Gordon reached for his belt to pull out a cigar, and grunted when he found the holder empty.
His tongue was dry, and his lips itched for the feeling of holding the course paper of the hand-rolled cigars that he always carried with him. His throat was parched, but he didn't even bother to reach for the water nearby as this wasn't the sort of thirst that could be satiated so.
The governor who had heard him turned around with a sickening smile on his face, about to ask for the umpteenth time whether he needed anything. Gordon could tell that the man was doing it only so that he could get some distance between the two of them, but his orders had been clear: stay beside him, no matter what.
And he had always been someone for whom orders were to be carried out even if they meant death.
He reminded himself that this was an odyssey, but another part of him said that it didn't make a difference. He didn't think much of his own life so far, but many called it illustrious, or even filled with glory, and prestige.
With no money to feed himself, he had entered the Army at a very young age, climbing the ranks until he was a Major, known for his tenacity and iron command over those under him. He had earned many laurels, but that career had ended the moment he defied an order to send soldiers to their deaths, and was blamed and courtmartialed for the decision he had taken.
Not unused to a hard life, he hadn't let it affect him too much and entered a career in construction: something he had always been interested in, even as a young soldier. His hard work and interest in the field took him far, even resulting in him setting up his own firm, but once again, bad luck struck in the form of people whom he had to bribe, but wasn't willing to. Insinuations were raised against his fledgling company, and he was once again on the street.
Still determined to not give in, he had begun to search for what else he could do… and then, the gods descended, and Gordon's eyes had shown the moment he saw them floating in the sky.
He simply hadn't been able to believe that humans could also obtain that kind of power. In an instant, he had imagined what he could have done in the situations in his life so far if he hadn't been so weak. If he hadn't had anything to rely on, and no power to fall back on in case things got really bad.
He had worked hard once again, despite being ridiculed for his age and the antics he got up to to finish odysseys. It all worked out, though… when he was spotted by the Dragon, and taken under the man's wing after he applied for a spot.
At first, very few had believed it. After all, what kind of master would take on disciples who were almost 50 years old, with the grave not far off?
Yet, the Dragon was not a normal master. He had picked two types of disciples: one whose talents and minds were still fresh and young, ready to be molded into whatever he wished, and another who had been tempered by experience and the perils of life until they would stand and remained standing, no matter what was thrown at them.
Obviously, he was of the latter category. And as he saw Gloria, the one who was supposed to be leading him, give in to shock as the horse fitted with those boots passed her, he shook his head, knowing that her inexperience had shown itself at the worst time possible.
That was the problem with youth. Especially in the case of youth like her, who were repeatedly told that the world was in their grasp. The moment anything happened that took them out of this fantasy, they would flounder like a rock in water.
As if he had already anticipated such a thing… the Dragon had told him clearly that he should step up when that happened, to lead her and show what she should have done.
He turned his eyes to the monitor showing the horse with the cloak in front of it barrelling inwards. To give himself a clear path, the villain had also taken out the third flute and had begun to play it quietly, only affecting those closest to him. It was a stallion, black as sin, matching the color of the protective tool in front of it, and for a moment, accompanied by the one wearing the skull-shaped mask on top of it, it almost seemed as if the god of death, himself, had come down to end this odyssey.
Gordon was unfazed. He had faced worse on the battlefield, so there was no way that he would balk at almost anything in the world.
Turning his eyes to the door in front of him, he walked forward, instantly knowing the weak parts of it through which the horse would soon burst forward. It had always been a talent of his; he was able to reason out the structural integrity of most things with just a look, and if that wasn't sufficient, his master had taught him enough spells to make it so that there was almost nothing made by the hand of man that could evade his scrutiny.
It was closely related to his power, too, and it was the reason behind his master favoring him so much. Despite their difference in age and the contrast in the nature of their minds, one thing was common between him and Gloria: neither of them wanted to see their master displeased, and that meant that they had to win, at any cost.
Standing in front of the governor's desk, Gordon pointed his palms at a spot in front of the door. A large tile lay there, pristine and glittering in the light falling from the chandelier above, but as he drew on his Blessing and felt its power course through his veins, giving him more of a rush than any drug in the world, the corners of the tiles around it cracked.
Satisfied, he let his hands fall to his sides, but grimaced when one of them went for the cigarette again. Before he could do anything else, a loud crash resounded from the doors that swung inwards…and then, the moment the horse stepped on the tile, he flicked his right hand, and it burst into the air.
The horse neighed with fright and even the one on top of it screeched with surprise. Gordon watched them both, resting for a moment as he had just cast the spell, hoping that the Odyssey would end with the villain directly hitting his head on the ceiling and dying due to the fall.
Alas, the skull-faced man was able to pull the cloak from the horse and use it to shield himself at the last moment. He used it to break his fall, too, making Gordon recall memories that made him wince with displeasure, but then, as men and woman began to rush inside the residence, he furrowed his eyebrows and move back, behind the governor.
Obviously, all of their plans had gone to shit. He wasn't blaming anyone, yet, but he knew that the situation was not very good.
Gloria was trapped behind the people, cutting her way through but still needed time to get to where he was. He could easily flatten all those in front of him if he wished, but the restriction still stood that if too many died, they would lose.
Just one glance at the governor made him take his decision. The man had to be protected at any cost. And in any war… these three words took on a whole different meaning.
A smile came to his dry lips which were seldom graced by it. He cracked his knuckles, drawing deep on his Blessing, and that shining light filled his body once more, tantalizingly convincing him that the very world was his.
The villain triumphantly began to walk forward. The soldiers hidden inside the people drew their guns, and it seemed that their loss was imminent.
Yet, Gordon suddenly squatted and put his hands to the floor, and the entire building rumbled…then began to fall.