His father had looked him straight in his eyes and nodded a stiff yes then turned his eyes back to sharpening the blade in his hands.

He had hoped his father would say that the man had been wrong because if he is right what does that mean of the man he revered all those years. He asked nothing else but since then observed so many more things. Many more ways in which his father was even more different from the other men. Even less of a man than other men. He felt ashamed to be born of such a weakness.

Though he continued to listen keenly to his father’s guidance, Jerome strayed as often as he could manage so that he could see how other father’s trained with their sons and, on occasion, he crept out of their tent at night to watch the battle worn men spar with each other. His father was oblivious and his mother was but a woman and couldn’t do anything about it even if she thought about it. If he was going to bring pride back to his family then he needed to be trained by real men.

“Only in the heat of honorable battle does a man bring honor to his blood and become worthy to carry the Blood Flame.”

After passing his test in the arena a year ago, he was considered a man so he no longer had to hide his desire for alternate guidance from his family and could chart his own path to becoming the greatest blood shaman warrior that his people had ever seen.

His father, though visibly crushed by his son’s decision, said nothing when he was told. They did not speak to each other except when necessary. His mother wept every night for the dysfunction in her family while Jerome plotted how he could rid himself of their shadow.

*** 2.) ***  His world had consisted of just Magi, Priest and Ninja for as long as he could remember. He thought that they were everything left in existence then for some reason they decided to throw him out to experience the world alone in complete sensory pandemonium. Plants, animals or so many sizes, colors and temperaments. Then the smells, there were so many crazy new things to smell. Every new sound was a barrage of noise assaulting his ears.

In desperation, Jerome ran through endless forest for two suns and three moons until he came to solid rock. He focused all of his remaining power into energized strikes to create a small cave for himself where he could muffle out the chaos. The Three had a penchant for cruelty but always with a purpose in mind. He had been by their side long enough to understand that about them. However, Jerome could not understand why they did this to him. What was there to be learned from this and why did it need to be done in this manner? Was their goal to cause his madness? They tortured and broke him until he could not remember life before them. They told him that he was the remnant of an evil destructive race that destroyed Earth and that they had taken him to the realm of the gods for their experiments. He was kept in a large, dark place that had no exit just long, seemingly never ending corridors and high walls that stretched higher than he could see.

Part of their game was to give him free reign of everywhere but their private quarters when they didn’t need him as a guinea pig or slave labor. They meant to break him but some force inside him refused to allow Jerome to truly bend to their will. If he was going to be the last human then he would not let his race’s last death be in cowardice. It was what got him through every day, every wound and every brush with death. He also knew that his fight was the only reason they didn’t kill him. It made it fun for them. Sometimes it even put them in a good enough mood to talk about the old world or allow him to read from their library, which taught him all about the gods and their world.

Jerome sometimes asked questions about things described that he didn’t understand or mysterious blank pages in sections of books but they would get very defensive and refused to give details about anything. Usually, they would communicate that position with more blood and violence. It had become somewhat of the status quo. It made him strong. He studied ways to somehow break out of the prison he was in and into the world of the gods. Jerome became obsessed with it and thought he was getting close but then one day The Three grabbed him and ported him into the world.

When the day was done he asked him, “Father, today General Muthrak said that to be an Ahk’Zuman man is to be a great blood warrior with armor that sang war songs when he walked and made the core of his enemies reverberate with fear. Is that true?”

His father had looked him straight in his eyes and nodded a stiff yes then turned his eyes back to sharpening the blade in his hands.

He had hoped his father would say that the man had been wrong because if he is right what does that mean of the man he revered all those years. He asked nothing else but since then observed so many more things. Many more ways in which his father was even more different from the other men. Even less of a man than other men. He felt ashamed to be born of such a weakness.