Through the expansive valley, housing the sprawling city of men, down the winding, riverside road, skirting the edge of the lilac forest, and under the imposing gaze of the far-off mountain range, unfolds a sea of lush green grass, stretching yonder the horizon, but now it lie blemished; on the great plains of Valeryia was now a small, sizzling crater with a depressed, naked man. As the man methodically climbed out of the rocky crater and brushed the sharp stones off his bare body, he could not help but chuckle at himself for being so wrong. He had always thought the foremost tragedies had the most suffering and sadness at the end, but he discovered that this was not true. In fact, the greatest tragedies were not the ones with the most unfortunate endings, but rather the ones without an ending at all. So when he stepped foot onto the tall, soft grass of the great plains, it was not out of joy for surviving, nor was it out of desire to live in this brave, new world. He simply longed for an ending to his odyssey.

A coursing river with a dirt road attached to its side intercepted his path. Strolling over the dirt road to the river’s side, he squatted down and examined the crystal clear water. A bright yellow fish with a glossy finish happily swam by. In the nooks and crannies of the pebble bed, a plethora of small critters teemed. Craning his head to the left, the river and road stretched out as far as he could see, and to the right the pair climbed a gently slopping hill. Lastly, he looked up at the sun, covering his eyes from the peerless light. The sun had traveled barely an inch since he began his aimless walk. With a heavy sigh, he scooped a handful of water from the river and splashed it on his face. It was refreshingly cool on the warm day. He was at a loss on where to go from here.

Until a breeze rolled in. It carried an astringent odor causing the man to violently sneeze. Standing up, he faced upstream where the smell originated from. The air emanating from the horizon had a hazy, smoky texture to it. With a frown, he began traversing the road towards the source. Experience told him to be wary, but he could not resist it the same way a moth could not resist the light of a flame.

The flat plains evolved into rolling hills with the river and road cutting through it. He picked up the pace as the foul concoction of smells grew stronger. Regret grew on his face as over the large hill in front of him, plumes of smoke rose into the sky. With a heavy sigh, he reached the summit of the hill and evaluated his surroundings. He expected some form of trouble, but half a town in blazes was not something he had in mind.

Down below the river cut through the town, creating a clear divide; on the left side of the river ,the town was clearly molested whereas the right side was virtually untouched. Squinting his eyes, he was able to make out numerous humanoid figures scurrying and flailing about in uniform colors, but could not tell what exactly was going on. He trotted down the hill to get a closer look.

He came upon the river once more and it yielded additional clues. Stone and wood drifted down the murky, crimson red river. A face-down corpse bobbed along with the debris.

“Good grief,” he plainly remarked, rubbing the back of his neck. A dead body was certainly a warm welcome. If there was one, there was sure to be more, he thought to himself, gazing at the town in peril. Leaving the town was the correct choice, but it was not the right choice. He backed up several paces from the river then sprinted into a leap, using the debris cluttering the river as stepping-stones to traverse its width. In front of him was a raging inferno slowly consuming the town, and he headed straight for it.

Slipping through a break between the buildings, he entered the distressed town with a tall, ornate, stone building on his left and a line of wooden constructs on his right. He determined his objective to be saving as many people as possible. With a spreading fire, wood was more suspect so he focused his efforts on the wooden buildings. One by one, he threw open the doors to each buildings, scouring inside for life. Each building was laid out like a home; inside were beds arranged in the back accompanied with various dressers and cabinets, with a kitchen and a dining table at the entrance.

After each home, he quickened his pace as the flames tasting each home grew more ferocious by the minute – some were already swallowed whole. Three, four, five, he cleared the homes efficiently. However, he honestly hoped he would find no one. Would they fear him and mistake him as some hostile entity, or would they thank him and treat him as a savior? Just the idea of speaking to just one person gave him the jitters. He couldn’t remember the last time he had conversed with anyone, and this was disregarding the potential language complications. Dwelling on these issues stressed out the man severely.

On the seventh home, the door would not budge. All others he was able to slam wide open, this one resisted his push. The home was on fire already, and the roof was collapsing in, piece by piece. He guessed some debris had blocked the door, so taking several steps back, he charged the door, lowering his shoulder. With crash, he smashed open the door, sending wooden pieces flying. The interior was engulfed in flames. He heard the faint cry of a child from the back and rushed over.

A sobbing women was cradling her young child, and on the floor was her husband pinned down by a smoldering, wooden beam. She saw the man approach and let out an unintelligible cry which could only mean help. Without a moment’s delay, the foreign man sprinted over to the fallen beam and squatted down. Placing his hands underneath, he hoisted the beam up with a loud grunt.

“Get going!” He groaned out, gritting his teeth. Beneath him, the pinned man was already up and ushering the women and her child out. They did not say a single word as they fled, the women and averting her gaze down and covering the eyes of her child as her husband led her out. Her husband locked eyes with him, his face a mix of gratefulness and utter confusion. As soon as they cleared, he chucked the beam down and began blowing on his burning hands. He casually walked out of the crumbling home, wondering why that family treated him so oddly.

He was satisfied with his current work. All the homes seems evacuated as he cleared out what he could. It made him wonder how one person ended up dead in the river. Nothing so far indicated immediate harm. Until he turned the corner. Three burlesque men with swords and torches were painting the town in blood and flame.

He strolled up without a second thought, “What do you think you’re doing?” Slaughtering innocents and burning a town was not exactly commendable behavior, and he resolved to give them a piece of his mind.

The trio turned their heads about, perplexed by the question, until they found the strange man standing there as if he was about to lecture them.

“Oi, who in the hell are you?” The bandit with the torch questioned. His two companions fanned out to each side.

His question threw the stranger off guard. “You know, that is actually a good question. Give me a minute to think about it,” he stroked his chin.

The bandits just looked at each other not sure what to think of this peculiar man.

“Is there something wrong with the lad? Does he have no idea whats going on around here?” Asked one of the trio.

The torch-man shrugged, “A few screws loose in the noggin, I reckon. No one in their right mind would prance around in a battle field stark naked.”

Oh! That is right, the naked man thought to himself. Of course that one family would treat him so weirdly. A naked man bursting through the door into a burning home to subsequently pick up a flaming log was not the most normal event.

“Just kill him already. We ain’t got time to waste ‘ere.”

“Wait, what?” He asked, completely bewildered. Well, by engaging brigands this should have been expected. As two of the bandits approached him, haphazardly swinging their swords at him, he thought confronting them might not have been the best idea.

He asked himself why he did not run while he had the chance as he engaged both bandits in hand-to-hand combat. The bandit on his right jabbed forward which he easily dodged by sidestepping back. From the left came a wide, horizontal swing attempting to pincer him between both swords. With a jump, he dodged the oncoming sword causing it to crash into the other bandit’s weapon, staggering them both. He followed up by doing a split in mid-air, smacking both right in the jaw.

The pair stumbled backwards as he landed with a satisfied expression. Perhaps victory was possible, he thought to himself. They may have the weapons, but they clearly did not have the mental capacity. However, his chest was throbbing all of a sudden. He glanced down and found a sword poking its head through.

“Fancy moves lad, but you seem to ‘ave forgot there were three of us,” the torch-man explained with a vicious chuckle. With a shove, he pushed the naked man off his sword.

Blood dripped from his chest as he staggered forward. A burning sensation seized his body as it insatiable throbbed. Forgetting to address the third was a rare oversight for him; Combat was his forte and committing a critical mistake was a first. It seems he was rusty after all this time. He fell to one knee panting. Each breath was getting progressively harder as the pain stacked. He fought for dear life, until he realized it was not worth the effort. Collapsing backwards, he stared into the smoky sky. Blackness crept into his vision as the sounds of criminal scum crackling filled his ears. Was this finally the end?

Unfortunately, nothing could be that simple, he thought. His surroundings shifted. No longer was he in the fiery town. A never-ending void encompassed him. One might fancy this as death, but that could not have been more wrong. He knew all to well what being here meant; countless eternities he wasted away in this abyss. But, this time something was different. Something was here.

A black orb existed in the landscape, giving off a most peculiar light. It was as if it did not exist in any realm of possibility or imagination, but by virtue of it being there, there was no choice but for it to exist. It was an impossible distance away, yet, at the same time, it was right next to him. Energy flowed out in waves as the odd ball pulsated as if it were a heart, beating along to the rhythm of life. He realized he had a choice.

The ball was offering to take him back. He knew this to be certain the same way a baby knows how to breathe. The alternative was sitting here, again. It seemed like an obvious answer, but he was not sure. Was there a reason for him to go back? Was there truly a difference in staying here or going there? As he pondered, the illustrious black orb pulsated, its surface rippling and disfigured itself in response to his thoughts.

He was not thrilled at the answer he found. With a heavy heart, he reached forward to the black entity which stretched itself out like a rod. Grasping it in is hands, it felt cold as steel, and an indescribable energy flowed out from him as if the flood gates of a great dam had tore open. Beyond energy, uncountable memories and thoughts flowed through him in each moment. Some brought raw emotion to his face, others re-enlightened him with lost wisdom, but many he wished would have stayed forgotten.

The black abyss dissolved, crumbling away into a pure light. For better or for worse, this is the story he chose.

[….]

In pure terror, the trio of bandits looked on as the dead man stood back up. His chest was drenched in blood, but the hole closed itself like water rushing in to occupy empty space. In his hand was now a sword. Its blade was so black it was as if light denied its very existence. If it were not the glowing, crimson red jewel in the hilt that pulsated lines of pure red energy through the black blade, they would have passed it off as an illusion.

“W-whats going on ‘ere?!” The torch bandit exclaimed, frantically trying to asses the situation. “He was down right dead a second ago!” Each of the bandits took small steps back, unsure of how to proceed.

“Who in the hell is this man?”

“Apologies,” he finally spoke up softly. His low voice was clear and direct, penetrating the bodies and soul of the brigands, “I just remembered the answer to your question.” He rolled his head and stretched out his upper back and shoulder blades, cracking the bones in his body.

The bandits panicked. It was just a naked man with a sword, but they could feel as if death itself hanged above him, ready to reap all who opposed him. He was no longer the same man who stood before them earlier. The strange, lackadaisical man was replaced by a stoic, spine-chilling beast.

“Its j-just one guy! Kill him again, no problem..” The torch-bearer announced, waving around his torch as some sort of rallying signal. His two comrades cheered with him and turned to face their opponent with new vigor.

“Are you done?” The naked man coldly asked, cocking his head ever so slightly to the side, silencing the bandits. His crimson red eyes full of killing intent glowed like the jewel in his sword. “I am…” he steadily closed the distance with measured steps, “I am Suran Ibrahim.”