There was a time when man merely gazed at the stars above them, yearning to someday draw upon their well of potentiality and live amongst them.
There was a time where he too dreamt of the day he would be swimming against the tide of ethereal darkness, blanketed by the eyes of heavenly bodies that illuminated the vast universe.
There was a time where he had a dream.
In fact, he had many dreams. One such dream was to be rich enough to sleep soundly every night without worrying about where to find the money for the food he will eat for his next dinner.
It was a peculiar dream, a lowly dream, shared amongst the street with which he lived. He waded his body through the mires of poverty in search of anything that would make him feel alive.
Anything to give him purpose, which he thought he had not. In retrospect, it was clear that his purpose was for the children, to give them a change at the harsh reality with which they will have to live.
That was why he had decided to kill himself. His purpose was gone and, frankly, punishing himself in that prison had been… boring.
Yes, boring. Physical pain was one thing, but his soul was gone. He could endure a lifetime of agony, but sorrow? That he cannot.
Now, here he was. At the cusp of total calamity.
The advent of Apocalypse was nearing. Its hand had set the clock for world destruction and, here he was, retrospective about his life.
'What a goddamn fool.'
His mind roared against the sudden intrusion of morbid thoughts.
"A penny for your thoughts." Hephaestus' voice was as clear as a midnight lake as it echoed beside Irwin.
He pursed his lips, silently contemplating whether to tell his story. But, it appears that the god cares not if he has answered.
"When I first became aware of your existence… I must say that my first thought were to extinguish what little remained of your life." He said with a light chuckle. "If it were not for the advice of my companion, then you would have died and we would have ourselves a merry little meal and they would have departed upon my hut."
Irwin snorted, amusement evident on his face. "I suppose you have a story to tell, or are you just hinting that I should thank you for not killing me?"
The pagan god laughed heartily. "Ha! Boy, you should be thankful Gelmir was not as… gluttonous as he once was."
"Well, that's one thing I'm going to thank you for," Irwin said, a knowing smile on his face.
Context clues had led him to believe that the three of them were exiles, either willingly or because of a sense of preservation.
Brunhilde, for instance, was supposed to die by suicide, joining her husband in death. Since she's still alive, however, that means she faked her own death, or he was completely wrong about his mythology.
Irwin does not actually know much about her and that part of history.
Thrudgelmir, on the other hand, was the son of Ymir. If he was to guess correctly, then he either had avenged his father's death and was running for his life or that Odin wanted to cut off the next blood of Ymir and was running for his life.
And Hephaestus.
"A train wreck."
"What?"
Irwin's eyes widened, neatly folding his hands between the pit of his arms and giving him a bright smile.
"I, uh…" He took a glance at the pagan god and, seeing as his expression was as if the former was being weird, Irwin shook his head. "My life is a… train wreck and, by god, you can't just look away."
Hephaestus snorted. "Whose life is not? A painless life is a life not worth living, that's what I say."
"I think Socrates said that," Irwin replied.
"Who the hell do you think told Socrates about it, huh? Ya, bastard!" The pagan god huffed in frustration and kept muttering about copyright issues regarding one of the famous philosophers in history. "Anyway, look, kid, I can sense a purpose within your every step. Even when you were regaling Gelmir with the fancy fucking toys, you were like a daemon salesman."
"Yeah. This world is going to end, sir. Badly, at that. And our supposed saviors… Well, they're busy preparing for a war that they think they will win. It's a fucked up world out there and I intend to save it." Irwin exhaled, silently cursing Heaven for their crimes.
"Yet I sense hesitation in your movements." Hephaestus grinned, sitting down on an old stump at the edge of the hut. "Words can be spoken, true or not. But actions… Those are what merits our intentions. The three of us are not easily fooled; we are warriors, through and through.
We would not have agreed to your request if you had any inkling in your heart to betray or use us for any other agenda. That's what separates us from my kin and the other monsters in this world."
"Intention?" Irwin asked.
"Purpose. My siblings were created after humans worshiped us, were the object of their desire and it filled us with greed and haughtiness. We were gods and their worship was but a nature taking its rightful place. And when it stopped, when the rightful throne descended from their high horses and the humans forged their mind, instead of their souls, those gods were angry. They think they deserve respect and more worship. Human souls are nothing but food for their gilded table."
Irwin was slacked-jawed as he listened to the pagan god. "You didn't become one of them because…"
"I have a purpose. We have purpose," He pointed towards the hut where the other two currently resided. "And so we did not become monsters. We did not feed on human souls. But you… you also have a purpose. No. In fact, you must have one."
Hephaestus' words were desperate, as if pleading to Irwin's very essence.
"Why?" He asked in a husk of his own voice.
"Because your power, your ability, your very strength… it could lead you down a path of dark desires. Without a strong sense of purpose, you very well be the most monstrous of us all. A monster feared by other monsters."
What the god said was true, and Irwin knew it.
Three months. That was how long it took for him to contend against demons and gather experienced and powerful hunters by his side. That's not even including all the untapped potential he had cast aside, for he was too dumb and egotistical to mine such a quarry.
If he were to turn to the dark side, then only Chuck knew how large a devastation his hands could create.
His heart quickened its beating, fire blasting upon his veins as he breathed in the fresh woodland air.
He silently asked himself, 'What is my purpose?'
And the world answered.
…
End Of The First Volume: A Most Wonderful Life
The next volume, The Rise & Fall Of Azazel, will start on June 16.
In the meantime, look out for a new fan-fiction novel I'm starting soon. It's called [New Dawn]. It's about a kid in the DC Universe thrust into superhero life when he becomes a sacrifice for a blood ritual.