They never truly tell you how short life is...no, not until it comes to an end. When you see the silky darkness slowly creeping across your eyes, the flowing rivers of thick, scarlet blood pumping out of your wounds...you know it's over. That's when they tell you...when the thing you call life, comes to an end. That's when they look you in the eye, and tell you how much you should've cherished life...how well you should've lived it. The words fly of their lips like bullets, slipping from their tongues and stabbing you in the heart like daggers. You can only wish that you could control the precious fragments of time...those fragments that you spent wasted in a bar, the drool dripping down from your face, forming a pool of disgust and shame at your feet. Or maybe the time you waisted living in a dump, waiting to drop yourselves into the delecate, sickly hands of death and fate.
My name is Revan Belmonte. I am a demigod. My father is Jupiter, the Roman King of the Gods. Do not mistake me for something I'm not. I am not a hero. I save lives because they need saving, not because I want attention or glory. You will not find me in the crinkling, tea stained pages of your child's history books. They will not build statues to me, nor will they name mountains or rivers after my name.
No...they will do none of this. For I am not a hero. Hero's don't create death as I do. They do not seek revenge. As I murder, I do not say a compensation of death. I do not wait for my enemies to speak, nor do I respect their words when they do.
My name is Revan Belmonte, and I am on a hunt.
I was ten years old when they came. It was at night; the sun had just set and the stars had begun to hang themselves in the dark, shadowy sky. My deep, murky brown eyes gazed past the walls towards the ceiling, the large, wooden fan blades slicing open the air like butter. Dust drifted down from the mahogany planks that made up the fan, the smalls pecks of dirt cascading down onto my nose. The floorboards creaked under the wait of my queen sized bed, the birch wood planks beneath the frame screeching like cats in the night.
I sighed, exhaling a cold breath of air, mist rolling off of my lips like steam from a kettle. Winter had come a few weeks past, the snow already having buried the earth deep beneath its beds of white fluff. Frost covered the curtain covered windows, my collection of rare rocks casting shadows across my closet doors in the moon light. I brought my right index finger to my eyes, rubbing my eyelids softly and carefully. The irritation set in and I could feel the tears swelling up.
Wiping my eyes across my sleeve, I rolled over to the side, staring at my holographic clock. It was a small device; a silver, disc-shaped contraption that produced a shimmering, blue holographic image. The image flickered as the time changed from 8:50 to 9:00. I yawned, blinking twice and moving my head to a more comfortable area on the silky, white pillows.
Outside, the cold, steamy rain began to pour down from the clouds. The water droplets beat against the window, creating a drum-like rhythm that made my eyes heavy. The frost began to drip off of the glass, the snow from the roof sliding off of the shingles in clumps to the earth below.
I groaned as the sound of rain against glass grew louder, the rhythm of the water depriving me of my sleep. I threw my legs over the bed, sliding my small feet into my fluffy, black house slippers. I yanked my blue fleece robe out of the closet, wrapping it around my body as I slowly opened my bedroom door and prepared to make my way to the kitchen.
My slippers muffled my movements, saving me from any creaks and groans that might have stirred up from the floor otherwise. I held onto the cold, wooden rail as I followed the steps down to the kitchen. I breathed slowly and quietly, having done this too many times. It didn't take a genius to realize that your parents weren't stupid, so I kept my pace slow, my back against the wall, as I made my way to the base floor.
The black and white stone tiles of the kitchen floor cast dark, mysterious shadows across the main foyer. I could smell the freshly baked pies in the oven, the thick scents of gravy and steaming potatoes on the stove. I took a deep breath and took one step forward...
The floor creaked beneath my weight, the sound of fiffty nails scraping against chalkboards ringing througout the foyer. I clenched my fist in frustration, hoping no one had heard. My ears turned a deep shade of read as I slowly began to move forward again.
"I'm sorry Maria, but I can't help it!"
I stopped, hearing my father's low monotone voice slip under the white, kitchen door. I paused in my tracks, slowly sliding against the wall and leaning my ears closer to the crevice between the door and the door way.
"Giovani," my mother said, her soft, delicate voiced filled with strictiness and fury. "I have told you a thousand times! I do not want to move!"
I could hear my father pacing quickly, his boots scrapping across the tile floor, his keys rattling in his jacket pocket. "Maria, please. It would be the best for us, please! I've already spoken to Marcos about it. He doesn't mind transfering high schools-."
My mother cut him off, the anger in her voice becoming more evident. "GIOVANI!" she roared, a tone I had never heard my mother take before in her life. "I said NO!"
Father sighed, and I could hear him take a seat, the wooden frame of the chair creaking slightly as he did so. I could imagine him ruffling his curly black hair, rubbing his storm gray eyes as he turned to my mother. "They are coming for me, Maria. They're coming for, Revan."
I froze, hearing my name fly out of my father's mouth. There was no loving or caring tone in his voice...only one of quivering, shameful fear.
Mother sighed, speaking more calmly now then she had before. "Let them come, Jupi- Giovani! You can beat them off, just like you always have!"
"MARIA!" my father shouted, slamming his fist into the table. I heard a loud boom, like a lightning strike shaking my house from the inside. The sound of the table shattering resonanted through my ears, and my hands began to shake.
"We need to leave NOW!" my father's feet shifted as he stood, wood crunching under his boots.
I quickly scurried to side, under the large, brown wood desk that sat in the far right of the foyer. Thinking my father was coming from the kitchen, I did not expect my older brother, Marcos to come slowly downstairs towards the kitchen.
Marcos was built well, his muscels well defined and bulging as he ruffled his light brown hair tiredley. Dark bags hung under his blue eyes, the true sign that we were half brothers. Everything about us was different, except for our ears and our noses, something we took from our mother. Marcos, too distracted by the ruckus my parents were causing in the kitchen, walked slowly past me, not noticing the small heap of a boy hiding under the desk.
Marcos pushed open the swinging door, staring into the lighted room. He winced at the sudden brightness, but regained his posture and furrowed his brow.
"What the hell is wrong with you two?!" he barked at my parents, yawning noiselessly. "Revan is trying to sleep and you're in here-" Marcos paused, glaring deeper into the kitchen-"breaking tables?! Really, Papa?!"
My father's voice came next.
"Marcos, go to-."
"Marcos, please stay," Mother interrupted. From my position under the desk, I could see her small, gentle hands reach out and pull Marcos into the kitchen, the door swinging half way closed behind him. "Tell you're father how much you want to stay here in Moscow."
We were Spanish, yes, but I had been born in Russia, along with my brother and my mother.
"Um...well...I don't really mind, Mama...if we move that's fine with-."
Father cut him off, slamming his fist hard into the marble counter. Nothing broke this time, however I could hear the small crumbs of dirt and stone sprinkling onto the floor from impact. "See?! The boy doesn't care!"
"I can't say the same for Revan, though," Marcos followed. "He probably doesn't want to leave his friends...Juliet, Javier...he wouldn't want to leave them..."
Dad groaned. "This isn't about his friends, Marcos. And you Maria, I've been trying to tell you! This is about Revan! This is about our son! He is in danger and I will not let him be-!"
There was a loud boom, another sound like lightning striking the kitchen. There was a bright burst of light, a dazzling display of blue and yellow...and then my mother screamed. Bullets flew through the wall and glass shattered inside the kitchen. My mind nearly froze in shock as I watched my brother's body fly through the door, ten bullet holes in his chest. His eyes opened and closed reapetedly, his lip trembling as thick, crimson streams of blood poured from his wounds. His nose was bleeding and his left elbow was bent in all sorts of wrong directions.
I backed up in fear against the wall behind me, keeping my shadow and body as far under the desk as I could. My eyes began to water and my cheast began to heave in fright, but I kept my breathing slow and silent. Just as I clasped my hands over my mouth to stop any unnecessary hyperventilation or breathing, Marcos's head turned in my direction. His eyes widned as he realized that I might be next. His split, blood lips parted forming the one word he knew I would understand: Silence.
I nodded, closing my eyes tight and opening them, now ready to be as quiet as possible.
There was loud crunching noise, the sound of boot on glass. The door to the kitchen fell of it's hinges as three men in glistening black armor walked through the door way. I held my hands over my mouth, looking in their direction and shivering coldly. Their armor covered them from their toes all the way up to their necks. Shimmering black blades were strapped to their sides, the insignia of a flaming, upside down Greek omega emblazoned on their breast plates. Sleek, black helmets covered their heads. I recognized the design...the sleek exterior head sets...the cold, sharp holo-visor...it was the new product the military was selling for over a million dollars...
The man in the front stepped forward, gripping the helmet around his head tight in his glove hands. He tapped a button the collar of the helmet, and steam flew out of the ventilation holes in the back. He lifted the helmet off of his head, and I saw the face that I would come to hate for the rest of my life.
His skin was pale, like the freshly fallen snow. He had heterochromia, his left eye a bright, devil red and his right eye a cold, storm gray. Scars covered his cheeks, forehead, and neck, and a long, thing white strip of scar tissue ran from his bottom lip down into his armor. He snarled, revealing a row of jagged, rotting teeth.
When he spoke, I cringed. His voice was rough, like sandpaper and he had a thick Russian accent. The man pivoted on his heel, turning to the armored man on his right.
"Vih," he said, which was the Russian word for you. "Search the house...that God can't have gone far." "Dah!" the soldier said, sprinting off past the desk I was under, not taking a second glance. His feet rattled the floor boards as he raced up the stair well and onto the second floor.
I turned my attention back to the leader who was slowly walking towards Marcos. Marcos lay in a bloody heap, his hands clutching his chest as he breathed quickly and fearfully. "Do you see this, boy?" the man said, kicking Marcos's hand away from his red stained chest and gesturing towards the bullet holes. "This is your father's fault."
I cringed at the sight of the man speaking to my brother, but kept my silence and listened.
"M-My father...did...n-nothing," Marcos managed, flinging a ball of spit into the man's face.
The Russian snarled, kicking my brother fiercely in the jaw. "Sooka!" he cursed in Russian, wiping the spit from his face. The man breathed deeply, reganing his composure. "Your father did nothing, you say? That is exactly the truth. He did nothing! He dissapeared like a coward, fleeing into the night while we cut off his wife's head and shot her son to the borders of Hell."
My eyes widened and the tears broke loose. I screamed noiselessly, not daring to alert my location, as I realized that this was not a dream, and that my mother was dead- my brother soon to be with her.
The leader drew a small pistol from his side; a small gun, nothing but a 9 mm. It glowed red on the sides. the sign that is was loated with incendiary bullets.
"You are not the demigod. You are a mortal. Normally I would spare you...but for the simple reason that you are related to a godling-" he fired, the bullet going through my brother's forehead. Blood flew out like a fountain, staning the wooden floors and the walls "-you will not live to see another day."
The incendiary bullet sparked inside his brain, Marcos's limpless body igniting in a display of crackling, white flames. Tears streamed from my eyes, the heat from the burning flames caressing my cheeks like the soft hands of my dead mother.
The man turned to his oncoming accomplice as he made his way downt he stairs. "Nyeht," the soldier said, telling his superior that nothing was found upstairs.
The man sighed. "Then let us leave, men. We have work else where. Jupiter must be found, or The General will have our heads on pikes."
With one nod of the head, the men were gone, leaving the smoking ashes of my brother's body and the reminants of this horrible nights.
I turned, a bright light flashing before my watery eyes. My feet supported me greatly as I stood, the light dimming down to a mere glow. Standing in front of me was my father, except...he wasn't.
His jaw was covered in a thick gray beard, and his storm gray eyes were literally that- storm gray. Crackling, thundering clouds swirled around in his irises, as if his eyes were orbs of pure chaos. His body was clad in a purple Roman toga and his head wrapped with grass green laurel wreaths. A glowing aura of light surrounded him, making his shiny skin appear almost bronze and metallic-like.
"P-Papa?" I stuttered, staring into his crackling eyes.
"Listen to me and listen to me carefully," he said, moving forward. With every step he took, the sound of a million thunder bolts striking a mountain rang through the foyer. "The events you saw tonight...they were not coincidence, my son. This is fate, this is destiny."
"Destiny?" I managed, my lips trembling. "Mama and Marcos are...d-dead!"
My father raised his hand to silence me, blue sparks flying like doves off of his finger tips. "My name is not, Giovani Belmonte. That was merley my...alias while I was here on earth."
"Alias?" I said, my ten year old brain in the midst of trying to process words I knew nothing of.
"Alias...an alternate name...Giovani Belmonte was my disguise, Revan. For you see, I am not a mortal...I am a god. I am Jupiter, king of the gods."
My eyes stayed dead set on his toga, my vision darting from his wreaths and down to his crackling finger tips. "J-Jupiter," I said, trying to remember the Roman myths I had once read in class. "You mean...Jupiter...the Roman god of the skies and lightning?"
My father nodded, stroking his beard delicatley. "You are a demigod, my son. A half-human, half-god hybrid. This does not make you invincible...do not forget that. But it does give you abilities that mortal humans can only dream of."
Father- or Jupiter- moved forward, resting his hand on my shoulder. "Revan...the men who attacked your mother and brother tonight were not ordinary men-."
My brain, stacked with questions,