It was older than any human memory could record.Monsters, demons, ghosts, and magic lived in this world, maintaining a balance over humanity. They kept humanity united, even when it hated itself.
These beings were strong—monstrously strong. So strong, in fact, that for hundreds of years, humanity was enslaved by them. But one day, humans discovered they had something the monsters didn't have.
The power of the soul. This power was so incredibly strong that it freed all of humanity from the monsters. And thus, a millennia-long war began, where billions would die and be reborn.
That was the era before the Great Prophecy, which—
Child: What is the Great Prophecy, Mommy?
Mother: I was just about to get to that, little wolf.
A mother was reading a bedtime story to her son, who was dressed in a wolf-themed pajama and wrapped in his blanket.
But before the mother could finish, they both heard it.
AHEM
Both jumped at the sound, and when they turned, they saw only the father standing at the door, looking at them with a gentle smile.
Father: It's past bedtime. Come on, @!#%$, Alan has school tomorrow.
At that moment, the mother stood up from the child's bed, while he still had a happy smile on his face. She looked at him and said:
Mother: Don't forget, Alan, you—
BOOM!!!
Everything was interrupted by an explosion of fire, and the surroundings were engulfed in screams and cries from all kinds of people. The whole place was engulfed in flames, making it impossible to see even a step ahead.
But what truly stood out amidst all this chaos was a strange figure.
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I wake up all sweaty, shaking intensely in my one-bedroom apartment. Looking at my bed again, it's soaked from the excessive sweat I've been having.
I get up and head to my small bathroom, taking a long shower to calm myself down, but it doesn't help at all.
I get out of the shower and look in the mirror, and see the same atrocity I've seen all my life.
A face full of burns that descend and cover more than 85% of my entire body. I don't have a single hair anywhere on my body because of these damned burns.
I open the mirror cabinet and grab two bottles of medication prescribed just for me—one for the constant pain from the burns, and another is a heavy antidepressant that I was ordered to take by the judge.
I can't blame the judge for making me do this. I ended up having a breakdown that led me to beat a man who was passing by my door.
I still don't know why it happened or how, but I can't change the past. I can only work on improving myself in the future.
My alarm went off, and I know what I need to do now.
Sigh
I put on a large black coat with a hood, jeans, very worn-out sneakers that I definitely need to replace, and my prosthetic mask, and I start leaving the house.
Outside my building, it's the same as always. Since I live in the suburbs, it's hard not to smell the horrible stench of garbage everywhere. The place is full of houses falling apart, and shacks can be seen in various places.
I walk a bit through the decrepit streets where I can see bodies in several alleys. It would be a compliment to call this place a cemetery. So, when I reach a quieter area, I try to call a flying taxi, as the place I'm going to is very far.
After a few minutes, a flying car with yellow colors appears, and I get in, asking the driver to take me to a wealthy neighborhood.
Up here, I feel so good, as if I were a king, even though I'm just some orphan with nothing but myself, and of course, Gustavo.
Gustavo is my best friend, actually my first friend. When I woke up in the hospital, Gustavo was in the bed next to me, and he's the only one who never judges my appearance, so I'll never stop being his friend.
Taxi driver: "We've arrived, sir. That'll be $20. How will you pay?"
Hearing what the taxi driver said, I take $20 from my wallet, but now I only have $25 left, which is a problem I'll solve later.
I get out of the car and start heading toward my psychologist's house. Coming here always gives me an awful feeling.
This place is completely different from the suburbs where I live. I feel like a beggar in this place, but I have no choice since Marcus is the only psychologist who sees me for free, so I don't have much of an option.
Finally, I arrive in front of Marcus's house. I wish I didn't have to open up to someone, but I still need him to make sure it doesn't happen again.
I ring the doorbell and wait. After about two minutes, Marcus appears in front of me and says,
Marcus: "Hey, Alan. I was making some spaghetti. Want some?"
Marcus speaks as he walks back into his house. I simply reply,
Alan: "Sure, thanks, Marcus."
I step inside and sit at his unnecessarily large dining table. It's big enough for six people, yet he's single, and his parents passed away a while ago.
After some time, Marcus returns with our food, and we begin eating together.
Marcus is a 56-year-old man, tall at 1.95m (6'5"), very muscular, with a short military-style haircut and a well-groomed goatee. For some reason, he always wears a suit and is impeccably dressed even now.
Before I even realize it, we've finished eating, and Marcus is washing the dishes when he suddenly asks,
Marcus: "It's tomorrow, isn't it?"
I freeze as I remember what tomorrow is, but without even thinking, I respond.
Alan: "Yeah… it's tomorrow."
Marcus looks at me while drying his hands and asks,
Marcus: "Where do you want to have your session?"
I feel a little uneasy, but I soon lead Marcus to his backyard, where he looks a bit surprised and says,
Marcus: "What's the occasion this time?"
He's not wrong to ask that. Every time I bring him outside for a session, it means I have something important to tell him. It's become a habit of mine.
With no other choice, Marcus sits on the grass and pats the spot beside him, waiting for me to sit down.
Sitting next to him, I finally speak.
Alan: "Marcus… I turn 22 tomorrow. It's also the anniversary of when I finally woke up, which makes it 15 years with these damn burns. I've made my decision."
I turn to face Marcus, my eyes full of tears, and finish.
Alan: "Tomorrow… I'm committing myself to a psychiatric hospital."
Hearing this, Marcus stares into my eyes, and with a hesitation only I can recognize, he asks,
Marcus: "The blackouts… they haven't stopped, have they?"
I simply nod, trying to wipe away the tears that won't stop falling.
I knew this could happen, but I didn't expect it to be so soon. Fifteen years ago, I was the only survivor of a white phosphorus bombing. I arrived at the hospital so disfigured that they couldn't even tell who I was.
I was in a coma for a year and a half, and when I woke up, the shock was so great that I lost all my memories from before the incident.
I don't remember anything—not even in my dreams. I don't know if what I see are my real memories or just fabrications.
That was when I met Marcus. Back then, he was just a regular doctor, but at some point, we grew closer, and he adopted me. We spent many good years together.
Then, when I turned sixteen, the blackouts started—rare at first. One moment, I'd be in the living room, and the next, I'd wake up in my bed the next day.
People around me said I acted normally, but I had no memory of it. I went to hundreds of hospitals and doctors, all arranged and paid for by Marcus, but they all said the same thing:
"The boy probably suffered brain damage from the white phosphorus attack and developed early-onset Alzheimer's."
And if it didn't stop within a few years, I would eventually become a vegetable.
Now, I feel like the blackouts are happening three times more often than before.
Marcus and I tried everything to slow it down, but it never stopped. And now… I don't know how much time I have left.
So before I become a vegetable, I want to find a good place to spend my final days.
Marcus looks at me with teary eyes, then pulls me into a tight hug, crying with me. I hug him back and cry along with him.
I don't know how long we sat there, talking, laughing, and crying together. But after that, I went to meet Gustavo to say goodbye.
Marcus gives me 400 dollars and tells me to spend it however I want. He gives me one last hug and waits with me for the flying taxi.
I get into the taxi and head toward the city center. The driver drops me off in a slightly less crowded area. I pay him and step out of the car.
I start walking toward the place where Gustavo and I agreed to meet. I needed this time alone to think about everything...
This is unfair. Why do I, someone who did nothing wrong, have to have my life cut short while the bastards who did this to me didn't suffer a damn thing?
They broke the Geneva Conventions, and all they had to do was pay a fine while I'm left looking like this and barely have three years to live. Where the hell is the justice in that?
I step into an alleyway as I feel my chest about to burst. Crying uncontrollably, I look up and scream,
Alan: "You damn god! Where is divine justice?! I never hurt anyone! I did nothing wrong! I never stole or coveted anything! And yet… why do I have to pay the price?! Answer me… ANSWER ME, DAMN IT!!!"
Haa! Haa!
I'm still gasping for air after screaming, but as expected, there's no answer.
With nothing else to do but head to the meeting spot, I lower my head and start walking.
When I arrive, I see a huge guy, easily around 200 kg, standing in the middle of the plaza, frantically looking at his phone. I'd recognize that bulk from miles away. I raise my hand and shout,
Alan: "GUSTAVO! OVER HERE, MAN!"
The big guy turns around, and I finally get a good look at my best friend—a literal wall of flesh standing at 2.10m (6'11''). His long hair reaches his nape, he's got a well-groomed mustache, and—wait a second… are his eyes shaped like stars?
As soon as Gustavo looks at me, he rushes over in a panic, carrying a gym bag that I'd usually make fun of since it's just for show. But right now, there's something far more surprising—
HE'S LOOKING AT ME.
Gustavo has been blind since he was two years old. A condition forced him to have his eyes removed, and that's exactly how I met him—right after his surgery.
So how the hell does he have eyes now? And not just any eyes—these sleek, high-tech bionic ones.
I wouldn't be confused if this had happened over time—after all, bionic eyes are a thing. But the problem is… I saw Gustavo just two days ago.
There's no way in hell he had time for surgery. So I ask,
Alan: "What the hell, man?! When did you get surger—"
Gustavo: "Not now, bro. We need to run, we have—"
He glances at his wristwatch and finishes,
Gustavo: "Two hours before it starts. Let's go, man!"
Weird. He's never been this agitated befo—wait, no, scratch that. There was that one time we stole a Playboy magazine… but other than tha—
Before I can think any further, Gustavo yanks me with surprising strength and drags me along. He keeps glancing at his watch like he's late for something.
We finally arrive at the busiest part of the city—its very heart. Towering buildings and glowing billboards surround us, and the streets are packed with people, almost masking the fact that the place is filthy.
Gustavo nearly plows through the crowd as he rushes forward, dragging me behind him. Then, out of nowhere, he pulls out a mask identical to mine and puts it on.
I frown and ask,
Alan: "The hell, Gustavo? Where'd you get that, man?"
He doesn't answer. But in the next moment, I understand why.
All the billboards around us suddenly shut off, casting the entire area in eerie darkness. I stop in my tracks, and Gustavo stops too.
Then, a second later, all the screens flash back on.
And what I see makes my blood run cold.
Displayed on every single screen, over and over again…
Is GUSTAVO!!
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Power Stones, please.