresh off the hanger and shelves.

Her hair is naturally dark and straight, and her skin is a tan brown. The tattoos all over accentuated her choice in lifestyle. My name is the biggest tattoo out of them all on her forearm. “Don’t play with her R-U-DiE” it reads vertically. It could be because I know it is a tattoo about me, but I like it. No one ever calls me Rudie—it is Rude—but I admire the play of words.

“If I was in your shoes, I’d be pissed. But at the same time, I just feel like we have to address the fact that you were a stupid criminal. Effective,” she adds, “but you moved stupid.”

“When I saw the evidence they had against me for the first time… I knew things could not be any worse. Then I saw it all again at the end and it looked like it had gotten even higher.”

“They just needed a scapegoat.”

I shrug. It is over now. “Would you like a tentacle…?”

“I’ve seen enough porn to know where that is going. Nah. I’m good.” V smiles as she looks at me. “I see you’ve been working out. You look like you never stopped cage fighting—better, honestly. You’re ripped.”

“A hundred burpees. A hundred air squats. A thousand jumping jacks.”

“Damn! You’re still tough. What else do you do around here?”

V and I talked like we had not missed a day apart. I told her about the forge and the walks I get to go on. She told me how she has been in an auto shop working on motorcycles, and she added that she could try to get me a spot if I wanted, for when I get out. Realistically, V is not going to hold any job for longer than a couple of weeks. I have far longer than a couple of weeks left in this cell. My execution date is in ten more years if I am not pardoned before that. The twenty-second day of Kham.

I never got to say that we would never see each other again. She left me a number to contact her at, but I never called.

After she left, I decided to stop waiting, sulking, and brooding. Being incarcerated offers a host of opportunities. I finished school and got my G.E.D.. Right after, I applied to Regis University for dual-enrollment.

[mythosasked]

Versus Them All-Prologue: Part 2

2.

The only thing that makes being on Death Row uncomfortable is the red blankets. Every night is cold because I refuse to sleep under them.

There is a desk with a journal and pen, a stove and fridge, and a television with a console plugged into it. The guards are a stark change from the max prison. All of them are nice, courteous, and friendly. I have not made conversation with any of them, but they regularly check on me and ask if I want to make a free phone call or any food.

I can ask for food at any time. I do not walk around with cuffs on. I have a recess twice a day where I can walk through a small park that was made for the asylum (Death Row is in the basement of Visteria’s Asylum).

There are tallies on the wall that I made. Altogether, it has been four years and eighty-seven days. Months have been spent working out. I started reading books about the gods, various geographical sites shaped by them, but I could never find anything up to date. I was forced into a volunteer job at a forge. If I had spoken up, it could have been anything. A water girl for a sports team, a volunteer for a litter project, a science experiment for the government.

I think I won the raffle getting the forge. The blacksmith is a quiet man like myself. He has not asked what I was sentenced for. He just hammers away all day, grunting, sweating, and toiling.

He picks me up directly from my cell everyday. We do not work everyday, however. Sometimes we sit around with the fire off, enjoy a burger or pizza that gets delivered while we watch actual, current television shows. The prison and asylum only do reruns of soap dramas.

The blacksmith does not talk much at all. He likes to grunt.

If he is grabbing an ingot, he grunts. Racking a weapon, he softly grunts. Smashing hot iron, he huffs and puffs so much that boogers fly from his nose. Vinny grabs the remote and grunts as he sits down, flicking on the television.

We did not watch much before Vinny opened his mouth, grabbing a slice of pizza. “I was watching the news…” His voice is as rough and tough as the metals we melt down. “…I recorded it.”

He navigates his menus while I take another large bite out of the pepperoni pizza. A flavor I no longer need to savor. All this time in, and I think my favorite food has finally changed to pizza. Every time I eat it, it reminds me of a little bit of freedom. We get it with grilled hundolo meat, and pepperoni–all we need for a perfect pi.

“Here it is…” he presses the tab and a reporter comes across the screen.

“—Queen Bimetha has just put a hold on all death row inmates' execution dates.”

“Certainly a surprise to me, but I never liked the death penalty to begin with.” The co-host said.

“Yeah, I think it may be necessary for some extreme evils, though.”

The co-host scoffs. “True, but most of our death row inmates are immigrants. Mass murderers, radicals and extremists, people bringing their unwelcome deities divinity around.”

The recording ends but Vinny does not change the screen. He looks at me, biting his own pizza, probably expecting something out of me.

I am not choked up, I have nothing to say. Now I am just on Death Row until further notice. As heavenly as that may be, I would rather be back in max security. At least the people there did not pretend to be happy all the time. Perhaps that is what I enjoy about Vinny, he does not fake much at all from what I perceive.

“That was last week's news… Here is today’s…” He hits another tab. This time Queen Bimetha is front and center on the screen.

She has black coils that bounce in the wind. Eyes as emerald as the palace she lives in, and a commanding voice fitting for the young leader.

Paparazzi hound her. She can hardly take a step without her security hopping in front of her and throwing the next reporter out of the way.

It has been four years, and honestly, she looks the same. If I was a queen, I had better stop aging as well with all the riches that come with the title. Bimetha enlisted me for my services when she could run to no one else. It sucks that my cell is not flooded with yistr. I should be able to go to the commissary and expect my card to go through every time. Unfortunately, I rot here alone and broke. Most of my savings are objects that need to be pawned and auctioned off. My yistr is rotting in a storage unit.

“Is it true that you are legalizing immigration?”

“In the process of doing so, yes.”

“We have heard rumors that you intend on setting an example that we can integrate with the outside world. How do you plan on going forward with that?”

“By pardoning our foreign inmates. We make them feel accepted. They are still humans after all. ”

As I looked closer at the unstable camera, I noticed the Queen’s walk. Why is she walking like me? I can almost see her do a full on gangster lean. She even holds her belt like I would the button of my shorts.

“—if they commit a crime and are caught, they are still subject to the law. Thank you for listening, but you are blocking my path to the truck.” Her security starts to shove everyone out of their way, and the recording stops.

“That means you’ll be a free woman soon if you can't understand any of that…”

Despite my foreign labeling, I can read, speak and comprehend Northern Visterian. With my knowledge of how slow the government is to move with anything regarding prisoners, I will not be out until years from now. I hope for it to be speedy, but seeing as I have all the time in the world, any day is a good one, it just needs to happen.

Nodding my head, I softly spoke, “Thank you.”

“Is that how your voice normally sounds?” He asked, bewilderment dressing his face.

I do not acknowledge that. “Can I ask a question?”

“You just did.” He sits at the edge of his seat, leaning near to be certain he hears me. “Ask anything you want.”

“What could I do if I ever see the light of day again?”

Vinny reels back, in disbelief again, but I cannot tell if it is from my voice or the question. I have a voice that V considers to be very soft, feminine, and archaic.

“Well,” he says as he comes back to his senses, “I think you can still do whatever you want to. Astronaut,” he throws out there with a shrug. “Probably not a cop or a politician… but, you could still be a lawyer or doctor.”

I shake my head. “I was labeled a serial killer. I doubt many people would want to employ me.”

“Even the worst kinds of people can get a job at a grocery store.”

Too many people want my head on a platter for me to serve it to them so willingly. Honestly, if I cannot come up with anything, then I am better off staying in jail. Then I will be spared from at least being murdered.

“Say now,” Vinny holds up a hand, “I have a contract with the Visterian Royal Family. I know a few people that can give me some ideas. After I talk to them, I’ll tell you what I got out of it.”

…

Continuing to eat my pizza all I have time to do is contemplate. I refuse to die a bum. I would like a home. A home far away from everything I have been through. Going back will put me right back here, and with less of a chance at turning anything around for a second chance.

[mythosasked]

Versus Them All - Prologue: The Abomination

When the police finally caught me, I knew everything was up. My book bag full of yistr, confiscated. My sword is in a locker and I never used it. My bracelet is all I have that is worth anything to me. To them it may be worth a yistr or two, but to me this braided bracelet is all the hope I can now afford.

Instead of squirming in anticipation, I rubbed the teeth of my bracelet. I flicked the sparkling rocks, caressed the silver pendant in the shape of a winged-serpent.

My knuckles are all bruised and bloody, but right now they hardly ache. My hair is covering my face, long and curly, so I cannot tell what the officer looks like when he enters the interrogation room. I can sense how infuriated he is. The tension heats up the room and maybe even intensifies when he throws a stack of papers not even in a file to hide how ugly and uncomfortable the pictures are.

He starts out with a question instead of calling me an abomination, a monster, or anything else degrading.

“How old are you?” He growled with a quiet rage.

Nothing comes from me. I continue trying to find some sort of hope on my wrist, behind the tight shackles binding my hands to the warm table.

Worst case scenario, I get the death penalty. Best case scenario, I get life without parole. V told me to stay home today. I should have listened.

“What is your real name?” The detective pressed. He has more in his hands, surprisingly.

If I know anything, I know that speaking puts me in a bigger world of trouble. I can afford a lawyer. They can talk my way into a very hopeful juvenile until I turn eighteen. Then I can be out and about again.

The detective says as he walks around the table, “Your friends said that you’re a mute… but I don’t believe that.”

He throws a disk case on the table that has black marker scribbled on it reading, “Robbery of Java’s Gas Station”. Then another, “Burglary of Luna Flange Residence”.

“I have audio of you speaking in those.” He passes behind me. “What do I not have of you is the real question!” He sneers, “You aren’t a very discreet criminal, so help me figure out how they haven’t caught you until now? You can’t be more than—what? Fourteen? Fifteen?”

He has an entire stack of discs in his hand that he throws down one by one.

“We found in your book bag some jars of conditioner and rub on black hair dye.” He sits down and places his house worth of footage down as well. “You…” he hesitates, “… are an abomination in every sense of the word. We know that your actual hair color is red. Do you know what that means for you?”

“I’ll clarify it for you if you don’t know… in Visteria since the Shattering, we have had an anti-immigration policy in place. I am sure you have heard of it. The Culling has been an ongoing erasure of immigrants and foreigners. I am not the judge, but… it is highly likely that you’ll be killed. Are you fine with dying without saying anything in your… defense?”

For once, I want to rub my tattoo since I remember it is there. Just to trace the lines of ink with my finger and try to feel the difference in the texture of my skin. It is under a layer of bandages since V does not like to see it.

Still, I twist an orange stone between my thumb and index.

“Well… anyways, your friends ratted on you. We are still building up all the charges, but—uhh…—sixteen murder charges so far, about fourteen burglary charges ranging from grand theft auto to breaking-and-entering. More than twenty counts on assaults,” he shrugs. “The list kind of just keeps going… we aren’t done going through everything we have on you.”

“Were you their hitman? One of the killers? Who was the one that groomed you into this?” He isn’t waiting for a response. Just rattling off. “You were the one in the slaughterhouse that we couldn’t get ahold of. You were seen as a passenger in the vehicle dragging Tas “Jam” Lassing down the strip with him tied up to chains attached to the bumper!” He slid the pictures of proof in front of me.

…

The detective breathes. “I want you to know before you die,” he says as he rises from his chair. I track him through my red bangs as he adjusts his pants, gripping his belt and tugging at it. “You were the defining example of what an abomination is and why we can’t allow monsters, and filth like you to roam our streets.”

I flip my hair into its normal state to glare into his eyes. I know my consequences; I am not afraid of them. I have heard worse slurs and curses. Can I be sentenced now to get the prejudice over with already? Or can the detective be my next victim?

A knock comes from the door and a blonde woman pokes her head inside. “Detective, a woman claiming to be her guardian, called. She has a lawyer coming in.”

[mythosasked]

Blurb: After murdering an old lady because she was wearing the color red, Rude Castillian figures that something is deeply wrong with her. Can the World Crystal cure her? Will she survive her journey to figure it out?

Rated M for Mature audiences.

Trigger Warnings: Drug and alcohol use/addictions, descriptive gore and violence, suggested sexual assault, and suicidal thoughts.

[mythosasked]

Hello Tumblr! I am an Author and I have been writing a novel inspired by some of my favorite works like God of War, Final Fantasy, Devil May Cry, and I’m hoping to make something that can stand alongside them or potentially even be better than those. I know those are video games and I’m writing a book that’s competing with those giants, but… I couldn’t help but to try. I’ve been writing since I was 11-12 and well… hopefully my writing shows that.

I’ll be publishing a few chapters from it, just to see the responses. Hopefully you all enjoy what I put out, and I can build up an audience for it. It is finished, but I’m not really sure of how publishing goes so this is my first step. I hope it goes well.

My story is called Versus Them All.