RED EPIC

When he woke up, everything hurt. His head pounded, his arms and chest ached, and snow clogged his nose and mouth.

He could hear the cooing of doves somewhere far off.

Shit.

He was lying at the bottom of the ditch, sprawled in an unnatural manner.

It was already nighttime, and a cracked sky greeted him.

Above, the moon hung in ruins, fractured into jagged pieces that floated like frozen plates in the black. Its glow was uneven now, casting pale, shifting lights over the night sky.

He inhaled sharply, but it felt like there were shards of glass in his lungs.

The cold bit deep as he lay across the ragged ground, his breath misting in the frigid air.

The fall should have killed him. Maybe it did. Maybe it was in the process.

He shivered.

Scott and his gang must have thought him dead and left him here to rot.

They almost killed me, and he couldn't feel anything from the hips down.

After gathering some strength, he struggled for a while.

That's when he noticed the cave nearby.

He thought about it for a moment. If he was going to die, then let it be somewhere he chose.

Eventually, he began to crawl toward the cave, dragging his unmoving feet behind him.

Every inch he moved, it felt like his muscles were melting.

Clenching his teeth and ignoring the taste of iron, Ulysses pushed forward.

'Just think about something pleasant,' he told himself. But what happy thoughts could he summon?

Eventually, he passed under the shade of the ominous... and strangely spacious cave. Almost as if people had once lived here.

He propped himself against the wall and sat, staring at the fractured sky.

At least something beautiful would be my last sight.

He wondered how his father would take his death.

He'd probably use it to squeeze out money and spend it on beer.

But his mother... his throat itched. A lump began to rise.

He hoped she would meet him soon in the afterlife.

"Is it death you seek, lad?" said a cracked voice from deeper in the cave.

Paralyzed with fear, Ulysses found himself unable to move.

Cough cough. "I asked if it is death you seek?" the voice repeated, this time in a low but distinct moan.

"N-no," Ulysses answered, petrified.

A deep, unnerving silence followed.

Then came a hoarse laugh.

"Come forward, child."

But Ulysses could not move.

Then the voice came again, this time with authority.

"I said, come."

And then, disturbingly, his body moved on its own, rising from broken knees and walking steadily toward the source of the voice.

Like something was moving underneath his flesh and bone.

He exhaled, now kneeling before the figure. Through the oppressive dark, its form became visible.

A withered giant of a man, bleeding from a dozen places. A gaping hole in his torso. A long gash down his neck.

And yet, despite the gruesome state of his body, the man was impossibly beautiful.

Impossibly long black hair. Pale reddish skin. A face carved from sad marble.

His eyes were closed.

He looked like an angel of old. A Red Angel. Or maybe a devil.

His cracked lips whispered, "You'll have to forgive me for this burden I'm about to place upon you."

Then he moved, and Ulysses felt something pierce his ring finger. Like a needle. Infinitesimally small, but sharp.

Then, something else surged into his veins.

Ack! Ulysses wanted to scream. It hurt. So much. So, so much.

"Oh, fractured heavens," the man chuckled. "Clench your teeth or something."

Ulysses clenched his teeth.

But it wasn't over.

Ack! His body began to spasm.

A sharp, electric jolt surged through his brain.

His limbs stiffened, jerking uncontrollably as he slumped sideways.

His head hit the ground with a dull thud, but he didn't feel it. His arms and legs convulsed, muscles locking and unlocking in rapid, violent bursts.

Then the withered man spoke, his voice suddenly louder and ancient.

"THY BODY IS AT WAR WITH ITS SELF...

JUST AS THE ANGELS WARRED AGAINST THE FALLEN!

THIS IS THE PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION OF A PROMISED BLESSING AND CURSE, WHICH HAS BEEN LONG FORGOTTEN."

Ulysses' body tensed. His breathing was deep and ragged.

"YOU ARE WEAK, AND WEAKNESS IS A SIN"

His mind split like glass shattering into a thousand fragments.

Then he felt a sharp pain in the left side of his chest, and then a soothing cold spread out from there, encasing his whole body.

The withered man whispered.

"DO YOU KNOW WHAT THE WAGE OF SIN IS, CHILD?"

He didn't understand what it was, till it was too late.

"Ah, I'm dying."

The world buckled and peeled away. For a moment, he was watching a boy die beneath a giant of a man in a cave.

Then they vanished, and he was lifting, dissolving—his mind scattered into the cold ash-swept wind.

He was in the dust, in the snow, in the smoke, in the dead silence between cathedrals and ruined villages and cities and towns.

He was a rat scuttling through a derelict sewer. A hawk gliding above a broken kingdom.

A withered tree, clinging to a fissure in the concrete. Pigeons drifted soundlessly through collapsed settlements, scanning for bits of food.

Underground, mold bloomed in the dark, and he pulsed with it.

A hundred crows burst into the sky. A dog raised its snout and snarled at nothing. He moved on before their next breath.

That was his final human thought.

Death was cold.

Then the world turned dark.

For a while, there was nothing, nothing except a familiar emotion.

Some terrifying wrath, some insatiable hunger, an unkillable indignation, maybe it was spite even…. Or terror itself.

Having been suppressed by the boy for so long, because of the fear of becoming like his progenitor.

Yet... somehow it refused to die.

The suppressed expanded at full force, full of wrath and hunger than ever before, moving into multiple currents like the sea in the middle of a chaotic storm.

It picked up different emotions, thoughts, memories, will, things it couldn't comprehend, things that made the boy Ulysses.

And Ulysses could sleep no longer, because his wrath refused to die.

'Ah? What?'

Suddenly, Ulysses was writhing in agony.

A furious flood of power rushed into his broken body, repairing it.

The pain was back, sending him into a violent convulsion.

His fractured legs restored themselves. The severed sections of his spinal cord connected back together.

Other minute changes happened all around his body, changes that told him he was more than healed.

It felt like he had risen.

It was euphoric, really.

And it was finally over.

He lay still. Chest heaving. Drenched in sweat. Barely conscious.

"Most impressive," the voice chuckled. "Despite being a lowly Third, you succeeded."

Then, space began to ripple around Ulysses.

Pop!

And just like that, Ulysses was gone.

The withered man chuckled softly, his strength fading.

"I'm sorry I must burden you with this role. I know death would be the rest you deserve, but unfortunately, man rarely gets what he deserves."

His breath became hoarse and fainter.

"My role is fulfilled. Whatever lies beyond this point... is beyond my foresight."

But Ulysses could not hear him. No one could.