The day following the release of their newspaper was always a quiet time for co-editors Grin-06 and Al_Capone. Al usually entertained himself by updating his increasingly popular 'The Gangsters Handbook', which had quickly become a 'must read' among the criminal underbelly of society, with strong MafiaPilot ratings. However, he was taking a load off today, waiting for New Dom to appoint himself, so he asked Grin to read him a story instead.

"Can you read me a story, Grin?" He asked. Grin beamed and took down a book from the shelf located behind his desk at Star-Examiner HQ. It was fortunately filled with books. He began to read aloud.

"His ears hummed with sound, jarring his senses, and painful as it reverberated behind his eyes smashing across his face. His vision swam and he lurched, dazed and groggy as the world swirled, rolling around him. Deafened by the noise in his head and blinded by the light piercing his eyes, he collided with the earth. Fuck."

Al was captivated by the yarn.

"There was sand on his back. Why couldn't he hear anything over the pounding? He lifted his head, but it didn't move. Why was it so hot? His mouth was suddenly full and he spluttered, gagged, choking on himself. Was he drowning? He felt it splatter across his chest, exploding from his mouth, a bloody crimson tattoo marking his body; a horror painting. Panic rose within him as he tried to make sense of the situation. Was that his blood on his chest? Was that a hole below it? Why couldn't he move? Where was he? The fear threatened to engulf him, his heart wailed within his chest as he lay on the ground."

Al looked a little afraid.

"Seconds passed and he struggled to steady his breathing. He held his breath and tried to count to ten, just like his Dad had told him to when he was little. He remembered that then, sitting on the floor holding his knee, his father standing over him. He tried to grasp on to the memory but it kept slipping away, and anyway, the truth of that lie was that it didn’t fucking work and it never fucking had. He coughed, letting the air out and felt weaker than before for the effort."

Al stood up. "I'll be back in a minute, just need a piss," so Grin waited for him before carrying on the story.

After a short interlude, Al_Capone came back. "Please, go on," he said, getting comfortable in one of Old Dom's finest chairs. 

Grin smiled and started reading again. "The brightness finally receded a little and the ringing subsided enough that he could hear something, faint and dark and threatening to break through the riot in his head. Something menacing, a voice, a nightmare forcing its way in. What was it saying? He tried to focus but all he could see was blurred shapes and smudges of colour. The voice was getting nearer and suddenly he was covered in darkness as a shadow fell across him; a face sharpened into view, scarred and terrifying, creased with bitterness, twisted with hate. He knew then, this was his own death gazing down at him. Despair enveloped him like a corpse's shroud, smothering him as he lay tethered to the dirt by his own lethargy."

"Sounds like he's in trouble!" Al interrupted with a whoop of delight. Grin loved reading stories to his friend.

"He felt fingers clamp around his throat and guessed they must belong to the ugly bastard above him; he tried to raise his arm, but there was no strength in it. They tightened on his windpipe. The mouth above him sprayed its venom, its anger, a river of poisonous bile dripping from its jaws, screaming at him. If he could just shut it up, punch it, break it, anything, then he might be alright; he might survive. But his arm ignored him, mocking him as it lay prone on the earth, unmoving. He cursed it, as he watched on, the life being choked out of him, helpless and dying."

"The choking stopped. His lungs sucked in air gleefully. The muscles in his battered throat felt raw, but at that moment, the oxygen tasted sweeter than any honey he’d ever had. He tried to steal another, wondering why his assailant hadn't finished the job, but he coughed instead, punishment for being greedy, shuddering as his bulging eyes tried to take in his surroundings. He managed to roll onto his side, coughing and breathing, wincing and crying, grateful to be alive, not understanding how it had transpired but not entirely caring either."

"Huh," Al said, frowning. "Seems like some time passed there or something?"

It certainly did," Grin said, stretching. "You want to hear more of this?" Al said that he did so Grin carried on reading.

"It was difficult to say how long he lay like that, on his side, floundering like a spider in a puddle, passing in and out of consciousness. It could have been several minutes; it could have been several hours. Eventually he managed to use a dirt encrusted forearm to wipe the tears from his eyes. The pain that clutched at his ribs nearly crippled him; he would have cried out if he could have but his tortured throat wouldn’t allow it. The pain was too much. He gave in to the darkness."

"When he next woke, the earth was cold. He felt like he was lying in a bath, but he couldn’t be. It felt hard and he could feel the breeze. Realisation dawned on him with dread; it was blood, more significantly, his blood. It was obvious from the pain and what he had felt so far of his injuries that staying here, like this, meant he was going to die. Survive."

"Who said that, you reckon?" Asked Al. Grin shrugged.

"He wasn’t sure whether he had said the word, or whether someone else had. Whatever the source, it seemed like pretty sound advice to a dying man, so he braced himself and tried to sit up. He pushed a hand tentatively into the pool around him, cringing as he felt the depth of the bloody mess. His hand met cold, wet, dirt and he gingerly put weight on his arm, his insides grumbled but gritting his teeth until they groaned with the pressure, he endured it and managed to sit up. He looked down and saw the bloody abortion of what used to be his chest, now just ripped flesh and torn muscle. Even from a fleeting glance it was obvious he shouldn’t be alive, he knew that much, even as he knew little else. This was a death wound. Goosebumps rose on his skin as he considered what that meant, trying not to give attention to the obvious conclusion. Maybe I am already dead."

Ood had decided to slice some time out of his busy schedule to enquire about leaving further feedback for the latest issue of Fat People. The paper had him gripped since it's debut and the latest issue followed suit. Stood by the front desk leaving his gratification on the very professional feedback forms, Ood hears a voice in the distance. It wasn't just any voice... It wasn't just any voice... He could hear a story-time voice. Ood loved story time and with a quick eye at his watch, he ventures deeper into the building.

As he approaches the end of a hall, he comes across a room where sits a man, a large book in his lap. Nervously, Ood taps on the door to catch his attention,

"Hey, err... Are you telling a story? Does someone die? I love stories where people die." Ood smiles, internally thankful he didn't choose to wear his facemask today, no one likes story time when there's an alien in the room.

Grin looks up from the story and see Ood looking sheepish in the doorway. "Ood! Pull up a chair, it is a quiet day here and you're more than welcome to listen in." He waits for Ood to take up residence in one of the lesser impressive visitors seats - Dominic didn't get many guests - finally getting comfy. "Now, where was I? Oh yes..."

"Forcing down his superstitions and his fears, he probed a finger tentatively towards the seeping cavity. Fresh agony stabbed at him, but with a grimace he decided that the injury, somehow, seemed not to have pissed away all of his life. He didn’t understand that either, but he was still riding the crest of the ‘holy fuck I’m alive’ wave and everything else seemed like problems for later.

For now, he shrugged off the jacket around his shoulders, wincing as he did so and began examining it, having no recollection of the garment or even adorning himself with it. It was a plain brown jacket, some sort of leather. It looked battered, with several noticeable rips where pockets should have been. The seams looked worn and one of the sleeves was pulling away from the breast of the coat. Perfect, I’m nearly dead and fucking poor."

Al_Capone snorted. 

"Tugging hard on the worried sleeve, it came loose from the rest of it and closing his eyes to the pain, he used the sleeve to clog the hole in his chest. Bile rose in his throat as he forced the material into himself and he felt moisture on his tongue. He ignored it. He used the twine from the stitching to tie it in place looping it around his back like a thin belt. The gruesome wound plugged, he appraised his handiwork and couldn’t help but split a sore grin. Someone’s tried to heal a corpse with a bandage. Still, it would have to do and looking up from the tragedy of his chest he glanced around and wished he hadn’t."

Even Grin wince at the powerful imagery. "This story is pretty bleak, you both enjoying this?" 

The two mobsters nod, urging Grin to continue. So he did.

"Corpses surrounded him, everywhere he could see, bodies covered the churned up earth, red and dank from the bloody mud that had been thrown up by the mass of men that had walked on it. The devastation of life was shocking; so many dead, so much lost."

"The sickly sweet smell of burning meat on the air told him that nearby someone was still burning other bodies and the hunger he felt at it made him gag anew. Bracing himself again, he tried to rise to his feet. His fingers nearly slipped in the dirt but his balance held long enough as he drew a shaky leg beneath himself, then another, and slowly managed to stand. He swayed on unsteady legs like a new born calf, taking in the forest of dead men that stretched out for several metres in every direction. A battle then. He didn't remember a battle. He didn't remember who fought or for what. From the way the corpses had been laid out, it looked like he was in the centre of the fighting; they encircled him, a gruesome wheel of mangled flesh and bone, macabre armour around him. Nearly dead, poor, and apparently a cunt everyone wanted to kill too. Wonderful."

"He took a staggered step forwards, then another, until he stood out of the wheel of death. He felt a crunch beneath his boot and looked down to see a man staring back at him, almost indignant. The apology was half way from his lips before reality set in and the velvet slash across the man’s throat covering it like a ludicrous cravat announced the obvious; he was well past caring about being stood on. Taking a breath, he walked on, the dying sun giving him enough light to see and navigate a path through the graveyard."

"Fresh doubts assailed him as he struggled to place one foot in front of the other. What had happened here? What had happened to him? And whilst these questions nagged at his thoughts, one question dominated the others, refusing to be buried, ignoring his pleas for peace. Who am I?"

Al_Capone snorted, this time with disgust. "I don't like this story," he said folding his arms across his chest.

"Fair enough," Grin said closing the book and putting it back on the shelf. "How's your day going, Ood?"

Ood's face changes shapes, so immediately intensified by the sincerity of the story, he lets out a gasp.

"Okay, I take it back! I don't want this guy to die!"

Ood takes a minute, the details repeating as gory imagery in his brain.

"What happened to him, Grin?"

Grin looks over at Al_Capone who vigorously shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Ood. Looks like Al really doesn't want to know what happens to this guy and his saga of woe, so we'll probably just have to move onto something else that is more agreeable to everyone."

Ood looked a little disappointed at that, but also quite accepting. Story time was something everyone had to enjoy together and sometimes that meant closing a book near to the start and never looking at it again. Grin looked across the shelf for another story for them to sink their teeth into.

"What type of thing are you guys looking to hear about?" He asked over his shoulder as he thumbed through the various titles. 

The gruesome tale had been a little too much for Al, who had heard enough about bile and guts for the day, despite how visibly captivated Ood had become. But his thirst for a good story was not quite quenched yet. 

"Grin-06, is there anything in that book about mysterious heroes? Swords and shields? I want a long, epic adventure story to snort through."

Patting Al_Capone on the shoulder, calming him with total sincerity, "It's okay.. If it made you feel bad, it was a bad story, Al."

Ood checks his watch - he's already an hour late.. "Swords and shields?!"

Ood dropped his sleeve, his watch disappearing along with the rest of his day. "I fucking love swords and shields!"

Grin ran his fingers along the spine of several books, before he pulled one down. "What about this, Aven Myth - Beginnings?" Both Ood and Al_Capone nodded excitedly. Grin smiled and settled into his reading chair.

"The speed of the Myth was frightening and the icy calm melted from his face. He parried desperately to his left, barely preventing the blade from biting into his chin, instead it bounced off with the impact, raking down his shoulder in a shower of blood. He squawked with the pain, barely managing to keep his grip on the shield, as surprise ebbed out from the suddenly hushed crowd."

"Swords and shields!" Cooed Al excitedly. Ood punched the air.

"The Champion's blood made a slow trail down his arm. A second strike barely blocked on his shield, scoring a deep gash in the great golden lion embossed across its centre. The power of the blow radiated up his left arm, he grimaced with the impact, before quickly jerking backward to avoid the third strike, which narrowly missed his throat. His arms flapped wide as he tried to adjust his weight, but The Myth barreled into his chest sending him sprawling on his back through the dirt, the breath bursting from his lungs as his sword slipped from his grip."

"The encircling crowd let out a gasp of their own, nobody had downed Fothio's champion, nobody had even come close. They said he was the finest warrior on earth, a man without equal in dealing death, a bastard son of the Gods and yet here he was moments from certain death, trying to pick himself up from the mud."

Grin raised an eyebrow as he read. This was some pretty clumsy writing, almost like it came from the brain of a probably very handsome young man rather than a fully grown adult. Still, Ood and Al_Capone seemed to be enjoying it so he carried on reading.

"'Where are you tricks now, Lightbringer?' Spat the Myth, his eyes wild as his face creased into a snarl. All his hatred, all his venom, all the years of bitterness, so deeply buried had come roaring back to the surface as he stood over his opponent.  "Is this what you cowered for?" He roared at the silent crowd. The Myth crashed the hilt of his sword against the rim of his shield as he tipped back his head and roared his white hot anger at the sky. "The finest in the whole world they said! No man more deadly with a blade, ever walked!" He laughed, but there was no joy in it. It was accusatory, unsatisfied, broken and bitter."

"He seems pretty mad," Ood studiously observed.

"The Myth kicked Mordred back to within the dazed warrior's reach. 'Pick up your stick, Champion,' Sneered Aven. 'You don't get to die yet.'" Grin rolled his eyes as the generic dialogue.

"Lightbringer was stunned. He was sure he had to have already died - nobody would give him, the First Sword, a second chance. To meet Fothio's champion was to walk towards the light, it was a line mother’s used to scare their naughty children, and yet here he was, on his back in the dirt. His head was still swimming and he could hear pounding water between his ears. Shaking his head, he twitched his fingers; there was little strength in his arm but they responded. Nothing broken then. "Get up you cowardly fuck," snapped the Myth. "I didn't come here to kill you on your back." So he rolled onto his front and pushed himself up onto his knees. He slipped his right arm back through the strap of his hardened bronze shield and spat the salty taste of blood out of his mouth."

Grin sighed at the two excited listeners. "Come on lads, are you sure you want to hear more of this?" Both nodded rapidly so he carried on.

"Damn it, but his arm hurt and it was hard to breathe. "I said get up!" he heard the Myth yell at him, shortly before he felt the toe of a boot crash into his ribs, knocking the breath from his lungs for a second time. As sore as he was, no man likes being shamed, especially a man who hasn't been shamed in so long that he has forgotten what it felt like. Flame Lightbringer rose; one arm wrapped tight across his chest within the shield and the other closing round the familiar leather grip of his infamous weapon, which hung loose and ready."

"The Myth came on fast, faster than Flame thought it was possible that any man could move. He barely raised his sword in time to block a wicked cut aimed at his head; he offered a riposte that was knocked aside, the impact from the block forcing his arm wide. He felt the knuckles crash against his jaw rather than saw them, as the Myth backhanded him across the face. Flame staggered back, forgetting that Aven Myth had two arms to his cost. The Myth didn’t let up launching another strike, this colliding into the winged silver helm he’d been given when he became First Sword."

"Lightbringer's foot slid in the dirt as he spun from the force of the blow, dizzied and disorientated, the world twisted around him and he felt the warm pump of his own blood from the suddenly white hot hole in his stomach. He looked down for the source of the fire and saw the silver crossguard with a howling wolf at its centre."

Grin paused. "Are you actually enjoying this? I mean really? Aven Myth? Flame Lightbringer? These have got to be some of the stupidest names I've ever heard! Are you sure you want me to carry on with this? He asked Ood and Al_Capone, giving each of them a reproachful look. 

Al was enraptured by the bravery of Aven Myth and Flame Lightbringer. What terrific names, too. Very cool. He wondered if there were other heroes in this lush, vivid world. Perhaps a Water Wetbringer, champion of the rival kingdom. Or the treacherous rogue Sneeze Flugiver. 

"Don't stop now, storyteller Grin!"

"Well, I suppose as long as you're enjoying yourselves!" He said and resumed reading.

"If it hadn't been buried to the hilt in his stomach, Flame might well have been admiring that sword, but under the circumstances the pain demanded priority. He looked up from the fire in his soul into the cold eyes, set deep into The Myth's once youthful face. He thought he would see pride, joy perhaps; this man had just slain the greatest warrior in all of Fothio's army, after all. But he didn't. All he saw was contempt and loathing."

"Flame tried to raise his sword, but instead it slipped heavily from his fingers. He tried to thrust the shield into the Myth’s face but instead he felt it dragging towards the earth. He tried to say something, anything, but instead he just gargled on his own blood, spluttering incoherent syllables as his mouth ran red."

"Flame crumbled to the dirt as The Myth's boot pushed into his chest and the sword slid terribly slowly from his insides. He coughed bitterly and let out a rattling groan, his vision swimming once more. Gods, but he was cold, he almost missed the warmth he’d felt earlier from the sword thrust. Almost."

"GBNF," said Ood, causing Grin to wonder why the man hadn't gone to his appointment. Al looked similarly cross, his jowl beginning to quiver, as clear a sign as any of an impending Capone tantrum. Grin quickly resumed reading. 

"He felt like he was lying in water but he knew it had to be his own blood. There would be no water, the sun mockingly shone down for the whole world to see his last challenge. It was all the more worrying he thought then, that he felt so damn cold. That couldn't be good. Its usual warm smile now seemed contemptuous and cruel. He tried to lift his arm to stop his life flowing from his stomach but he found he didn't have the strength. He closed his eyes, think warm his father had always said to him. He felt like laughing at that, but all that came out was another splutter of blood that splattered on his chin. It had been bullshit then and it certainly wouldn't help him any now. He'd been around war long enough to know a wound like this one needed more than warm thoughts."

"He could hear talking as he lay there but it seemed quiet, like it was coming from far away. "Here lies the Lightbringer," the speaker didn't sound sorry to see him lying there. He didn’t seem pleased either. He sounded tired. "He’s killed for Fothio for as long as I can remember. Even when my father was a boy, this horrible bastard was carving a bloody path in the name of the Lion." A bloody path? It wasn’t like that, Flame thought. People had died, but only those who had brought it on themselves. "Let all here see this man and remember this day. This is the day Aven Myth taught the world that Fothio doesn't own it. Not every man will bow to him or his fucking Lightbringer." Flame shook his head, there was a roaring in his ears and he couldn't make out what the speaker was saying now. He couldn't hear anything over the screaming in his head and he was racked with more coughing as he shook on the grass. His eyes must have closed. He could feel the light against his eyelids, but still none of the warmth from the sun, just the roaring in his ears and the wetness around his waist."

"This guy is dying really f'ing slowly!" Muttered Ood, drawing further, more pronounced jowl quivers from Capone. Grin read on.

"The first thing he noticed was that he was hungry. So hungry in fact that it felt like he hadn't eaten in weeks. The second thing he quickly noticed was that if he moved, some horrible bastard would stamp as hard as they could on every muscle in his body. He opened his eyes then, fighting down a rising panic. He had been dead. He had fought The Myth and been gutted, it was hard to forget the feel of a sword blade being ripped out of your insides after all. If he was dead, and Flame was sure he had to be dead after the beating he'd taken, what sort of God lets a dead man wake in this much pain and feeling so damn hungry? Did corpses eat food he wondered? He couldn’t say for sure either way, he had no experience in the matter."

Ood cleared his throat, noisily. "I don't think he is dead."

"Ah, the Champion lives." Grin read. Ood nudged Al_Capone in the ribs. "Told you!" Grin ignored him and turned the page, before carrying on the story.

"He knew that voice, that hard, deep voice. As if everything that's was good and pure had been beaten out of the sound and this cold grating noise was the result. It was more like a bark than a voice to Flame's ears, as out of place in any heaven as angels screaming. He didn't need to wonder what corpses would sound like if they could talk, he knew the answer to that already, before him was living testament. He hoped he didn’t sound like that now. Worst of all this was his best friend, Khalid. His only friend, if you could call him that."

"The Myth must have done for him as well if he was here with Flame. That made some sort of sense. Maybe he had been kidding himself to think he would go to heaven, but he couldn’t see any flames, just a demon beside him. "You look like shit Lightbringer." Great, exactly what you want to hear first day in the afterlife, especially when you hadn't even been that pretty in your lifetime. "Piss off," grunted Lightbringer, he still had his wits at least. Or at least that's what he would have said; instead all that came from between his battered lips was a muffled squeak."

"Ha, what a dweeb!" Roared Ood. "Guy sounds like he's a pre-historic Dick_Grayson!" 

Grin continued, unable to now ignore the similarities between the swashbuckling Flame Lightbringer and Imperial Grand-dweeb Dick_Grayson.

"How you're alive with a wound like that is beyond me" continued Hammer, wait what was that? "Thought the Myth had killed you for sure when that blade nearly split you in half." Hold on, alive? "Easy Flame, I reckon your moving days are still a little off you yet," he said as Lightbringer tried to get up. "Reckon you should just lie there nice and quietly, I don't think it would do either of us any good if you managed to flop your way off that table.”

"Maybe Khalid had a point and Flame’s body certainly seemed to think so. The table was hard and cold beneath him, but there wasn’t all that much he could do about it. He could feel the sunlight from the open window, streaming through onto his legs, warming them. After the cold of the challenge, it was good to be able to feel heat again. He smiled and immediately regretted it. His gums felt like someone had set about hacking into them with scissors and his jaw screamed at the pain of moving."

Ood let loose a rip-snorting laugh and Al_Capone finally lost it. He tore the book from Grin's hands and shoved it hard into Ood's chest. Grin watched as he frogmarched poor Ood to the door. "Take it with you, yeah. Off you fuck, there's a good lad," he said, closing the door on Ood's protests. 

Grin leaned back in his chair as Al stomped over. "I think there is another Aven Myth story on the shelf if you want me to keep going?"

Al huffed and took a seat, taking a deep breath to compose himself. Story time was not yet over. He had secretly hoped for tales of other characters of Aven Myth's kingdom: the brave Bertolli, the Olive Oil King, or perhaps Tommy B'Hama of the patterned linens. But another Aven Myth tale was better than nothing.

"Keep going, storyteller Grin!"

Grin reached up and took down another book from the shelf. It was called "The Unfinished Stories of Aven Myth" and it felt pretty light in Grin's hand. He settled back into his chair and opened it to the first page and was greeted with immediate action.

"This is for FUCKING Mordred." His fist was a pen, the Myth's face was the paper as he scratched an eye from it. "This is for FUCKING AVEN." His fist was a hammer, the Myth's face was the anvil as he beat the bones of his cheeks from it."

"The blows rained down, a cruel and deadly downpour, they mushed the Myth's face into paste, a pink and red mush as blood and bones mingled into a slurry, the taunting grin gone, not even a grimace remained as it leaked away into the dirt. He reveled in the destruction, whooped and rejoiced in his vengeance. But as he opened his eyes and looked, his fist was just a fist and the Myth's face wasn't beneath his knuckles, just empty air. 'Because he'd kill me.' He closed his eyes and swallowed down his self-loathing. The taunting grin was back on that cruel face, as the image changed before him, painful, unbeckoned and intrusive. The Myth's hand was still closed around the worn leather grip of the sword, which was still buried to the hilt in Aven. It was still clear as it leaped unbidden to his mind and he felt the guilt pierce his stomach again just as the blade had Aven's. Just like he felt every morning. Just like he felt every night."

Some more cheery subject matter, Grin thought reading on.

"What the fuck are you doin'?" Rayne's head snapped round as a hand bit into his shoulder, the fingers crushingly painful, lifting him bodily back to his feet. He stumbled forward as Haag's palm cuffed him around the head. 

"Get back in the line, dog," Haag hissed at him. "Don't got time for stragglers," and his hand dropped to the axe at his waste, a faded blade attached to a notched handle. It didn't have any adornments because it didn't need any; the dull sheen from use was more imposing than any gold filigree. Rayne swallowed again and tried to clear his head."

"I said back in fucking line!" Haag lashed out again, the force of the blow nearly sending Rayne back to his knees. He held his hands up in submission and bowed his head, taking shallow breaths trying to see clearly. 'I bet the Myth is shitting himself' Rayne thought as he staggered back into the line of slaves, Haag nodded his approval and retreated to the edge of the line. 'Dog,' he muttered and Rayne allowed himself a smile, dogs had teeth."