The light bounced off the glass shards lying between us. It made her look angelic, but she isn't. Her body covered in the blood of her enemies and her own. Bleeding from multiple wounds, she takes a step forward, no longer in the light from the sun.

I know better than to let her live. The last time I allowed something like that, my family was killed. Savagely murdered by the gods above. They've sent me teenagers, time and time again, to try to defeat me.

This girl is just another teenager who should have much longer to live than the next few minutes. Similar to all of the other teenagers. Kids with a rough life leading up to now, filled with false hope of heroism, and pushed into a battle they aren't ready for.

In an instant, she unsheathes her sword from her side, ready for combat, unbeknownst of her fate. Her fate to die at my hands, and soon. I hold my own sword, as we parry. She isn't special. Average fighter as the others were, the others all died, as she will too.

At first, it was humiliating, being sent teenagers with little to no knowledge. As time went on, I realized it wasn't about me. It was the gods wanting them dead. I was called the reaper, and I didn't have to find my victims, they were sent to me with hope.

Parry upon parry, I best her. I am not vicious; I do not want these teenagers dead. It is until she parries with one hand and holds a dagger with the other. The same dagger each one is told will kill me. Each has a different way of "distracting" me before trying to overpower me or outsmart me. I knock the sword and dagger from her hand in one blow.

She falls down, defenseless, but still trying to be brave. I can see through it though, as I have time and time before. They are always terrified. Which is one of the myriad reasons why it hurts when I plunge my sword deep into her chest.

I drop to my knees next to her. I feel the tears welling up in my eyes, as I cradle her dying body and wipe her own tears. "I'm so sorry. I didn't want to." She looks up at me and furrows her brow slightly before the light leaves her eyes. I cry for her, loudly and unapologetic. She could've been someone.

These tears are salting the ground I've killed on. Yet, things still grow, they grow big and strong as if fueled by spite. I've tried to warn these kids; I've tried to save them. Futile were any acts against the gods.

Sisyphus and Prometheus are like my brothers in arms. They both did something, whether purposeful or not, it fueled the gods' rage. Sisyphus is damned to push a large rock up a hill. That doesn't seem too bad, but whenever he gets close to the top, the rock rolls right back down to where it began, constant work with no outcome. Prometheus is chained to a rock, and has his liver pecked out by an eagle. Every night, his liver regenerates for another day of excruciating pain.

I was a farm boy, who dared disrespect Zeus on a bad day. I was kind, I was full of hope and plans for the future. Any hope I've ever felt has been forcefully removed by every kid who's come in trying to defeat me. They are told I'm a notorious villain, but they're special; they can defeat me! None can, and if I were to let them slay me, I will serve a fate worse than that of Sisyphus or Prometheus.

Somehow my kind heart has stayed through hundreds of years, so I feel every child's death so very deeply. Zeus shouldn't only be king of the gods, he should be the king of punishment, because, man is he good at it. As much as I'd like to pretend to be this rebellious person who'd wouldn't take back what they said, I would. I would do it in a heartbeat, don't need a second to deliberate because I've had hundreds of years killing kids to teach me that you don't ever get away with disrespecting a god. Not only did I not get away with it, hundreds of teenagers paid the price with their life as well.

Hundreds of years to pray to take it back, more than hundreds of kids sent to show me they heard me, but my sentence is not over. My head tells me this is an immortal's life sentence, my heart, though, tells me that one day soon it might be over. But by next week, there's been another kid sent for me to kill.