God of Destruction: Living Among Mortals

Nova stumbled into his apartment, feeling like he'd been hit by a truck. His legs were wobbly, his arms were noodles, and he was pretty sure his sweat was sweating. The morning's park workout and library trip had already kicked his ass, and now it was barely past 6:00 PM, and he was done. Like, done-done. He was flopped onto the couch, which still smelled like new fabric and was still stiff.

The kittens in their box perked up, meowing like they were judging him. Smudge, the little black one with the white paw, gave him a look like: "Bruh, you okay?"

At least that's what Nova thought was the look, even though the kittens can't give him any looks, since they were too small and young to even know they were alive.

"Shut it, Smudge," Nova mumbled, tossing an arm over his face.

His stomach growled louder than a car alarm, reminding him he hadn't eaten since that rice and chicken earlier. He was starving, but the thought of getting up to cook felt like climbing a mountain.

"Why'd I say five to ten hours of training a day?" he groaned to himself. "Who even does that? I'm an idiot."

He dragged himself to the kitchen, the kitten trailing him like tiny, fuzzy stalkers. The fridge had his grocery haul from yesterday: bread, peanut butter, beans, and rice. He stared at it, brain fog making him feel like he was trying to solve a math problem.

"Okay, dumb brain, work with me," he muttered. "Sandwich? Nah, too much effort. Beans? Ugh, gotta heat 'em up." He grabbed the peanut butter jar, a spoon, and called it a day.

He had also learned, from reading so much at the library, slang and the terminology of this generation. He tried to copy it, wasn't successful at first, but was quickly improving, and speaking more normally, rather than poetically. Though with Freya every night, he speaks in poems and with love, so with her, it was a completely different ballpark.

Slopping back on the couch, he scooped out a glob and shoved it in his mouth, chewing like it was his life's mission. It was a sticky, salty heaven, and he sighed, feeling slightly less like a corpse.

The kittens were going nuts now, climbing over each other to get to him, probably smelling the peanut butter. "No way, dudes," he said, holding the jar out of reach. "This is mine. You got your fancy kitten chow." He grabbed the little container Talia had left for them and dumped some into their dish. They attacked it like piranhas, tiny teeth chomping away. Nova snorted. "You guys are savages."

His mind wandered back to the tournament as he licked another scoop of peanut butter off the spoon. The tournament was less than two weeks away. August 20th. He still had time to turn himself from a scrawny nobody into… what? A superhero? A guild member? He wasn't sure if those were the correct terms. But he knew that if he were picked to represent the guild, he would wholeheartedly do it. Especially since he had unexpectedly decided to raise kittens.

The library books were stacked on the coffee table, looking all serious and intimidating. He'd skimmed some stuff about the American Guild and the Surge, talking about big events such as the first person to ever evolve, and get a cross on their Circle of Pillars. The first person to defeat a six-pillar dungeon. The first person ever to…

The list went on and on. It was almost as if the book was flexing on its readers. He picked up The Path to Power, the third book he had selected from Aisle 12, also the cheesiest book you could ever imagine. Like, it was such a nutty book that you would question why the person even attempted to publish it.

And it was full of stuff like "visualize your inner spark" and "embrace your destiny." He rolled his eyes so hard he thought they'd fall out.

"Inner spark? Bro, I'm just trying not to pass out from fucking push-ups." He tried one of the exercises anyway, closing his eyes and breathing deeply like the book said. "Feel the energy in your core," he read aloud, then snorted. "What energy? All I feel is peanut butter."

He tossed the book aside, gasping as he threw the book inside. He had hoped that the book contained something, anything that was useful. It did have first, but then it was just bullshitting shit talk about inner self and embracing yourself, which was very common knowledge.

He needed to be awake, moving his muscles; otherwise, he felt that if he stopped, then that would be the end of his training plan. He was a little dumb. But he was improving slightly every day. The gym he had gone to, which was free since it was in the complex, was calling his name, like a mermaid.

Just the sheer thought of lifting weights again made him want to cry. Still, he'd promise himself. Five to ten hours. He was already way behind; it had already been a couple of days since the start.

"All right, Nova, you dumbass," he said, hyping himself up. "You're doing this. Tournament's a fortnight away, and it's gonna be lit, and you're not gonna be the guy who trips over his own feet." He grabbed his jacket, checked the kittens' water, and headed out, his legs protesting every step, but he couldn't give a shit. He was going to regret that.

At least the gym was close, so he didn't have to walk too far away from the apartments. Though still, it was quite a walk, and his veins on his neck were popping like popcorn.

The gym was still alive when he got there, all clanging weights and grunting dudes. The tank of a guy from yesterday was there, curling a barbell like it was feather.

He gave Nova a nod, like: "You're back? Respect." He hadn't expected Nova to come back, since most people who tried out for the gym didn't come back, at least that's what the statistics for 2030 were all around the world.

Nova nodded back, trying to look less dead than he felt. He hit the treadmill first, figuring a light jog would loosen him up. Big mistake. His legs were like: "Nah, we're done," and he barely lasted ten minutes before stumbling off, gasping.