Duty of a god

The morning air was crisp, the faint chill biting at Arcelus's skin as he walked toward school. The streets were still quiet, save for the occasional car passing by or a bird chirping from a distant rooftop.

His steps were steady, his posture upright. He carried no books, no backpack—everything he needed was already stored in his mind. The day ahead would be another opportunity to refine his skills, but even on this routine walk, Arcelus kept his senses sharp. A god, he believed, must always be aware.

As he turned down a narrow alley that served as his usual shortcut, the first sign of trouble presented itself. A pair of muddy sneakers peeked out from behind a dumpster, twitching slightly. Arcelus didn't slow his stride, but his mind quickly pieced together the details.

A soft cry—muffled but distinct—reached his ears. He glanced at the ground, noting faint scuff marks on the pavement. His eyes darted to the shadows ahead, catching a glimpse of movement.

Three figures stood near the far wall, their postures predatory. In their midst was a girl, her back pressed against the cold bricks, her body trembling. One of the men loomed over her, his hand gripping her wrist while the other two circled like vultures.

*Pathetic,* Arcelus thought. *Gangs are nothing but weaklings clinging to borrowed power.*

He stopped a safe distance away, his gaze sharp, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, Arcelus debated his course of action.

*A god does not interfere with every mortal squabble. A god observes. A god judges.*

But then the girl whimpered, her voice carrying a note of pure desperation.

*A god protects what is theirs,* he reasoned, his hands tightening into fists. *And this world belongs to me.*

With measured steps, he walked closer.

"Let her go," he said, his voice calm but commanding.

The men turned, their eyes narrowing as they sized him up. The leader, a wiry man with a scar running down his cheek, sneered. "And who the hell are you?"

Arcelus tilted his head slightly, as if amused by the question. "I am someone you should listen to."

The scarred man laughed, a harsh sound that echoed off the alley walls. "You've got guts, kid. I'll give you that. But if you know what's good for you, you'll walk away."

Arcelus didn't move. His gaze remained fixed on the leader, cold and unyielding.

"I wasn't asking."

...

..

.

The tension snapped like a taut wire. The leader lunged, his fist swinging toward Arcelus's face. But Arcelus had seen it coming the moment the man shifted his weight.

He sidestepped effortlessly, his movements smooth and precise. His hand shot out, grabbing the man's wrist and twisting it sharply. There was a sickening crack, followed by a scream of pain as the leader fell to his knees.

The second man rushed forward, a crude knife glinting in his hand. Arcelus didn't flinch. He ducked beneath the wild swing and drove his elbow into the attacker's gut, sending him sprawling to the ground.

The last man hesitated, his confidence wavering. Arcelus met his gaze, his voice like ice. "Run."

The man didn't need to be told twice. He turned and bolted, his footsteps fading into the distance.

Arcelus released the leader's wrist, letting him crumple to the ground with a groan. His attention shifted to the girl, who stared at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his tone neutral.

She shook her head, still trembling. "N-No… Thank you."

Arcelus nodded. "Good. Go home. Don't use alleys like this again."

Without waiting for her response, he turned and continued on his way.

As he walked, his thoughts turned inward.

*A god does not intervene out of kindness. A god acts because it is necessary. Justice, when wielded by the strong, is an extension of their will.*

He flexed his fingers, noting the faint ache in his knuckles. The fight had been a distraction, a minor blip in his day. But it had served as a reminder.

The world was full of chaos, and it was his duty to bring order.

By the time he reached the school gates, Arcelus had already pushed the incident to the back of his mind. The day's lessons awaited, and he would face them as he did everything else: with unrelenting focus.

After all, a god doesn't dwell on the past. A god looks forward.