Mortal Among Gods

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Misplaced


Rain pounded against the leaves, and thunder rumbled in the distance as Ezekiel jolted awake. Disoriented and chilled to the bone, he found himself sprawled upon a bed of damp grass in the heart of an impenetrable forest. His heart raced in tandem with his thoughts as he grappled to decipher his surroundings. The remnants of his memory were as elusive as mist, dissipating upon closer inspection. The most recent recollection was being engrossed in reading about different mythologies in his own room.

With a determined effort, Ezekiel lifted himself into a sitting position, revealing a 16-year-old with black hair, hazel eyes, and a warm tan complexion. His simple attire, comprising a t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers, offered scant protection from the damp cold. Towering pine trees cocooned him, their branches were heavy with raindrops that fell in a rhythmic cascade. The forest felt simultaneously alien and known, as if he were navigating a realm of half-forgotten dreams. He rubbed his arms vigorously, attempting to stave off the chill that had already seeped into his bones.

As he absorbed his surroundings, Ezekiel couldn't shake off a pressing sense of dislocation. It was as though he were piecing together shards of a fractured mirror, attempting to reassemble his own existence. He pressed his hands against his temples, struggling to unearth any shred of information that would explain his current predicament.

"Why am I here, in these woods?" His words were murmured softly, almost swallowed by the rain's ceaseless cadence. The leaves acted as a porous veil, allowing only fragments of his voice to escape. Each utterance felt like a fragment of a puzzle piece, yet the complete picture eluded him.

His mind raced tirelessly, endeavoring to knit together the disparate threads of his experiences. Yet, much like trying to grasp water with open palms, the memories proved elusive, dancing on the edges of his consciousness. His heartbeat surged, a manifestation of his mounting confusion and unease. Urgency gripped him; he knew he had to piece together this puzzle, had to uncover the truth of how he had arrived here, in this bewildering forest.

Hours melted away as Ezekiel's steps led him deeper into the heart of the woods. Each footfall has a measured rhythm against the backdrop of whispering leaves and distant rustles. His sense of disorientation persisted, amplified by the relentless rain that showed no signs of abating. Every step seemed to both ground and displace him, as if he were traversing the blurred boundary between reality and a surreal dream.

As he walked, his thoughts continued to loop in circles, chasing the tail of the elusive memory that would illuminate his situation. Frustration and fatigue etched lines of weariness on his face, his hazel eyes reflecting a determined resolve tinged with growing desperation. The forest seemed like a labyrinth with no discernible exit, its towering trees like sentinels guarding the secrets held within their depths.

And then, unexpectedly, it happened. In the midst of his weary journey, Ezekiel's mind was suddenly bathed in a strange light. Colors and patterns danced before his eyes, coalescing into a vivid image that felt simultaneously ancient and timeless. It was a vision, a vision that was more real than anything he had experienced since his arrival. He stood on the precipice of a realm of grandeur. A sword of light, ethereal and resplendent, was driven into the ground, its brilliance illuminating the heavens. The sword's power surpassed mortal boundaries.

Yet, within the splendor, an undercurrent of foreboding gnawed at his senses. Whispers of conflict, of malevolent forces amassing, intertwined with the sword's radiance. Shadowy figures moved in the background, their intentions cloaked in darkness.

A chorus of voices within the dream murmured cryptic words, a prophecy that resonated deep within:

"When the Holy Lance of light shall rise, its brilliance shall ignite the spark of war. From realms of old and pantheons beyond, the coveters shall clash, and the mortal world shall tremble. A tapestry of fate shall unfurl, and a chosen soul shall stand at the crossroads, a mortal bridge between the divine and the mundane."

As the vision gradually faded, Ezekiel's mind returned to the damp reality of the forest. The contrast was jarring, like being ripped from one world and thrust into another. Panic surged through him, the weight of his situation crashing down as he grappled with the enormity of what he had just experienced. He needed answers, guidance—anything to make sense of the puzzle pieces that had suddenly materialized in his mind.

"Freaking out" didn't even begin to cover the whirlwind of emotions that swept over him. "Help!" he called out, his voice raw and edged with desperation. But the forest responded with its own symphony of raindrops and rustling leaves, offering him no solace, no reassurance.

He spun around, eyes darting wildly in search of any sign of life or civilization. Yet, all he encountered were the towering trees and the curtain of rain that showed no mercy in its ceaseless descent. The forest was a sea of shadows and uncertainty, a testament to his isolation.

A creeping sensation slithered down his spine, the notion that he wasn't alone settling in like a chilling mist. He strained his ears, listening for anything out of place. And then, he heard it—an almost imperceptible rustling, a whisper of movement hidden within the symphony of rain. Ezekiel's heart pounded, his breath catching in his throat as he turned toward the source of the sound.

His hazel eyes scanned the forest, trying to pierce through the veil of rain and darkness. There it was again—a subtle shift of foliage, a fleeting glimpse of movement that defied explanation. Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach; whatever was out there was far from benign.

Fear gripped him, his instincts screaming at him to flee. Adrenaline surged through his veins as he turned on his heel and sprinted, his sneakers slipping on the wet ground as he navigated through the trees. The sound of his ragged breaths and the pounding of his footsteps mingled with the rain's symphony.

Behind him, the rustling grew louder, more pronounced. It was as if something was gaining on him, something he couldn't see but could feel breathing down his neck. Panic fueled his flight, his heart pounding in rhythm with the pounding rain.

Ezekiel's vision blurred with tears of fear and exhaustion, the forest becoming a chaotic whirl of shapes and shadows. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his lungs burning with exertion. And then, in his haste, his foot caught on a hidden root, sending him sprawling forward onto the muddy ground.

Everything went silent.

Ezekiel lay there for a moment, his heart racing, his breaths heavy. He strained to hear any sign of pursuit, any hint of danger lurking in the shadows. But the forest seemed to hold its breath, as if even time itself had paused.

With trembling hands, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, his gaze darting around in search of the unseen threat. The rain fell around him in a hushed symphony, and the forest felt like a cathedral of primal forces, a stage set for an unknown drama.

But the forest remained still, as if the very air held its breath. Ezekiel's chest heaved as he struggled to regain his composure, to steady his racing thoughts. He couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't alone, that something watched him from the shrouded corners of the woods.

As seconds stretched into minutes, Ezekiel's breathing began to slow, his panic gradually giving way to a trembling unease. He knew he had to keep moving, to find some semblance of safety, but the fear of what might be out there still gripped him.

Gradually, the rain started to ease, the relentless downpour giving way to a soft drizzle. The atmosphere shifted, the forest no longer echoing with the chaotic symphony of water against leaves. In the midst of this newfound quiet, Ezekiel's ears caught a familiar yet elusive sound—a rustling, a whisper of movement that seemed to emanate from the shadows around him.

His pulse quickened once more as he turned his head toward the source of the noise, hazel eyes narrowing as he strained to see through the lingering mist. But his efforts were in vain; there was nothing to be seen, only the remnants of rain-soaked undergrowth.

Frustration mingled with curiosity, urging Ezekiel to move closer, his footsteps cautious as he advanced toward the sound. He parted the damp foliage with his hands, squinting into the darkness as if he could coax the unseen presence to reveal itself.

Just as doubt began to creep in, the cloud cover above him shifted. Moonlight emerged from behind the dispersing rain clouds, casting an ethereal glow upon the forest floor. The once-hidden world was illuminated in a silvery embrace, and within that moonlit realm, Ezekiel's eyes widened as he finally saw it.

A monstrous figure, hunched and sinewy, stood poised at the edge of his path. Its limbs were long and distorted, its skin a sickly shade of gray, and its eyes glowed with a malevolent fire. It was a creature right out of ancient myths—a harpy, its wings outstretched and its talon-like fingers twitching in anticipation.

Ezekiel's heart raced anew, his breath catching in his throat as he beheld the creature that had pursued him. The harpy's monstrous form was bathed in moonlight, its grotesque features etched in stark relief against the shadows. Its eyes bore into him, a mixture of hunger and savagery burning within.

Before Ezekiel could react, the harpy lunged at him, its monstrous wings propelling it forward with frightening speed. Its claws were poised to tear into him, its very presence exuding danger and death.

But fate had other plans. Just as the harpy descended upon Ezekiel, a flurry of silver arrows materialized from the darkness. They streaked through the air with unerring precision, piercing the harpy's flesh and eliciting an otherworldly screech of pain. The force of the impact sent the creature careening to the side, its intended attack disrupted.

Ezekiel's heart hammered in his chest as he watched the harpy's form crash into the underbrush, its cries of pain echoing through the night. He turned his gaze toward the direction from which the arrows had come, and his eyes widened in astonishment.

Emerging from the shadows was a figure of mesmerizing beauty, her presence ethereal and commanding. Her black hair cascaded in a single braid adorned with delicate bands, framing her face with an air of both elegance and wildness. Silver eyes, possessing the wisdom of ages, regarded the wounded harpy with a mixture of detachment and intensity. She wore a silver tunic that shimmered in the moonlight, paired with black leggings and sturdy hiking boots. Her appearance held an ageless quality, simultaneously embodying the youthful innocence of a girl and the ancient wisdom of a goddess. Though she appeared around the age of 13 to 15, her presence carried the weight of millennia.

Ezekiel's heart continued to race as he slowly pushed himself up from the ground, his eyes fixed on the wounded harpy and the mysterious girl who had intervened. The realization of what had just transpired hit him like a bolt of lightning, and his mind raced to catch up with the unbelievable scene he had just witnessed.

As he processed the harpy's anguished cries and the ethereal beauty of the girl who had saved him, panic welled up inside him. "What... What the hell just happened?" he stammered, his voice a mixture of disbelief and fear. His words were barely audible over the rain and the fading echoes of the harpy's cries.

The girl turned her silver eyes toward him, her gaze piercing through the shadows and locking onto his own. Her expression remained impassive, as if assessing him. Ezekiel's heart pounded harder as he realized she was looking at him as if expecting something.

"Why could I see that thing? What are you?" Ezekiel's voice trembled, his fear and curiosity mingling into a chaotic mess of emotions. He had so many questions, but his mind struggled to find a coherent way to articulate them.

The girl's gaze remained steady, and she took a step closer, her voice soft yet commanding. "You see beyond the Mist, mortal. Few possess that gift."

Ezekiel's eyebrows furrowed, his mind trying to comprehend her words. "The Mist? What do you mean?"

Before the girl could respond, his attention was suddenly torn away as he noticed the harpy, which he had assumed was defeated, struggling to rise. Fear clenched his heart anew as he realized the danger was far from over. The harpy's malevolent gaze was fixed on the girl—on her. Ezekiel's instincts kicked in, and without thinking, he lunged toward her, his body colliding with hers.

Surprised and off-balance, the girl let out an exclamation of annoyance as Ezekiel pushed her to the ground. They tumbled in a tangled heap, Ezekiel ending up on top of her, his heart pounding against his chest. His breaths were ragged as he turned his head to look at the harpy, which had leaped into the air, its talons aimed directly at where they had been.

The harpy missed its target, soaring over them with a furious screech. Its foul breath brushed against Ezekiel's skin, and he shivered at the closeness of the encounter. Adrenaline surged through him, with a quick and somewhat irritated movement, the girl pushed Ezekiel off her and got to her feet. In a burst of silver light in her hand appeared a bow with arrows in the other hand, her movements fluid and practiced. Her gaze remained fixated on the harpy, now circling above them, its eyes still gleaming with malice.

Ezekiel's heart pounded as he watched her, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe. He had so many questions, yet the urgency of the situation pushed them aside for now. His survival instinct kicked in once more, and he scanned the surroundings for anything that could help.

And then, in a breathtaking display of skill, the girl notched an arrow onto her bowstring, her form poised and focused. She drew back the string, her muscles tense and steady. With a breath held in anticipation, Ezekiel watched as the silver arrow soared through the air, its trajectory unerring.

The arrow struck the harpy with deadly accuracy, piercing through its flesh with a sickening thud. The harpy's screech of agony reverberated through the forest, its wings flapping weakly before it plummeted to the ground. Upon impact, the harpy's form exploded into a burst of golden dust, dissipating into the air like a disintegrating nightmare.

Ezekiel stood frozen, his heart still racing as he processed the swift and brutal end of the creature that had chased him. The girl lowered her bow, her chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. She turned to Ezekiel, her silver eyes locking onto his once more, and there was a glint of something in her gaze—suspicions.

Ezekiel's heart raced as he watched the harpy's demise and the girl's display of prowess. He had barely comprehended the danger he was in, let alone the fantastical events unfolding before him. He realized he was still lying on the ground, his clothes damp and muddy, his body trembling with adrenaline. As the girl turned her silver gaze back toward him, his heart skipped a beat.

But what happened next was beyond his wildest expectations. The girl's posture shifted, and she pointed her bow and arrow directly at him. Panic surged through Ezekiel as he realized he had just exchanged one threat for another. His eyes widened, and his muscles tensed, ready to react at a moment's notice.

The girl's voice was steady and unwavering, her gaze locked onto him. "I am Artemis, daughter of Zeus and Leto, sister to Apollo. I am the Goddess of the Hunt, the Wilderness, and the Moon. Who are you?" Her words were a challenge, a demand for answers that he didn't have.

Internally, Ezekiel's mind raced. He had encountered a monstrous harpy, a mysterious girl claiming to be a goddess, and now, she was pointing an arrow at him. His heart pounded in his chest, and a cacophony of thoughts swirled in his mind.

This can't be real. It's like a dream... no, a nightmare. But the pain from the fall, the rain, the fear—it all feels too real. And her... she's not just some crazy girl. Maybe she is the Greek Goddess Artemis.

His mind raced, trying to make sense of the situation he found himself in. The very idea that he was facing a Greek goddess defied all rational explanation. It was as if the myths and stories he had read about were converging with his reality in the most bewildering way possible. He could feel the weight of the arrow's point against his skin, a stark reminder of the danger he was in.

In the tense silence that followed, Ezekiel's mind whirred, a maelstrom of emotions and thoughts. The revelation that he was facing a deity was almost impossible to fathom, yet the events of the night were vivid and undeniable. Artemis' gaze remained fixed on him, awaiting his response. With a mixture of awe, fear, and uncertainty, Ezekiel's voice quivered as he finally spoke, "I'm... I'm Ezekiel. Just a regular guy. I don't understand how any of this is happening, but I'm not your enemy." The forest seemed to hold its breath as his words hung in the air, bridging the gap between two worlds—the natural and the supernatural. Artemis her body not moving a single inch as she holds her position ready to shoot her arrow at him.

Left with no other option, Ezekiel found solace in a silent prayer to a higher force, a plea for salvation from the unfathomable peril that loomed. Unaware of the intricate tapestry of destiny at play, he remained oblivious to the fact that he was an integral part of a grand design, where the present moment is merely the inception of an epic journey yet to unfold.


Thank you for reading and feel free to leave a review of your thoughts and criticism.
Until the next chapter, Arklaw.