Capítulo 9: Meanwhile: The Birth of the Villain and Celebration of the Hero
While Molly dragged poor Maxine after her to catch the unfortunate snake, in a hospital in America, Earth, Parallel World A, a woman was panting in pain as her husband held her hand. Four hours had passed since her first contraction and the labor that the midwives had predicted would be easy had stalled. She squeezed her husband's hands into spaghetti noodles, but he knew better than to try to escape. This was their first child, and he was starting to regret it; when he had vowed to stick with her through sickness and in health, he hadn't quite realized how much pain he would have to share with her.
She could care less about her husband's woes. She knew that he was intolerant of pain, so whenever she had a spare thought, she felt maliciously gleeful that he also suffered and she would give an extra squeeze.
Most of the time she didn't think of him at all, and concentrated on breathing between contractions and following the midwife's instructions during contractions. A doctor had looked in at one point, clearly worried about the unusual presentation. The woman had a vague impression that while labor could be intense, the contractions themselves should not have occurred as frequently for an extended period of time. The words "surgery" and "c-section" had been muttered, but she refused. This baby would come out naturally, she knew it would. She just needed it to cooperate with her. Work with her a bit.
The pain was starting to make her dizzy. She had refused the epidural as well, because she wanted to be in full mind and body for her first baby. She had not realized that the pain could be even more debilitating than a drug.
It was all right, she tried to convince herself. 'Come on baby,' she thought, 'Please come out now.'
Ding.
She blinked. In the next moment, a pale blue, translucent rectangle with two lines of text was floating about two feet above her distended stomach.
{Give birth.}
{Accept. Decline.}
"ACCEPT! Accept! Accept! Accept!" She yelled immediately at the rectangle, not caring that it was probably a hallucination created by the pain.
The message disappeared and before she had time to wonder about it, she felt another contraction and an overwhelming desire to push.
Forty minutes later, she was sitting up in the hospital bed, cradling her new baby as her husband cradled his crushed hand. The baby had been cleaned and swaddled in dry blankets by the nurses. He was an average sized newborn with pale blue eyes and barely-there fuzz on his head. After crying for a bit, he was now settled down to tasting his first breastmilk. She was convinced, in her new doting maternal role, that he was going to be very talented, just by how quickly he learned how to suck at her nipple.
"You are beautiful," she whispered in amazement, kissing the top of his head. She smiled as he looked up at her. "I wonder what your ability will be."
Ding.
"Harry." She said, staring wide-eyed at the long rectangle.
"Hm?" He was studying his hand, turning it over and pressing at it to check whether any of the bones had been harmed. He had been doing the same thing for the past twenty minutes, turning it over, poking, prodding, and showing absolutely no interest in their baby.
"Harry, look!" With her free hand, she reached over and slapped his shoulder to emphasize her order.
"Hm? What – huh?!" Harry jumped to his feet. With a clang, the chair crashed to the floor, but he ignored it, pointing a trembling finger at the floating blue rectangle. "That's… what is that?!"
"Shouldn't you have a better idea than me?" She answered scornfully. Really, she had always known that he was a little slower than his siblings and cousins, and yet it still frustrated her every time.
"Strength, dexterity, constitution, intelligence, wisdom, charisma… zero, zero, zero… Twenty?" His eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "It's like those stupid games that my sister plays. She forced me to play in high school once, and I had to create a character before we started and it took hours."
She tentatively leaned forward to prod at the rectangle. It didn't seem solid exactly, it just tingled a little at her fingertips.
"So, they're characteristics. This must be his ability! He's a new baby, so he's like a new character!"
Harry frowned.
"Let's not jump to conclusions, Charlene. I've never heard of an ability like this. It might not be his."
"Don't be stupid." She glared at him. "If not his, then whose is it? I don't have an ability, this definitely isn't your ability, and no one else is here. As you said, you've never heard of an ability like this, so it must be his."
"Yeah, but this is weird. What is this even supposed to do?" He also poked at the rectangle. Unlike Charlene, who had touched the edge, his finger pushed against the word "Dexterity". The zero next to it changed to a one, and the twenty went down to nineteen.
"You!" Charlene screeched. "Don't touch it! Don't touch it!" Clearly having decided that she couldn't trust him, she turned to the rectangle. "You, disappear!"
The rectangle obligingly winked out.
She turned back to her husband with a glare that could strip wood.
"How stupid can you get? We are going to properly research this before we do anything. Do you understand me, Harry Leibowitz? As soon as we get home, you are calling up your sister and asking her for everything she knows about these 'stupid games' of hers. And then we are going to research everything she doesn't know until we are absolute masters and only then – only then! – will we touch that thing again. I will not let you mess up our son's future!"
Harry looked askance at his wife, who was on the verge of spewing fire, her eyes flaming. This, he decided, suddenly sympathizing with his parents, aunts, and uncles, was going to be a long eighteen years.
---
As one baby was born in Parallel World A, in Parallel World B, the capital city of the human country was decked out in celebration. Streamers brightened the stone walls, flowers were thrown in the air, then plucked from the ground and thrown again. Huge smiles were present on everyone's faces, and everyone seemed to be in the streets to celebrate. Even babies put off crying today, waving their tiny fists along in mimicry of their parents.
There were some exceptions among these happy people, and one notable exception was the tawny-haired, brown-eyed, six-year-old boy standing at the top of the street with his family. His family was particularly special. His father was the King, his mother the Queen, his older brother the Crown Prince, his older sister the First Princess, and of course all of this made this boy the Second Prince of the realm. The Third Prince had taken advantage of his privilege as part of the royal family to be grumpy, unlike the commoner babies, and was in his room with his royal nursemaid playing with his toys.
The Second Prince was not frowning exactly. Even at his young age, he was skilled at exhibiting a polite smile on any occasion. He was not yet skilled enough, however, to fake the excitement that his older siblings exuded. He scoffed at them. He felt that they could have tried to act a little more restrained.
With his family, he waited at the castle gates to greet the army commanders. The commoners were pressed to each side of the main street, a corridor open between them. They could not yet see those walking the opened path, but based on the runner's report, they should be appearing soon.
He clenched his fists. This was the army triumphantly returning home from their war against the demons. He imagined the bright yellow demon blood running down their shining swords. His eyes were cold, harder than a child's eyes should be, especially a pampered prince in a peaceful country.
"Tiergan," his sister whispered, nudging his shoulder discretely. "What's wrong?"
Tiergan looked up at his sister, who was a head taller than him. His brother was also looking at him.
When Tiergan met his eyes, his brother glanced down at Tiergan's tight fists before glancing up again, clearly signaling that he was not hiding his emotions as well as he thought.
He sent them a more genuine smile, forcing his hands to relax.
"I'm fine, Older Sister, Older Brother."
She nodded. "All right." She patted his shoulder once before turning forward again.
His brother flared his nostrils at him in disbelief, a habit that their Royal Mother detested with a passion, but had nonetheless become a distinguishing feature of the Crown Prince among their family and close supporters. Tiergan did not respond, his expression inscrutable until his brother followed their sister's example and returned to observing the road.
Tiergan glanced at their parents, who had not seemed to notice the exchange, then glanced down the road as well. In the short time since he had last looked, the first row of marchers had come into sight. One of them was especially eye-catching, with golden hair that shone in the sun and pure white armor that defied the normal wear-and-tear of travel. And, Tiergan knew, the man also had bright blue eyes that held overwhelming intensity.
This man was the Hero. While the royal family inherited the power of the throne by virtue of blood, the Hero was chosen from among the people and was revered as the single most powerful, important, and virtuous individual of the realm. Even the King had to make way for the Hero. The King always had multiple potential successors from among his children and close relatives, but the Hero was too precious to replace as easily. The Hero had been bestowed a unique magic by the gods, and because of his presence the humans had been able to thrive despite being one of the weaker hominids.
Tiergan hated the Hero. He hated the unique magic that all of humans relied upon like a crutch. He scorned the cheers for the returning army, and the trust that his Royal Parents bestowed wholeheartedly on this single man.
Despite these roiling emotions, his face remained steady. His lids dropped half-way over his narrow eyes, hiding the glint that might have betrayed his thoughts. His siblings had forgotten him again in their enthusiasm, and remained ignorant as usual. He was only six-years-old, so he smiled for the crowd and the golden-haired man who was steadily approaching.
Status de energia semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Pedra de
Poder