Origins of Blood

[The_BestX]

"Each step forward feels like a betrayal of who I once was; yet I cannot stop walking."



Blood drowns the barren soil beneath naked nights, where the moon shifts its color and size every first of the month.

Demons fly across the horizon, veiling a golden moon like Saturn's rings. The moon's craters—one as large as the moon of old—pierce through me with those hollowed eyes.

I stand atop a cliff and summon my sanguine sword, which undulates with my heartbeat, like waves through wheat at dawn.

My veins burn Red, my enemies' grow cold. Sacred, they claim to be—Gods even; a lie … so am I, wearing the body not given by my birthmother: sandy hair; eyes azure like the never-changing sun; and even as it is disparate, it resembles who I always was.

My grip firms around the sword's handle, and my feet shatter stones loose. The abyss below devours all blood, whether fallen or still standing.

Beyond the horizon, battling the army in black, legions of Seraph cast pulsating light. My eyes twitch, yet I linger in the strobing scene, for the shifting moon breaks through it, its edges bleeding into the starless night.

The soil below—a black sea of endless colors—glistens with gold; each color is its own salvation. Some live longer; some grow stronger, but ultimately, they all die—even Gods.

I lampoon the hope of people who believe that we can sleep under the same moon.

Equality is a fairy tale for children; the strong take, and the weak kneel—both just pretend it means something.

On the horizon, all light dies; once vast and luminous with gold, the moon darkens completely—an Eclipse slicing through the night; then it burns Red.

"I'm sorry," guilt gnaws at me.

He should be four years younger than I am now … my hands tremble … but he isn't … the moon gushes further… I killed him.

My grip tightens again, and a battle cry shatters the silence—perhaps an echo of my own.

"But don't worry. Soon—I'll be with you."

And as the moon shrinks, setting the sky afire, I remember counting planets with my brother—Mars, his favourite.

It was a lie … yet I cling to it.

"My dear little brother," I smile ruefully as a lost child of a tear finds its way down my cheek. "Just …"

The wind howls, and the ground beneath me cracks; blood shakes through flesh; I embrace the burning light—the Red Eclipse.

"… just wait a little longer."

And I jump.



Into blood.

Into death.

Into hell.

 

[The_BestX]

Prologue - Origins of Blood (Republished)

“Each step forward feels like a betrayal of who I once was; yet I cannot stop walking.” Blood drowns the barren soil beneath naked nights, where the (...)

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[The_BestX]

Elliot's POV—Red Blood



"I saw the future only to be blinded by it."



A few years ago …



The bus's light blinds me, but it doesn't stop me from facing it; it warms my heart through pain, like a mother's kiss.

Around me, cars, trees, and buildings; they dissolve into layers of snow, but the light—scars what they are—always remains the same.

I tap the alcohol bottle to my right and chuckle as it topples over. My hands crave the lights above, and my knuckles whiten. I aim for the seat before me but stop halfway and frown, eyes blurring; the alcohol speaks.

"Fuck it all … end the God-sucking world!"

My pocket vibrates. Then rings; I don't pick it up, just stare at my dirty shoes and force a smile, eventually breaking into a cry.

"Big bro got fired."

I can't face the picture of us on the screen, his right hand resting around my shoulder; he wears a big smile, too bright and innocent.

A month or two should be possible. But from March onwards … one more year and he'd be out of high school.

I close my eyes, ignore the phone, and prepare myself to face the fever dream yet to come. Scarlet deepens, turning black. But the images of light never fade.



—break—



Whenever I enter my dreams, my body sways like a feather in the hands of a giant—some might even call them visions, as if I were a prophet.

Drugs … more likely, though I never took such.

I scream without a tongue, invisible walls crushing me; my eyes seem to pop—an ominous darkness seeps into the void surrounding me. It's strange to see the darkness deepen, but again, I'm the strange one to see all this. There's no pain, only a sense of numbness.

Everything starts flickering like heat mirages on a blistering summer day. White particles rise, consume darkness, and in the far distance, a crimson glow pulses weakly. I try to swallow but fail as the particles twist and coil, fitting together like puzzle pieces.

A twisted cough leaves me bleeding, and I almost choke, but it stops with an eye watching me. No, many eyes.

My body gives in, and everything moves forward: the entry of any vision where I'm watching through others' eyes.

Is tonight's oracle that I die again? That a golden moon looms and explodes? That radiant beings hover midair? Or that I'm fighting in another coliseum—

Screams echo through me; hands claw at my skin. But they don't shout at me. They pray to me.

I reach upward, toward that lonely light, a tear leaving me, rivers following.

The burning light consumes the void with colors that blend into nothing and everything. It flows through veins, through people, their faces vivid, and thousands of others' memories punch me all over.

Once, masses of men paint battlefields. I'm lost in it all.

In another scene, a blue sun rises over the streets of a foggy town; spires protect the roads, like I shield my eyes with one hand, the other missing.

Then I am trapped in a cage, flying through storms on a bird as large as a whale. Below are tsunamis and thunderstorms that consume darkness forever.

With my vision distorting, I sit in a carriage drawn by horses; the man in front of me reads the news of a King's murder.

Then, there's me, in a grand bedchamber, having killed that very King in cold blood—an amber-skinned woman trembles beside. Yet she smiles.

Under the eerie sunlight, I hang; the folk cheer.

The pictures come too fast to comprehend fully, and I forget most of them with a breath.

But then, burning red, a man wields a thin sword, his silhouette cutting through the Red Eclipse behind him, just as he breaks me: the end and the beginning of all.

So familiar but fleeting like a childhood nightmare.

I turn against the images that never leave me—my skull throbs. Tears sting my eyes, though I don't know why.

With a shallow breath, the light dims, giving way to a palace soaked in blood—a table remains at the center, unchanged for what seems like millennia: ten thrones, four on each side, one at each far end; at the end of the at least thirty-foot-long table, a figure with many eyes (each swirling in different sizes and colors) tears through scarlet.

"Elliot," it curses my name.

My heart misses a beat and beats faster.

"Golden Reaper."

The red silhouette teleports in front of me. I exhale and blink. Its hand bleeds. Pierces my chest.

"Farewell."

My heart thumps. Then breaks.



—break—



Drenched in sweat, I wake up and squint my eyes against naked light. My stomach twists.

"I'm Elliot …" my eyes flick upward. "Elliot …"

Light consumes me, and, hurling forward, I swallow rapidly.

"… no one elghhk—"

A disgusting surge rises from my throat, spewing out in a sickly brown-green arc. Some of it splashes onto my shoes and pants.

"Fucking … hell …" I click my tongue and wipe my face with a shaking hand.

The seat in front of me is half puke, half synthetic leather, and my stomach churns again. My throat and nostrils burn like hell. My hand rests on the seat I slept in, but I still shake and cough, forcing myself to look beyond the fog of nausea.

The last … I wipe sleep from my eyes … was new. Golden Reaper? Hell, why was everything so intense?

But then I look up at the sun, my hand shielding my eyes that won't look anywhere else.

"It's blue," I mumble; a blue sun. How—

But it's not the color that makes me stagger back or widen my eyes, though that's partially a reason; it's the sky tearing.

I slip on the bottle, roll over, and barely avoid more of my puke.

Thump!

The ground and my body shiver—a part of the sky plummets.

Thump!

I shudder again as a cloud of dust hits the window—a second later, something shatters it completely.

"Holy shwiph—" I curse, pressing my cheek against the bus's floor. My breath comes in ragged gasps, and my grip on the armrest becomes unsteady. I hack through the dusty cloud and, crawling forward, cut my right hand on a shard on the ground.

The dust clears, and rages for minutes till it settles. I rise, rubbing my eyes.

The city is bathed in an eerie blue tinged with turquoise, now veiled in a cloud of dust, gradually revealing a dark silhouette.

My eyes narrow, but my vision stays unfocused.

The ground rumbles, and a vast area of the sky (blue against the cyan one behind) darkens, plummets further, setting off a chain reaction.

Wind howls, lifting more dust, but the shape of the silhouette becomes clear within a few deep breaths—about ten feet away.

It turns to me, its head twisting around itself—a grotesque blue figure maunders, its flesh scarred. Everything around it is drenched in blue while black pipes jut through its joints, impaling it like some cruel effigy. Maggots writhe within its wounds, spilling from its gaping mouth, and bones (like the pipes) jut out from its ruptured skin, intestines dangling like rotting vines.

I swallow a mouthful of saliva, still sour from puke.

God dammit—a zombie?!

Its blue eyes glow through the dusty storm, locking onto mine. It screams. Lunges.

My spine catches sweat, and I stumble backward.

In the same moment, the zombie leaps through the window and tumbles over me. Maggots drool from its mouth, altogether with blue and red blood—a finger in between, or what is missing of a hand.

It screams against my curses. I don't dare look elsewhere; my heart pounds in my ears as more screams follow from behind.

Thud!

Something hits the bus's ceiling, and the light flickers. I turn trembling.

Another head gazes at me; this time, its face is completely crimson and upside down; it crawls through the window like a spider.

My toes curl inward. I swallow hard and clench my fists.

The dead charge together, hitting me head-on, and as I slip from one's grasp, adrenaline rushing—I jump over the second, but fail to flee through the window, as another stares at me, its smile (whatever that is) widening.

One zombie hurls me over, and my head hits an edge. I groan but desperately push them as teeth grip my thigh—another, they bite till maggots drown my legs; I cry through it. Push them. Kick.

Pow! Pow! Pow!

I spit, lurch to my right, and stand up.

Everything around me remains blurry.

Everything is silent, except for my shallow breathing.

My heart races. I blink. Breathe through my nose and mouth. I stand still. No, I shake.

My thigh … was I—

"Ya alright, boy?" The shooter blocks the eerie sun and leans against the broken side window while dust settles with the fading wind. He holds a gun in his right hand.

"Y—yes."

Then he points it at me.