Robbed From Greatness

In the back of an old granite pub in the County Mayo countryside, Dylan Meaney sat at a blackjack table staring intently at the cards in his hand. A six of hearts, and a ten of diamonds. Sweat gathered on his forehead and dripped down his brow.

"You still playing or what?"

The dealer said impatiently. Dylan had been looking at his cards for what felt like forever. The dealer simply didn't understand how much winning this hand meant to Dylan. Dylan opened his mouth, his lips shaking, and eventually through a crack in his voice forced out the word

"hit!"

The dealer put down another card. An eight of diamonds. 

"Well, looks like you're beat, unless you wanna make another bet?"

Dylan turned his head away and looked down at the floor. He blinked heavily and cleared his throat.

"No more money..."

he whispered embarrassed.  The dealer picked up his three cards to reshuffle the deck as Dylan Meaney stood up. He walked slowly, dragging his feet past the drunkards who sat at the dimly lit bar as he made his way to the exit. He stepped a few feet outside and looked around. No one was around. Dylan's eyes suddenly widened in surprise and he smirked in relief. He took a step forward to take off running to his car, when suddenly a hand grabbed his shoulder.

"Hope you don't plan on headin' home. I wanted to hear how your luck was."

a smug voice said with a chuckle. Dylan turned around and shoved the hand off his shoulder. He looked up at the huge man in the pinstripe suit and fedora. Micky McGlynn was well known in the local area as a moneylender, but those who couldn't pay their loans back got to know him as a vicious loan shark. 

"Been sittin' dry all summer Dylan. So, how was your luck?"

He leaned down and outstretched a black leather glove, palm open ready to receive something big. Dylan took a deep breath in and thought of what excuse he could give him now. Dylan had owed McGlynn money for the past three months. He'd managed to avoid any confrontation with him until now, and with his major loss at blackjack, he had nothing to pay back to McGlynn. 

"It's ok of course if ya got nothin', but you'll be seeing me every week 'till ya  can re-line my pockets."

McGlynn had made a gamble of his own with owing money to Dylan. Dylan Meaney had a fierce addiction to gambling. He'd never been the brightest and hadn't made it far in education. He thought a few big wins would be the gift that would keep him off the path of manual labour jobs, but that gift had not come to him yet. A few other moneylenders had turned him down with fear that they would never see their money again and he'd simply flush it down the toilet at the roulette wheel. Mickey McGlynn however, saw two possible outcomes. The first being that Dylan could finally hit his big win with the money he lent him, and he could take it back with some interest from his winnings. The second was he would do just what everyone knew he would, and lose it all. Losing it all made McGlynn a far richer man, for what he had that other lenders didn't was connections to a few overseas gangs in Brooklyn. No one knew what these gangs did to people, whether they threw them headfirst in the bay, or kept them as workers in some drug lab. All they knew is that people who owed money to McGlynn happened to just disappear whenever a boat was in the harbour.

Dylan knew if he didn't get something together he'd end up sold to one of these Brooklyn gangs, so with a rush of adrenaline he ran as fast as he could around the side of the bar.

"OI! Come back here ya ballucks!"

McGlynn shouted as he gave chase. Dylan made it round the back of the bar and headed for the row of trees just down from it. he hopped a gate into a farmers field and kept running. About halfway down the field he felt a heavy thud on the back of his head. McGlynn had caught up with him and clotheslined him, flipping Dylan forward onto his face. McGlynn grabbed the back of Dylan's collar before he could make it back to his feet. Still dazed, Dylan felt himself suddenly hoisted into the air. McGlynn held him about a foot off the ground and looked him square in the eye.

"You're a brave man, I'll give you that. But bravery isn't going to get you very far with stupidity like yours."

McGlynn let go of Dylan's collar, and before Dylan could fall to the ground McGlynn raised his leg and kicked Dylan square in the stomach. He was launched down, winded, and scrambling in his coat.

"I make a pretty penny for selling off scum like you..."

McGlynn said, as he slowly walked closer to Dylan. McGlynn to a pair of brass knuckles out of his coat pocket

"And the best part? They still pay full price for damaged product."

He put on the brass knuckles and launched himself on top of Dylan. Dylan expected to be hit by an onslaught of punches. He closed his eyes in anticipation, but nothing came. He looked down and realised he was covered in blood. Dylan had taken a screwdriver out of his pocket just in time and McGlynn happened to land on it. He looked up at McGlynn's face and saw he was grimacing from the agony. Dylan folded up and suddenly sprung a kick into McGlynn's chest which launched him off Dylan and onto his back. McGlynn held his wound with one hand and tried to ready himself to his feet with the other. Dylan leaped towards him, screwdriver in hand, and plunged it right into McGlynn's neck. He pulled it out and looked down as McGlynn struggled for air. His throat filled with blood from the deep wound Dylan had left. McGlynn died right there in the field as Dylan stood over him, watching his final moments of suffering. He looked down at his clothes, covered in blood, and his mind began to race.

"Had anyone seen us together?"
"what will I say if someone sees the blood?"
"What if the guards find him dead? Or worse, his old gang friends?"

Dylan's mind was full of panic, but he knew one thing for sure. He couldn't stick around the body for long. He sprinted back to his car, hopping the gate and running round the side of the pub. He jumped in his car and slammed on the accelerator, his mind still racing. He flew down the skinny, winding backroads of the County Mayo countryside, his car taking bends on two wheels and mud from ditches being scattered everywhere by his burning tyres. He turned around to look out the back window, to make sure no one was following him. As he turned back around he was met face to face with an articulated lorry that was going down the main road his countryside path connected too. Dylan's car was T-Boned by the lorry and suddenly everything went black.

"Mr. Meaney, I'm afraid your life has met it's unfortunate end..."

A loud booming voice filled Dylan's ears, but everything was still black. He couldn't feel anything around him, but he realised he was moving. He tried calling out

"Who's there?!"

suddenly from the black void, a ginormous hand shot out to reach out to Dylan. A bleaching white light came from it and a white silk cloak hung droopily from the arm. Dylan looked past the hand but couldn't see where the arm ended, it was simply stretching out from the blackness of the void.

"Are you-?"

"God? yes, that's what I'm often referred too."

"So I guess I really am dead if you're here. Is this me final judgment or what?"

"Yes Mr. Meaney, and unfortunately for you, you will not be going to the afterlife."

Dylan opened his mouth to ask why, but then remembered his final moments with Mickey McGlynn. It was no surprise that he wouldn't see heaven with the sin of murder weighing on his soul.

"But Mr. Meaney, had you died 10 minutes earlier, you wouldn't have committed that sin and heaven would be waiting for you. I feel bad for your situation, so I shall offer you a second chance."

Dylan looked up to the hand in wonder.

"You're awful kind lad, but I suppose there's a catch, ay?"

"You are correct Mr. Meaney. Your second chance will not be in your world, but in a world many humans would probably assume a work of fiction. A world where the advancements of technology were instead replaced with the honing of magical skills! And you, Mr. Meaney, can have a magical power of your own, if you do a small favour for me..."

"Fella, I'll do anything for a second chance. Go on there, what's the favour?"

"Great evil has waged war on the good people of this beautiful world. If I give you this power, you must promise to use it for the good of taking down this evil force!"

"I'll do it man. I'll really do anything man. But what's this power?"

"Well, the thing is with the power you see is-"

"Here lad, give us super speed or something, I'll just run in and-"

"No no NO! You cannot pick your power! Nor can I..."

Dylan looked at the hand confused.

"You can't pick? You're God, all powerful, no? Actually, why don't you just stop this evil war boss?"

"It is a rule of mine to not interfere directly with my subjects, but I allow myself to occasionally pick an emissary to go and do my bidding. As for the power, I see it only fair to be random to keep all who pass through here equal."

Dylan's taste for gambling was growing. He couldn't help but fantasize about getting something amazing from the luck-of-the-draw power pick.

"How do ya select these random powers then?"

As Dylan asked that, the hand closed into a fist and grew closer to him. It opened up again and in the palm of its hand lay a black top hat filled with small scraps of paper.

"Take a single piece of paper."

Dylan looked into the hat.

"You're taking the piss..."

He looked up in confusion at the hand, but the hand simply shook the hat, gesturing for Dylan to take a paper. He reluctantly reached in and pulled one out. In bright gold writing the words "Lord of all Light" sat on the paper.

"Oh Ho Ho! That's a good one!"

God exclaimed. Even he sounded excited. 

"Taking down this evil will be a blast young Meaney! now farewell, I shall send you on your-"

God's voice was suddenly cut off by a ringing in Dylan's ears. he looked around confused, noticing that the hand had disappeared. His entire body was filled with rising pain as the ringing in his ears suddenly turned to blaring sirens. He opened his eyes and saw paramedics celebrating as he lay at the foot of an ambulance. One of them leaned in close to Dylan and said

"We thought you were gone. What a relief, you're going to be ok!"

Dylan couldn't move his head, but he darted his eyes around to see other people had gathered round. He looked up and saw his car still smashed, he must have been pulled out by one of the paramedics. A single tear welled up in Dylan's eye and ran down his cheek.

"The only Jackpot I ever hit in me life.."

He thought to himself

"And it's bleedin' robbed off me..."