Benny woke up as if nothing had happened. There was no one beside him. He looked around the mausoleum, scanning every corner and shadow, but there was no one there except him. He confirmed it several times, just to be sure.
His memory was hazy. Only a flash of light remained from when he was about to give his own demands to the self-proclaimed god who was buried here. And then there was nothing. An absence of sound. His eyes burned with an intensity that should have made him scream, but his mouth couldn't produce any sound. He was silenced, and then his consciousness began to fade.
That was the last thing he was able to remember.
But now something was different. In front of him were written texts hovering in the air, and with them were choices displayed in a format he had never seen before.
It felt the same as what the god had proposed. But this time it came from the power welling within him. It was a curious thing, this presence inside his chest. He wondered if this power he possessed was also a god.
He wasn't entirely wrong in a sense, but they aren't gods. At least not in a cosmic sense. They are more like mediators and arbiters for the gods. Administrators of the rules that even deities must follow.
The choice presented was the same as before, but this time he felt no underlying pretense in it. Unlike when he first talked with the god, where every word seemed laced with hidden intentions, this felt more mechanical. More honest, in its own sterile way.
[WOULD YOU ACCEPT? Y/N]
Well, if this was the only way out, then this must be it. He could no longer pass through the door he came through before. It had vanished when he tried earlier, leaving only solid stone where the exit once stood. His only way out was this.
"A God's Game, huh? What a fucked up way to toy with someones life."
He pressed the Yes option. The game began.
He felt like he was being transported to another place, somewhere other than this tomb. The sensation was disorienting, like being pulled through water. The place he arrived at felt familiar, though he couldn't tell what or where it was, or what time it had occurred in. The only thing he knew was that this was the challenge. This was the hell Sitan had promised.
He had actually been transported to the past. It was a perspective not totally his own, but his parents'. But he didn't know that. He couldn't remember. Well, he didn't have much of a memory of the past to begin with. He was an orphan as long as he could remember. At least, that's what he believed.
But the challenge lies somewhere here. There must be a reason why he was brought to this specific place and time, right?
He looked at himself, or rather, at the body he now inhabited. They were the hands of a man that felt heavy and had rough years of experience behind them. Callused palms. Scarred knuckles. The hands of someone who had worked hard their entire life.
He saw a reflection of himself from a puddle where he was standing. Oddly, it looked like him in a sense, but different. The features were similar, the bone structure familiar, but aged. Weathered by time and hardship.
"Who is this man?" He wondered if it was him somehow. But he knew it wasn't. At least not the him he knew now.
He wandered around the place, taking in his surroundings. A small village, poor and struggling. Then at some point, his feet must have had a mind of their own. They carried him forward without his conscious direction, moving along a path they knew by heart. He reached an old dilapidated house that was in disrepair, with vines crawling up its walls like grasping fingers, and the rooftops were patched with rotten wood and whatever material was available.
It was then that Benny lost his control over the man's body. He was now left to watch from a third-person perspective, a passenger in someone else's life. Before the man could enter the structure, he heaved a deep breath. A long, tired exhale escaped from his mouth, carrying the weight of invisible burdens.
Then he opened the door.
Inside, he soon saw a woman and a child living in the modest space. The man felt his heart break. How could he not? He couldn't provide much for his family, and now they were at their wit's end. The village had imposed harsher taxes and almost took their entire crop yield. The reason being that there was a war brewing just beyond the horizon.
Now it would seem that every able-bodied man to be spared in this kingdom was to be called to arms. Since the man had no adult children to send in his place, he would have to go himself. He was still young enough, still strong enough to hold a spear.
He announced this to his wife. She cried in silent weeping, her hands covering her mouth to muffle the sounds. Their already poor status had now been elevated to something worse. They had gone from struggling to survive to possibly losing everything.
The days passed by. Benny watched in silence as the man's life played out like scenes in a play he couldn't interrupt. He watched the man hold his child at night. He watched him try to fix the holes in their roof with whatever scraps he could find. He watched him skip meals so his family could eat more.
Then the soldiers came knocking for men to fight for their cause. A cause that ordinary people like him didn't start. A cause that would benefit lords and kings while men like him bled in the dirt.
Although he didn't want to leave his family behind, the threat of being killed for refusing a royal command was worse. Especially not in front of his child and wife. They would make an example of him, and then what would happen to his family? Left with no choice and feeling deeply reluctant, the man prepared to leave.
But every man who answered the call was paid ten silver coins for their service. More if they had professions like smithing, carpentry, or healing. Those with skills could earn five times that amount. But this man had no profession. He was working odd jobs, whatever he could find to put food on the table. So he left his wife with ten silver coins. It was compensation whether he made it back alive or not.
And at the end of the campaign, they would be paid if they survived. Every day, ten copper coins. Small amounts that might add up to something if you lived long enough.
And if they killed enemies, an additional silver coin per kill. Twenty silver coins if it was an officer of the opposing army. Blood money. A bounty on human lives.
Ten copper coins is equivalent to one-fifth the value of a silver coin. A gold coin is worth one hundred silver coins. For a poor farmer, ten silver coins was more money than he might see in half a year of labor.
The man held his wife one last time. He kissed his child's forehead. He promised he would return, though they both knew such promises meant nothing in war. Then he left, joining the column of men being marched away from their homes.
Benny watched it all. He felt the man's fear. His resignation. His desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, he would see his family again.
And just like that, the story was halted.
The scene froze mid-step. The world dissolved around him like smoke.
He was sent into a dark space, floating in nothingness. Then he saw Sitan watching him intently, still smiling devilishly, still wearing that fake masquerade of divine benevolence.
The fallen god's voice echoed through the void.
"First question, mortal."
Sitan's smile widened, showing too many teeth.
"Who was the child?"