((The story of how Maxwell, in Glyph's mind, escaped the lab in Lighthalzen, and was eventually reborn by the Gods. Counterpart to the story from Glyph's PoV.))

The sunlight beat down on Maxwell, sending his deep blue hair into an almost ethereal glow, as he smiled around at his family. 'What a perfect day..' he thought, his eyes taking in the image of his wife Selene, her hair cropped close to her head and coloured deep red. She was laughing along with their daughter Alicel, the pair of them setting up the picnic they'd planned for him when he returned from his latest job. Alicel waved to him, her young face full of life, blue-blonde hair bouncing as she bobbed about with youthful exuberance.

Of course, Maxwell had no idea exactly where his younger, mischevious son was. Guile was a sneaky little child, even on the day he was born he'd managed to get himself into trouble. Chewing on an old bullet casing, he'd cut his gums and oddly seemed to enjoy the blood, though the pain was making him cry, until Maxwell made such a screwed up face that he -had- to stop and stare.

A small pebble nailed Maxwell in the back of the head, followed by a pair of scrawny arms wrapping around his neck from behind, Guile swinging on them. "Daddy!" he cried out, as Maxwell stood, carrying him up much further than he was used to being.

Maxwell gathered the boy into his arms, and smiled softly, ruffling his hair and setting him down. Almost immediately, the fear previously experienced was forgotten, and the small child bounded off to investigate the others.

The man tilted his eyes up to look into the clear blue sky, the smell of field flowers heavy in the air. Somehow, he knew, there was something wrong. He looked back down at a sudden scream, and there were men and women in lab coats and battle gear surrounding them. Guile was held against a man, with an arm beneath his chin, cutting off the air he needed to be conscious. The boy reached a hand out to him pleadingly, before he disappeared into the crowd.

Alicel met a similar fate, dragged off by the arm by a woman larger, and more able than she was. Bound quickly, she was loaded onto a wagon with the boy, and out of his sight.

"Why..? Why won't you protect us?" he could hear Selene's voice, prompting him to action. Maxwell surged forward, both hands diving beneath his long coat to retrieve his paired pistols, bringing them up and spinning quickly, preparing to use his own signature ability to take down most of them before the fight started. Then, the ground was rushing up to meet him, and he slammed hard into the dust, the breath whooshing from his lungs in a strangled gasp. Coughing, sweat and tears in his eyes, he looked up the length of a crimson cloth-covered leg, to the sneering face of.. himself.

Further on, he saw Selene tossed into the cart, where she landed with an unnaturally heavy thud. Unconscious, he hoped, and not dead.

"Why?"

Maxwell looked up at himself, his alter ego, a being he'd created for the express purpose of taking care of things he couldn't handle. He referred to the mindset as simply 'Glyph', and it chilled even him how he could slip into the skin of his other, into the being, and not care a whit about anything but completing the job. But it was something he had to do, since otherwise he wouldn't have been able to live with himself, after the work he did. People from all over Rune-Midgard came to him for his expertise with firearms, and ability to find anything, anyone, anytime, anyplace. He'd dropped an entire group of Kobolds in a single motion, taken down Eggda and it's Bigfoot gang without breaking a sweat, killed the Owl Baron of Al de Baran before it could launch a single one of it's potent spells.

Maxwell, or Glyph, was the best, simply put. But he didn't want to be the best at killing things, taking lives and opportunities from people, even the monsters that the humans of Rune-Midgard constantly warred with were burdens on his kind-hearted nature. So he'd made Glyph as a mask to wear, and take off when not needed, so that he could look at himself the next day, and not see the monster that he knew he would otherwise be.

"Why?" he asked again.

Glyph's foot came up, and slammed down against his face. Maxwell felt his nose shatter, and the sickly warmth of blood blossomed from the wound, dripping down his chin. As the blackness came, he heard only heard three other words from the other man, dripping with contempt.

"Because, you're weak."

-

No! he surged forward, trying to take control of his body from Glyph. Somehow, the other man had fractured from his psyche, and taken on a mind of his own. He was giving up, letting the scientists win. He'd done that, retreating into the calm, warm safety of his mind, leaving it open for Glyph to control.

"Shut up!" Glyph had growled, but Maxwell didn't listen to him. Move your arms dammit! You can't let me die here, who's going to get Selene? What about Alicel? Or Guile?! Move. MOVE!

Glyph's arms slammed through the glass of the tube, and seconds later he was up again. Maxwell knew it had been Elcyd who was charged with his termination. He was -her- pet project, after all, best that she see it through. But it wasn't her fault, entirely, what had happened to him.

Some people (Glyph included), would say that Maxwell was too kind. Too understanding, and able to understand people and why they did things. He didn't bear a grudge towards her, try as Glyph might to convince him that her head would look better as a formless paste. But Maxwell had decided that she wouldn't die by his hand, even if it was Glyph's now. Get her out of your way, it's the Head Scientist, and the others that treated you that way! he thought these things fiercely at Glyph, and turned an otherwise killing blow into a bruising one, which slammed her aside easily.

Maxwell heaved an internal sigh of relief, not that he -had- anything internal for the sigh to rattle through, it was a figure of speech. Honestly, he admired Elcyd for the way she'd treated him, and by extension his family, at least when he was there. He wasn't one to needlessly believe what others said, so the things told to him by Glyph only sat on a back burner; the past, however recent, was still the past, after all. He could only judge her based on what he knew, not what others knew.

And he only knew, for certain, what he saw, heard, felt, tasted, smelled; experienced. And so far, all he'd seen was someone devoted to their work, who didn't know exactly what it was they were causing.

As he'd been musing, Glyph had killed a man, crushing his heart, and a few others on the way to an armory. A coat had been found, and thrown on, along with a pair of pistols and extra clips of ammunition. That was good enough for him, good enough for Glyph.

We're armed, turn left here and go down those stairs! Glyph didn't listen, instead lunging at a woman cowering under a table. She stared up at him with wide, fearful eyes, the same as a deer about to be run down. Her mouth worked, but either no words came out, or Glyph didn't care to hear them. One hand flipped the table over and launched it into the far wall, then raised for a killing blow.

CRACK!

The sharp bark of a pistol sounded, and for a moment, everything was silent save for the moans of the injured, and the screams of the dying. Glyph looked down to a smoking, bloody hole that had obliterated the majority of his foot. Pain coursed up his leg, crippling and nauseating, wrenching through his stomach. "What the fuck did you do that for?!"

I said go down the damned stairs you ignorant fool! My family's down there, and I'm not letting -you- run away before I get 'em out! Now -move-, before I shoot you again!

Glyph watched as the flesh and bone of his foot began to re-knit, pushing out the flattened bullet. He growled, and pulled back with the still healing limb, then snapped it forward, slamming the woman backwards with a brutal kick. The sharp crack of her neck breaking echoed through the room. "This is -my- body, so shut the hell up! I'll do what I please, and what I want!" Glyph scrunched up his face, slamming Maxwell's consciousness down further and further into blackness, "Is to kill these morons and get the hell outta here."

Maxwell clung as best he could to consciousness, but was swept away in Glyph's thoughts, and buried beneath them. As he drifted off, he had a single thought.

'Why have you forgotten me Odin? Am I not one of your children as much as any other? What have I done to deserve such a fate, for myself and my family? Are the Gods really so cruel? Thor, Baldr, Freyja, Freyr. If I have truly been forsaken, give my soul to the others in Valhalla, let it be carried by the Valkyries as an Einherjar.'

-

"You are not worthy of Valhalla."

The woman's voice, powerful and confidant, rocked him back on his mental heels. He opened his eyes, though.. he didn't truly have eyes, it was more an act of will allowing him to see. Three women of indeterminate age stood in the air before him, large feathered wings behind them. One was garbed in blue, with a white-plumed helm, the next in violet, with a helm plumed with hawk's feathers, and the last, in black armor, with a black-feathered helm.

What? If I'm unworthy of Valhalla, what is to become of me?

The three looked on him, and he looked as well. He didn't have a true body, so to speak, merely a human-shaped mass of coloured motes, which appeared solid enough, though they were dimly coloured and lacking in strength.

"You will be reborn, Maxwell, in a new body but with the same mind. We three, the Choosers of Fate, feel that you will prove interesting, given a chance to try again."

Such a thing was unheard of. In all the mythology he'd read, these three only ever appeared together to destroy a dangerous soul, one that could threaten Odin himself. And that had only happened the one time. So you're not here to destroy me?

"SILENCE!" their brows drew down, and suddenly the area lit with a light so intense that even when he shut his eyes, it burned through his eyelids, stinging his eyes. "Do not question your betters, mortal! Know that you have been given another chance and be grateful!"

"Yes, thank you!" he replied, desperate to avoid being smote for even thinking of talking to them in a questioning tone. The light dimmed, and he could just make out the roots of Yggdrasil, before all went black again.

'What about Selene, Alicel, and Guile? What about Glyph and Elcyd...?'

Maxwell drifted into unconsciousness worried; worried for his family, the man who'd been created because of him, and the woman who'd had a hand in that.