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A Godly Game

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kickass heroine
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Blurb

"You and I have a lot more in common than you would like to admit," he grins.

"How could we have anything in common?" I snarl - my swords raised.

"We both end lives," the God of Death answers.

***

In a world of gods, everyone from Vangeryk, realm of gifters, can gift one of the four elements. The brutal royals of this realm can gift all four.

Now meet Maura Conium, a first born royal and also the only person that cannot gift a single element.

Cast out since she was three, Maura was sent to train in the art of fists and swords until she would turn nineteen to become worthy of her throne. The time has finally come for her to claim her birthright, but with politics, Maura's lack of gifting and an annoying God of Death, it's not so easy.

And when a drunk Prince and particularly up tight air gifter are looking to recruit Maura in their quest to stop a growing evil, Maura must choose between her throne and saving the world.

***

"To the Gods, it's all just a game..."

"Now let's show them how to play."

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Chapter 1, Dark storm
BY MAURA CONIUM ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ There's a series of sharp sounds slicing the air. The girl with raven's hair twists and turns around her opponents like a dark storm. Her eyes are ready to strike with lightning and her blows hit like thunder. In a song of stab, s***h and skid, she dances around the hopeless men with a grace that only a certain death should accomplish. She is me. I swing one of my twin swords towards the man to my right and with the other, block the attack from my left. A double sharp clash of metal sings in the air as swords collide and the man to my right stumbles back - his own sword falling to the ground. The attacker to my left has his sword crack and shatter at the impact of my blade. With both men propelled back at the clash, I bring my blades in and hold them out in front of me in the correct stance. Not even out of breath, I blow a loose black hair out of my face. "I shan't get any training like this," I smile at the five men surrounding me - all of them already worn out after not even half an hour. I know my mock will provoke the men and as expected, they drop their swords to summon their gifts. In my experience, warriors who are good at their gifts, are horrible at sword. Why shall they need blades when their element can be much more advantageous? With the hot midday breeze, I watch the sweat beading from the men as they breathe in and out to control their elements. If not focused, they can easily burn or injure themselves. Ready for my fellow warrior's attempt to beat me, I stand in the correct stance - my long legs shoulder length apart like they've been trained, my knees slightly bent and my hands grasping the blades like they're a mere extension of my arms. I wait for their first move. The men are hesitant after the last beating I gave them. "Perhaps I should go train with the practice targets? They seem to put up a better fight," I smirk. As expected, the sun gifter reacts first to the insult. With trained observance, I pick up on the pressure the sun gifter is putting on to his left leg as he leaps for me. He sucks in a breath and pushes his hands out - igniting and shooting a ball of fire towards me. But I don't fall for the futile attack as my eyes stay on his left leg. I roll forward - letting the first fire attack fly over my head. The fire misses my whipping black hair with no more than an inch. As predicted, the sun gifter brings his left leg up - igniting fire at the tip of his foot. The kick shoots for my face, but while sliding on my knees towards the man, I bring my defensive blade up - the godly inscription reflect in the sun. At contact with my godly blade, the fire halts and burns out. Still on my knees, I roll forward and use the motion to let my legs fly up and hit the sun gifter in the face. The man falls back and while on my hands, I push myself forward to jump onto him - knocking the fiery breath out of him. One more kick to the head and I know the sun gifter is out. I step off of him and watch the healers drag him away. Almost bored, I turn and shrug at the remaining four men. "Well, he got a little hot-headed over there," I muse innocently. The earth gifter is up next. I smile wickedly as he charges to me like a mad bull. When he is close enough for me to actually smell the sweat coming from his rather large body, he stomps down onto the training floor. The ground cracks and three large rocks shoot up into the air just as the earth gifter punches the rocks towards me. With the amount of skin my tight black shorts and leathers wrapped around my chest is allowing me, I can easily leap forward and twist my body to avoid the three sharp rocks flying towards me. I land in a roll and the earth gifter already has a slab of ground he's bringing down to crush my scull. I bring my defensive blade up to block and the earth slices in half like butter at the touch - avoiding me. Still in motion, I slide and s***h my attacking blade across the earth gifter's shin. He falls to the ground and cries out in pain - loud enough for the other warriors in their training pits to notice. I get up and dust myself off. "Just walk it off," I grin as the blood comes pouring out of him. Once again, the healers drag him away to their foolish shrine of Helena, Goddess of Healing. Honestly bored with the fight, I turn lazily to the remaining three men. "You want to try attacking me all at once?" I suggest. But even as the twin water gifters summon water from the air - making it unbelievably dry here, I know the one will try a slippery attack from beneath while the other will try drowning me from above. They are predictable. And do not even get me started on the air gifter that always tries the same wall of air or removing oxygen from me. Gifters are honestly the most predictable fighters. Then again, on Vangeryk, they're the only kind of fighters. The art of swords were introduced by our neighbouring realm. Socius, Realm of All, are the real sword fighters. These warriors here only train with blades because it's a requirement on the island. Deciding I might want to take a break for the day, I bolt for the men. They don't expect me so suddenly and the water gifters scramble to make the earth slippery with mud. With my long legs, I easily jump over the attack, and even arch my back backwards as the second water gifter sends a spear of water to my face. Not in the mood for disarming them like I always do, I merely let go of my blades - flick them ever so slightly and when I land on dry earth, both of my twin blades have found their way into the water gifters' chests. The healers come shuffling in and I pull out my swords just as they drag the twins away. I turn to the air gifter and shrug. "I was impatient," I try to explain. I can already tell he's scared. With the healers close by, I can't kill him unless I chop his head off, but the healing process is very, very painful. Let's make him hurt. I charge forward and the air gifter sends an expected wall of air that I easily slice through with my attacking blade. He sucks in a breath and blows a whirlwind at me, but I merely duck and slide under it before leaping for him. He tries one last futile block of air at my feet, but I only use it as a stepping stool and jump up - my legs wrapping around his neck as I swing my body. He falls and just before he hits the ground, I jump up and land on his back as we hit the floor. With the wind quite literally knocked out of him, I bring my blade down into his spine, just because I'm a spiteful b***h. I step off of him for the healers to drag him away. He raises his arm and flips me off as I wave goodbye. "Enjoy the bone knitting!" I call to him. "And what angered you to put those poor men through such pain?" I hear a familiar deep voice ask behind me. Slowly, but still at my wits, I turn to grin at my master trainer. "Actually, Barron, I'm in a good mood today," I answer. "Come hither so I can change that for you," Barron challenges. I've never beaten him. In my fourteen years of training on this damned island, I've never once taken my master trainer down. He moulded me after all. It's from him that I got the godly blades - forged in the boiling mountains of Wouvu. It's from him that I got my expert sword fighting skills that he brought back from his trip to Socius. But because I'm a fool and always rise to a challenge, I charge towards my master trainer. Since Barron is a royal gifter though - uncle to some prince in Norgery, he can gift all four elements. All royals can. Barron ever so discreetly taps his foot and I miss the slap of hard wall rising from the ground. I can't stop myself from running right into it. Angered, I slice the wall, but already a muddy trap is waiting for me on the other side - the water swirling to capture my feet. I look up in panic as Barron sends fire upon fire hurtling for my face. With my defensive blade, I block the attacks while my attacking blade swipes at the mud imprisoning my feet. Just when I break free from the trap, I feel the oxygen leave the air. Trying to focus without oxygen is hard. But I charge forward all the same - slicing and blocking the fire and air attacks. Barron kicks a water attack to me and I dive over it - twisting my body to miss the fire as I land on my feet on the other side. Closer than I've ever been but with my mind getting foggy without air, I jump to my master trainer. Even he seems surprised and punches a wall of fire towards me. Knowing the fire is to put me off of my course, I don't change my direction. No, I go through the flame - smelling my skin scorch and hair burn as I jump through. The sizzling smell of flesh is almost too much to handle. Barron stares at me with wide golden brown eyes as I jump down onto him - knocking him to the ground and have my blade to his neck. "I win," I smirk - my skin already screaming out in pain at the burn, but I hold the stance. "Nice thinking," Barron says, "But you forgot one thing." "What?" I asked confused. "Always go for the strike," Barron smiles before pushing a wave of air at me - knocking me away. Flying back, I hear the earth wall rise behind me, but I can't stop from hitting it with full force - the sound of bones shattering fills my ears at the impact. I slide to the floor just as the wall of earth descends back into the ground. I can't move. Barron gets up from the ground and strolls over to me. He crouches down and stares at me with what was maybe once a handsome face, but years have left him scarred and scorched. He's not that old. He's merely in his mid-thirties, but he looks older. Strange how even without a wife or children, he has some grey hairs adorning the dark brown locks. "You are cursed," Barron says simply when his face is lowered close to mine. I'm not sure whether it's my broken bones or pride that's stopping me from responding. "You are cursed and born blank. Don't forget that, because it's your greatest weapon. When you get back to the real world, gifters won't know what to do with you. There's is unpredictability in your curse. And through your limitations, you are unlimited," Barron says. I blink in embarrassment. "Dinner is in two hours," Barron says before getting up and leaving. I stay sprawled across the floor. The healers don't come for me. They never do. When I was much younger, they were still there to heal me. I started in the fighting pit when I was five. It was all very basic back then, but it didn't mean I didn't get hurt. The healing ladies would carry me to their shrine of Helena and their prayers would heal my wounds. When I turned twelve and got cocky saying Barron was going too easy on me, he didn't take it well. My master trainer sent a flame to me that burned my skin almost to a crisp. I cried and begged for the healers to take the pain away, but Barron stopped them. He told me it's time I learned to heal myself and no amount of begging or pleads changed his mind. I remembered the words. The prayer for the Goddess of Healing, but because I'm 'cursed', the Gods never really liked me. Especially Helena the hag that didn't hear me for nine hours. Nine hours I was crying and sobbing prayers into the night. Nine hours it took to slowly knit my skin together and grow my hair back. After that, I've never cried again and took the pain. "Oh, Helena," I start, "Goddess of Healing. Warm thy hands over my wounds and pain. Let thy power and mercy come down like rain. Knit each vain. Mend each sprain. I beggeth thee, let my health gain. And if thee show thy mercy, thy infinite power, all doubt shall drain." I wait patiently. Of course the selfish hag would enjoy the scene a little longer. Again and again I say the words over, but only four hours later, when dinner was already served and everyone is either off to bed or off to the tavern for drinks, do I feel my bones knit together and my skin slowly flake back and my long black hair grow as it was. By the time I can stand again, I'm unbelievably thirsty. Throat raspy with dryness, I head to my room. The small confined space is nothing someone of my title should ever have to endure. I'm a princess. An heir. And tomorrow when I finally turn nineteen, will my father, the King of Estirn come back for me and take me to my homeland. When fighting and pain and blood is all you know, there is very few things you learn to love. But one thing that I've always loved. The thing that drives me, motivates me and keeps me gritting my teeth at pain is my country. I was born to rule Estirn. I'm a first born royal and by blood it is my right to sit on a throne and rule over my people. I drink some water from a cup that I left earlier and light the candle next to my bed with a match. In the darkness, the flickering light lets shadows dance across my grey stoned walls. Too tired to get out of the leathers, I fall to my bed and let sleep grab me. But like every night, the shadows on the walls turn to figures and a scene I absolutely hate to imagine, comes to my dreams. My nightmares are filled with the sound of screaming. The shadowed figures on the stoned wall turn recognizable. A mother yelling is out as she gives birth. Nurses and delivery woman rush in and out to try and help. There's a last scream just as someone pulls a baby from between the mother's legs. Then the screaming stops. The shadows turn silent as neither mother or child yells out. A darker shadow than the rest hovers close by. There's a few seconds of suspense before the baby starts wailing. A king walks in and kneels down by his dead wife. The shadowed nurses and delivery woman whisper to each other. Cursed, they say. The child is cursed. And three years later that same king would send his cursed, blank daughter to a warrior island to train. I cannot wake from the nightmare, because it's my reality. I can't stop thrashing and sweating in my bed, because there's never a way to escape my cruel fate. My lack of gifting ability. My curse. I'm the only Vangerian that cannot gift a single element and I'm reminded of that every day of my life. The candle next to my bed flickers wildly while I sleep in unrest. Shadowed figures form over and over. The same scene playing on repeat in my dreams. Only when my covers are wet with sweat and hours have passed, does my dream change to a cloaked figure. It's always the same cloaked figure staring at me. I never know what they want. But I know it's important. Though it'll only be another two months before I know how important exactly. The candle blows out.

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