Elliot's POV
"Each step forward feels like a betrayal of who I once was, yet I cannot stop walking."
—Elliot Starfall
Every fiber muscle in my war-torn body is exhausted. My divine red blood, boiling beneath my cracked and blood-stained skin, seeps from my wounds. My vision is blurred, my breath heavy.
I was a fool.
Yet I keep running. My trembling legs move at an inhuman speed, faster than leopards, carrying me over the remains of those I once despised. My comrades, my friends, my family. Different-blooded—only the red within me remains truly red.
I was a fool.
Spitting a mixture of saliva and clotted blood, I wince at the sharp pain in my chest as I scan the once-black continent. Now it is red. Crimson like the blood that runs, for the most part, through my veins. My blue eyes flicker as greasy, dark blond strands obscure my vision. Once, they had given me hope in the night of betrayal. I cannot forget that grotesque laughter. My joints feel rusty, locked, as if I were an old cog in a long-forgotten machine.
Still, I keep running through the multicolored puddles of blood. Red, black, white, brown. In this continent of pestilence, where the moon shifts its color and the sky is bathed in endless darkness, people die with every breath. The blue-blooded have it easy. I envy them. My torn toenails bleed into my shredded black boots. I'm clad in tight black clothing—a gift from Echo, my unit. I am one of the twelve Echo's.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I take in the endless skulls scattered across the imperial battlefield. Years—this has been going on for years. Death is as omnipresent as breath amid battle. Everything feels surreal. All I hear is the deafening roar of explosions. Sometimes, the sky flickers in blinding white. I don't know if it's from our side or the enemy's. Cold sweat drips down my cheek. My arms swing frantically as my body pushes itself to its absolute limit. A strange sensation spreads through my fingertips, as if needles are piercing them, as if my bones are ready to burst from my skin.
Numbness overtakes my body—but it is merely the divine blood in my veins. My limbs feel stiff. Arrows, light beams, swords, axes, even magic beyond my wildest imagination cut through the air in the distance. The sharp clash of iron and elithran steel fills my ears. My heart races like a rollercoaster, yet I have been trapped in this ever-expanding loop for years. I stumble, crashing face-first into a thick pool of black blood, surrounded by the severed remains of both allies and enemies—people I never knew. My forearms slam into the viscous liquid after my face. My strength is completely drained. I remain in the pool, unwillingly inhaling the putrid stench. But I linger longer than I should.
I must get up!
My cracked fingernails dig into the hollow sockets of a black-blooded corpse, yet I slip again. I must!
All I see is the black night, the writhing maggots within the thick flesh twinkling like stars. They remind me of the times when they were my only source of protein. Damn it, even the flesh of the different-blooded—even that of the red-blooded. My own kind. Humans.
Once, my stomach would have turned at the thought, but the endless loop has hardened me. I try to push myself up, my teeth gritted, but the black blood only smears across my swollen face. My torso lacks stability, and my arms tremble in their feeble attempt to lift my body—over ninety kilograms of dead weight.
I can cleave mountains in two. I can leap thousands of meters with sheer strength. My reflexes are fast enough to dodge the attacks of false gods. I possess the power of the gods. And yet, in this moment, I am helpless. Helpless like a newborn. I could scream. But my lungs fill with the coagulated blood that must have been lying here for weeks, if not months. I can feel the clumps, the writhing maggots.
I have been in this situation countless times before. And every time, I have survived—even death itself. I attempt to roll to my side, but I fail miserably. In the corner of my eye, I see rods. Small, but moving faster than sound—racing toward me.
I was a fool to believe that a red-blooded like me could change the world…
My pupils constrict as my life flashes before my eyes.
I was a fool to think I could play God.
And now, I lie here. Drenched in the blood of those I once hated, who became more of a family to me than my own ever was. My irises shift—not by my will—from azure blue to crimson red, like the moon hanging over my back in the night sky. With the divinity in my veins, I see everything in slow motion. But I am not fast enough. This is no divine gift. It is a curse. Chains that bind me, a swamp that drags me under, the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders. I see the rods hurtling toward me at supersonic speed—mere silhouettes against the red eclipse.
A bitter laugh escapes my lips, but only a weak gurgling sound emerges from the blood beneath me. Bubbles rise, and then the pain comes.
The rods pierce through my flesh, stabbing through my clothing, my skin, my muscles, my veins, my bones. Only my joints and non-vital organs are targeted. My head and heart remain untouched, as if my executioner is toying with me. As if the butcher enjoys slaughtering his cattle—not with a swift cut to the throat, but with relentless strikes meant to prolong the agony. I groan into the blood, memories flooding my mind—the past years, the life I had before this nightmare began. A blissful, carefree life on Earth.
I remain still. My entire body trembles, yet I do not move from the impalement. I am like meat on a skewer. Tears mix with the thick blood, and I struggle to breathe. My lungs burn, my throat feels as if I have swallowed razors. At first, I try to scream. But then, I let it wash over me.
My brow had been furrowed in rage, but now it rests, relaxed, over my closed eyes. My entire being has never been this still. I have always been on guard, my existence forged under conditions beyond human comprehension. I have lived through other lives, conquered death, played god to fight against false gods. Not a single breath since the red eclipse has been one of peace.
Has my time finally come?
I stare into the endless darkness—the familiar void within myself—and think of only one thing. Ren. My brother.
A few years ago...
I gaze melancholically at my snow-white shoes. My ocean-like blue eyes drift down to my phone, my shoulders sinking as if weighed down by an invisible force. Without realizing it, my leg swings up and down in a quarter-time rhythm. My headphones are slightly too loud—loud enough that anyone nearby might hear the muffled melody leaking out. But I sit here alone, lost in the silence of the night.
The bus is modern, its seats unusually comfortable for public transport, even equipped with seat warmers. My white shirt drapes loosely over my torso, while my fingers move slowly, tapping against my knee as if wielding drumsticks. My eyes are reddened, shimmering under the soft rose-tinted glow of the bus's interior lighting. Yet, despite the heaviness in my chest, a faint smile curls on my dry lips as the song reverberates in my ears.
If the world was ending, I wanna beee— Silence.
A soft beep from my headphones. Then, my phone screen goes black. I stare at it. Just stare. My shimmering eyes threaten to spill over, but I swallow the lump in my throat. My nose runs. A deep sigh escapes my lips. I lift my gaze from the dark screen to the ceiling of the bus, waiting for a few seconds before turning my head toward the window. The city outside seems so calm. Houses, trees, streets—all blurred together, slipping past as I flee through the night in this bus.
Everything fades eventually. Nothing is eternal. Not houses, not streets, not this city. Not friends. Not possessions. Not family. Not even me.
I keep staring out of the window, the image of the city distorting in my vision. I hate myself.
I hate how powerless I am.
I hate that all I can do is swallow the thorns instead of spitting them out.
I am alone. The burden placed upon me is mine alone to bear. I don't know why. I don't know by whom. But it is mine.
My breath shudders as I exhale, long and slow. My sharp nose drips pitifully, and I wipe it with the back of my hand. Still, I stare into the endless night—the brilliant stars, the pale half-moon, its craters as clear as the pores on my skin. I clench my right fist, then loosen it.
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I am an ordinary person. Twenty-one years old.
The only thing that sets me apart from others is my ability to see visions.
For a moment, I pause, letting the vibrations of the bus wheels against the asphalt shake my body. For five years, I have seen and felt things from the perspective of others. However, it is as useless as a non-waterproof tent in the middle of a rainy night. I see things—a child breaking his bone, a student being bullied at school—but they all happen too far away. Other cities. Other countries. I can witness countless things, yet if they happen outside my immediate reach, I cannot help anyone.
The vibrations tingle against my fingertips as I rest my hand on my rough, wide-cut dark blue jeans. I press my fingers against my temple, rolling my neck from side to side to ease the tension.
And then, there are the other visions.
For days now, I've been seeing something different. Blurry. Indistinct. A feeling more than an image. I see them. I understand them in a way, yet I don't. It's like trying to decipher an ancient script with no reference. Blood. Fire. Ash. Destruction. Complete and utter ruin.
Like staring death in the eye. A black hole, pulling me into its abyss.
But it's the words that are breaking me.
"The earth will perish. Humanity will go extinct. The gods will prevail."
I whisper the words to myself, my breath shaky. The world is ending. Humanity's fate is sealed.
I prayed. Desperately. Kneeling, I prayed to every god, every deity of every religion. Please. But no answer ever came. I was desperate. I am desperate.
The world will end. That much is certain.
But how?
A meteor?
A sudden nuclear war?
I don't know the how.
But I know the when.
I stare at the inside of my closed eyelids. My shoulders sag as I exhale slowly, deeply.
It's today.
Today…
A sharp pain stabs at my throat as if invisible hands are choking me. Maybe it's me. My inner self, suffocating under the weight of my own doubt and fear. Maybe it's the burden of knowing the end, yet being unable to warn anyone.
I want to scream. I want to shatter.
But nothing comes out.
I only stare into the abyss behind my eyelids. The night turns them nearly pitch black, yet the soft rose-red light flickers every few seconds, casting faint, fleeting glows across my vision.
I let my eyes remain closed. I swallow the thorns in my throat. The guilt. The weight pressing down on me.
Minutes pass. My body trembles slightly, but my heartbeat slows.
My fingers, resting against my jeans, relax.
Like waves drifting away with the tide, my hands fall, surrendering to gravity.
The warmth of the bus's interior lighting fades as my senses dull.
And finally, I let myself sleep.
…
My eyes flicker. My hands tremble. My body is being crushed. No—it is being crushed. I try to glance left, then right, but my spine refuses to obey. My neck gives way, yet I remain rigid, as though four walls are closing in on me, pressing my form thinner than a sheet of paper. My breath catches. My pupils dilate as an ominous darkness seeps into my being. Everything around me flickers—like heat mirages on a blistering summer day, distorting reality into a wavering haze.
The darkness shifts. White particles rise, swirling, while a crimson glow pulses from my body, casting me as nothing more than the silhouette of a solar eclipse. The particles twist and coil, assembling like fragments of a puzzle, as my arms are forced inward, crushed against my torso. I want to cough. I know I will vomit blood. My veins protrude, stretching against my skin like overcooked noodles, and then—an eye stares at me.
No. Many eyes.
I feel like I will burst. Like my eyeballs will be forced from their sockets, my ribs will pierce through my lungs. But the eyes vanish. The unseen walls within the abyss fade, as if they had never existed. Instead, I am weightless. Suspended.
I reach for myself, running frantic hands over my body like a security guard at a checkpoint. No wounds? My brows furrow, my gaze darting left, right. My widened pupils find only the void, until above me, something takes form—a luminous substance, distant yet achingly familiar.
It feels forgotten.
As though I long for it, but can never reach it. Light.
I stretch my hand upward. It flows past my fingers, staining my pale skin red. My pupils contract. My lids squeeze shut.
A chill licks down my spine. A hissing sound curls into my ears.
Wind. My screams.
I am falling.
I reach for that beautiful light, but it slips away, further, further—
"Stay," I whisper, the words barely forming.
A tear escapes me. And then I collide.
Pain. I feel it. My joints twist unnaturally. My skull caves under the impact. My body crumples like discarded paper, like crushed meat. I try to gasp—at least, I think I do.
What is happening?
I reach upward, toward that distant, lonely light—a lone star against a blackened sky. But my body does not move. The light dims.
I stare into the emptiness, not knowing if something is coming for me—or if this is the end.
I don't know.
I am afraid.
If I could shiver, I would. But I am motionless.
Seconds stretch into minutes. Minutes into hours.
Ren... I'm sorry.
I know you are my brother. I hate myself for it. For leaving you. For never telling you the truth.
Are you suffering the same fate? Trapped in nothingness?
I want to sigh, to run a hand down my face, but I cannot.
Has the world already ended? I hope it was painless.
I want to cry.
Grief is something I despise. It feels so pointless. Why must we suffer it? Why can a human press salty water from their eyes?
And yet, without grief, we could never understand joy.
I hate it. I regret it.
If only I could do something...
My eyes flicker. My body is wrenched into the air, as though something unseen is dragging me with it. And suddenly—I am no longer in the abyss.
I see the world around me.
Images stretch and warp, as though I am moving at the speed of light. Streaks of color race past me—blurring, distorting. It is like I am soaring through the cosmos, a passenger on a ship bound for oblivion.
Time bends.
My eyes widen beyond what my skull should allow. I see blood.
Ten colors.
Red, blue, green, orange, yellow, violet, brown, black, white, gold.
It flows through veins, through people.
Thousands of images assault my mind.
A trembling blonde man looms over a dark-haired figure. Their voices are muffled, lost in the chaos. The blonde one is crying, a sword raised above the other. Blood—red blood—spurts forth. The blade falls.
I see churches ablaze. A gothic city beneath a blue sun.
I see angels. I see demons.
A black silhouette before a burning sun, the night sky stretching in crimson waves, suffocating the world beneath it. A moon, shifting colors in seconds, looming too large, too close. Tidal waves, kilometers high, swallowing cities whole.
Men, women, children.
Wars.
Bodies upon bodies, stacked like discarded dolls.
A grotesque grin on a face I cannot recognize. A storm raging, thunder illuminating their silhouette. The grinning one drives a blade into the whimpering figure below, savoring it.
And yet—I feel betrayed.
Rage coils in my stomach, twisting it inside out.
The visions continue their relentless assault on my weary mind.
I see landscapes. Jagged black mountains, forests of skeletal trees. And yet, beauty, too—violet deserts, cyan skies, cities built upon towering spires.
I see people. Laughing. Celebrating. Their drinks clinking together, their joy raw and unburdened.
My stomach settles. A fragile peace creeps into my chest, like a whisper of tranquility amid chaos.
My head turns on its own. My skull pounds, splitting under the weight of the visions. Tears sting my eyes.
Two figures.
A blond man, drenched in red and gold blood. A black-haired woman before him, her beauty like carved marble. Sharp jawlines. High noses. Their eyes, red and black, ignited with love.
"Damian, no!"
The woman cries out, her voice breaking. Her eclipse-like eyes brim with tears, streaking her sculpted cheeks.
The scene shifts. Hundreds, thousands of times. But for the first time—not just my body, but my very soul is silent.
Before me, a man walks.
Naked.
His hair is red. His eyes, too—like the crimson moon I had seen before.
Ash rises from the scorched earth, curling around his bare feet. He moves through the smoldering ruin without hesitation. The scent of burnt flesh clings to the air, mingling with the sizzling of embers.
"Elliot."
He says.
And again, as he takes the final steps toward me:
"Wake up."
…
My eyelids flicker, and I feel a warm touch on my arms. A single tear forms, slowly trailing down my cheek. I wet my dry lips, tasting the liquid salt. My pupils contract, and I see a pale blue light filtering through the bus. Rays of light I never thought I would see again.
My body jerks, my chest rising and falling. Oxygen floods my lungs, yet I am greedy, gasping deeper than I should.
"I am Elliot," I murmur to myself, pressing a trembling hand against my chest, over my heart. Sweat drips from my chin, sliding down my neck.
"Elliot…"
My mouth moves strangely, my cheeks feel fuller, my stomach twisting itself into knots.
"I am Elliot, and no one els—"
I choke on my own words as a wretched surge erupts from my throat, spewing out in a sickly brown-green arc.
The vomit splatters onto the floor, chunks resembling yesterday's noodles and the corn from the day before. Some of it splashes onto my shoes and pants, and I click my tongue in disgust. My brows knit together, my gut churns. I wipe my face with a shaking hand, cursing under my breath.
My entire body trembles, as if an unseen weight is pressing down on me, suffocating me. Everything feels heavier, like my limbs are made of lead. I glance around, a strange, questioning smile ghosting over my lips.
The bus is still. The sky is bright. I frown, forcing myself to look beyond the fog of nausea. As I take a step forward, my knees nearly buckle, but I manage to steady myself by grabbing onto a seat. My breath comes in ragged gasps, my legs weak, my grip unsteady. Another curse slips through my lips as I shift my gaze outside.
The once-dark city is now bathed in an eerie violet, tinged with pink. In the distance, a black silhouette looms. I narrow my eyes, but my vision remains unfocused. Only after ten deep breaths and a slight tilt of my head do I finally make out the shape—and my body freezes.
A grotesque blue figure stands there.
Its flesh is scarred, its body drenched in azure blue blood. Black stakes pierce through its joints, impaling it like some cruel effigy. Larvae and maggots writhe within its wounds, spilling from its gaping mouth. Bones jut out from its ruptured skin, intestines dangling like rotting vines.
My fingers turn rigid. I stand motionless inside the bus—the very place where I had resigned myself to my final breaths.
The creature's glowing blue eyes lock onto mine. Then it screams.
The sound rips through the air, shrill and inhuman, and it lunges.
Cold sweat trickles down my aching spine. My eyes widen, cracked lips trembling as they struggle to form words. "A—a zombie."
The words barely escape as I stumble backward, the monstrous figure charging closer. It is lean but tall, its grotesque frame moving with unnatural speed. And before I can process the horror of it, others appear.
More of them.
They emerge from the shadows, surrounding me, surrounding the bus.
The only thing standing between them and me is this thin layer of glass and metal.
And I know—
It won't hold for long.
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