Hehe, my first serious fanfiction. I seriously need people's comments, feedback keeps me writing

-R

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The Chronicles of the Gods: Novus Ortis

Chapter One: The Fates Pull the Strings

Shinatsu was rummaging through the bin, her dirty, scraped hands shifting aside the various useless trash in pursuit of anything that could provide her with sustenance. The ache in her stomach was an intense burning sensation due to how hungry she was and she was so weak that her powers were nearly useless. Despite the seeming desperation of her plight the child experienced no regrets for the actions that had led her here.

Only a sprig of a girl, Shinatsu could barely have been ten by all appearances but she was in fact thirteen, nearly fourteen if you added a few months to her current age. She was a sad sight, her black hair hung around her face in greasy tendrils. Its length showed evidence of her efforts to cut it with a dull knife she'd found in the garbage. Her face was dirty and her legs were marked with bruises, her feet bare and bloody from running on rough pavement. Her knees were banged and chafed from hard falls.

"There's got to be something in here," she said in a whisper, vision unsteady from malnutrition. She stumbled upon something that could hardly be called food any more but the hunger she felt blocked any sense of horror or revulsion and she devoured it. Though she was far from satisfied, the girl's exhaustion overshadowed the gnawing hunger in her stomach. She climbed out of the bin and walked unsteadily to the abandoned warehouse that she now called her home.

Shinatsu crawled behind some crates into the dirty blankets she'd found and collected to make a nest. She covered herself up with them and sought protection from the early spring chill from the frayed and threadbare cloth. While trying to sleep and ignore her aching middle, her thoughts turned to the chain of events that had led to this predicament. She was an orphan and had become one only within the last year. However, when Shinatsu was placed in the care of the orphanage, her unusual nature was noticed by the other children if not by the adults and she was taunted relentlessly. She was called the devil child and the reputation she had of causing pain only saw to that even more.

The result was the unleashing of her long latent powers and lashed out towards her fellow orphans. Though one or two of the children were benign, the rest were not so innocent and faced the wrath of her intrinsically natural power - pain. She controlled pain, whether it was giving it or taking it away. The ensuing chaos of her undetectable attacks made her pause to consider her situation. She was an independent child anyway, why did she need this place? She was too strange, too dark and awkward to ever hope to fit in. With a nod to herself, she knew she had made the right decision, even as she finally began to drift off to sleep.

Terramine walked down the road with his hands shoved in his pockets. He was on his usual route to the nearby bar where he spent his free time consuming whatever alcohol his meager salary could afford him. He looked around him absently, barely noting the familiar city and faceless people who passed by as ignorant of him as he was of them. The boring monotony of the city bored him to tears and he drowned his misery every night with saki, hoping to wash away his dreams with each swallow. It never worked but he kept trying.

He was an oddity for this country with flaming red hair that hung down around his face in shaggy lengths like a dog's. His eyes were pale, pale blue and had often earned the remark that he resembled a demon. Perhaps that was why he'd been so successful as a practicer of the martial arts - his appearance alone was intimidating. He was, however, a fearsome fighter.

"Yo dude!"

The voice was familiar but Terramine wasn't sure if he could place it. He turned his head to locate the face that it was to be associated with and frowned as he saw the brown haired man who was pushing his way towards him. "Can I help you?" he asked, curiously.

The other laughed as if amused by his evident confusion. "Yeah, actually, maybe you can. Here, you dropped this."

He was surprised when the stranger was offering him his own wallet. "How..." he broke off. "It must have fallen out of my coat pocket," he sighed, taking it back, doing a brief but satisfactory search of the contents. "Thanks," he said.

The man nodded, "No problem. My name is Cye, what's yours?"

"Terramine," he responded, offering to shake hands.

Cye nodded as he shook his hand firmly. "Haven't I met you down at the Onboro no Boken?"

"Ah, perhaps," Terramine nodded, "I'm there frequently." It was an understatement. He was their best patron and that was saying something. If that bar ever went out of business it would be because he died from alcohol poisoning.

"I hate to seem as if I'm intruding, but want to get a drink?" Cye offered the man in front of him. "I'm bored and a friend might be nice for a change."

Terramine blinked and shrugged, "Sounds good to me," he said. "I was headed there anyway."

"Awesome!" Cye said, continuing the walk to the establishment. "So tell me about yourself."

He paused to consider this and said, "I don't know what there is to tell. I'm a martial art instructor long since out of work and scraping by as a stunt double for a snobbish actor. It pays only barely enough to be worth the while. And you?"

"Sea diver," Cye said calmly, his eyes up on the sky as he walked. "Taking a break because of a bad accident to a fellow diver."

"A friend?" asked Terramine.

"Yeah, you could say that," Cye said with a slight frown. The fact was that Ryo did not belong in the water and the man was still recuperating from being under too long.

"I hope he gets well soon, then," said the man. That wasn't true, actually, because Terramine was an indifferent and cold soul who couldn't care less about anyone unless they happened to anger him and he was driven to his famous tempers.

"He will recover," Cye nodded, "For now, we listen to him gripe about the shows on television because we won't let him up to do anything else. For some reason soap operas don't appeal to him much."

Terramine chuckled at the thought as they walked into the bar. "I wonder why not?" he mused.

Ademia awoke to the twittering of birds outside her window. She lifted her head from the pillow to peer out the clean class and see their excited forms around the feeder she had placed out for them. She was pleased they were enjoying her offering but not so much that they disrupted her sleep. Rolling onto her side, she pulled back her covers and pulled herself from bed. With a yawn and stretch, she began her morning ritual. After a shower she dressed and walked into her kitchen, intent on finding herself breakfast.

As she munched on her English muffin she peered out her screen door at the brightening spring morning. She enjoyed nature and the company of animals far above that of fellow humans. Many of the birds here were familiar with her and did not fear her, knowing she would not hurt them. She was closer to these animals in spirit than she had ever been to people in any stage of her life.

With a sigh, she turned and left the kitchen, heading to what might have been a living room at one point. It had been turned from a place of relaxation to her studio, set up with everything she needed for her work. She sat down in front of her current canvas and eyed it critically before beginning the necessary preparations to begin painting.

Ademia was perhaps thirty years of age though her early graying hair had been completely shorn off. Her face was long ravaged by fever and disease, the marks distorting what might have been a lovely face. Her cheeks were sunken, her eyes dark and heavily lined. Her nose showed evidence of several times broken and healing badly. Other scars and marks hinted at a more violent life than the one she currently had, alone except for her birds and paint.

She was a recluse, shunning the company of humans because of the way she had been treated by them and the way they never attempted to look past her face and see her true heart. This hurt her more than anything else.

Her paintings were the only form of vent that she had but they were far from ugly. Her best subjects were those of great beauty and joy, their bodies and faces divine masterpieces. She had found a following that support her sufficiently that she did not need an outside job and she lived by selling her paintings or doing the odd commission. She found whatever materials she needed for her painting off the internet. She ventured off her property for very little any more. When she did, her face was veiled to avoid the harsh recoils that she'd seen in the others for so long. She found that they handled the mystery better than the horror of the truth. She'd even heard the whispered rumor that she was a great beauty that concealed herself to preserve her virginity. These stories actually amused her where it seemed like it should have hurt desperately.

Lachesis watched this with interest. "The woman is now coping well," she commented. She was one of the three Fates, the controllers of destiny and the one who measured life on her rod.

"I am surprised," Clotho, the creator of the threads, now said, "She shows amazing resilience."

"Not so," came the dark voice of the third Fate, the one who controlled death. Atropos clarified, "She has retreated within herself and locked herself up to evade the darkness that would destroy her. She has refused to face the truth and now lives a lie."

"So sad," murmured Clotho with a voice that betrayed her indifference. In truth, none of the three goddesses cared about any of the people or even the gods that they spun the threads for. Their removal from the emotions that made humans inclined to mercy made them capable of carefully cutting short any life they chose if it suited them.

"It is time for the girl to find herself," Lachesis said, beginning to weave the cloth of Ademia's fate. "Her true self lies in shatters and in order to repair it she must pass the Tests. If she can pass them she will survive. If she does not, she will meet the final death."

Ademia looked up as her phone rang. She sighed and put her paintbrush in the container of water before moving to answer it. Harboring a general dislike of the devices, she had only one and it was in the kitchen. She knew it was most likely a request for more paintings from her agent in the city. She didn't often see her in person and it was just as well. Her services did not include social calls.

"Hello?" she asked, her Greek accent showing through as she put the device to her ear.

"Good afternoon miss Basilo," came her agent's cheerful voice. "I trust you know why I'm calling?"

"Ah, you're sold out again?" asked Ademia with some small amount of amusement.

"Indeed! You're becoming quite popular, I can't seem to keep anything here for more than a week."

"Well, I haven't got much at this point," admitted Ademia with a small frown. "Though I was painting when you called, so perhaps something by the end of the week."

"I look forward to seeing your newest work," said the woman with true happiness. She was a kind soul and was truly happy that the unfortunate Ademia had met with success, even as material as it was.

"Thank you Myrtle," said Ademia quietly. The woman didn't know much about her except that she'd had a volatile past and was scarred past recovery, both in physical and emotional ways. "I'll let you know the moment it's done."

"Thank you! Have a good day."

Ademia returned the farewell and hung up the phone. She leaned against the counter and considered herself. Turning her gaze to the ceiling, she said to herself, "If I had fallen prey to my selfish desire to end my own life, I would not have brought success to Myrtle and she would still be searching for someone to sponsor and perhaps not be able to afford to live anymore." She frowned. "It isn't much... but I shouldn't complain. So I won't." Sighing deeply, Ademia stood up and walked back to her painting, the face of the beautiful young angel staring back at her peacefully from her canvas. "I'm going to pretend you're a dirty liar and you have to fake life every day of your existence," she told the figure in the painting, resuming her task dutifully. "So take that, you disgustingly happy idiot."

It was dark when Shinatsu finally woke up. She poked her head out from her crates like a furtive creature of the night and then slipped out into the dusty open. Her habits had become much like a hunted animal's but she felt no real fear. No one could defy the decimating power of her curse when she laid eyes on them and as of yet no one had survived a chance encounter with her.

She pattered down the empty streets, keeping a sharp eye out for movement. Detecting none, she snuck around and down another side alley. She was hunting now for new sources of survival. She needed things to make her existence more tolerable and being sneaky was a natural talent to her, so she took to stealing them. The garbage only provided for her need to an extent. Often she used simply talents like picking locks or more advanced ones such as telekinetic destruction of alarm systems. At any rate, she'd become a top notch burglar.

She was on her way back to her little den when she very nearly got herself frightened to death. It was a strange thing to encounter anyone on the streets this time of night but there was indeed life. A hulking form of a man was walking down the sidewalk whistling to himself as he went, oblivious by all means. Shin was caught in a hard place because she didn't want to be caught with her trophies of the night or be noticed for the street urchin that she was. How to hide? She was panicked. She was too tired to use her powers to bring down someone of that size.

He was approaching all to quickly and Shinatsu flew into motion. She soundlessly dropped her bundle behind the nearby garbage cans, hopefully not noticed at all or even just mistaken as the day's trash. She then acted as if she were bringing out the garbage. She lifted up and then closed the garbage can, making a fuss about them. The man paused in his stride and stopped his whistling as he noticed her small form.

"Hey there," he said. "What are you doing out this time of night?"

"Taking out the garbage," Shin said in a bewitchingly innocent voice.

"This late?" he asked in bewilderment. "Kid, you'd better get inside."

"Nah, I'm ok," she answered shyly. "I like it outside at night."

He looked at her, something about what he could see of her suggested the air of one who had no home. "You sure?" he asked, not about her liking the night, but about being alright.

"I'm fine," she said with false brightness. "But oto-san will be annoyed if he finds that strange men have been talking to me," she added in a worried murmur.

"Of course," he nodded, turning to continue on his way. "Sorry, kid. Just tell the guy that Kento says his daughter ought not be outside this late alone. It isn't safe."

"Sayonara, Kento," murmured Shin, waiting until the man turned the corner and vanished. Do gooders never failed to annoy her.

Kento, of course, had already forgotten the girl as he met up with the source of his late night venture. "Cye!" he said in annoyance, seeing the drunk and staggering Ronin of Torrent making his way haphazardly down the sidewalk, supported by an equally drunk companion. "I'm getting real sick of playing mother and coming and dragging you back from these bars every night."

Cye slurred out, "But I made a new friend!"

Kento's eye twitched. "With the ones you've got, you think you could survive any more?" he asked.

"Aww, leave 'im alone," said the fiery haired man that was acting as Cye's counterbalance. "He's good fun, he is!"

"I suppose that means you've both spent the evening drinking and oggling at girl's boobs?" Kento asked blandly before grabbing Cye's ear. "Come on, you. Ryo's having kittens by now." Cye whined about it but consented, bidding a pathetic farewell to Terramine who was now making his own drunken way to his cheap apartment. Kento quickly tired of Cye's perpetual griping about how he was 'no fun' and a 'party pooper,' so he just gave Cye a hard thwack across the back of his head and tossed the disoriented man over his shoulder. Grumbling about how he was more of a fetch and carry than a Ronin Warrior, he carried the senseless and still very much intoxicated Cye home.

By the time Kento rounded the corner and walked back past the house where he had intercepted Shinatsu, she was long gone. He paused as he looked around, perhaps wondering where she might have gone to. However, he had to carry his witless friend home and as far as he could tell, the odd girl had gone back inside.

Shinatsu watched Kento disappear from view, eyes wide at the sight of him lugging off what she could only imagine to be a dead body. Panic filled her as she saw the limp arms of the man swaying helplessly as he was carried off into the night. Remembering that she'd actually been alone with this man, she wondered how she had been lucky and survived. Rationality had no part of it, she didn't pause to think that there was no way he could have killed someone as quickly as he'd come back through.

"What happened to Cye?" Ryo asked, coming out of the living room upon hearing the return of his team mate. He was staring as Kento put the unconscious man on the couch, "Did he get in a bar fight or something?"

Kento chuckled. "Nah, the idiot was staggering home with his drunk bar buddy. I intercepted him and brought him home at a quicker pace, aided by his silence after a hefty whomp on the back of the head."

Ryo gaped and then groaned. "Kento," he said. "You're not supposed to knock him out!"

Shrugging, Kento said, "He was due to pass out soon anyway. I just helped him along to it sooner."

"Why the big deal?" Rowen asked, now lifting his head from a text book. "It's a lot easier to study with him passed out."

"Why don't you just go to your apartment, Rowen?" Kento asked. "It seems like it would be easier to study without all of the distraction."

Rowen shrugged. "I don't want to miss anything," he provided.

Ryo grumbled, "I don't know what you'd miss, besides Cye's video games and me going slowly stir-crazy." Ryo had been confined to indoors while he recuperated from a dive gone badly wrong. Cye had appointed himself guardian of Ryo during this time to make sure that he didn't over exert himself or try to cheat on his rest.

Kento laughed at this and said, "Well, the rest of you crazies can hang out here. I'm heading home before my family forms a search party." He waved goodbye and went out the door, traipsing merrily up the road towards his car.

"It is time for the others to awaken," Clotho murmured, spinning meditatively.

"We must bring forth the rest of the players," agreed Lachesis.

"The dawn comes soon," said Atropis cryptically. "Ademia's first test is coming quickly."

"Compassion," said Lachesis. "If she cannot show compassion and mercy she will fail the test and therefore ruin her chances at recovery."

"I am interested to see how she fares," answered Clotho.

"Agreed," chimed the other two.