I wished that I had been woken up by the annoying blare of my alarm, no matter how much I hated its distinct cry. That way, at least, I would have a minute to convince myself the existence of a blonde, sexy angel clad in white leather, displaying a deep cleavage to contrast with the scary depths of her power was just a figment of my imagination, an out-of-control dream thanks to some excess alcohol.

But no, I didn't wake up from the annoying blare of my alarm. Instead, I woke up with a gentle poke. And while that could have been written it off as one of the rare times I had managed to arrange a one-night-stand — which was difficult to achieve with old clothes, little disposable income, not to mention my reputation — and my date was waking me for a breakfast, the following sound was much harder to rationalize.

"It's morning, Chosen," said a perfectly melodious voice. "Please wake up."

At least that annoying epic echo no longer came with her tone, I thought even as I opened my eyes, enjoying the sight of a cleavage pressing too close to my face, still clad in leather.

Well, at least there were perks to the situation.

"Good morning," I answered, even as I stood up. "Isn't it a bit early, though?" I asked as I checked my phone, showing that it was barely six.

She looked sad. "You said you had an important task in the morning, and I wanted to…" she said, her disappointment clear.

"For gods-" I started, only for my words to melt halfway. Yeah, it wasn't the best curse to use on the situation, and cursing an enthusiastic supernatural being for being helpful was another stupid idea.

Maybe I should think of her as the silly daughter of a gang boss, her cheerfulness not making her any less dangerous. "It's not the custom to wake up that early in the morning anymore," I said. She looked confused.

"Why?" she asked.

"People use machines to farm, so most farmers work different jobs," I said. She looked like she wanted to ask a follow-up question, but before she could do so, I stood up, walking to the bathroom. Explaining the difference between the farming communities and city communities after the industrial revolution was a heavy topic for the first minutes of the day.

Luckily, she didn't follow me to the bathroom, allowing me to wash my face in peace, my thoughts struggling to start with the help of the cold water.

Accepting what had happened was hard, so I did whatever I faced as a difficult challenge. I locked it in the back of my head, and focused on the present.

Namely, the tournament I had to compete in. I wished that I could blow it off, but the only thing I could afford barely afford college was my partial sports scholarship, making skipping a tournament a bad choice, even with all the baggage that came with the existence of the supernatural.

Focus on the present. Always the best move.

The angel was waiting for me to arrive in the bedroom, her expression back into pure enthusiasm. "By the way, I forget to ask the last night. What's your name?"

"I'm…" she started, only to stop, but the confused surprise on her face suggested her stop might not be voluntary. "My name is…" she murmured, looking even more confused.

"So, how exactly we can make this system work?" I asked immediately, distracting her.

Something was clearly wrong as she failed to immediately remember her name, and distracting her from that stress looked like a smart decision, at least until I could get a better understanding of the situation. So, I brought the topic back to the only area she actively tried to talk about.

Her so-called system.

"It's very simple," she said with enthusiasm immediately. "The core acts as a focal point for the … Intent of the devout, gathering as a core, which will then slowly grow into unique godly powers, thematically linked to the intent of the devout. The stronger Intent, the stronger Divine Traits."

"Sounds simple enough," I murmured. And it was so, in theory, though as a poor, nineteen years old engineering student, I certainly was a horrible person to start a cult.

And that was only if I decided to embrace that ridiculous idea of starting a cult for power, which wasn't exactly given at this point.

"Yes, we just need to decide on a fitting theme to make sure…" she murmured, but her words faded, eerily similar to the time she had forgotten her name. But this time, she just smiled, like she didn't even realize she had stopped halfway.

Perfect, I thought with sudden tenseness. Not only do I have an air-headed sexy guide trying to make me start an actual cult, but also she was clearly compromised. She tried to give me a warning, but she clearly forget it halfway, so much that, when I started changing, she said nothing, just returned examining various devices with great interest, but only from a distance.

It didn't change when we left the dorm and started walking outside. She just followed, like she had finished every single thing she wanted to explain about the subject of the Divine.

I started walking, the nameless angel floating next to me, still examining her surroundings with great enthusiasm, though not as surprised as the night before.

Luckily, she didn't ask any questions. After her reaction to Zeus, I didn't want to explain to her that everything she was seeing was working by what was essentially trapped lightning. Maybe she would find it humorous.

Maybe not…

Still, I appreciated her silence to take a long walk around the campus, trying to process the new potential of my life — and failing to do so.

And it was hard.

Two hours later, in front of the convention center, I was still trying to get into grips with it. Before I could enter, however, a car drove by with great speed, giving a little quintessential college picture. Red convertible, a black-haired guy behind the wheel, and a blonde girl wearing a low top, both cheering in enthusiasm.

I would have ignored them after a momentary glance, but then they slowed down near the convention center, and started egging the entrance. I was quick to react, the others trying to enter the convention center, less so. "Nerds!" he shouted loudly as he threw the last egg.

Fucking frat boys, I thought, my intent clearly mirrored by the other participants of the tournament, but that didn't prevent them from looking at me with the same anger. "Are you going to throw ketchup on us?" growled a raven-haired girl even as she tried to clean splatters from her windbreaker.

"Nope," I said with a shrug, used to the response. "I'm here for the tournament as well."

"Yeah, you're an excellent example of a chess player," she growled.

"Hey, it's not like there's a uniform," I answered, but before she could answer, I get past her.

She was right. Six foot three, and relatively muscled — at least compared to the rest of the crowd, half of it looking frail enough to collapse from lifting more than three books — I looked more like a football player trying to fill a pledge than a chess player.

Accurate, considering I was only here because I wasn't able to get a scholarship as a football player.

I was strong, but certainly not strong enough to make a lineman, trying to block a two-hundred-sixty pound athletic giant from trying to kill our quarterback. Not even close. I had a decent speed, but not enough to be a cornerback to prevent a four-five guy from slipping from my control for an easy touchdown. Nor I had the aim and the processing abilities of a quarterback. I played linebacker in high school, but unfortunately, my competition was physically more impressive. A bit faster, a bit stronger, enough for the scouts to ignore me in favor of them.

Maybe, if I had enough excess income to slip a couple of gifts to the scouts it might have been different, but unfortunately, an under-the-table part-time job didn't pay enough to bribe a scout.

Hence, no full-ride sports scholarship for me, which was the most viable way of getting a college education, the only option I had to make myself a life where a bullet wasn't a likely ending.

So, I turned to back to chess. I wasn't a complete amateur. As I child, I used trick plays to hustle the tourists for a few dollars, who were readily impressed by the chess skill of a kid. Unfortunately, it lasted only until my growth spurt hit, replacing the cuteness of childhood with the awkwardness of adolescence.

Without money, I dropped playing, only to pick it back as a high school junior, this time trying to impress the college recruiters with my intelligence. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a moron, but I'm not a genius either. I had decent grades. Unfortunately, a lot of time and a stable home were needed for someone with my limited potential to convert those decent scores to elite, two factors I lacked.

Luckily for me, a lot of people assume chess reflects pure intelligence, ignoring the pure repetition that went to it like any sport. I used it to dazzle recruiters with my 'intelligence', though my college offering an actual scholarship to cover most of my tuition fees was highly surprising.

I later learned that the only reason they had done so was their reputation, which was not only firmly established as a party college, but quickly turning into a total dumpster of intellectual disgrace. So, the dean decided to hastily put together a chess team, good enough not to embarrass the school.

Which wasn't working as intended, with the frat guys making a routine point of egging the tournament locations.

Not that I cared. It allowed me to attend college.

I stepped into the conference center, ready for another day of slog to earn my scholarship, which was conditional for me holding a top-fifty ranking in the state among the college level.

It was time to fight, one way or another.