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The Games that Gods Play	By : Ristul Category: DC Verse Comics > Wonder Woman Views: 16896 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Wonder Woman,nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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I honor my gods, yet sometimes I do feel more than a bit frustrated at their capriciousness.
-Wonder Woman
Devastation swooped down onto the city, her keen eyes seeking out the mob assailing her hated foe Wonder Woman and her companions. Cronus had ordered her to stay put, but Deva had other ideas.
I will have my vengeance! She thought as she soared through the skies. Her keen hearing picked up the battle, of Amazons and her cultists battling ferociously.
It didn’t warn her of the bullet that streaked past her cheek. A crack through the air followed microseconds later.
Deva pulled back, surprised. Before she could think, another bullet scratched her on one arm. She reacted instinctively to avoid it, but just barely.
Over there! Her enhanced sight managed to pick out a figure with a gun on a rooftop, aiming straight at her. She would not let him have a second chance. Devastation put on an extra burst of speed, intent on killing him with a single blow. He stayed in place, as though unworried about her attack. Devastation snarled at his nonchalance. She’d show him what it meant to attack her!
Then just as she was about to hit him into the next state, he stepped smoothly out of her way and literally faded from view.

Phillip Delacroix carefully slung his AWP on his back. It had been by sheer luck that he had spotted Devastation approaching, and he had left the main group to handle her.
After a short meeting in Gawain’s hut, Phillip had taken Gawain aside and told him to teleport the group to a secret base in the Cascades. Phillip had used the resources of Ares Macrotech to construct the hideout, equipped with the latest communication equipment and well stocked with weapons. It was designed to act as a war room for future conflicts, but Phillip had not expected to use it so quickly, just a week after its completion.
The base was capable of withstanding a nuclear war, buried deep underground within the mountains, and accessible through a series of well-hidden entrances, as well as specially hidden teleporters secreted in several cities. The King of Pain had taken all possible precautions, hiring Felix Faust to magically wipe the memories of those who had worked on the hideout to constructing magical defenses and shielding for the hideout. He had then forced Felix to work his spells on himself, and paid the rogue wizard several million dollars for his trouble.
It was all paying off now.
“Pain, we’re in position.” Morgan Carter, Lord Conquest, said to him through the earphones in his suit. “Do we proceed?”
“Affirmative. Don’t wait for me.” The telepathy spell Ares had cast on them was gone, along with almost everything Ares had. So it was back to more traditional methods of communication, which Phillip did not mind.
Phillip had managed to get Gawain to round up the rest of Ares’ posse, except for Baron Blitzkrieg, whose whereabouts were unknown. Finding the Amazons here had been a major stroke of luck; the satellite imagery was just lucky enough to pass by overhead, and the Duke of Deception had managed to spot the gathering of cultists. Not knowing what they might face, his team was all loaded with as much combat equipment as it could carry.
Ares was a wreck, and left behind in the base along with Ramon. Artemis and Cassie had wanted to come along, but Phillip had refused because Gawain could not teleport too many people without exhausting himself, and Artemis was injured. So it was him, Gawain, Jake, Morgan Carter and Stanley Burnside participating, along with Donna to speak to the Amazons. Joshua Peres was left to act as coordinator and to prepare for the new arrivals.
But then Devastation had appeared over the town, forcing his hand. She was a blur as she dived at him, but Phillip wasn’t worried. He simply stepped to one side, and vanished into thin air.

Deva flew to a halt above the roof, quickly looking around the area. It was not dark, since the moon was up and the light from it was quite strong that night. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on her sense of hearing. Nothing.
Then it happened. A cut on her leg, just enough to break the skin. She swung her fist angrily, trying to catch the man, but it met only thin air.
Another cut, this time on her right cheek. Deva flinched back, enraged beyond reason by the taunting strikes. She shrieked, and hammered both her hands onto the roof with all her strength. Let’s see you escape this!
The building crumbled to the ground, and Deva stayed aloft as it collapsed into a mess of rubble and throwing up a storm of dust. She watched the dust like a hawk, and noted a section where the dust seemed to be thinner, because of the presence of a man.
Got you! She flew down, and reached out with her hand to grab the man. In her mind, she was already imagining the tortures he would do to him. She would tease him into incoherence, break his bones, and then turn him into another of her brainwashed cultists.
The faint wisp of the dust giving way to something cutting through it was the only hint she had of the blade descending on her.
Deva quickly sidestepped the attack, and lashed out with a kick that should have connected, but again met only thin air. The dust was settling, and that was when the man appeared before her.
He was clad in black, with a mask over his face. He was also tall, about six foot four, with a physique that was both muscular and graceful at the same time. He held a sword, which glowed darkly with magical energy. There was an aura of danger around him, but Deva was not worried. She was the scion of Cronus, recipient of gifts from him and his Titans. No mere mortal man could stop her.
“You’ll regret this!” Deva yelled at him. She reached out with her power of memory, intent on breaking him with his own worst nightmares and memories.
She was shocked when her mental assault suddenly floundered, blocked by several shifting channels that dissipated the strength of her attack with ease. Then she was suddenly somewhere else…
Her limbs were in chains. It was dark, smelly, with dim lights on the walls. Several cackling shapes could be seen in the shadows.
She twisted, trying to free herself. Pain engulfed her, all over and in her body. She twisted her head, and saw the broken and partly severed fingers on her hands. Entire pieces of skin had been torn off her legs, and nails were hammered into her body. She choked back a sob from the excruciating agony
Fear overcame her as one of the shapes emerged from the darkness, a grotesque misshapen creature wielding several metal tools that could only be used for torture. She bit back her fear, trying to remain stoic in the face of her helplessness.
The creature leaned over her. “Tell us.”
She did not reply. The creature did not react immediately, until it suddenly stabbed a pair of scissors into her eyes…

Phillip looked down at the shivering girl at his feet. Tears flowed down her terrified face as she relived one of his worst memories, albeit with her own body and her own reactions. He had a hunch she would not take it as well as he had. He sniggered at himself. Yeah, as if he had come out of it in one piece.
He stood over her amidst the rubble of the building she had destroyed, trying to persuade himself to end her agony with one swift stroke of Infamy. He lowered his sword to her neck. She cried out in terror from her nightmare, and he wavered. Kill her now to prevent problems later. He repeated the mantra in his head for several seconds, but his hand would tremble whenever he tried to end her life.
Dammit. He sheathed his sword. He would not, could not kill her. And he realized that it was all Diana’s fault for infecting him with mercy. At the back of his mind was worry for Wonder Woman, but he forced himself to ignore the feeling.
The King of Pain moved away, back into the shadows where he could move without being seen. He spoke softly into his mouthpiece, “Conquest, this is Pain. Target neutralized.”

Mala gasped as her lacerated fists beat back another cultist. The were now in a narrow alley, so tight that it had only enough room for one person. Phillipus had led them here, and it was a good choice, since that meant the superior numbers of the cultists was effectively nullified. One on one, none of them could defeat an Amazon.
But they could wear them down. Athena, Phillipus and Io gasped for breath behind her, trying to regain their strength while Mala fought. They would take over when she tired.
And she was already tired beyond belief. Fighting Cronus’ cult was like fighting a hydra. Two more cultists would appear when one when beaten.
The Amazon groaned as she blocked a vicious kick from a cultist who was marginally trained in combat, and deflected another chop. Normally, she would not have any trouble with this level of technique, but she was exhausted and her reflexes had slowed.
She aimed a wild haymaker that would have flattened the man, except he ducked under it quickly. Mala widened her eyes as she realized he was in a position to deliver a crippling blow.
He never got the chance.
A shot rang out. The man fell back, his shoulder erupting with blood. Then several objects were thrown into the midst of the cultists, spewing out smoke. The cultists began to cough, and rub at their eyes.
Mala looked up, and saw a man in a black suit seven meters above the cultists with his feet planted firmly against the walls of the buildings surrounding the alley. He tossed several more tear gas grenades down, before drawing two pistols from his shoulder holsters.
“Stand down!” He shouted, pointing his weapons at the cultists.
“Fuck you!” A cultist charged at Mala in defiance. There was a gunshot, and he went down with a bloody hole in his thigh. The cultist clutched his leg in pain.
Mala ran her eyes across the rooftops, and sure enough there were two more gunmen, each covering the ends of the alley. The cultists went berserk, as though sensing that their chance had passed. They surged forward.
Only for several more gunshots to ring out. More cultists went down with shots to their shoulders and legs. They laid on the dirty ground, moaning and they tried to staunch their injuries.
“Come with us.” A voice said, and Mala spun to see another man in a black suit. She was surprised to see Donna in similar garb.
“Donna, what are you doing here?” Phillipus asked as the Princess exchanged quick hugs of greeting with each Amazon.
“I’m here to get you out,” said Donna, “And these men are helping as well. They’re allies,” she rolled her eyes, “For the moment anyway.”
The man spoke urgently, “Miss Troy, I’m setting up a holographic field, but it won’t last, so let’s get going.”
The Amazons nodded, and coaxed their weary bodies to follow Donna. The stranger stayed behind, and Mala spied images appearing around him, of dragons and monsters being projected. The projections started moving towards the cultists, who screamed at the sight. Those able to move started pulling those who can’t away from the illusions. Gunshots and sound effects added to the confusion, and the Amazons were able to get away cleanly.
Then Mala remembered something important as they left the alley. “Donna, Diana is also here.”
Donna grabbed her worriedly, “Then why isn’t she with you?”
“She was going to draw off some of the cultists from us. If not for her, we’d be overwhelmed already.”
Donna frowned, then quickly spoke into her microphone. “Pain, this is Troy. Diana was here, but she ran off to split the cultists.” Then a pause, while Mala wondered who Pain was. “I understand. Please hurry.”
“Who was that?”
“An ally.” Donna looked worried for an instant, before she covered her unease. “He’ll find Diana.”

Phillip ran as fast as he could on the rooftops, his eyes scanning the streets below for Wonder Woman, or any large group of cultists.
“Pain, this is Deception. We’re home free. What do we do next?”
“Evacuate.”
“What about Wonder Woman?”
“I’ll get her.”
“On your own?” asked Jake.
“Yes. Now get out of here, Bear. That’s an order.” Last he checked, he outranked Jake and Gawain. By a hair. Since Ares was unable, and Morgan unwilling to lead, Phillip had automatically assumed leadership of the whole mess, something he did not like to do. Taking responsibility for others never was his strong suit.
He began to hear screams and wild yells, and Phillip felt a cold sensation in his stomach, a warning of danger and peril. He allowed his senses to roam free, attuning himself to his environment.
Then he saw them, a group of cultists standing over Wonder Woman. He pulled out his Uzi with his left hand. He shouted, “Hey! Up here!” And leapt from the top of the building down into their midst.
He landed on a cultist, who crumpled with a groan, while firing his Uzi at the scattering cultists. They scattered just long enough before coming straight back at him, braving his gunfire. Phillip stood over Wonder Woman, taking in her condition with a single glance.
She was barely conscious, having been beaten into submission by the cultists. Blood trickled from her lovely face onto the ground, while her costume was torn in many places, leaving only scraps on her flawless body. Phillip controlled the surge of anger that threatened to erupt when he realized what the cultists had planned to do. No, don’t lose focus. Thankfully, they hadn’t been able to do anything to her. He wasn’t sure what he might have done then.
The Uzi ran out of bullets. The cultists closed in. Phillip drew his sword and a dagger, and beckoned them forward with a vicious snarl on his face.
They attacked him. Or tried to, at any rate. Phillip held back from killing them outright. No, he had other options. Cultists went down clutching their necks, arms, and legs, trying to staunch the blood flow from their cut arteries. All of them disbelieving their lone opponent’s skill and intent.
“Diana! Wake up!” Phillip slashed another cultist on the neck, dropping the man to the ground. The unease he had been feeling was beginning to build up to a crescendo, and he didn’t plan on sticking around long enough to see it. He shouted again, “Get up, please!”

Diana found herself surrounded in fog. She reached out with her hands, searching for a way out.
A voice came to her, “Diana! Wake up!” It was full of fear and concern for her. She tried to walk towards it. “Get up, please!”
Then she suddenly found herself lying in the middle of a street, while battle roared around her. She lifted a hand to her head, shaking off the cobwebs in her mind.
She looked up. Phillip was engaged in battle with the cultists. He turned towards her. “You’re up! Good!” She could hear the relief and concern in his voice. He has a heart. He does not like to show it, but it is there. Despite their situation, she felt like smiling.
A cultist slashed at him with a sword. Instead of parrying the blow, Phillip twisted round the blow, and Diana marveled at his skill as he came up behind the cultist and jammed the man into a headlock with his left arm. But she was unprepared for what came next.
With his head pinned in a headlock, and finding hard to breathe, the cultist opened his mouth to draw in more air. Phillip then jammed the tip of his sword through the man’s right cheek, through his open oral cavity, and through the left cheek. The man could not even move his head nor close his mouth. He could only gargle in terror.
Diana had never seen anything like that before.
Neither had the cultists. Their faces showed fear and disbelief.
“Any more takers?” Phillip challenged, still holding his hostage. His tone and manner left no doubt as to what he was capable of. The hesitant cultists stepped back from him, surprising Diana. What does he have that I, and the other Amazons, don’t? Why can he command the cultists, while I cannot?
“I can kill all of you, you know.” Phillip said to the cultists hanging on his every word. “It’s wayyyy easier to just cut a bit deeper and kill you for good. But I’m a nice guy. So get up, get your buddies, and get lost. They,” he nodded his head towards the groaning and bleeding cultists, “will die if they don’t receive medical aid soon. I doubt Cronus will be pleased if they die.”
The cultists began to back away. Phillip then shouted, “Scram!” They ran.
Diana stood up, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You can let him go now.”
“Not yet. He’s insurance.” Phillip replied. “We need to move someplace where we can wait for Angle Man.”
“Gawain Sharpe?” Diana furrowed her brow in confusion. She followed him to a small corner of a building. The cultists tailed them at a safe distance.
“Donna Troy persuaded him to help. I doubt he would have refused.”
Diana smiled. “Then what about you? Why are you here?”
He looked at her. “Ares got zapped by Cronus as well. He’s at my hideout, but he’s broken. The only free Olympians right now are him and Athena.” He laughed bitterly. “Cronus has learnt from his mistake, and the other Olympians are prisoners in Tartarus.”
“Never fear, Princess of Themyscira! We shall free them!”
Wonder Woman looked up to see Isis, Mammitu, Bast, and Neith descend from the skies in their godly splendor. Her heart soared with hope as they landed in front of her. With their help, the Olympians will surely be restored!
The cultists scattered with fright at the sight of so much power displayed. But Phillip only had a look of horror as he seemed to realize something. He shouted at the goddesses, “Be careful! It’s a trap!”
Dull laughter rumbled around them, and the goddesses turned round to see Cronus and his Titans striding towards them.
“It’s just a damn trap.” Phillip muttered. “Dammit, Gawain, we need you here now!”
Isis was the first to speak. “Lord Cronus, your actions are most unsettling. We demand…”
Cronus laughed. “You will demand nothing.” He waved a hand forward. “I just want your power.” His Titans rushed forward.
“Shit!” Phillip pushed the petrified cultist free of his blade. “Diana, stay here!”
She pulled a dagger free from his belt, and followed him towards the raging battle. “I am an Amazon Princess. I listen to no man!”
“Down!” He hollered, rolling to the ground as Cronus fired off a thunderbolt, obviously stolen from Zeus. Diana raised her bracelets, trusting to the power of the enchantments placed on them. The thunderbolt struck her bracelets, and deflected back to Cronus, hitting him squarely in the chest.
To her horror, he just laughed. Meanwhile, Diana’s heart sank at the sight of the Egyptian goddesses being pummeled by the Titans. Slaughter had simply crashed into Isis, holding her down while he hammered at her magical shields with his array of weapons. Harrier had grabbed Bast, and was flinging the goddess into building after building. Neith and Mammitu were no better, battered by the overpowering might of Titan, Oblivion, Disdain, and Arch.
Cronus waved his arms, and a wall of lightning erupted from the ground, preventing Diana from going to the aid of the goddesses. Wonder Woman cried out, “No!” as Cronus stood over each goddess with his sickle and began stripping them of their divine power. She tried to break past the barrier, but was badly electrocuted for her effort. She was flung back several meters by the wall.
Phillip removed the rifle from his shoulder, and squeezed off several shots. The bullets all halted at the wall of lightning. “Damn.”
Gawain Sharpe suddenly appeared in front of them, his triangle in his hand. “What the heck…”
Phillip wasted no time. “Gawain, teleport us and those goddesses out, ASAP!”
“Got it! Hang on!”
Cronus turned to stare at them as Wonder Woman and Phillip grabbed Gawain. Diana was disorientated for a moment as Angle Man teleported them next to the goddesses, but she recovered quickly, hooking her arms around Neith and Bast. Phillip did the same with Isis and Mammitu, and Diana was surprised to feel the sickening sensation of jealousy in her stomach as she saw Phillip gently cradling the unconscious goddesses. How she wished to be the one in his arms instead…
“Gawain!” Phillip shouted.
“Bye, sucker!” Gawain had the temerity to taunt Cronus as reality shifted around her again.
They arrived at what seemed to be a huge underground base. Angle Man collapsed to the ground, worn out by his exertions.
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Interlude 7

Gawain’s past was as unusual as Tom’s. Both of them were born in adversity, raised in trying conditions. They did not really have much of a childhood, but they were also hardened to a degree unimaginable by those who cannot understand what they had been through.
Certainly, Princess Diana of Themyscira, the Superman Clark Kent, and the Batman Bruce Wayne had far better childhoods. Diana was a princess, pampered and doted upon by her Amazon sisters and aunts. Clark Kent was raised on a moderately prosperous farm by a loving coupled that cared for him. Bruce Wayne lost his parents early on, but he had enjoyed their love for several years, and then from his guardian and caretaker, a comfortable lifestyle cushioned by a vast family fortune.
Contrast that with Gawain, who was deaf for the first seventeen years of his life, raised by a man who did not know how to handle children in a dirt poor village near the sea, living off just fish, porridge, and potatoes. With Tom, who was brutalized as a child to become the perfect killer, having to kill and murder to stay alive.
That was why, with Tom working for me, I had thought I could not possibly lose. I never considered the possibility of betrayal.
-Ares
The old man read the letter in his hand, perched on the rocks on the beach headland. His clothes were old and tattered, his face lined with age and wear. He wore no shoes, and beside him was a small bottle filled with whatever he had been able to fish out from the ocean, by means of a stick beside him. The sun was falling, its light casting a long shadow behind the man.
“Master McCleon, I hope you are well and enjoying the fruits of your labors in your twilight years. I apologize for disturbing your retirement, but I am at my wit’s end. The enemy forces are approaching my unit’s base, and we cannot possibly defeat them. They are only raiding, but they are out to kill all of us. I shall stand, fight, and die alongside my comrades, but my infant son Gawain is innocent.”
“I’ve sent him away with one of our unit’s technicians, to seek you out. I hope you will take in Gawain and raise him as your own. I am sorry for thrusting this heavy responsibility onto you, but I have no other choice. You were my benefactor, teaching me how to fight, and I believe you will do the best for my son as well.”
Baryn McCleon folded up the letter, sighing hard. “Such a nuisance.”
He slowly climbed to his feet, and picked up his bottle of fish, deep in thought. As he walked down the beach, he did not notice a dog tailing him.
All of a sudden, it ran forward and snatched away the bottle from him. It quickly reversed course, and the old man gave chase. “Damn you, give it back to me!”
Several children shouted at the dog, “Come on, doggie, run! Run!” It ran towards them, and one of the children snagged the bottle. “Come get it, old fool!”
“Give it back to me! Stop!” Baryn roared, to no effect, running after them. “Stop, you brats!”
They laughed at him, and stayed out of his reach, taunting him with the bottle. Until a fisherman tugging a boat onto the shore nearby intercepted them.
“Stop it right now!” The fisherman hit one of them on the head, taking away the bottle. “Have you any manners?”
He returned the bottle to Baryn. “I’m so sorry, sir. Your dinner?”
Baryn took back the bottle without a sound, but nodded his head in thanks. He started to walk away, as the fisherman admonished the children.
“How many times do I have to tell you idiots not to go near that strange man!”
“But he’s fun to play with!”
“Every time we take his fish, he chases us like an idiot!”
“Children! There are many kinds of people in the world. If he wants to stay away from us, he must have his reasons. As long as you don’t provoke him, he’s not dangerous. So don’t bother him.”
The fisherman stared after the man as he retreated into the nearby forest, “From what I see, he’ll starve to death soon anyway.”
The fisherman was right. Baryn had his fish, but he had no appetite. He took only a mouthful, before he threw the fish to a cat that had taken up residence in his small wooden hut.
He went back to the rocky headland, and sat on top of the rocks.
“I can’t eat. I can’t drink. I’m just like a piece of rotting wood. I, Baryn McCleon, might as well wait for death here.”
He took out the letter again. “It’s been several days since I’ve received this letter. I think the child is already dead. No point waiting for it.”
He laid down on his back, trying to remember the face of the man who had sent the letter. Did I really have a student named John Sharpe?
He drifted off into sleep…
“John, why is the place so dirty? Clean it up!” He yelled, staring at the messy room.
“Don’t bother, he’s right here.” Baryn turned to see John Sharpe being held up by his hair, in the grip of his eldest student, Ereskel.
“Ereskel, what are you doing?”
Ereskel was stripped down to his waist, and carried a wooden practice sword. “Master McCleon, I’ve beaten all the others. I firmly believe I’ve learnt everything there is to learn from you on fighting the art of hunting people. Please, fight with me.”
“You fool. You’ve spent less than three years at this, and you think you’ve learnt everything!”
“Yes.” Ereskel smiled cruelly, “and I can prove it to you. Right here, right now.”
Baryn awoke with a shock. His lungs heaved with fright from that remembered event. After Ereskel had defeated him, he had lost everything. His fortune, his students, his respect. That was three years ago.
“Wow, how many days has he been there?” a child asked. They watched from behind the trees nearest the beach, talking excitedly amongst themselves as only children could.
“Uh, two days, I think. It’s like he’s grown roots into the rocks.”
A third child claimed, “I think he’s finally lost his mind.”
Baryn stared at the ocean. No wife. No family. No friends. My sword… All I lived for was the sword. He sighed. Yes, there was a time when I had it all. Fame. Fortune. Respect. But now that I’m old, I’ve lost everything.
He began to laugh quietly. “Hahahaha! Look at the ocean! My life is just like the breaking surf, fading away quietly, leaving behind no trace of its existence.”
He looked at the letter. “It’s been many days… The child is probably dead by now. Or intercepted by enemy troops.”
A strong gust of wind suddenly swept the letter out of his hands. Baryn reached out futilely for the letter, which was blown away to the ocean. As he stared after the receding piece of paper, it was as if the last of his hopes, his reason for living on, was extinguished. “Let me die now.”
Just then, he thought he saw something in the next approaching wave rushing straight at him. The faint outline of a body in some kind of uniform, tossed by the breaking waves and deposited on the rocks. Baryn fell back under the force of the wave. When it subsided, he was on his hands and knees, staring right at the corpse in front of him.
The uniform on the corpse was that of a technician. A junior tech, from the markings on the sleeves. Baryn realized that this was the tech John Sharpe had sent to him. And that meant…
He looked out to the ocean, and sure enough, there was a small boat with an infant in it. The waves carried it high, then came crashing down. Baryn watched in horrid fascination as the infant was flung out of the boat as the wave fell.
“No!” Baryn shouted, jumping into the water. “Gawain!”
The powerful waves pushed him back against the rocks. Under the surface, he could see the infant sinking down. He summoned up his remaining strength, and swam for the baby. His hands closed around the infant, then he cradled it with one arm while using the rest of his limbs to redirect himself safely past the rocks.
He laid on the sandy beach, gasping for breath. The infant was placed under one of his arms, and it was crying loudly.
Baryn got to his feet, and checked the body of the tech. The man had been wounded in the chest, and had obviously died of blood loss or infection, when he was so near his objective. Baryn buried the man. He did not recognize the unit insignia on the man’s uniform.
Through it all, the infant continued crying, and its piteous wails became louder and louder. Baryn rubbed his forehead in worry. “You must be hungry, but I have no milk. Damn.”
He picked the infant up with both hands. “Shush! Shush now! Don’t cry, little Gawain! You make me feel like crying too!”
He held the baby up to the sun. “All right, all right! Your journey here must have been tough! And lonely too!” Then he looked at the baby’s face. Clear brown eyes stared back at him. He dropped the infant out of shock.
The crying came back, louder than before. Baryn consoled the baby as best as he could. “Sorry, sorry!” I’m truly hopeless. To think that I can be afraid of an infant’s eyes staring at me!
He dried the infant’s clothes, then put them back on the child. He sat on a nearby rock, watching the setting sun, and asked himself. “How long has it been since my hands had held somebody?”
“No. My whole life, I’ve never held anybody. Not even once. To have lived so long, holding only a weapon. After I lost even that, everything was finished for me.”
He started as he realized Gawain had crawled to the water’s edge. “Danger!” He ran forward, and scooped up the infant. He was surprised to see a longsword on the sand, sheathed in a plain scabbard.
He picked it up, and observed its length. “It’s so long. How can anybody use it?” Gawain chose that moment to start crying again. Feeling at a loss, Baryn placed the sword next to the child.
The cries stopped immediately. He was perplexed, and slowly withdrew the sword. Gawain started crying again, and Baryn automatically placed the sword next to the child. Again, the cries ceased. Baryn exclaimed in amazement, “What is the matter with you?”
The infant soon fell asleep. Baryn thought to himself. I’ll live. For just a little longer to take care of this child.
The next morning, Baryn sought out a nearby farmer’s home. He knew the farmer’s wife would have milk, since the cry of babies could be heard from the crowded hut. Farmer Brown had a large family, himself, his wife, four children and probably more on the way. He just could not resist screwing his wife every so often, and the inevitable result was more children.
Baryn did not wait. He simply pushed the door to the couple’s chambers open, revealing the two in the middle of sex, hot and sweaty. Baryn did not care for any of that. He just said, “I need milk.”
He knew he looked a sight, carrying an infant along with the longsword. Still, Mistress Brown agreed to help him out, and fed Gawain. Baryn knew he had nothing to offer the couple, and felt more than a bit useless at their charity. After Gawain was fed, he returned to his own small hut.
As he tended to Gawain, changing the infant’s clothes, he began to doubt himself. I’ve never cared for anybody, done anything for others. Not even for my students. John, why did you push this responsibility onto me? I have no confidence at all.
He panicked, unable to face such crushing task. He thought, Farmer Brown and his wife can take better care of you. Not me! I’m the last person to be a parent!
That night, he left the child at Brown’s hut, then ran away.
He spent the entire night staring at the sea, till the break of dawn. I’ve never realized the ocean was so beautiful before. He raised his arm, and flung the longsword into the ocean.
For several moments, he sat on his rock, looking down at his own hands. Then he clenched them tight. What have I done?!?
He jumped into the ocean, to retrieve the blade. Then he rushed back to Brown’s home. As he neared their place, he could hear Gawain crying, with the couple trying unsuccessfully to get him to stop.
“Return him to me!” shouted Baryn.
Brown turned to him in confusion. “Huh?”
His wife added as she quickly handed Gawain back to Baryn, “This child just can’t stop crying!”
Then the adults stared in wonderment when Gawain was cradled next to the longsword, and stopped crying. Baryn realized, Gawain likes the sword.
Gawain reached up with one small hand, and tried to grab at Baryn’s unkempt beard. The former fighter shed tears of sheer emotion and bittersweet joy. This is the first time somebody had looked at me like that!
As he walked away, Brown’s wife called out, “Mister! If you ever need milk, you can come to us!”
He nodded back to her.
For the next three years, Baryn tried his best to raise Gawain. Many times he gave up, only to be coaxed back, helped by Farmer Brown and his wife. Brown offered to hire Baryn to help out on his farm in exchange for milk and food, and Baryn accepted eagerly.
But one thing troubled Baryn throughout the three years. Why hasn’t Gawain uttered a word yet?

One day, a tall man passed near their village. He walked along the beach, and was surprised to see a small boy pulling along a longsword, dragging it along the sand.
Ereskel grinned at the sight. The longsword’s taller than the boy! What is he doing?
“Hey, little boy!” The boy continued on, oblivious to Ereskel. Ereskel yelled again, louder this time, “Hey!”
There was no response either.

“Gawain! I’m back!” Baryn called out as he returned to their small hut, after a hard day of work at the farm.
He did not react when the tip of a sword grazed him ever so slightly on his nose. He leapt back in fear a heartbeat later in shock. Then his blood froze when he recognized the man standing before him.
“Master Mccleon, I never expected you to react so slowly to an attack. Looks like the rumors of your retirement are true!”
Baryn could hardly move his body as he stammered, “Eres… kel!”
Ereskel bowed his head, “I’m sorry for being so discourteous. But I was passing by this world, and I suddenly felt like paying you a visit.”
Baryn saw Gawain watching them from the door, and said, “Gawain, go back in.”
Ereskel asked, “Whose kid is that?”
“Mine.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Baryn snapped, “I don’t care what you believe. He’s actually John Sharpe’s, but John entrusted his son to my care.”
“John?” Ereskel seemed confused, and Baryn was disgusted with his former student.
You can’t even remember your own fellow student. Goes to show just how much you value your relationships. Then he reflected. No, I’m not much better. I can’t remember John’s face either. The only student’s face I could remember was Ereskel’s. He has become so deadly…
Baryn placed his food wages from the farm that day onto a small table. “As you’ve seen, I’m retired. Ereskel, tell me, why are you really here?” He raised his voice, “To mock me?”
“No, I just wanted to visit you…”
Baryn shouted, “Get lost! I don’t need you to visit me! Go away!”
Ereskel shook his head, “Fine. I’m going, I’m going.” He took out a small packet. “On account of your being my master, here’s a bit of financial help.” He started to walk off. “Goodbye.”
Baryn was about to sigh in relief when Ereskel suddenly turned back. “Master McCleon.”
“What?” The faster Ereskel was gone, the happier Baryn would be.
“Even if the boy is John’s son, raising a deaf child is no easy matter. Good luck to you.”
“What?” Baryn stared at Ereskel in confusion. “Deaf?”
Ereskel began to laugh as he walked away. “Haha! Looks like you haven’t changed one bit. You’re still as self centered as you ever were. Other than yourself, you’ve no interest in anything else.”
The old man sat down heavily on the ground in shock and fear. My body is still shaking from his presence! He saw Gawain, and felt fear squeeze his heart in a painful vise.
“Come with me!” He grabbed Gawain and the longsword, racing for the beach. Please, let him be wrong! Please, god!
Then they were on the rocks amidst the crashing waves. Baryn crouched down beside Gawain, and shouted into his ear. “AAAAHHHHHHH!!!! GAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!”
Gawain did not respond to the yells.
He began to panic. “WUUUUUUHHHH! HEEEEEHHH! COME ON, RESPOND TO ME!”
The boy finally turned to him. But all he did was to imitate Baryn’s mouth actions, by opening his mouth widely. But no sound came out of his mouth. Gawain laughed, thinking it was all a big joke.s
Baryn screamed, “NOOOO! IT CAN’T BE! ARRRGGHHHH!”
He grabbed up the longsword, and jumped down to the beach. With one smooth motion, he drew the blade from its scabbard, and slashed at the empty air, unleashing his rage at the fates that had conspired to make such a mockery of his life.
“Huh! Argh! I’m nothing! NOTHING!” He stepped into the water, his blade swinging wildly, tears flying from his eyes, inadvertently whipping up a piece of seaweed. “I’M NOT EVEN WORTH THIS PIECE OF SEAWEED!”
He did not notice Gawain staring intently at him. The boy began to mimic his actions.
To think I was so smart! Bringing you up, talking to you all the time, but not knowing that we weren’t communicating at all! His sword sliced the white surf off the next incoming wave. And I did not realize it in these three years!
For almost five minutes, he unleashed his rage, frustration, and humiliation, not noticing that Gawain had moved right next to him, copying his every move. He turned round, then saw the boy.
“Gawain?” He stopped swinging the blade immediately. “What are you doing? It’s dangerous!”
He sat down, winded from his efforts. He sighed, and then sheathed the blade back into the scabbard. He then proceeded to use several pieces of string to bind the hilt tightly, so that Gawain could not draw the blade and hurt himself. Only after he had secured the blade did he hand the entire ensemble to the waiting Gawain.
The boy lifted the sword away. Baryn looked at the sight of the boy dragging the larger sword. “I don’t think you’ll ever be able to wield that weapon, Gawain. Not in ten years, not in fifteen. No, you will not wield a blade. It had brought you nothing but bad luck.”
The boy could not hear his words, and continued playing with the sword. “This weapon is just like your parents, isn’t it? But it can’t really protect you, so I’ll have to do. Furthermore, it’s dangerous.”
He lifted Gawain onto his shoulders, back to the hut for dinner. Baryn thought, I will not let you die. I don’t know what fate has in store for you, but I must change your destiny!
Fr the next few days, Baryn tried to teach Gawain to speak. He had no training in linguistics, and had no money to hire any help anyway. The planetary government of Crimond was too busy protecting itself from invaders, and the common folk were simply trying to eke out a meager living by farming and fishing. He doubted there would be any medical specialists onworld to check Gawain’s condition.
In other words, they were on their own.
Undeterred, Baryn sought out the nearby ghost city. It had once been a bustling metropolis by the coast, until the exchange of NBCs and warship bombardment had reduced it to rubble about three hundred years ago. Crimond had almost been blasted back to the Stone Age. They had not really recovered. The city was reputed to be haunted, and even the bravest children only dared to venture on its outskirts, playing on the deserted playing grounds amidst the shattered buildings.
Still, he hoped he could find some sort of help there. And he did in some of the apartments after a few days of tireless searching, several old and surprisingly well preserved colored books with pictures on glossy paper that he felt was useful. If Gawain could not learn how to speak, then he could at least learn to read and write.
Several more weeks passed, and Baryn felt he wasn’t making any progress. Gawain refused to write, and did not seem to understand any of the reading materials. One day, things came to a head when Baryn returned to the hut to see Gawain removing the bindings on the scabbard.
“Stop that!” He rushed forward to stop Gawain. “I told you that’s dangerous!”
The little boy surprisingly dodged his lunge, and slapped him right across the face with his tiny right hand. Stunned more by the action than hurt, Baryn did not chase after the boy as he ran away with the sword.
The boy went to his favorite place, the beach. He sat down, and started work on the bindings. After several minutes of fumbling, he finally released the strings, and drew out the rusted but still gleaming longsword.
He was not unobserved.

“What a curious sight!” Francis Gravesend exclaimed at the scene. He slowly approached the boy with a wide smile to look less threatening. “Hey, my little friend, what’s that you’re holding?”
Gawain stared back, not knowing what to make of this smelly monk in tattered robes.
Francis said, “This is a fine longsword. I think it’s taller than you are, right? Hmmm?”
The boy held his nose, making a face. Francis sniffed his own sleeve, and grimaced.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been wandering all over space, and I’ve heard the scenery on the beach here on Crimond is spectacular. Your nose is really sensitive. I haven’t found a place to stay, much less find a chance to bathe, so please forgive me.”
Gawain seemed to understand him, and offered him the sword for a closer look.
“Ahhh… You must be proud of this sword, eh? Lemme have a look.” The monk grasped the hilt, marveling at its balance even though it was poorly maintained and probably not oiled for several years. “Wahhh, it’s really great.”
He gave the sword back to the boy, who took off. He watched as the boy tried to lift the sword, without much success. “Hahaha! I think even grown men would have problems lifting that sword!” He added, “Little friend, is your father a warrior of some kind?”
He frowned when the boy did not react to his words, turned away from him. He shouted again, “Hey! Little friend!” Again, no response.
Francis realized there was something wrong with the boy’s ears, and stopped shouting. He continued watching Gawain play around with the blade for several minutes, before he walked up to him again.
“Hmm… Looks like this sword has brought much joy and color to your life.” He smiled at the boy, who returned the expression. Gravesend picked up the longsword.
“But…” He crouched down, and used his free hand to hold one of the boy’s arms. Then he made a slight cut with the blade on the boy’s arm, his smile gone.
“It can also kill you.” His eyes bore into the boy’s own, impressing into his mind the seriousness of his words, even though Francis knew the boy could not hear them.
“Ahhhhh! AAAHHHH!” Gawain began to wail in pain. Francis took out his last piece of clean handkerchiefs, and bound the boy’s cut. He sheathed the longsword into the scabbard, and then made a sign of the cross over the weapon. “Lord, bless this sword and watch over this child. May it protect him from future harm.”
He returned the sword to the child, who stopped crying the moment the longsword was back in his hands. Francis smirked. “Such a strange little boy.” He gazed up as he walked away. “Now, where to next? Back to Saint Marinus House, or continue my survey?”

Baryn was left with no choice. He needed to find some way to earn more money other than working at the farm, so he painted up a small signboard that advertised his services to teach self defense for a small fee, and planted it on the beach, waiting for business before he went to the farm for his shift. He hoped that with enough money, he could hire some help for Gawain.
There were no takers though. The villagers laughed at him, and spurned him. He knew he was old, and could hardly sustain a fight for more than two minutes. But that didn’t mean he had lost his skills. He sat on the beach from dawn to mid morning, then went off to work at the farm. At dawn, he waited again on the beach in futility.
When evening fell, Baryn returned to his hut in disappointment. To prevent Gawain from running around, he sealed the door by blocking it with a large heavy rock. He was shocked when he entered the hut.
Pieces of paper and books were strewn everywhere in a mess. Gawain shuffled madly through the stacks of recovered picture books, looking for something. He looked accusingly at Baryn.
“Gawain, you won’t find the longsword.” The boy’s only reply was to angrily throw a rattan basket at Baryn, who blocked it easily. “Forget it. I’ve hidden it away.”
Gawain started to wail and cry. “Waaarrrggghhh! Ahhhhh!”
Baryn shook his head. “How can anybody allow a four year old to go around playing with a longsword? That is just not normal! That’s why I hid it, Gawain. I need you to grow up as a normal kid.”
“Aaaaarrrrgggghhh!”
Baryn produced several small triangular bags, stuffed with dried bean husks. “Come, I brought you some toys. Four stones. You can play it with others. Be a normal kid.”
Gawain jumped and slapped the bags away. He followed that by jumping and holding onto the front of Baryn’s shirt. He tugged on the shirt angrily, his expression full of rage.
Baryn insisted, “You must learn to be a normal person!” He walked out of the hut, causing Gawain to tumble to the ground. “I need to prepare dinner.”
Dinner was a tense affair. Gawain refused to eat, and tossed his bowl of rice petulantly into a corner. Baryn got angry, and slapped the boy hard.
Gawain did not give in, and punched Baryn in the face, then grabbed at his eyes. “Aaarrrggghhh!”
The old man could not hold in his own anger anymore, and hit the boy with all his strength. The blow was so hard Gawain flew across the room and hit the opposite wall, before crumpling to the wooden floor. Tears gleamed in the boy’s eyes.
Baryn roared, “A sword is not a toy! You don’t even understand what a sword is, what it represents! And you wish to have it? Forget it!”
Then he sighed. “Even though I know you can’t hear my words anyway…”
He turned away sadly, scooping up the spilled food back into the bowl. “Do you know? Men can go insane because of the sword. If you wish to know the fate of those who devote their lives to it, just look at me.” He lowered his eyes. “Gawain, don’t you wish to play with the other children in the village? Be a part of them? Make a few friends?”
Then he realized the absurdity of his words, with him not even being a good example, and lowered his head in shame. “I’m sorry. I… I just can’t get along with other people.”
He placed the bowl onto the floor. “Gawain, you must be a normal child. Don’t worry about your sword. I’ve polished and oiled it. When you’re a man, and understand what it means, I’ll return it to you.”
Then he turned to see Gawain holding up a piece of paper, a pencil in his hands. On the piece of paper was scribbled the word ‘sword’.
Baryn’s eyes lit up. He could not believe his eyes. “You… You actually can recognize the word? And the letters? And write them?”
Gawain thrust the piece of paper at him again in agitation. Baryn laughed in joy, “Yes, sword! No, I can’t give it back to you! But yes, you understand! Very good! Very good! Gawain, there is hope for you!”
The next morning found the boy rummaging through the debris on the beach. He picked through the heavy tree branches deposited on the beach, searching for a substitute. He finally found one, a heavy piece of wood that matched the longsword in shape, length and weight. He tried to lift it, but only managed to swing it down once before losing his grip on it. He gasped for breath, then tried again. And again. And again.
On another part of the beach, Baryn McCleon waited uselessly for business.
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The Games that Gods Play