Jackal Among Snakes

“You sold my daughter to a brothel?” Melanie’s father asked. There wasn’t anger in his voice—not really. Just disappointment.

“I wasn’t really going to do it,” her mother insisted. Red hair, green eyes, tall and robust—minus the scars, she was a mirror to Melanie today. “But you never visit me anymore! What else was I supposed to do?”

“But you accepted money from them, didn’t you? And I imagine you’ve already spent this money.”

Melanie looked upon this scene with a humorous smile on her face. For her mother, Melanie’s only worth had been attention from her father. For her father… she wasn’t quite sure what she was worth. It felt like he sent money only so that others couldn’t disparage him. In the end, her mother had spent most of it on gaudy dresses, jewels, and expensive perfume.

Until today, that was.

“You’ve made your bed,” her father said. “Sleep in it.”

He made to leave, but her mother threw herself at him. She clawed at him with her long, painted nails, and he cast her to the ground. She fell into a vase, shattering it. He looked down at her contemptuously, while she had the look of a wounded animal on her face. There was brief indecision—pity, almost—before he made to leave without another word. In hysteric rage, Melanie’s mother grabbed a shard of the broken vase and lunged, stabbing him in the calf.

With a shout, her father fell on her mother. He bludgeoned her face again and again until she stopped moving, then wrapped his fingers around her neck. She was so badly beaten she could barely offer resistance, and she breathed her last after a few minutes. When she finally died, he fell away from her, examining his calf and grimacing. He muttered foul curses, and it was only after about half a minute that he spotted Melanie.

Melanie’s father rose up and walked over to her, limping. He could see the child version of her, but Melanie herself seemed to be a spectator in this memory. The dead-eyed girl looked up at her father, not saying a word.

Even though she had no memory of this event, Melanie knew how this ended. She remembered this place well, after all, and it occupied much of her earlier life.

Without saying a thing, her father left, shaking his head. On his way past, as he winced with pain from his leg, he kicked her mother once again. Melanie couldn’t help but laugh, and the little girl that she’d once been looked over.

Feeling guilty from that silent stare, Melanie said, “Come on. Sometimes, things are just so colossally wrong you have to laugh.”

The child continued to stare.

“Brothel owner made a fat stack of coins for this little event. Blackmailed my granddad. Ruined his whole damned business. Then my dad drank himself to death.” She patted the little kid on the head. “But take it easy, kid. Life gets a lot better from here.”

Those green eyes never stopped staring.

Melanie finally looked away, and rose to her feet. She walked to her mother’s body and looked down on it. The little Melanie walked up, too, staring up at her as she watched.

“There’s a lot you can learn from whores,” Melanie reflected, rambling to distract her thoughts. “And it’s not just ‘where not to end up in life.’ You learn how to talk to people. You learn how to size up someone’s worth. You learn how to shake people down, too. Well, I guess I learned that from the owner.” She laughed, then pulled up a chair. “You learn what someone can sell themselves for. And you learn how to laugh at stuff like this.” Melanie prodded her dead mother’s stiff leg with her boot.

Melanie rubbed her palms together. “You’ll meet a mercenary. He guards the place. He’ll teach you a thing or two, finally get you the hell out of this place. In the end, he’d prefer you fight in the bedroom rather than a battlefield. He’s not exactly the asking type, either.”

Melanie took a deep breath and sighed, leaning back in the chair. “He’s the first one you kill. Not sure what count we’re at, now, but there you go. After all that stuff, you’re free. Maybe that’s what you want hear.”

with the little girl still watching.

this, all of this,” she said, anger finally seeping into her tone. “It made me tough, made me strong. I learned how to fight, how to struggle, how to earn. If we had been

from the

stroll through shitty memory lane, I’ll be talking to gods. And

“Are we happy?”

even…” Melanie lost all her momentum, looking down at the

that’s all I want,” the

thing that Melanie knew she needed to answer, then. What did she want,

#####

shoulder. She had been walking for a long, long time,

Melanie’s torso. He bore countless scars all over his

Sataistador?” she

Erlebnis,” he said without answering her question. His voice was deep

do you have for me?” Melanie asked, examining

so. He bore an axe on his left waist, two daggers strapped to his chest and one to his calf. He had a bow on his back, and two scimitars on the right side

side to side or betraying people when doing so outweighs staying true.” He

drink and discuss our commonalities,” Melanie

benefit much more from protecting his interests.” He held his gigantic hand up.

there were measures to protect us, but…

again. “Gods are petty things. Do you think your king—or the Alchemist behind him—would risk disclosing his plans of a heist so blatantly, were there not certain guarantees in place? Not

true for mortals?”

remember only those you dealt with. Some mortals enter this place and leave with only the experience you just endured, and think that is all there is to those doors. This place was built by gods in the distant past to have some advantage against Gerechtigkeit. It was advantageous to

you’re using it, now,” Melanie pointed out. “Alright, whatever.

never before consorted with mortals,” Sataistador looked off to the side. “But in so doing, I have never before shared my power with another. I have no divine servants, no mortal champions. But I can promise you

said in

done it before.” He held one of his hands up, explaining, “You must

that,” Melanie

cycle of judgment. I know more of divinity and ascendency than any other. You would be weak these first few cycles, but as I said, you would be my ally. There is no higher honor. As you kill other deities you will strengthen your

first

more,” Sataistador crossed his arms. “Accept my

is one thing, but how do I know you’ll keep

must abide by these scriptures absolutely, or face a

enough,” Melanie disagreed. “I don’t trust

do I. Then… I shall give you my symbol of authority. I have made no blessings, for I have no need of lesser beings. And more than that…” the deity reached for the scimitars on his waist, pulling one free. He