“Oh. Any idea of what happens next? What am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t usually interact with the warriors, but from what I know, expect some training and, once you’re ready, being sent on missions. Good luck, Libra.”
“Actually, I prefer the name Grayson.”
“In that case, good luck, Grayson. Fare thee well.”
With that, she left, leaving him alone in his new luxury apartment. At least his new job as protector of the world came with perks, such as an epic shower with multiple heads that sluiced him clean. Blood, dust, everything washed down the drain, and he grimaced as he realized just how gross he’d been. No wonder Leila barely spared him a second glance.
When he dried himself with a giant fluffy towel, he did a double take because the scar from when his appendix burst had disappeared. As had the white gash left by a blade to the shin. His body hadn’t just healed recent wounds, but old ones, too. Turning his back to the mirror, he craned to look over his shoulder and saw the tattoo mentioned earlier.
“Geezus fucking Christ. It covers my whole back,” he exclaimed. More magic, since he definitely didn’t recall lying still for hours while someone inked him.
As he towel-dried his hair, he paused and leaned closer to stare. He didn’t imagine it. There was definitely less gray in his hair. Rejuvenation? Kind of cool.
If being truthful, now that he’d dropped the skepticism, this entire experience had him excited for the future. He’d wanted something to do when he retired, and he’d already landed a job. As to the whole leaving his old life behind? Would anyone notice he’d disappeared? Not really. No living family. No girlfriend. Just a couple of friends who’d likely assume he died in the alien attack, speaking of which…
He located the remote for the television and turned it on. A news channel popped up on the screen.
“…authorities are struggling to keep ahead of the monstrous menace terrorizing our streets. While the deadly attack by these unknown creatures might have begun in the Scotiabank Arena, it has expanded to many areas of Toronto. Citizens are advised to remain indoors and to barricade all entrances. Please note, if a creature breaks in, you are advised to do your best to hide or fight, as emergency services will not be able to respond in a timely manner.” The news anchor disappeared, his grave expression replaced by live footage from a helicopter. A strobe light on its underbelly illuminated a city street and showed one of the creatures racing after someone and pouncing. The videochanged before the carnage. As the next clip played, the news anchor began narrating.
“For those just tuning in, the monster attack in Toronto appears to have begun at the Scotiabank Arena, where the Stanley Cup final was in the third period.”
Grayson’s jaw dropped as they replayed the final moments of the game. Him on a breakaway, the ice exploding outwards, the aliens scurrying out. The fixed cameras had taped everything, including his foolhardy battle—which the guy in him actually found impressive until he got mobbed. Oddly, he didn’t see Aries in any of the clips, just a blurry smudge, as if he’d been scrubbed from the footage. The announcer returned, stating, “Despite his valiant effort, we are saddened at the passing of hockey veteran and legend, Grayson Warren.”
The anchor went on to say that, while the creatures had been spotted in other locales around the world, those incidents had been rapidly contained by unknown individuals. As part of the government response to the emergency situation, the military had been called upon. People could expect boots on the ground within the next few hours and days as troops mobilized. Local police forces were overwhelmed and had suffered catastrophic losses in confronting the creatures, and people were advised that emergency services had been suspended until the situation with the monsters could be resolved.
Grayson spent the next hour listening and watching, appalled at the carnage and kind of wishing he’d not been left behind. Sure, he didn’t know how to wield a sword or fire a gun, but fuck, people were dying while he sat safe in his new apartment.
One important thing he learned? He wanted to fight. Wanted to hunt down these murderous aliens. It would be nice to do something meaningful for the world. First thing in the morning, teacher or not, he’d take his ass to the training room and startfiguring shit out. Maybe the magical Tower would provide him some demonstration videos if no one was available to teach him.
The next morning, after a sounder sleep than expected, he jogged down the stairs, encountering no one until he entered the dining room. A single guy sat there, and he smiled upon seeing Grayson.
“Hey, new guy. I’m Aquarius.” He stood and held out his hand.
Grayson strode close and shook it. “Grayson.”
Aquarius laughed. “Ah, not using your new name yet, I see. I remember it took me months before I accepted mine.”
“I don’t know if I will. Might have been easier if I’d gotten something cool.” Yeah, he remained salty about that.
“Honestly, I think we all kind of wished we got Leo. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be the lion’s avatar?”
“Does no one keep their birth name?”
The guy shook his head. “No. As I said, it takes time. For example, Zora, who’s been with us maybe two months, is still Zora, but I can’t blame her. Ophiuchus is a mouthful.”
“No shit. Mind if I grab some breakfast?”
“Sorry. Of course. You know how it works?”
“Yeah, Leila showed me last night.”
“Leila?” Aquarius queried as Grayson strode to the niche to find a plate already waiting. Sunnyside up eggs, wheat toast, sausages, orange juice, and a bowl of strawberries. His favorite.
As Grayson carried it back, he replied. “Petite Middle Eastern woman, says she’s the doctor for this place.”
“You met her?” Aquarius’s brows shot up. “I’m surprised. Rumor has it she puts her patients to sleep so they never even get a chance to talk to her.”
