The water poured down all around him, and he rested his forehead against the shower wall. He had one hundred dollars in his checking account, only the required amount for rent, taxes, and surgery in the savings, and no food in the kitchen. He probably shouldn’t get delivery. He supposed he could walk down to the taqueria. He hadn’t eaten in four days, and he was feeling a bit lightheaded. He had gone just that long without water, too, which was a problem for multiple reasons.

Slowly, he slumped down to the floor of the shower and stared blankly at the wall. He had no idea what rank he was now. It sure as hell did not feel like he was S rank. He had outclassed the others on every single level. Killing those monsters had been a walk in the park for him. It had been painfully easy. Why…

Will you be chosen?

The voice of the goddess reverberated around his head, and he buried his head between his hands. What the hell just happened to him? What the fuck was that? He felt like the pain was still there. Like it was constant, never ending, like if he closed his eyes, it would be back. Why put him through that? For the laugh? To see what he would do? If he would be obedient? He didn’t… He didn’t understand. My executioner? Did she mean that as in he would be killing for her, or killing her, or both? What was he executing?

“I didn’t agree to any of this,” he murmured, and looked up. “I didn’t agree to any of this!”

But, he did.

Because he wanted to live.

He wanted to live, wanted to die, and couldn’t walk the thin line between them. To the casual observer, the gap between them might as well be the Gulf of Mexico. Holy knew better. Holy knew so much better. The line between living and dying was as thin as a razor’s wire, and he couldn’t escape from it. He could not escape from it.

Holy swallowed, and dimly recognized that his hands were shaking. Why couldn’t he just die? Why did he stubbornly cling to life like this? Now he was a chosen one, when he had never asked for that. He killed S rank creatures with criminal ease, and what would that kind of power do to him? Would he become unrecognizable? Would he even want to live when he saw what was staring back at him in the mirror?

Holy swallowed again. He gripped his knees to still the shaking in his hands, and then he slowly got up and got the shampoo squirted out in his hand. He lathered up his hair, scrubbing out all the mud and blood and piss, and it circled around the drain, going down as he rinsed his hair out. Conditioner was lathered in after, and then he started scrubbing down his body, numb and unseeing. He was terrified. He was horrified. He hated this, so much. He was probably S rank now, and that was going to come up with its own unique set of issues. He would have to choose a guild to join, and he would be invited to high profile events.

Should he call his parents? He didn’t really want to. His parents were… he didn’t want to think about his parents right now. No, he wouldn’t call them. He hadn’t spoken to them in months, anyway. Closer to a year.

He finished scrubbing down, and then he stepped under the water to rinse off. He just wanted to eat food and finally sleep. He hadn’t slept in four days. The pain had kept him up through all 24 hours of each day, and he was exhausted. Hunters could stay up longer, live without water, without food, but even they had limits.

A chill rolled down his spine as he realized he could have died. He could have died, and he didn’t know what to do about that one. Why hadn’t he died? Was the whole thing a trap for him specifically, or was he chosen at random, because he was the last one in?

He had never put much stock in gods. He feared God, but he didn’t believe in Him. There was a difference. God was the boogeyman in the closet, not the kindly old man in the clouds. Gods toyed with mortal lives like they had a right to them, and reminded him too much of his own parents. Stubbornly convinced that because they made something, that something was doomed to be subservient to them for the rest of their lives. A perfect little plaything, with no thoughts or feelings of their own, right down to the decisions they made about their own bodies. His siblings were all their flying monkeys, and he just…

Couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t do it.

Vanessa had gotten better once she turned eighteen, but she was cis, and cis people always stood with other cis people before they stood with trans people. That was just how it was. She respected his pronouns and name to his face, but not behind his back, and he just had to pretend he didn’t know for the sake of having her in his life.

It was better than being alone.

Well. He wasn’t entirely alone, he thought grimly. There was Kara, who was picking him up from the hospital for his surgery. She had been his ride or die from day one, ever since they met on the playground at six years old, but she was moving away soon for college. She had done two years of community college, and now she was going to UofA. Well, it was just Tucson. It was fine.

He probably needed to brush up on S-ranks. Be able to recognize them on sight, before he caused an incident.

With a sigh, he shut off the water and climbed out of it, toweling off and grabbing his underwear and joggers and clean compression bra. He pulled on his clothes, and just in time, because there was a knock on the door. Was that the landlord about the late rent? He shuffled out, and then he pulled open the door.

Two men in suits were standing in the doorway, and he stared at them with dull eyes.

“Yes?” he asked, and they exchanged glances.

“Hello, Holy,” the first one said. “My name is Gregory Amor, and I’m from the Hunter’s Association. We’re here to debrief you on what happened in the dungeon.”

“I…” he trailed off and realized he couldn’t… say anything. “I…”

Both of them stared at him, and he stared back at them as he tried to think of what to say. He tried  to force words out of his mouth, but it was like there was a hand on his throat, preventing him from speaking. He tried to get something out, and when he spoke, something else came out.

“I don’t remember,” he said, even though he did, and why was he saying that? “I don’t remember anything. There was a temple, and I hid, and then… there was pain… and I was suddenly able to fight the beasts. I think I was unconscious for four days.”

Both of them stared at him, and he stared back. It was so obviously a lie. There was no way they were going to believe that.

“I see. You said there was a temple?”

“Yes. In a field of wildflowers,” he said, and that, at least, was true. “It was just me in there. The beasts couldn’t get in.”

“Someone’s God’s favorite,” the second man muttered, and Holy nearly laughed in his face. God’s favorite? This didn’t feel like favoritism. This felt like… like…

Like a living hell.

“Will you be able to come down to headquarters in a few days to get your rank measured?” Gregory asked, and Holy blinked. His rank… Right. That was standard practice for reawakenings, as standard as things could possibly be for such a rare occurrence. There were less than ten re-awakened individuals worldwide.

“Of course. But, I need to eat and sleep now,” he said and scratched the back of his head. “Do you mind?”

“Also, can we look at your GoPro footage? See if we can’t see what happened to you,” the hunter asked, and Holy blinked. There didn’t seem to be anything forcing him to say no. Maybe he could tell the truth that way.

“Sure, one second,” he said. “The memory would have filled up pretty quick before it died, but…”

He went back and pulled out his GoPro, and then he popped out the SIM card, only to stare in dismay at the blackened husk that was his SIM card.

“Oh,” he said softly and held it up, and Gregory took it and stared at it. “You can try to pull something off of it, but…”

“It’s fine,” Gregory said, and tucked it into his pocket. “We’ll see if we can revive it.”

“Okay,” Holy said, and swallowed. “Was that all…?”

“We’ll give you a full debriefing when you swing by the Association branch,” Gregory said, and Holy slowly nodded.

“Alright,” he said, and toed into his Crocs. “I’m going to get some food now, so excuse me.”

He got his Crocs on and grabbed his keys and wallet. Gregory and the man that didn’t introduce himself stood out of the way, and he slipped out the door and pulled it shut with a click. He locked the door, and then he headed down the stairs, leaving his phone locked up tight behind the door, because it was still charging. It had gone dead at some point into the dungeon, and he had no idea if it had caught anything.

Gregory and the other hunter followed him down the stairs, and Holy turned left while they turned right at the bottom. Hunter headed out, and they left him alone.

Maybe he would sleep a few hours and then hit the gay bar. There was a persistent itch under his skin he needed to scratch. He didn’t want to sleep alone tonight.

….

Holy turned twenty-one in a few weeks, but he still had a fake ID. He had used it ever since he was eighteen, and he was well accustomed to the local gay scene out here. He was dressed in his clean binder, a neon green one, with a white mesh shirt, black cargo joggers, and white shit kicker combat boots. There was a cold Jack and Coke in one hand, and he was sipping on it as he surveyed the scene in front of him. It was dimly lit, and men were grinding up on each other on the dance floor. There was a sense of joy and relief in the room, because they were the cockroaches that survived and couldn’t or wouldn’t evacuate, and everything was pretty clear.

Someone plucked the glass out of his hand, and he startled. Before he could even react, the brown haired man downed it in one go, and Holy gaped at the sheer audacity of the man. Bright green eyes turned on him, and it took Holy a moment to place him.

Oh. Right. The hunter from before. The fire mage. Holy stared up at him, and he stared down at him.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the man said in a dull rumble, and Holy flushed.

“I survived, same as anyone else,” he said, and the man tilted his head.

“Did you, though?” he asked, his sharp eyes roving over Holy’s body, and Holy felt heat hit him in the face.

“I did,” he said boldly, and thought to call for another drink, but he was low on funds. He should just go home. He hadn’t come here with the intention of getting drunk, anyway, and he had only had half a drink.

“How does it feel to be S-rank?” the man purred, and Holy felt heat slowly climb in his cheeks.

“It was painful,” he said, and the man tilted his head.

“Yes, I suppose re-awakenings can be pretty painful,” he said, and Holy’s eyes darted around for an exit. “But, have you ever had sex as an S-rank with another S-rank?”

Holy paused, and the man’s lips twitched up in a slow smile. Dammit. That was the look of a man that knew he had him, hook line and sinker. He’d been pretty rude, but, well, Holy was into that.

“Do you want to stay here and uselessly try to get drunk, or do you want some real fun?” the man asked, and Holy wondered what kind of wires were crossed in his brain, because there was no way he hadn’t seen him rip out that wolfman’s throat with his teeth.

Then again, Holy felt like some of his wires were crossed, too.

He just wanted to burn off some steam, and he had a feeling this man would be the perfect vehicle for that.

“My place,” Holy decided, because he couldn’t afford an Uber back from the man’s hotel, and the man dipped his head.

“Lead the way,” he said, and Holy turned for the door. The man drifted after him, and Holy looked over his shoulder.

“What’s your name?” Holy asked, and the man blinked, almost in shock.

“You don’t know?” he asked in amusement, and Holy crinkled up his nose.

“I don’t keep up on S-ranks,” he said, and the man laughed.

“Antoni Freeman,” he said, and placed his lower hand on his back.

“The binder stays on,” Holy warned him, and the man’s eyes twinkled.

“Of course,” he said. “That doesn’t bother me.”

Oh, gods. What had Holy gotten himself into?