Gregor and the Bloodbath of Regalia: Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Gregor gently closed his bedroom door and set his backpack down, walking forward and falling face first into his bed.

His bedroom may not seem like much to most people, but to Gregor, who had been living in a closet cubby for the majority of his life, it could have been a five star hotel suite.

His floor was some once-plush beige carpet, with walls the same color. He had one window that was fairly grimy when he arrived there. Since then it had been cleaned multiple times, but there was still a tan-ish tint in some areas. His bed was pressed up to the far side of the wall, an oak desk next to it for homework and other purposes.

"Gregor. . ?" Harold called. Gregor heard him rapping on his door.

"Door's open," Gregor said flatly. His father stepped in.

Though his father had been plagued with trembling hands, horrible fevers, and worse nightmares when he had returned to Gregor's family, slowly, bit by bit--with some Underland intervention and medicine--he had healed. He'd finally been returned to the strong, happy, healthy state he had been in before he was taken to the underland.

"Hey, buddy. . ." Harold said, sitting on the bed beside Gregor, rubbing his son's shoulder.

"What," Gregor grumbled through the pillow.

"You know, Gregor, I was trapped in the Underland by the rats for some two years now. I had PTSD too. I still have attacks now and again. Nightmares. . . You know, son, you can talk to me if you need to."

"The only thing I want to talk about is how to get back to the Underland, the only place where I can live and not feel empty. . ." Gregor thought.

"You said that aloud, bud."

Gregor grabbed the pillow his face wasn't planted in and hit Harold with it halfheartedly.
"Now now Gregor. . . Would Master Trent say that was the right thing?" Master Trent was his Sensei in *Akido. It was his father's idea to get him into Akido, so he could make sure he had he discipline to keep a firm grasp on his rager sense.

Harold reached under the bed and pulled out a long, thin case made of black cloth with a strap so he could strap it to his back. The silver of a steel hilt stuck out, with the lip of a sheath the same color as the cloth just peeking out the top.

"I don't think I've ever seen you in an actual sword fight." He drew the sword.

It wasn't hand-crafted an inlaid with jewels, as Sandwich's sword was. Nor was it made of fine steel and sharper than a razor. No, but the sword was just as important to Gregor. It was a gift to him from Master Trent, when he realized that Gregor was already a fine swordsman who simply needed pointers here and there.

"I'm not a therapist, or a psychiatrist, or a psychic for that matter. But I do know when someone is hurting. When someone has a troubled past. I myself have one. Many men I work with do. And I do know a master of the sword when I see one. You hardly need much help from me. . . So I'm giving you this," Master Trent said when he gave him the sword. Gregor sighed.

"I wouldn't suggest taking me on," Gregor replied.

Harold chuckled at that. "Probably not." He gently drew his hand across the blade. "I'll tell you when dinner's ready." He sheathed the blade, gently sliding the sheath into the black cloth bag. He stepped out of the room.

Gregor rolled.

Something hit his window.

Gregor ignored it, brooding.

Something else hit his window. Then another.

Gregor finally rolled back over, standing up. He walked over to his window and opened it, poking his head out.

He got nailed in the face by a battery.

"A battery?" Gregor thought. "Who would throw a. . ." He looked down.

A black-haired, green-eyed, pale boy stood outside his window, rummaging around in a bag. He was wearing a navy blue pullover and grey jeans.

"Hazard?" Gregor asked in shock.

He looked up. "I'm a bit older now, but yes. It is I."

Gregor burst outside his bedroom door and jumped down the stairs.

"Hey, Gregor, sweetie. . ." his mother called when she saw him. "Hold up!" she shouted when he ignored her and ran straight past. "Dinner'll be ready--what are you running for, Gregor?"

Gregor flew out the door--almost crashing straight into it--and, finally, in his haste, forgot that the front porch had stairs.

He promptly fell face first down them, only at the last minute tucking into a shoulder roll--as his Sensei had taught.

Hazard jumped with his characteristic happiness. Seems that four years didn't change anything.

"That was amazing!" Hazard exclaimed. "What else can you do? Can you do the Great Course, like Luxa?"

Gregor laughed, rubbing the back of his head.

Lizzie ran out the door to see what the commotion was about. "You practically flew out the door and then I heard you laugh--you haven't laughed since--" she silenced the moment she saw Hazard.

"That's him, isn't it?" she whispered. "Luxa's cousin. Hazard, was it?"

Hazard nodded. "I am he."

Lizzie fainted. Gregor caught her, then looked at Hazard.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked, concerned.

"No, no," Gregor said, sweeping Lizzie up in a princess carry. "When did I get so strong?" Gregor wondered absently. "She's just. . . Shocked to see an Underlander. We thought we left that life behind."

"Well, Gregor, you see. . . We have an issue." Hazard became very interested in his shoes.

"What do you mean, 'an issue'?" Gregor asked, kicking the door open.

"We have a war on our hands," Hazard said flatly.

"So, solve it without me. You've done it before."

". . . A civil war. And they're screaming for the Warrior's blood."