a godly dance {Chatzkel oneshot}

They think they own me, that I am one of theirs, but in all reality they are the ones filled with foolish antics. Mother and father would never approve of them treating me as a servant. According to them, I am much more than that. A son adopted by Father Hammerfell. The family says I should be thankful for a roof over my head, a bed to sleep in, food to eat, clothes on my back, every basic necessity needed to survive is provided. But I deserve much more than that. Just looking at them. Watching them walk through the house like I'm nothing but an microscopic bug on the floor drives me crazy. I want them to notice me. To tell me that I exist as more than a slave. I'm a god, and they don't bow down and worship me. One day they're going to pay.

My eyes dart from the corner of the training center to the students practicing swinging swords around. It's an art, but they are making it look like child's play. The pointy end lands inside the dummy, and they start cheering like they've received the best gift in the world.

I will show them how it's done.

The corners of my lips twist into a cocky grin showing off my pearly white teeth as I strut from the lonely corner of the gym into the open. All my life this has been my home, my escape, a place where I'm free to destroy the peasants searching for me. For a while, I called myself a king - I wore an imaginary crown on top of my shaggy hair. A group of followers paraded around me giving me my hearts every desire. They chanted my name - "All hail King Chatzkel." - yet it wasn't enough to satisfy the thirst for the praise that I deserved.

I need the attention, and now I'm not receiving what I need.

Lifting a sword from the rack, I'm swinging it through the air, checking the balance and weight before placing myself in front of a dummy.

"Allow me to show you how it's done."

My eyes narrow as I take my stance. Innocent bystanders glare in my direction, and the trainers stop what they're doing. That's exactly what a god needs. All eyes are on me, and this is the perfect moment to exaggerate the truth. To show them that I am the best man to ever walk the face of the earth. All the women will want to have a relationship with me, and I'll turn them all down until I find the one that's deserving of my love. I want the girls to fall at my feet worshipping my every move.

Twirling around, and dancing along, my feet slide across the floor. My arm extends holding the sword out. It's attached to me, extending further from my arm, and all I can do is continue the dance of this wonderful performance. It's weight feels normal in the palm of my hands, and I'm turning around once more slashing the blade through the thick, rubber skin. A stream of fake blood spews from its neck pouring against the floor. People are clapping, or maybe I'm imagining it all. Turning around, I bow once more only to realize the crowd has dispersed, and only one young child remains.

"How did you do that?" His voice is quite, and his eyes are wide, and I want to make him proud. I want him to know the truth about what happens, but what exactly is the truth? It's a fact exaggerated so far into a reality, that nobody believes it, yet I make it to where it's real.

"That is nothing. I've done it before with my eyes closed, and one hand behind my back." The words slip through my twisted lips hoping the kid won't run away. Someone has to pay attention to me.

Someone must bow to the one true god.