The God's Deceit - The Web Begins

I stood before the towering tree, its branches sprawling out like a giant's fingers, teasing me with the ripe fruit dangling just out of reach. The sun bore down on my back, relentless, its heat amplifying my frustration. Lenny leaned casually against another tree, arms crossed, watching me with that ever-present smirk of his. His lion-like face held a mix of amusement and challenge.

"No ladders, no help," he said, his voice carrying over the murmurs of villagers behind me. "You want to prove yourself, right? Get creative. Ten baskets from these five trees. And don't even think about skipping to the low-hanging fruit." He raised an eyebrow, daring me to argue.

I didn't. I couldn't. My pride wouldn't let me.

Adjusting the empty basket slung over my shoulder, I approached the first tree, feeling the villagers' eyes drilling into my back like needles. Their whispers weren't subtle.

Two older women with hawk-like faces stood near the shade of a smaller tree, their whispers sharp as arrows. "He's wasting everyone's time," one said, her beady eyes fixed on me.

"Probably thinks this will get him into Radamar's army," the other hissed, shaking her head in disapproval.

Their words stung like nettles, but I clenched my fists and stared up at the tree. Let them watch. Let them whisper. I'd show them.

Bending my knees, I leaped, reaching for the nearest branch. My fingers grazed it, but the fruit remained firmly out of reach. My boots hit the dirt with a dull thud, sending up a small cloud of dust. I tried again. And again. Each jump brought me no closer to filling the basket.

"Come on, Jeremiah!" Lenny called, his tone half-mocking. "That all you got?"

I gritted my teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. My legs burned with the effort as I continued to jump, my arms aching from repeatedly stretching toward the branches.

Maybe they're right, a bitter voice whispered in my head. Maybe I really am wasting everyone's time.

Sweat dripped down my forehead, stinging my eyes. I swiped at it with my sleeve, glaring up at the tree. It felt like it was mocking me.

After what felt like hours, the sun had shifted, casting longer shadows. My basket remained depressingly empty. I decided to change tactics. Climbing wasn't something I'd ever done before, but how hard could it be?

Grasping the trunk of the tree, I pressed my boots firmly against the rough bark. My hands slid slightly at first, the coarse surface scraping against my palms and biting into my skin. A sharp, earthy scent of sap mingled with the tang of sweat trickling down my face. My chest heaved as I began to pull myself upward, the effort burning in my arms. Beneath the ache, I felt a flicker of something—warmth, faint and strange, like an ember waiting to ignite. It was subtle, almost unnoticeable, and for a moment, I thought it was just the strain playing tricks on me.

"Where are you from, in your world?" Lenny's voice cut through the air, a hint of mockery in his tone.

"Jamaica," I replied through gritted teeth, keeping my focus on the climb.

"And which Jamaican don't know how fi climb tree?" he shot back, his words laced with a teasing challenge.

I glanced down briefly, irritation flickering in my chest. "And what you woulda know 'bout what a Jamaican can do?" I countered, the words sharper than I intended, fueled by frustration and exertion.

My arms trembled as I inched higher, my breath ragged. The first branch was just within reach. I lunged for it, gripping it tightly as I hoisted myself up. The branch groaned under my weight, and for a brief, nerve-wracking moment, I thought it might snap. I froze, clinging tightly, heart pounding.

"We try fi keep up wid di human world as best we can, yuh know," Lenny continued, his tone casual but clearly aiming to needle me. "Who yuh think dem call pon when people from yuh world summon spirits fi dem rituals?"

I gritted my teeth, ignoring the sharpness in his voice as I adjusted my grip. "I guess it wasn't long ago somebody from this region was summoned," I replied, more to keep him talking than anything else.

"Dat so?" I said, throwing his words back with a bitter edge, my breath ragged as I tried to focus on the climb.

"Hold on tight, little bird," Lenny called out from below, his voice dripping with mock encouragement. "Hate to see you crash before you even take off." He ended the statement in a mocking southern drawl, adding insult to injury.

My chest burned with frustration, and I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to press harder. My fingers scraped against the rough bark as I reached for the next branch, determined to prove him wrong. But the bark betrayed me. My hand slipped, and before I could recover, gravity took over.

I hit the ground with a heavy thud, pain jolting through my body like a hammer blow. The impact knocked the air from my lungs, but the sting of humiliation was worse.

Laughter erupted from the group nearby. I didn't need to look to know it was them—mocking, jeering. One or two even clapped sarcastically, their applause as hollow as their amusement.

Let them laugh. I clenched my jaw and turned my gaze upward, fixing my eyes on the fruit dangling just out of reach. My pride screamed at me to fight back, to throw a cutting retort their way, but I bit it down. The only answer they'd get from me was action.

This time, I reached the branch. My fingers wrapped around the fruit, and with a firm tug, I pulled it free. It dropped into the basket with a satisfying thunk, a sound that made my chest swell despite the pain radiating through my limbs. Progress.

But the victory was short-lived. My foot slipped, and before I could stabilize, the branch twisted beneath my weight. Gravity claimed me once again.

I landed hard, this time on my side, the impact rattling my ribs. Pain flared sharply, but I shoved it aside.

The villagers' laughter was louder now, grating against my already frayed nerves. Even Lenny chuckled, though he tried to stifle it.

"Not bad," he said as he strolled over, his smirk as irritating as ever. "At least you're stubborn."

"Gee, thanks," I muttered, brushing the dirt off my clothes. My muscles ached, and my hands stung from the constant scraping, but I refused to let him—or anyone else—see me falter.

"You're not going to win today," he said, his tone softer than I expected. For a moment, it sounded almost like encouragement. "But if you keep getting up, that's what matters."

I didn't know how to respond to that, so I just nodded, turning my attention back to the task. The sun was sinking lower now, casting long shadows across the clearing. By the time its edge kissed the horizon, I'd managed to fill two baskets. My arms and legs trembled with every movement, and my hands were raw, stinging with every touch.

The villagers hadn't stopped whispering. Their voices drifted over again, sharper this time, cutting through the dull roar of my exhaustion.

"He thinks he can just climb trees and save us?" one hissed, her hawk-like face twisted with disdain.

"Radamar won't care about this fool. He'll crush him like the rest," another added, their voice dripping with scorn.

Their words stabbed at me, each one more painful than the last. I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms as I fought the urge to lash out. I wasn't doing this for attention. I wasn't doing it for Radamar. I was doing it for me. To get stronger. To go home.

Lenny returned, his looming figure casting a shadow over me. "Let's go," he said flatly, motioning for me to follow. "Next up, hand-to-hand combat."

Lenny didn't offer any words of encouragement as he grabbed the baskets and dumped the fruit into a larger pile by the trees. For just a moment, I hoped we'd be done for the day.

"Let's go," Lenny said, already walking off without waiting for me to catch up.

"Where now?" I asked, my voice rasping. My throat was dry, the heat still clinging to me like a second skin.

"The usual spot," he said over his shoulder, his tone casual, almost bored. My stomach sank.

When we arrived at the clearing from yesterday, Lenny stopped and pointed to the worn path circling the area. "Run it. Ten laps."

I stared at him, incredulous. "I just spent all day climbing trees!"

"Good," he said, his grin widening. "Your legs should already be warmed up."

Grumbling under my breath, I started to run. Each step sent sharp jolts of pain up my calves, and my breath came in ragged gasps. The thick, gnarled trees of this forest felt oppressive, their shadows swallowing the path. I shook the thought from my mind and focused on the burning in my legs.

Lenny, of course, watched from the side, arms crossed, looking as if he hadn't moved all day.

By the fifth lap, I couldn't help myself. "What's it like in the other region?" I asked between breaths.

Lenny raised an eyebrow but didn't respond immediately. I wasn't even sure he'd heard me.

"Come on," I pressed, my words tumbling out with my exhaustion. "You've been there, haven't you? What's it like?"

He smirked, leaning lazily against a tree. "Why? Planning to take a trip? You can't even beat me yet, and you're thinking about the Guardians over there?"

I clenched my teeth, forcing my legs to keep moving. Maybe if I learned more about what was out there, I'd feel less stuck. Less small. "I just want to know," I said, frustration creeping into my voice.

Lenny shrugged, his tail flicking idly behind him. "The faes over there are what you'd probably call elves and dwarves. Real stiff, proper types. It's not a forest, per se. The trees are skinny, tall, and thin—bamboo, I think you'd call it."

"Bamboo?" I repeated, stumbling slightly over a root. The word sounded exotic, foreign, like something out of a dream.

"We've got bamboo in Jamaica," I said, breathing heavily, the words spilling out as I tried to release the pressure in my lungs. "But it's up in the hills, in the mountains."

"Oh yes," Lenny said, rubbing his ear absently as if recalling a distant memory. "And there's a mountain in that region too. Huge. You'll see it if you ever make it that far."

"What else?" I asked, slowing slightly, desperate for more details.

His eyes flickered toward the horizon for a moment, something unreadable passing over his face. "That's all you're getting," he said quickly, the smirk returning. "Now pick up the pace before I make it fifteen laps."

I growled under my breath but forced myself to push harder. The thought of bamboo trees and distant mountains stayed with me, nagging at the edges of my mind. For now, though, all that mattered was making it through the laps without collapsing.

When I finally finished, my legs felt like lead, every step a reminder of the punishment they'd endured. Lenny didn't give me a chance to rest. He motioned for me to follow him to a clearing within the track. My legs felt so numb I couldn't tell if they were still mine.

Lenny turned to face me, cracking his knuckles. "Don't hold back," he said, grinning. "I won't."

Before I could respond, he lunged at me. His speed was shocking. I barely managed to dodge as his fist sailed past my head. He followed up with a low kick, sweeping my legs out from under me. I hit the ground hard, the impact jarring.

"Come on, Jeremiah," he said, towering over me. "You think the Guardians are going to take it easy on you?"

I scrambled to my feet, raising my fists. I threw a punch, aiming for his jaw, but he caught my wrist mid-swing. His grip was like iron. For a moment, panic gripped me—his strength was overwhelming. He twisted sharply, and my feet left the ground as he sent me tumbling down. The impact knocked the air from my lungs, and I lay there for a split second, gasping. Think, Jeremiah. Stop charging in like a fool.

"You're telegraphing your moves," he said, stepping back. "Try again."

"I know!" Frustration boiled inside me as I got up. I charged at him, swinging wildly. He ducked under my punches effortlessly, his movements fluid and precise. He jabbed at my ribs, knocking the wind out of me, then swept my legs out again.

"Focus," he said as I gasped for air. "You're fighting like a child."

I growled, pushing myself up once more. My body screamed in protest, but I refused to stay down. I adjusted my stance, watching him carefully. When he moved, I tried to anticipate his actions, blocking his strikes as best as I could. It wasn't enough. His punches were fast and powerful, each one sending me reeling.

"Again," he said after I hit the ground for what felt like the hundredth time.

I clenched my fists, my frustration reaching its peak. "Stop telling me to 'focus' and actually teach me something!" I snapped, my voice breaking under the weight of my exhaustion.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "I am teaching you," he said. "Every hit you take is a lesson. Learn from them."

His words lit a fire in me. I charged at him again, this time with purpose. I ducked under his punch, aiming a jab at his ribs. It connected, but his response was immediate. He grabbed my arm, twisted, and flipped me onto my back.

"Better," he said, stepping back. "But you've got a long way to go."

The world spun as I hit the ground again, the impact rattling through every inch of my body. Dirt clung to my cheek, gritty and cold, a stark contrast to the fiery pain in my ribs and shoulders. My chest heaved with every breath, shallow and ragged, scraping against the ache spreading through me. My body screamed to stay down, but my pride wouldn't let me. Neither would the ember of something strange, stirring deep inside.

It started faintly, a warmth in my core, like an ember glowing softly in a fire's remains. At first, I thought it was adrenaline, but this sensation was different. It wasn't a rush; it was steady, curling outward through my limbs, igniting a flicker of strength where none should have been.

Closing my eyes, I latched onto the feeling, imagining the warmth spreading further. It pulsed through me, rhythmic but offbeat from my pounding heart. Slowly, I tried to guide it, willing it to fill me completely, to ease the strain in my body. Every time I thought I'd grasped it, the sensation slipped away, elusive as water running through my fingers.

Frustration bubbled to the surface, but I didn't stop. I focused harder, willing the heat to return. For a fleeting moment, it felt like I was on the verge of something—control, clarity, power. But as soon as I thought I could lead it, the warmth vanished, leaving me gasping and empty.

A shadow loomed over me, snapping me back to the present.

"Still lying there?" Lenny's voice cut through my haze, sharp and taunting. I tilted my head back to see him standing over me, arms crossed, his lion-like face twisted into a smirk that only fueled my irritation.

"You know," he said, "if you'd bother to block, maybe you wouldn't spend so much time on the ground."

My glare sharpened, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "Maybe I could learn to block if you actually taught me how," I shot back, my voice hoarse but steady. "Instead of just using me as your punching bag."

Lenny raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. The smirk remained as he crouched, meeting my gaze. "Is that so?" His tone was calm, the words deliberate, carrying the weight of a challenge.

Without waiting for a response, he straightened and motioned for me to get up. "Alright then. Prove it."

Dragging myself to my feet felt like moving through quicksand, but I refused to show weakness. My legs trembled, my hands stung from the scrapes of bark, but that ember inside me flickered again, pushing me forward.

Lenny stepped back a few paces, rolling his shoulders as he assumed a wide, balanced stance. "First rule of blocking," he began, his tone now steady and instructional. "Don't wait for the hit to come to you. Watch my shoulders and my hips. They'll tell you where the strike's coming from before I even throw it."

He moved his arm in an exaggeratedly slow motion toward my side. Instinctively, I flinched, my arms coming up awkwardly to block.

"Not bad," Lenny said, though his tone was laced with sarcasm. "But not good either. Do it again. Control the motion this time."

Jaw clenched, I nodded. He repeated the strike, slower than before. This time, I adjusted my stance, angling my arm to deflect the blow. It wasn't perfect, but it felt better.

"Better," he said, stepping back. "Again."

We repeated the motion over and over. Each strike was slightly different, forcing me to adjust. He explained every detail—how to angle my arms, how to read the movement, how to shift my weight to absorb the impact without losing my balance. The repetitions blurred together, but with every attempt, the motion felt less awkward.

"Good," Lenny said finally. "Now let's add some counters."

I blinked at him. Counters? He had to be joking.

"If you just block, you're delaying the inevitable," he said, stepping closer. "You've got to strike back before your opponent resets. Watch."

He demonstrated a fluid sequence—blocking an invisible strike, then immediately following with a quick jab to the ribs. "Now you."

I tried to mimic the movement, but my body felt stiff and uncoordinated. The transition from the block to the counter was clumsy, earning a dramatic eye roll from Lenny.

"No, no, no," he muttered, stepping behind me. Before I could protest, his hands gripped my arms, guiding them through the sequence. "Block here. Strike here. Keep your weight forward, or you'll lose balance."

He stepped back, motioning for me to try again.

We drilled the sequence over and over, his strikes coming at me at varying speeds. My arms ached, my muscles burned, but something felt different now. That strange heat inside me pulsed faintly with each movement, as if feeding off my determination.

At one point, I closed my eyes, trying to focus on it again. If I could just figure out where it was coming from—how to hold onto it—it could make all the difference. But the second I thought I had control, the warmth slipped away, like smoke dissipating in the wind.

"Don't get distracted!" Lenny barked, snapping me out of my trance. "You're improving, but you're not there yet. Focus."

I gritted my teeth and nodded, dropping back into a defensive stance. This time, I locked my eyes on his movements. The slight shift of his shoulders, the way his weight changed before a strike—it all started to make sense.

When the next attack came, I was ready. My arm shot up, deflecting his blow cleanly, the motion smooth and instinctive. For the first time, I didn't feel clumsy.

Lenny paused, his golden eyes studying me. Then, just barely, he nodded. "Not bad. Maybe you're not hopeless after all."

A smirk tugged at my lips despite the exhaustion weighing me down. "Don't sound so impressed."

"Don't get cocky either," he shot back, stepping away. "We're just getting started."

I exhaled deeply, my body aching but my mind sharper than before. That heat inside me was still there, pulsing faintly. I didn't know what it was yet, but one thing was certain—I wasn't going to let it—or Lenny—beat me.

Not this time.