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Countless eons ago, before there was anything, there were Gods. Beings of unimaginable scale and strenght, avatars of the forces that permeate this world. With infinite magnaminity they created the world around us. They pulled mountains from the earth, they painted the sky with stars and filled the oceans with water. They created humanity in their own image and watched over us trough the eons. With time, the Gods distanced themselves from their own creation, rarely appearing to the eyes of humans. Some say the gods have abandoned us, some even dare believe they never existed at all. Though beliefs wavers, true faith com-

"Sam, are you actually cleaning the shelves or am I gonna have to keep an eye on you?"

Sam immediately closed the book he was reading, looking over his shoulder as if he could see Lydia staring at him trough the bookshelves that separate them. With a stare as intense as hers, she may just be able to see trough walls...

"Sorry Lydia, I'm just organising the books over here! Some customer put them back in the wrong order."

Sam turned the book around so he could read the title, 'Folklore and Tales of old', he started looking trough the shelf, looking for the book's righteous place. Fl, Fm, Fn, Fo... why can't people just put things back on their own? Everything has a place, if people just cared to actually think about eachother then I wouldn't be in this situation, 'love thy neighbour' and all that. Why is there a book missing here? Did someone seriously steal from a public library?

His thoughts were interrupted by Lydia's voice. "Sam, it's almost closing time. I left your money on the table, you can go- uhm, you can leave, if you want."

Sam didn't miss the way Lydia stumbled over her words. Yeah, right. I can go home. Lydia was a lovely person, one of the nicest people Sam has ever met. Her large round glasses and oversized sweaters always made her look warm and friendly, which was only accentuated by her quiet and squeaky voice. She was also the only person nice enough to offer Sam a job, letting him help out at the library in exchange for some money or a place to stay the night. No one else was willing to offer a job to a 16 year old boy with no house or parents, especially after-

Nope, nop. I am not doing this, not while Lydia's around. She already has enough to deal with, she doesn't need a crying teenager blabbering about his emotional baggage while she needs to close up shop.

Sam muttered a quick thanks and goodbye as he grabbed the money on the counter and made his way outside, the ringing of the store front bell signaling his exit from the library.

Sam made his way trough the streets, the warm orange glow of the setting sun giving out the last vestiges of heat before nightfall. He tried to ignore the stares he got from people, the way old ladies would clutch their pearls as he passed by, the whispers of rumors about him mingling with the cold winter air. Don't look him in the eyes, it'll bring bad luck. Do you think he's also ill? I worry for the poor bookkeper...

The worst part of living in a small village is how fast rumors spread, and how easily everyone believes in them. When his parents died of a mysterious illness and he was left unscathed, people were already pointing fingers. Son of the devil, cursed at birth, the most superstitious said. After he went to live with his grandfather, and the poor man died only two years later, that was the final nail on the coffin. Now without a family or anyone to protect him, he became the scapegoat for any misfortune that happened in the village. Bad weather? Caught a cold? Your tulips withered? All his fault. Most people didn't dare speak to him directly, a lot of shops would refuse to sell him anything, or would accuse him of paying with stolen money.

Sam's mind returned to the book he found earlier. If gods did exist, would they stop this injustice? Or would they idly watch? Everything has a place. The gods are above, humans are below. Some humans are just... below others. God, it made him feel so... insignificant.

Warm orange lights shook Sam out of whatever trance he was in, a small bakery appearing as he rounded a corner. The bakery's owner, Julius, was a very large man. Imposing, shoulders broad as a wardrobe. He didn't talk much and he had a large scar over his left eye that nobody knew the origin of. Sam opened the door to the bakery, the warm smell of bread immediately reaching his nose. Despite looking rugged and intimidating, Sam knew Julius was a good man at heart. He knew how it felt to be unfairily judged, so they had an unspoken mutual respect for eachother. Sam quetly put what little money he had in his hands on the counter, and Julius reached under it to pull out a loaf of bread. Without saying a word, Sam nodded his head and made his way out of the building.

Julius wasn't a bad man once you got to know him, he was just... different. Sure, his accent was weird and there were rumors going around that he killed someone and moved here in the middle of nowhere to escape the cops, but who was Sam to judge another man for a past that may-or-may-not have happened?

Sam sat down on the edge of the sidewalk, starting to tear into the bread like he hadn't eaten since yesterday, which was not completely a lie... He basked in the warm light of the bakery, dreading the moment it would disappear as the last shop in town closed fot the night.

Sam hated the dark. After his mother died in her sleep, he wanted the day to last as long as possible because he was afraid he'd wake up and see his father had also died. When he went to live with his grandfather, his sleep was haunted by nightmares and every night he'd dread going to bed, shivering and trying to stay awake until he collapsed from exhaustion. After he became an orphan, he learned just how cold the streets would get at night, especially in the winter. Sometimes he'd wake up without any feeling in his fingers, sometimes he was afraid he would not wake up at all. Would anyone even care? Besides Lydia and a few more he doubted anyone would be all that moved by the disappearence of someone with his reputation.

His thoughts were interrupted by a shuffling coming from the halleyway on the side of the bakery. Is it a cat? Sometimes they rummage in the trash cans and end up falling inside... Sam quickly finishes his bread and gets up, cautiously moving towards the pitch black halley.

Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, Kittens, you're helping a cat, it's worth the scare. There's nothing to be afraid of, unless the cat feels threatened- can stray cats have rabies? There probably isn't even a cat here, I don't hear any meowing, why did I even-

Sam's soul damn nearly left his body as something grabs his right arm, before he can scream he feels a hand Oh god it's a hand- press against his mouth, stopping any noises or please he could conjure. Another set of hands grab his arms, at this point Sam can't do anything but blindly struggle and kick in the dark. He can't see anything, he can barely breathe, what the fuck is happening-

A lantern lights up in front of him, the flame flickering for a second before retreating towards whoever is holding the light. Under the dim light Sam can almost make out the figure standing in front of him.

A hooded figure, wearing some kind of robe, holding the lantern in one hand and a book in the other. Sam couldn't see the person's face, but he could tell they were glaring down at him. The figure stood silent for a moment, before speaking.

"You got lucky, kid. You know that?"

The figure paused as if giving Sam time to answer, though with the hand pressing on his mouth he could only stay still and listen.

"Of all the people, fate has chosen you to serve a greater purpose. It must be by godly will, that a sinner like you would end up as a sacrifice."

Hold on- Sacrifice? Sam began struggling in his captors' hold, trying to get himself free from this group of psycopaths before he could get into actual danger.

"There is no use in struggling, child. We will send a living offering to the gods and-"

Sam gathered any courage he could muster and threw his head back, enough to distance his mouth for a second and bite at the hand clasping at his lips. His teeth sunk as deep as he could into the skin before the person holding him retracted enough for Sam to wriggle his left arm free.

"I am not a fucking CHILD!"

Sam exclaimed as he swung his arm with all his might towards the person holding his right arm. Due to the lack of light, he missed their face, hitting their shoulder instead. He barely had time to prepare another strike before something hard collided with the back of his head, sending searing pain trough his skull. That moment of stun was enough to let whoever was holding Sam get a hold of him again, painfully twisting his harm behind his back with one hand and pulling his hair so he couldn't move his head.

"I'll admit, your struggling is admirable, but... You can't escape. You'll die here, and when your body is found. no one will even bother burying you. They'll throw you in a hole in the ground and your flesh will slowly be eaten by maggots. It's only fair, you deserve to go to hell with the family you killed."

Warm tears pricked at Sam's eyes. His legs felt weak and his head hurt, both from the hit he just took and from the many, many thoughts running trough his brain.

I'm gonna die- Is this how I die? Killed by a cult of crazy religious nutjobs? I don't wanna die... They certainly want me to, everybody wants me to. They're not lying, everyone would be glad to hear I died. Even Lydia, deep down. She's nice to everyone, she likes me out of pity.

The hooded figure reached into their pocket pulling out a knife- Fuck it's a knife. They're gonna stab me to death, They're gonna watch me bleed and die and whatever the hell it is death cults do. I'm gonna die and then- And then what? Will it just be.. nothing? Will I see my parents again? My grandpa? Am I gonna end up in hell like everyone says, burning for eternity?

"Any last words, kid?"

For once, the hand sealing his mouth actually retreated. Yet Sam felt like he still could not breathe. He sobbed and hiccupped, trying to spew out something that'd save him before they cut him open like a watermelon.

"Wh- why? Why me?" The words were less of a question and more of a reflection about his entire life. The figure spoke.

"The gods are displeased with us. We show them no reverence, and in return they send emissaries like you. We will quell the god of darkness by offering them a live tribute, so we may enter his grace and be granted an eternal afterlife. As for why you... Fate seems to have chosen you. We set our trap and awaited for some lonely denizen to fall into it, you were the first person stupid enough to walk right up to us."

The knife glinted in the warm flickering light, as if the blade itself was on fire. it hovered dangerously close to Sam's heart as the people holding him tore his jacket open, exposing his chest.

"P- please don't do this-"

Sam felt the blade sink into his chest. And then everything went black.

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-Sees G/t fic -Looks inside -No G/t

Hello everyone, I promise that the next chapter will have some actual g/t interactions, and some fearplay too. This fic has been cooking up for a while, I mean it's only been 2 years since I've posted any writing and all. As I've said, I'm currently on a week long holiday and I hope to write as much as possible while I can. I managed to shoot this chapter out in a day, I hope to at least get one more chapter (either of this fic or hang in there) before my vacation ends.