The Blood Debt

 

The Weight of the Floor

It was a cold morning. The floor was hard and the hallway was dark. Liam was on his hands and knees, scrubbing the floor. He had been at the task for about six hours now. Suddenly, he felt sweat dropping from his forehead, sliding down his nose. As it was about to hit the floor, he spread out his palm and let it fall there. With a trembling breath of relief, his muscles relaxed slightly. He didn't know how his master found out when his sweat hit the floor, but he always did — and the beating that followed would keep him limping for a week. His master had used barbed wire wrapped around a stick on his back, just because his sweat had touched the floor. He had been beaten badly, and only the pity of the cook had saved him after she gave him a balm that healed him miraculously.

An Unexpected Fury

Suddenly, there was a commotion at the end of the hallway. He snuck a peek and saw his master's daughter coming out of the study. He could tell she was furious. Too late — she saw him looking at her. He averted his eyes and kept working. A shadow fell over him, and he looked up only to receive a slap across his face.

"How dare you look at me! How dare you stand in my way!" she screamed at him.

"I'm sorry, mistress," he said, bowing down in a kowtow.

"You're sorry, eh? Vermin," she spat, striking him on the nose. He reeled back, seeing stars. That only infuriated her further. She punched him in the stomach, and as he doubled over, she drove her knee into his face, breaking his nose.

He pressed his hand over his nose, making sure no blood or sweat fell on the floor — or he would have more than just a broken nose.

Bridget's Rage

Bridget was furious with her father for trying to give her away in a business arrangement — as a wife to a fat glutton. She was furious that her father had chosen money over her. How dare he. She was a grown woman, and she wanted to marry who she loved, not an old slob. She snarled at the slave. At least she could vent her fury on him — he couldn't fight back.

"Never dare look at me again. And whenever you see me, I want to see your head touching the floor."

"Yes, mistress. Thank you," he said.

But she had already left. The slave bent down to continue his work. There would be no breakfast for him until all his tasks were complete.

Liam's Story

His name was Liam. He came from a wealthy family, but he had been a slave since the age of ten. His father had been tricked by his own brother in a business deal — coerced into signing with his blood — and when he couldn't meet the terms, his blood debt was called in. He was killed, along with Liam's mother.

Liam was sold into slavery, and the one who bought him was the very uncle who had betrayed his father. The young woman, Bridget, who had just mistreated him — she was his cousin. He sighed as he continued to work. At twenty-five years old, he was just a slave.

---

The Celestial Realm

In the celestial realm, a young woman watched the slave as he scrubbed the floor. She had watched him get beaten. She had witnessed his mistreatment countless times, and there was nothing she could do — the rules had always been never to interfere in the mortal world. She sighed, feeling the eyes of the Creator on her.

"I'm fine, Father," she said without turning her head.

"I can see the turmoil in your heart, and I'm sorry, daughter. There is nothing I can do."

"You could save him. He has suffered so much for crimes he never committed."

"Even I am bound by the rules."

"Then the rules are stupid. They need to change."

"You don't know what you are saying. Changing the rules would require the deaths of twenty-five minor gods."

She turned her head at that. It seemed impossible.

"Nothing is ever impossible," he said. "I am the Creator, after all."

She fell silent, watching the slave again. Her name was Sylva — granddaughter of the Creator, and what everyone called the Goddess of the Heart. Her compassion was legendary. No one who had ever prayed to her had been left unanswered, no matter the situation. She always came for them.

A Vow That Could Not Be Broken

Sylva was not happy with the Creator's response. It made her deeply sad that an innocent child could suffer so much. She had been having a quiet moment about fifteen years ago when her mind had been invaded by a request so powerful that she had to leave everything and focus solely on it. She zoomed into the mind of the woman sending it, and she could see that the woman was dying. The only request from her last breath was that Sylva should look after her son and protect him.

The woman had been a lovely mother who cared not only for her son but also ran a charity organisation for orphans. Then her life was snuffed out — a consequence of her husband's blood debt, a debt he knew nothing about because he had been tricked. Sylva had been watching over the son ever since, and it saddened her heart even more that she could only watch and never intervene. She closed her eyes as a single tear fell.

"Father, I need your help to save this child."

"I have told you, there is nothing I can do. The rules apply to me as well."

"What if there is something I can do?" she asked.

The Creator grumbled, uneasy. He could not read her mind — she had cloaked it from him — and he knew something was not right. His daughter had always been stubborn and headstrong, and yet her compassion defined her.

"I don't like that tone," he said.

"What if there is something I can do?" she asked again.

"Well, if it is not against the rules, there is no harm in it. Besides, there is nothing you can do except — wait. This can't be right."

"Yes, Father. I mean it."

"But that would condemn you to death," he said, a growing dread filling his heart. He loved his daughter too much for this.

"I am willing, Father."

"For a mere mortal who will die of old age?"

"I made a vow to his mother."

"Wait — give me a few days to think on this. I cannot lose you."

Mr. Stoneface

Mr. Stoneface was not happy about Bridget's outburst. How could she not see the sacrifice he had made so she could have a better life? The man he was asking her to marry was old and fat, yes — but he had a plan to eliminate him on their wedding night. She just did not want to hear about his plan. All she could see was an old fat man.

He sighed, rising from his desk. He looked around his study and nodded slowly. He had come a long way from the street rat he had been — all thanks to his brother, he snarled, a nasty grin spreading across his face as he remembered the shock and betrayal in his brother's eyes before he slit his throat. But his brother's last words still haunted him.

"Why? Everything I have done was to make sure you never went hungry or cold again. My riches are not just for me — they are for both of us."

Well, I have it all now, he thought, and your son is my slave. There is nothing you can do. He grinned.

Suddenly he felt a cold shiver. A transparent hand reached into his chest and squeezed his heart. He choked, sweat sliding down his brow, and was about to black out when the hand released him and he could breathe again. He hurried out of his study and bumped straight into Liam, who was at that moment mopping the floor just outside the door.

He paused, not registering who he was looking at — and then when he did, he roared.

"I will kill you today."

Liam had seen him coming but it was too late. He prostrated himself on the floor, knowing he was in for one of the worst beatings of his life. He closed his eyes and waited for the strike to come.

Mr. Stoneface was livid with rage. How dare this filth touch him — he would pay dearly. But before he could lift a foot to kick him, he saw a transparent mist of red hovering just a few inches above Liam's body. He froze, not believing his eyes, as the mist formed into the shape of a man — a man that looked exactly like his brother. When the figure pointed at him and then slowly dragged a finger across its own throat, Mr. Stoneface staggered backward and ran toward the front door as if the devil himself were on his heels.

Liam, still braced for a kick that never came, opened his eyes in amazement as he watched his master flee like a man possessed.

The Weight of a Decision

A week later in the celestial realm, Sylva stood before her father. Her hands were folded beneath her chest, her expression calm but resolute. She looked at the tall pillars of the hall, the ground made of solid wind, the familiar places that held memories of a life she had known and loved. Then her thoughts drifted to Magdalene — the woman who had used her last breath to beg Sylva to protect her son. When she thought of what the boy was still going through, she hardened her heart around the decision she was about to declare, no matter the cost — even if that cost was her life.

The Creator looked down at her, his brow furrowed. He knew that pose. He knew that look of quiet determination on his daughter's face.

"My dear daughter, please reconsider. What you want to do would break my heart."

"You have no heart, Father. An innocent child is suffering. He needs justice, and yet you speak of your hands being tied."

"There are rules," he said with a sad smile. "And I am bound by them."

"Then give me your decision. You told me you would think on it."

"I am sorry. I never got to it — my attention was needed in so many places."

"That is too bad. Then I will do what I must."

"My dear daughter — you want to trade places with that child. You want to sacrifice yourself for his freedom."

"Yes, Father. I will trade my place with him so he can be free. I will pass all my powers to him, and I will die within five days of entering the mortal world."

"That was your plan all along," he said, his frown deepening. "I knew it, even though you cloaked your mind from me. But I cannot let you do this. You are my heart, Sylva. If you die, the world will end."

She laughed. "Do not go there, Father. You cannot manipulate me."

"I am not lying, Sylva." His voice was heavy and serious. "When the world was created, there was a power struggle between me and my brother, who rules the reverse world. Our world and his are like mirrors — identical but opposite. Our battle was fierce. Countless souls died. Cities were swallowed by earthquakes and tsunamis. Famine ravaged the land and darkness covered everything from the sheer volume of power we unleashed. Then a greater power intervened and stopped us — by fusing part of our power into your mother. When she gave birth to you, that power was transferred to you. The greater power then bound us all with a vow sworn on our life essence. The day you die is the day all things end."

Sylva took a step back, her eyes wide.

"What?" she whispered. "No. This cannot be happening. You cannot use this to stop me."

"I am not using it to stop you," his voice boomed across the hall. "I would never do that. But you can confirm it yourself — speak to my brother directly. The truth is not mine alone to carry."

The Greater Power

"Who is this greater power?" Sylva asked her father.

"The one who made me and gave me my powers."

"I thought you were the creator of all things."

"No. I am just a caretaker of a domain. That is why I told you the rules apply to me too."

Sylva was quiet for a moment, processing what she had just learned. Then something shifted in her expression.

"Since I hold the balance," she said slowly, "then I also have the right to make a decision."

A tense silence followed. The Creator considered her words carefully, his eyes closed, a frown forming at the corner of his lips. Finally he exhaled.

"Fine. You can make a decision. But I hope — for the sake of the world — that it is the right one."

"I do not want the world to end," Sylva said, her voice steady and measured. "But if my hands are tied and I cannot act, then I do not care if all of us perish. At least there would be peace. Every evil would be erased and the world would return to void."

The Creator looked at her sharply. He did not like her tone — but he also knew she meant every word. He knew he had to accommodate at least part of her wishes.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"I want a clone."

"A clone?" He stared at her, baffled.

"Yes. One to replace the slave. A clone that only needs to live for two days."

The Creator turned the idea over in his mind. Then slowly, a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Yes," he said quietly. "That I can do."

"I want it within the hour," she said.

"What!"

"You heard me, Father. Every moment that child remains in that house is killing my soul."