Big Brother & Little Sister – 2.2

  Truth be told, Max was terrified of letting her sleep, even though he intended to stay awake, eyes wide open, alert for any sign of her condition worsening. But Helen had insisted it wasn’t as bad as he thought, that the risk of death was minimal. Besides, she was tired and wanted to rest.

  If she felt that bad, she’d try to hold onto consciousness. And well, rest was important. Perhaps depriving her of sleep all night would make things worse.

  So, despite his fear, he did nothing as she slowly succumbed to the embrace of Morpheus. Considering the kind of world I’m in, he thought, I suppose Morpheus must be real.

  It wasn’t a pleasant thought. Dwelling on it too much would only lead to paranoia.

  Helen was already asleep against his chest. Her breathing was steady but slow. She looked a bit pale, but, all things considered, she wasn’t as bad as she could have been.

  If anything changed—her breathing, her heartbeat—he’d notice it immediately in this position. He’d be able to react instantly, though what he could actually do, he didn’t know. But he’d notice.

  Max licked his lips. It was stressful. There was no way he’d be able to sleep. Helen’s fate wasn’t even what stressed him the most, though admitting that made him feel a little guilty.

  The giant white serpent, that terrifying fight, how close he’d been to death. Ronan, still alive, one arm or not. Gares’ plans for him—he probably had some, beyond mere entertainment. And Poseidon’s plans, even worse.

  He’d killed a sea beast and nearly decapitated Poseidon’s champion. What if they made a move against him? There were too many things to think about.

  Watching the darkness for animals was the least of it. For example, there was the fact that he’d completed his assigned quest, killing the giant white serpent and defeating Ronan. He’d earned experience points and level-ups, points he hadn’t yet allocated to attributes or skills.

  There was no doubt he hadn’t failed. However, the quest had promised a legendary sword and armor as a reward. He felt like he’d read that notification ages ago, but he hadn’t forgotten. He was sure he remembered correctly. A sword and armor had been promised, but there was nothing legendary about what he’d received.

  And he’d earned it on his own. What the hell was going on? Things were already hard enough without Ares screwing him over, being stingy with rewards, deceiving him.

  "Maybe it’s because we defeated Namor, but I didn’t kill him. Maybe it’s that," he said aloud. "Anyway, I’m not going to figure it out now."

  He glanced at Helen to make sure he hadn’t woken her, though he hadn’t spoken loudly. She was still sleeping peacefully against his chest. Good. She needed to stay that way.

  He had to protect her. He had to grow stronger, take Ares’ throne, so the other gods and their champions couldn’t mess with him.

  Max opened the system screens, ready to distribute his experience points. He still wasn’t clear on the difference between Constitution and Endurance, so he put one point in each.

  As for skill points, he tried to invest them in his sole skill: Class: Sword of the God of War. Skill: Sword of the God of War. Ares hadn’t been too creative with the names. Or whatever.

  The skill had two phases. How many more, he didn’t know, but he had no idea how to unlock a third. The system wouldn’t let him spend his points on it.

  Max clicked his tongue.

  "This damn system. If only I could read the manual."

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  It was frustrating. Really, maddening. But he hadn’t expected it to work, anyway. After all, he didn’t even know how he’d unlocked phase two—it had just happened when he needed it most. Like a miracle.

  "Can it really be that convenient?" he whispered, trying to distract himself. "Ares said I could do whatever I wanted, that it was up to me. He’d only give me power. Nothing else. He seemed serious. Would he really intervene in my favor? Even to mess with Poseidon’s champion? And Poseidon himself by extension? I don’t know. Damn it, how am I supposed to know? I just got to this damned world."

  He had never been interested in Greek mythology. Thus he only knew the basics. Unlike Abrahamic religions, the Greek gods were a bunch of fallible, very human assholes—killing, cheating, raping. Especially Zeus, who was infamous for fucking anything that moved.

  Maybe Ares had just wanted to spite Poseidon. And that’s why he lent him a hand. Maybe, but he had other ideas.

  Max muttered, "Requirements," but nothing happened. He risked waking Helen, raising his voice slightly, and spent a while guessing similar words. No luck—until he said, "Achievements."

  Another screen appeared. There it was, clear as day:

  Sword of the War God.

  Phase One: War Cry. Kill 20 orcs. Completed.

  Phase Two: Spoils of War. Take 800 damage. Completed.

  Max shivered. Not just from the night’s chill—it barely reached him. His armor was like a furnace.

  Eight hundred points.

  But he only had 100 health.

  How had he taken that much damage? How close had he come to dying?

  It must have accumulated since his fight with the dark wolves. Otherwise, he couldn’t explain it. Even then, it seemed... a lot.

  Below was Phase Three. There was no name, no achievement, just the requirement to unlock it: Kill more than a thousand living beings.

  The counter read 87/1001. He had a long way to go. But that also seemed excessive.

  Eighty-seven? Had he really killed that many wolves, that many orcs, coming and going from that cave?

  Maybe the giant serpent counted for more than one.

  Maybe more than ten. Damn it, whatever, Max thought. I’m not going to argue with the damned system about why it shouldn’t reward me, why it shouldn’t give me advantages. Damn it, I sound like an idiot.

  Max tilted his head back, trying to find a more comfortable position. He fidgeted. She didn’t seem to mind his movements. Good. Slowly, he ran his fingers through her hair, terrified even that would wake her. She looked so peaceful. Still obviously sick, but at peace.

  "This is going to be a long night."

  It wasn’t the first sleepless night he’d endured. Just the first he’d chosen. When your own body betrays you, even sleep is often a challenge. He’d always hated those long hospital nights. Thoughts drifting aimlessly—unfulfilled dreams, unreachable goals, regrets, even stupider things. Like fantasies about one of the nurses, who felt nothing but pity for him. If they felt anything at all.

  How could he know?

  "This is a new life," Max said, as if trying to convince himself. "I’m free, and I’m healthy."

  All of that was true, no doubt. But it wouldn’t make the night easier. Too many things to think about. Too many questions without good answers. The role he’d taken on felt far too big for him. Whether he called it being a big brother or a father, it didn’t fit. Helen wouldn’t agree, though.

  "But she’s just a kid. And I... I’m a kid, too."

  The wood creaked. Sparks from the campfire danced in the night air. Occasionally, birdsong broke the silence. The flutter of wings. Beyond that, not much.

  Sometimes, he thought he heard things. Only thought—he was sure. Otherwise, something would have attacked by now. Normal. At a certain point, it was normal not to trust what you saw or heard. The night grew darker, as if the shadows were swelling, pulsing. Closing in, encroaching on the light’s territory, step by step.

  He couldn’t see many stars, which was a shame. Back home, he’d never had the chance to truly appreciate a starry sky. And now that he could, there was nothing to see. Life was full of small and large ironies.

  And there was no need to tempt fate.

  The worst didn’t happen. Helen didn’t get worse—here, in the middle of this damned forest, far from civilization, with no way to help her. But perhaps the second or third worst did: people emerged from the darkness, approaching the campfire. Clearly unfriendly people.

  "You’re making a terrible mistake," Max said. "For starters, I barely have any money on me."

  "I don’t care," one of them said, his face naturally covered by a mask. "You have something much more valuable than a few coins."

  "What?"

  "That girl. That little elf whore. She could fill barrels of gold if we sell her to the right buyer."

  Max frowned. He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Well, he could. But damn, he wished he hadn’t.

  Slowly, he stood, as if he hadn’t heard a thing. Carefully, he laid Helen down where she’d been. He didn’t draw his sword. He already had hours ago.

  As he said, alert and prepared.

  "I’m going to cut out your tongue," Max said. "And I’ll make you choke on it."

  "Do you think this is a play, boy? You might be capable, sure. I won’t doubt you’re skilled with a sword. But there’s a dozen of us against one of you. How long do you think it’ll take us to fill you with holes, little bastard?"

  Max shook his head.

  "You have no idea. Not a damn clue."