A man strolled down the lively street, enveloped by vibrant chatter and warm smiles. Families and loved ones crisscrossed between stores, wrestling with their bags of newly purchased items. The air carried the tantalizing aroma of hotdogs and burgers, courtesy of street vendors whose stands exuded the delicious scent. Smiling to himself, the man murmured, "One last time," and seamlessly joined the queue amid the bustling crowd.
"Hotdog or Burger?" inquired a man, wielding tongs, adorned in a red apron and a whimsically bright red hat.
"Burger," replied the man, extending a paper plate he had snagged from the front of the vendor's desk. A nonchalant "humph" accompanied the placement of a hamburger with mouthwatering buns onto the plate. Gratefully, the man uttered, "Thank you," and as he ambled away, he spotted the place he sought. Taking a bite of his burger, he urged himself, "Bet'ur hurr'y," skillfully maneuvering through the animated and packed crowd with practiced finesse.
Eventually, he arrived at a weathered building, weariness etched on his face and fatigue evident in his tired eyes. As he ascended the stairs, each step seemed to add a heavier burden to his countenance. A discerning observer might have noticed a hint of moisture in his eyes. Upon reaching the final floor, the man traversed the rundown hallway, crinkling his nose at the noxious blend of beer and scattered trash.
Shaking his head, he pressed forward until he stood before a door that elicited hatred and disgust. "For the future," he declared, pushing open the door with a broken lock. The abode within was squalid, filled with discarded beer bottles and remnants of junk food. Halting halfway to the room where everything would change, the man hesitated momentarily, muscles tensed, but he persevered. Each thud of his boots on the wooden floor reverberated through the house adorned with unattractive blue wallpaper, a dilapidated couch, and a half broken television. 'Thud, Thud, Thud, Thud.'
With a determined grip, he turned the cold gold doorknob and creaked the door open. The room's brown walls were sticky, emanating the stench of a landfill. On a king-size bed lay a woman with a sickly pale complex, sprawled on her stomach, cradling a pillow with one arm and clutching a bottle beneath the other. Retrieving a check from his pocket, the man placed it on the stand by her bed.
Kneeling beside her, he gently removed the bottle from her grasp, turning her onto her back. Placing his hand over her pregnant stomach, he whispered, "Sorry... but this will make us strong." Light poured from his hand into the woman's belly as his face contended with tears and exhaustion. After a minute of radiant energy transferring from him to her, it ceased. "Be happy," he murmured, his form flickering, and in the blink of an eye, he vanished. A fleeting smile graced his face before disappearing, leaving an empty room behind.
Location...New York, Manhattan
Date...February 2nd, 2024
In the heart of a meticulously aligned row of twelve houses, each standing in perfect perpendicular harmony, resided a white, medium-sized house at Number 6 Marsfield Lane. On the second floor of this unassuming abode, sat Markus Kane, a 16-year-old with short black hair, black eyes haunted by darkness, and a pallid complexion. Positioned before a black leather chair, he fixated on a television screen.
"Death to the pagans!... Topple the pagan stones!" Mark fervently shouted, his fingers furiously manipulating the controller. Abruptly, a ping emanated from his phone, casting an intrusive glow in the dim room.
A text from his grandmother flashed on the screen
(Grandma) Mark, time for school.
"Damnit," Mark muttered, swiftly powering down the PlayStation. Hastily retrieving socks from a drawer, he sat on the edge of his bed, forcing them onto his feet and cramming them into his shoes. "Coming!" he shouted, the urgency evident in his voice.
Snatching his black backpack, Mark dashed down the stairs and entered the kitchen. There, he found his grandmother toiling over the dishes.
Pausing, he silently contemplated all she had done for him.
"What are you staring at, Mark? Hurry up; you're going to be late," she chided.
Mark chuckled, "Sorry, sorry. I'm going now... love you."
Laughing in return, she said, "I love you too, now go."
In a haste, Markus swiftly exited the kitchen, snatching a piece of toast on the fly, and mumbled, "Se'u you la'tur." Rushing through the door, down the steps, he sprinted towards the bus stop. Just in the nick of time, he reached it as the glaringly yellow bus screeched to a halt. Markus fell in line with the other kids, who barely spared him a glance. 'It's not like they care,' he thought, combing down the bus in search of an empty seat, well aware that no kid would ever allow him to share theirs. As he walked the aisle, Markus's phone buzzed.
(Grandma) You forgot your lunch, sweetie.
"You've got to be joking."
"What?" A girl's disdainful gaze met Markus's.
Realizing he had been standing in front of her for an awkwardly long time, Markus muttered, "Nothing, sorry." Rolling her eyes, she replied, "Whatever." He continued until he found a worn-out seat and settled uncomfortably into it. Shifting around, he leaned his forehead against the window and closed his eyes. The screech of the bus pulling to a stop jolted him awake.
Glancing around, Markus spotted students exiting the bus. He gingerly got up, stretched his arms over his head, and twisted his body, eliciting satisfying cracks. "All right, let's get this over with," he sighed.
Markus was far from being considered "popular." Bullied by his peers without understanding why, it seemed like people around him grew angry for no reason. No matter how kind or pleasant he tried to be, someone would always find a reason to be upset.
Markus felt as if even donating his kidneys to a stranger wouldn't spare him from their anger. 'It's really tiring. Why was I born like this? I just wish I was normal, wish I had friends to talk to, to have fun with. I just want one friend who gets me,' Markus pondered, his thoughts echoing in the confines of his mind. As Markus stepped off the bus the cool morning wind caressed his face as he traversed through the brown school doors.
The glares bore into his back as his black Converse echoed against the polished marble floor with each deliberate step towards his classroom.
"Hey Loser!" A guy with a group of jockeys surrounding him walking by shouted. Rolling his eyes 'Better to ignore it, the last time...". Sighed, Markus continued to walk down the hall until he reached his classroom door squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath, he clasped the handle and pushed it open. Scanning the room, Markus identified a portly, ginger-haired woman seated at the front, her desk looming large.
'Must be the teacher,' he thought, spotting an empty seat in the back. Ignoring the hostile gazes, Markus continued his trek, arriving at the desk covered in gum. 'Must have known I was going to sit here,' he mused. Sitting down he spotted a pretty girl with brunette hair looking at him with an ugly look upon her face. "Hmph," Markus breathed through his nose and turned his attention to the teacher.
"Alright, class, welcome back. This year, we'll be delving into the intricacies of the Louisiana Purchase, so please take out your textbooks," the teacher announced.
6 hours later
Bus
As the bus reached its final stop, only three students remained, including Markus, who was engrossed in a game of Call of Duty on his phone. "What a loooooong day. I can't wait to get home and lay on my comfy bed," he muttered to himself, his disdain for school evident in his thoughts. Just as he prepared to disembark, Markus noticed the absence of other passengers. "Why isn't anyone coming?" he wondered , a honk broke the silence, startling Markus.
Turning around, he spotted the bus driver with his head slumped on the wheel, snoring. "What the fuck! Hey, mister, you okay?" Markus rushed to the driver's side, shaking him vigorously. "Someone call 911!" he shouted, panic rising within him. Checking for signs of life, Markus breathed a sigh of relief as he confirmed the driver was still breathing. "Why is he asleep, then?" Markus pondered, perplexed by the situation.
Growing increasingly alarmed by the lack of response from the other students, Markus looked around. "Hey, why aren't you calling 911?" he questioned, only to realize they too were fast asleep. "Holy shit, what's going on?" Markus cursed under his breath, a sense of dread settling out of the bus, Markus's eyes widened in horror as he surveyed the scene before him. Person after person lay asleep on the pale concrete ground, their motionless forms painting a chilling tableau of unconsciousness.
Suddenly, the air was shattered by the sound of gunfire and explosions. Markus instinctively covered his head, his heart racing as he turned to see a black-haired, sea-green-eyed 16-year-old wielding a gold short sword, engaged in combat with a horde of skeletons. Shock and disbelief washed over Markus as he struggled to comprehend the surreal scene unfolding before him.
"I have to get home and make sure my grandma's safe," Markus exclaimed, his heart pounding with urgency. Without hesitation, he bolted off, his feet pounding against the pavement as he raced towards his house. With each stride, determination fueled his movements, propelling him forward.
"Two more blocks," Markus thought, his pace quickening as adrenaline surged through his veins, blurring the world around him. As he spotted the familiar landmarks of his neighborhood, his resolve strengthened.
"Just one more block," he urged himself on, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
As he approached his house, Markus felt a surge of panic grip him. The sight of the broken front door sent a shiver down his spine. With a burst of energy, he rushed inside, shouting, "Grandma!" His voice echoed through the empty halls, filled with worry.
Scanning the living room frantically, Markus's eyes fell upon the too-small brown couch and his grandmas favorite soft black chair, but his grandmother was nowhere to be seen. Hastily, he made his way to the kitchen, his heart pounding in his chest.
And then, he saw her.
Lying on the white marble floor, her body motionless, his grandmother lay with a black knife embedded in her back. "Grandma!" Markus cried out, tears streaming down his face as he rushed to her side. With trembling hands, he removed the knife and turned her over, praying for any sign of life.
Placing his ear against her chest, Markus listened desperately for the sound of her heartbeat. But there was nothing. "Please, please, I can't lose her," he pleaded silently to whatever higher power might be listening.
As reality sank in, Markus's anguish erupted into a heart-wrenching wail that seemed to reverberate through the very walls of the house. His scream echoed into the night, shattering the silence and scattering shards of glass in its wake.
AN: Whoever has read this thank you and i promise i will get better and better at writing as i go on. I was going to make this 5k words but had a bit of writers block but i promise ill make the next chapter at least 5k words. Anyway id like to thank manke who inspired me to write (If you haven't go check out his stories their fantastic). Id also like to thank pin whose been a massive help in helping me learn to write and to everyone else i haven't named thank you so much 3.
Im planning on putting out a chapter a week i will try my upmost hardest to do so. I will also like to temper expectations a little bit by saying that i am massively revamping the gods system so be prepared for that also im going to be changing a lot of characters and their pairings.
till next time