#1: God Among Men
"Donovan, wake up! It's 7:00!"
Donovan Randle lay in bed even as he he heard his grandmother Sarah Randle's voice. Just for ten more minutes-he wanted to remain in bed. To rest his head against the pillow and close his eyes. He had slept for at least eight hours, but he still just wanted to sleep. He didn't know why, but his head had started throbbing when he had woken up three minutes ago, stopping and starting. His back also felt unusually rigid, as if though he had sat up in bed crouched over and slept on his stomach all night.
But Donovan knew he had to wake up sooner rather than later. Today was, after all, his sixteenth birthday. He had to go to school, and when he came home, his grandmother and grandfather Christopher and his two uncles and aunt would be waiting for him. There would be a cake, and his grandfather had told him that somebody had mailed them a card and present. He had told Donovan that he didn't know who, but he hadn't unsealed the card or opened the small box.
After all, it was Donovan's present and card.
He got out of bed and pulled up his blankets, folding the top over the bottom, before placing his pillow over the top. Donovan first changed his underwear before he pulled off his cotton pants and pulled on his jeans, buckling the belt and buttoning up. He changed his shirt and socks, picked up his clothes from yesterday and shut the door behind him, before he hurried down the stairs.
"Donovan, it's 7:04! W-!"
"I'm here" Donovan called as he reached the final stair.
"It's about time, you've gotta be in school by 9:00! Come on, it's your sixteenth birthday, your breakfast's getting cold!" his grandmother snapped at him. Donovan walked past the table to the laundry room and tossed his clothes into the basket, eyeing his breakfast as he walked by: eight breakfast sausages, a sandwich, and fifteen pancakes.
"Now what the hell are you yelling for? I'm retired, I don't have to go to work!" Donovan's grandfather Christopher, a tall, stout elderly black man, shouted. His large round glasses hung loosely from his nose, and though his hair was growing whiter every day, his beard remained and his skin remained as dark as it always had been.
"It's about time you got out of bed too!" Sarah Randle nagged. "Just 'cause you're old doesn't give you a right to sleep for fifteen hours while I have to wake up and make breakfast for Donovan-!"
"Well where's mine?" Christopher Randle asked as he picked up a pancake, only to have his hand slapped down by his wife.
"This is Donovan's breakfast! You go make yourself something" she said, walking into the laundry room.
"Come on, grandpa, you can help yourself!" Donovan chuckled while he picked up another sausage with his fork.
"Damn right! Just 'cause it's not my birthday, doesn't mean I can't eat the cake! I swear, your grandmother's thinking sometimes…" his grandfather complained.
Donovan had never understood his grandfather's need to add a curse word into almost every sentence. Even though he proclaimed himself an uncompromising Lutheran, he constantly swore and took the name of God in vain, even when it was incredibly unnecessary.
"Grandpa, if I see him today...can I ask Corey to come to the party today?" Donovan asked, referring to Corey Shuster, one of his few friends at school.
Unfortunately for Donovan, his grandmother walked back into the kitchen at that point.
"No" his grandmother and grandfather said in unison. "Donovan, you know there's something I don't like about that Corey boy!" his grandmother reminded him.
"But grandma, you can't just judge somebody based off some hunch you-"
"No, Donovan, and that is final!" she yelled. "Besides, you're gonna have your family at the party-why do you need some weird deep voiced white boy at your party?"
"So what if he's white?" Donovan asked. "Why does that mean he can't come?"
"You know what the white people here in Detroit are like, Donovan."
"In Detroit, all the blacks are thugs, and all the whites are psychos" his grandfather chuckled, leaning back in his chair.
It pained Donovan to hear that from his own grandfather, even if it was a joke. It was far too ignorant and mean-spirited; hadn't he actually met any of the people in Detroit? It was true, there were the hoods and the mentally ill, but the majority of those that he had met went to his school. Most of the blacks and whites he had met were decent people who seemed most bothered by the fact that they were immediately labeled because they lived in Detroit. They seemed rather apathetic when it came to other peoples problems, but not malevolent.
But at the same time, it was the other thing that his grandmother had said that still bothered him. His family was coming for his birthday, like always; but all of them were his mother's brothers and sister.
"Grandma, why does nobody from dad's side of the family ever come for my birthday?" he asked.
"Oh hush, Donovan, finish your breakfast! You're gonna be sixteen, you should know better than to keep asking such silly questions!" was her answer. She wasn't really paying attention, though; instead, she was rummaging through the fridge.
"But why?"
"Because we don't know your dad is" his grandfather said, his voice now uneasy and his expression souring. "Your mom just met some random guy, got knocked up, and died right after you were born."
"Now stop it, Christopher! Don't remind the boy of how he came on his sixteenth birthday!" his grandmother scolded him. "Donovan, hurry up! You need to brush your teeth!"
Donovan still didn't understand why his grandparents talked about his birth in such hushed and bitter tones. So many children were born from rape and wedlock all over the world-what made his birth so particularly difficult to talk about?
But his grandparents' words and expressions still stung him, as if though he really shouldn't have been born, as if though he just wasn't right in their eyes. He could have blamed their thinking on their Christian faith, but he couldn't; he was one too, and his grandparents still believed what they had been taught fifty years ago. He bowed his head and finished his breakfast in silence.
For a moment, the smell of the remaining sausages felt...closer, but it faded quickly enough.
Three hours later…
Donovan couldn't say that he hated his Pre-AP English class, but he knew he was right when he said it was the most boring class. There were just too many essays, and essays were the only things his class did. They weren't even interesting essays; the prompts were convoluted, asking for far too much when it came to textual evidence and rhetorical devices. And the teacher, Ms. Bluemard, was far too hard on her students. Her sarcasm was beyond spiteful and her grading methods too demanding, checking even the smallest of details, demanding overanalysis of every source, and treating the sophomore class as if though it were a college course.
His neck ached from forty five minutes of staring down at the black and white lined essay paper. He wasn't even done with the second body paragraph when the digital timer on Ms. Bluemard's computer screen and projected onto the overhead rang. He nearly jumped out of his seat, the ringing of the timer pounding into his ears like the industrial pneumatic drill used in his Engineering class.
"Okay, no matter where you are in your essay, I want you to stop and turn it into the tray" Bluemard told the class. To Donovan, though, it sounded as if though she had screamed it right into his ear. He held his right ear, the vibrations of the soundwaves still running through his head. The rest of the class stood up from their seats and walked over to the turn-in tray, sliding in their essays. Donovan took a deep breath and finally walked over to the tray, pushing his essay in; once he did, he walked back to his desk and saw that everyone else had either turned it in or were close to the tray…
...except for one student.
His baggy pants were camouflaged and two sizes too big for him, just as his blue denim vest was ripped and patched. His head was shaved but his sideburns reached down to his chin, creating a greasy and short goatee.
"Why are you still writing?" Bluemard asked Wayne Park, who looked up to face the woman with an incredibly annoyed scowl, as if though the answer should be obvious.
"Because I'm not done" Wayne Park answered, speaking slowly to make it a question as much as it was a simple statement.
"You're not even halfway through the first page, when will you be done?" Bluemard asked, but everyone knew better than to answer that question; everyone but Park.
"Man, can you fuck off?! If you would just give us more time, maybe I could finish because then, I could get my damn thoughts straight!" Park yelled. Donovan closed his eyes and laid his head on his desk, reeling in utter pain. Park's shouting sounded like someone yelling into a megaphone right next to him.
"Okay, you can step outside if you're gonna talk to me like that" Bluemard said, her voice still calm and brimming with potential sarcasm; and yet, underneath that, there was an obvious layer of barely fettered anger, something no student would be stupid enough to challenge.
But then, Wayne Park was in a league of his own.
"What are you gonna do to make me, nigger? You think just because you tell me to leave, I'm gonna do it? Then why don't you go clear my fucking cotton field?"
"Either you can step outside right now, or I can leave you in here with everyone else!"
"What, you think I'm scared of these fuckin' niggers? You people can't even speak English right, so you can't even teach this shit! What makes you think you niggers can fight?" Park screamed as he picked up his pen.
"Okay then, I'm leaving!" Bluemard groaned, throwing her hands up in defeat while walking to the door. But everyone knew what she was doing.
Park ran towards her with his pen, her back turned to him. Bluemard ducked and grabbed his left arm before wrapping her own arm around his neck.
"No! Stop fucking touching me, nigger! You have no right to put your hands on me, I can sue your black ass-!" Park screeched, his fury still audible even when Bluemard dragged him into the hallway and slammed him into the room of another English classroom. Soon, the other English teacher ran out and joined Bluemard in dragging Park down to the office.
"I don't have to come to your shitty school ever again! I'm gonna leave, and I'm gonna make sure Nigger Central, Michigan pays for the way it treats my people-!" were the last words Donovan heard Park shout before he and the teachers were too far away to be heard.
Strangely, it sounded closer than he thought it should have.
Six hours later…
Donovan could see his uncle David's red Chevy Camaro in his grandparents' driveway, along with his uncle Marcos' black Dodge Challenger and his aunt Debra's white Honda CRV. He knew that it meant his birthday party was ready to start, even though it was only him and his family from his mother's side. But that wasn't what mattered to him; what mattered to Donovan was that he would be able to enjoy being around people who actually cared for him, and they would allow him to relax and enjoy the one day where he was treated with respect like every human being should.
More importantly, it would allow him to ignore the strange pains he had been feeling throughout the day. If they didn't come back, of course.
He ran up to the door and rang the bell. Waiting anxiously on the porch, he heard his grandmother's rose bushes rustle behind him. Donovan turned around and expected to see one of the roaming neighborhood cats, but there was nothing there. For a split second, he thought he saw what looked like a person's shadow standing next to aunt Debra's CRV, but once again, he saw nothing. Donovan pushed it aside, realizing his mind was playing tricks on him, as the door swung open.
"Oh, happy birthday, Donovan!" his grandmother exclaimed as she pulled him into a hug while dragging him into the house all at once.
"Thank you, grandma!" was all he was able to say in response right before his grandmother let him go.
"Happy birthday, Donovan!" his grandfather laughed, clasping his shoulder. He stepped aside to let a huge, black bearded, and balding man greet him next.
"Donnie!" the man heartily chuckled. He extended his hand and nearly crushed Donovan's own in the handshake that followed.
"Uncle Marcus! How are you?" he asked warmly.
"I'm alright Donnie, I just want to tell you happy birthday!" his uncle Marcos answered, stepping aside for a tall yet thin man with a huge mustache and a can of Coors in his hand.
"Happy birthday Donovan, how you doin'?" the man asked through a thick nasally voice and rather crooked yellow teeth.
"I'm doing good uncle David, how 'bout you?" Donovan asked his uncle David. His uncle paused to down a hefty amount of the beer.
"You know, I'm good, I'm good."
"Donovan, I'm so happy for you! You're finally sixteen years old!" a dark skinned, long armed woman greeted him, her curly black hair wrapped into a tight bun.
"Thank you so much, aunt Debra!" he said as he hugged her.
"How do you feel? Do you feel any different?" she asked him.
"No, not really; not yet, at least."
"Oh, come on! I wanna eat this cake already!" his grandfather groaned.
"Now quit whining! It's right here!" his grandmother scolded him. She led the family to the kitchen, where a thick round black cake lined with white frosting sat on the table. Atop the cake were sixteen burning blue candles, and six paper plates and forks surrounded the cake.
"Now, sit down here Donovan" his grandmother told him, pointing at the chair at the far end of the table, where his grandfather usually sat.
"Happy birthday to you…" the five adults started singing as Donovan's grandmother lowered the huge knife down onto the cake.
"...happy birthday to you…"
Donovan noticed a plain white card on the counter; it read "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" in orange letters.
"...happy birthday to Donovan…"
Next to the card, there was a small sealed cardboard box.
"...happy birthday to you!"
Donovan blew out all of the candles and his grandmother finished cutting out a slice of the cake, which she placed on Donovan's paper plate.
"Now, Donovan" his grandfather started to say, "I told you about that card and present I got, and how I didn't want to read and show it you until your birthday. Now, I gotta ask...which of you three sent us the card and present?"
David, Debra, and Marcus looked at each other, bemused. Their frowns and raised eyebrows betrayed their lack of any answers, and Donovan's grandfather looked back at the card and box.
"Umm...okay. I don't know who else could have sent it, since nobody else really knows Donovan-"
"Maybe it was Corey" Donovan interjected through a mouthful of cake.
"No, we would never let that freak send us anything!" his grandfather laughed. Donovan glared at him intensely, but his grandfather didn't see it and instead grabbed a fresh knife from one of the drawers and cut through the wax that sealed the card. He threw the knife back into the drawer and opened the card.
"Red ink? Well, I'll be damned if I've ever seen that…" he grumbled before he cleared his throat and started reading the card.
"Dear Donovan Randle, I know that it is your sixteenth birthday. I wish to congratulate you for possessing the sheer determination to survive up to this point, for I know how cruel and wicked the people of this world are. Once your party is over, though, I cannot wait to finally meet you and speak with you,face-to-face. It is about time that I tell you, the child of a dead mother and Seattle serial rapist Marcus Palantine, your true destiny. Inside that cardboard box is the key to your destiny, and once you take it, I shall arrange a meeting between the two of us so you may begin your new life in earnest. Leviathan needs creatures such as yourself to keep the peace within the Labyrinth and to keep in check the balance between the chaos of the world you believed you lived in and the order of your true home. I hope to erase your delusion and pull back the veil of your reality. Most sincerely, Orno."
"What kind of stupid name is Orno? You have to be a pretty big idiot to give your kid the name Orno!" David snorted, pulling out a lighter and cigarette, which were promptly blocked by his mother.
"Now you know what I told you about smoking in my house, young man!" she snapped and at the same time, Donovan's grandfather tore open the cardboard box and pulled out a small golden puzzle box. The puzzle box was covered with many small, intricate markings at every corner, and at the top and bottom, there was a carving resembling a gold star, rays of yellow light pouring from it.
Donovan stared at the puzzle box through his reddening eyes. His hand shook as he dropped his fork onto the plate, his slice of cake only halfway finished.
"Why did you never tell me?" he quietly whimpered. He felt something in the back of his throat.
"What was that?" his grandmother asked.
Donovan suddenly stood up from his chair and slapped the box out of his grandfather's hand before he pushed past his grandparents and stomped over to the front door faster than even he thought he could walk.
"Wait, Donovan-!" his grandfather called.
"Why did you hide it from me? What's so wrong with telling me that my dad was a serial rapist?! Why are you so ashamed?!" he screamed at her and his grandfather, while his aunt and uncles stared at him, dumbfounded. He hurt his own ears. He didn't care.
"Donovan, we never wanted to tell you because you were born out of wedlock! You're a rape baby, and nobody likes that!" his grandmother tried to calm him down, but Donovan would have none of it.
"Do you know how many people are born from rapists and dads not even their moms know? I would have been alright knowing that my dad was a rapist! It would give me peace of mind, let me know where I came from! What else have you been hiding from me, huh? What else?!"
"Donovan, what are you-" his grandfather tried to ask.
"You know what! That box! Orno! The guy who said he's gonna meet me! Leviathan! What does it all mean? Who are they?!" he asked.
"Donovan, we have absolutely no idea-!"
"Yes, you do! If you've hidden my father from me my whole life, what reason do I have to believe that you haven't hidden anything else?"
"Now Donnie-" Marcos Randle started to calmly say, before Donovan unlocked the door and threw it open.
"No! I'm done! Stay away from me! Stay away, unless you can tell me the truth! I don't want any more lies and secrets just because you think I'll be ashamed! Stay away!"
And with that, he walked outside and slammed the door shut. As he ran away from his grandparents' house, he let the tears leave his eyes. He didn't know where to go, he just knew he didn't want to be anywhere near them...and that box.
One hour later…
Donovan didn't know where he was, but he had to be deep in the heart of Detroit, judging by the closed and rotting buildings, shattered windows, and garbage lined streets. The air reeked of car exhaust and peeling paint, and several blocks ahead, he could hear the sirens of multiple police cars.
"Hey, kid" a voice called out to him. Donovan turned to look at the man, the tears having left a while ago. The man was dressed in a thin black jacket which reached down to his knees, though it did nothing to hide his sagging pants. His eyes were hidden by a pair of huge, circular sunglasses, which were completely unnecessary in the gray afternoon of Detroit.
"Listen sir, I'm not in the mood-" Donovan sighed before the man started pouting.
"Aww, come on, kid! I just need you to help me carry my groceries into my house" the man whined. Donovan didn't know why, but he thought he could...smell something on the man. But he put it aside, and decided that if this man just needed help carrying his heavy bags of groceries, it wouldn't hurt anyone.
He walked over to where the man was standing, and the moment he walked up to the man, he was slammed into the unforgiving brick wall. He tasted something metallic in his mouth, and as the man held down Donovan's arms, he heard the deep and throaty laughter of several others nearby.
"Alex! Give me the knife!" the man commanded. The man then leaned in close to Donovan's ear and gently whispered, "I've met some dumbasses in my life, kid, but you? Youre in a league of your own!" He then licked Donovan's ear, and Donovan reeled as he smelled salmon and pork on the man's breath.
"I was trying to help you!" Donovan cried.
"Well, we'll see what that does for you!"
The man let go of Donovan's right arm and grabbed the knife given to him by the man named Alex. The moment he let go, Donovan's vision blurred. The landscape surrounding him turned into little more than a haze and his peripheral vision seemed to increase. Something ran through his head and his heartbeat shot upwards by tenfold, pumping blood through his body at an alarming rate which would have left any other man dead, and he soon smelled the adrenaline being produced in his body.
Donovan grabbed the man's jacket and shoved him off before punching him in the center of his forehead. The man went flying back and crashed through the brick wall, and as he sailed through the air, his head twisted and Donovan could clearly hear the snap of his neck.
He had just killed a man, but his mind didn't register it; everything he saw was a blur, and all he could think of was the blood running through his head.
He shoved his fingers into the next man's cheek and pulled back; he didn't have quite a good grip on it, and so the man's face and the muscle that had been behind it messily dropped to the ground. What had once been the man's face was little more than a red, bloody skull with a tongue and eyes. The man shrieked, his shriek being similar to a nail being struck with a saw blade. Donovan's eardrums rang in protest, but he ignored it.
Another man tried to run away, but he was too slow in his decision. Donovan punched him in the back and instantly shattered his spine, sending him flying through the front of a house across the street at the same time. A fourth man tackled him to the ground, and in response, Donovan threw him up and sent him into the sky; he never came down. Of the last two men, one had pulled out his phone and was obviously trying to call the police.
He would be the last one.
His friend charged at Donovan, and received a kick to the groin for his troubles. The moment Donovan's foot connected with the groin, a red cloud erupted and briefly obscured his hazy vision. The man fell through the brick wall of the building that Donovan had been pushed against, and once he hit the ground, his screeching pierced the air.
"I'm being atta-!" the last man tried to yell into the phone when it was torn out of his hands. Donovan rammed it into the left side of his lower throat and dragged it across, spraying blood onto Donovan's face and jacket before it started flowing down his chest. But Donovan wasn't finished; his next move was to shove the phone through the man's stomach, shanking him nearly thirty times before he finished with the phone in the man's face.
The man's body fell back and hit the ground. When it did, Donovan's vision returned to normal, and now, he couldn't ignore the shrieking and screeching of the faceless man and his castrated companion.
When his vision came back, so did his mind. His eyes bulged and he clutched his stomach as he looked upon the inhuman carnage, the pools of blood forming beneath the phone man, the faceless man, and the castrated man. The tears didn't form in his eyes; they immediately poured down his face. Where there were six people, there were now shattered corpses and two nearly dead humans who were not far from their friends. They had tried to murder him in cold blood, and what had he done? He had proven he was no better than them; these were still people, humans who might have had families and friends and jobs, and he had ripped it all away. Whose right was it to kill anybody? Not his, and yet, that was what he had done.
He walked over to the knife the man had dropped as he had crashed through the wall. He knew it was wrong-but what did it matter now? He had just butchered six people as if though they were animals; what did his own life matter? For what he did, he was going to Hell anyway, and nothing would change that.
Donovan fell to his knees and pulled up the sleeve of his jacket before he picked up the knife. He moved the knife towards his wrist…
...and the screaming of the faceless man and the castrated man stopped, a sick noise reaching his ears.
He looked up and saw a black chain, tipped with an arrowhead, tear itself out of the faceless man's chest before it retracted and vanished. But not even that was as bizarre and horrifying as the creature before him.
It was unbelievably pale, thought most of it's body was covered with incredibly tight black leather. The only parts of it's body that were not hidden were it's hands and chest, an ugly canvas of hundreds of deep slashes. It's face was stretched out by a large metal ring, with three arrows pointing to the top of it's head.
And in it's right hand was the puzzle box.
"Donovan Randle" the creature rasped, it's voice similar to that of a man with extreme congestion in his throat. "I do believe we almost met, outside your grandparents' house."
"No, what-get away from me! Don't come near me!" Donovan cried, backing away from the hideous humanoid thing. To it's credit, the creature didn't become angry; instead, it merely grinned and laughed.
"You have accepted so many deviants in your life so far; what is so different about me? I say, it is rather hypocritical, but then, living amongst these chaotic primates instills such attitudes in one" it scoffed. It extended the puzzle box to Donovan.
"You left this behind."
"What did you do to them? I swear, if you touched any of them-" Donovan attempted to threaten.
"What? What shall you do, kill me? Just like these broken parts?" the creature asked, motioning to the fallen criminals. "Besides, you cannot touch me-I exceed the power of any mere Guardian. But you should not worry; I made sure they did not even see me. I simply came here to tell you of the destiny that this puzzle box holds for you, like so many others."
"What are you talking about? Who are you?"
"I am partly your father, but not truly. I am the one who knows every equation that leads to desire, to order, to Leviathan. I am the smith of every one of man's most twisted desires and wants and needs. My name is Orno."
(NEXT ISSUE: Donovan's true identity and his destiny are revealed to him by Orno. With it comes a crossroad. Will he go along with the demands of the Labyrinth, or will he follow his own path? All this in Guardian #2: One or the Other.)