Thirsty.

And cold. Really, really cold. As he laid there on the floor with blood leaking out of the hole in his gut like a broken faucet, those were the only sensations he felt. Strange, He thought. When the time came for him to approach the doors of death, he’d think that there would be a lot more...pain. And yet, right now as he watched the blood slowly drain out of his body, pain was a sensation that did not once grace his body. All he felt was thirst. And the crippling cold.

So. Fucking. Thirsty.

His tongue was dry. So very dry. He was desperate for a drop of water before he goes. A rather ludicrous thought. Who’d ever think that a man, minutes from death, would ask for a cup of water before he travels to the beyond?

He didn’t have family. Only friends and even they, only a few would he consider close. Would they mourn for him? He wondered. Would they be kind enough to buy him a casket and bury him? Did they care enough to wonder how he died? To investigate?

No matter.

In the end, it changed nothing. Friends or no friends, he was still bleeding, he was still dying. Dead people don’t think and thus would never know what happens after death claims them.

And so he waits, for the final hour, final minute, final blink of his eyes before they are to never open again…

And yet it never came….

He laid there surrounded in his own blood, reminiscing on how he got here.

He can’t remember.

All he could feel was…

Thirst.

And cold.

Thirsty and cold.

So. Fucking. Thirsty.

And. So. Fucking. Cold.

Perhaps he was finally losing it. Perhaps everything he felt was but a delusion crafted by his own imagination. A coping method for his traumatised brain. It would explain his shattered memories. It would explain the reason as to why he was dying...

The moon stared at him. Mocking him. His weakness. His vulnerability. Its silver light encasing his broken form. His skin, now pale to the point of stark white, reflected on its luminescence, almost glowing, almost translucent.

He breathed, perhaps for the last time, and he stopped. His irises were now glowing ruby red. Perhaps from bleeding. Perhaps from something else.

[Drink. Now.]

He heard a voice calling to him yet could not move to identify from where it came.

Drink? Drink what exactly?

Then he heard it, the subtle squealing of a rat approaching his body, hoping to catch an early meal...or perhaps a late-night snack. Time was irrelevant at this point.

[Drink it. NOW.]

Drink what? The rat?

[Yes.]

…No.

[Yes.]

Nope. Not doing it. That’s gross! Why in the world would I drink a rat? How would I even drink a rat? It’s fucking solid.

[Bite into it.]

Hard pass. Who knows how many diseases are infested in that rat? Not to mention where it’s been? Trash dumps? Sewers? It could be swimming in literal doo-doo water just a minute ago.

[Drink or die, your choice.]

...Nope. I would rather die.

[DRINK NOW.]

THIRST.

Like a tsunami crashing upon unsuspecting shores, his unquenchable thirst greeted him once more. He could no longer think, no longer debate his actions into not drinking. Like a viper, his hand lashed out, grabbing the filthy rat before bringing it to his mouth. Without hesitation, he bit down, his canines elongating to unnatural lengths, and he drank.

Mmmmm holy shit, who knew rat blood would taste like vanilla milkshakes.

Then he realised what he was doing...

*GASP*

“OH, WHAT THE FUCK”

[Yes, keep drinking. We need more blood.]

“No fucking way am I EVER doing that again”

[Hmm...Perhaps THAT is a better alternative.]

“...What is a better alternative?”

“Meow.”

He saw a cat staring at him with curious innocent eyes. Perhaps from stealing its meal. Perhaps from something else.

“GAH GET AWAY FROM ME”

The cat flinched and ran away.

[WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! THAT WAS A FREE MEAL]

“THAT WAS A CAT! There’s no fucking way I’m drinking a cat!”

[Your foolishness will get us both killed]

“Us? Who the fuck even are you?”

[It is of little importance right now. We must continue to feed]

“I-”

In the blink of an eye, the moon shattered into two, thunderous drumming resonated around him like the hoofbeats of a stampede, the echo of his quiet breath was multiplied into harsh sirens of distress, and reality warped around him.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

He was spinning, In many, many different directions.

Oddly, he did not feel sick.

He saw light pass by him. Again. And Again. Is he being transported somewhere? Or is the world being put into a blender?

He was falling.

He was flying.

He was everywhere and nowhere.

Then he landed.

*Splash*

All he saw now were fishes swimming in their little schools. A half dozen? A dozen? It was the first thought that came to his disoriented brain.

He was weightless. The rays of sunlight were rippling above head, clouded by something he couldn’t discern. He was holding his breath, it only took him a moment to realise that he was doing so subconsciously. He needed air. Why wasn’t he breathing?

Like a freight train, his brain started to catch up to him. He wasn’t breathing because he couldn’t. What surrounded him wasn’t pleasant, breathable air but bitter cold, fast-moving liquid. He wasn’t weightless, he was falling. The light of the sun was getting further and further away. If he did not act, he would drown.

The panic started to set in, and he flailed, trying to grab on to something, anything. Yet, there was nothing within reach. He had to swim, else he would die. Trying to calm his beating heart, he focused and with gut-wrenching determination, he swam. To the direction of the light, away from the cold freezing darkness.

Each stroke felt excruciating like he was dragging his limbs through tar. He felt weak. He was weak. He couldn’t fathom why he was moving so slowly.

As he was dragging himself upwards towards what seemed to be the surface, he thought on that mysterious voice. The one in his head just a moment ago. What did the voice tell him to do?

...drink.

With sudden realisation, he frantically searched around him, looking for anything living.

And with a stroke of luck that god placed in front of him, an unsuspecting giant catfish that was swimming past him without caution.

He struck.

His fingers elongated into razor-sharp claws and they latched on to the fish.

It struggled. But it was pointless.

He brought the fish closer to him, and he bit down. The blood of the fish relieved him instantly, giving his body a dose of adrenaline he knew he needed. He kept drinking. The fish’s blood reminded him oddly of miso soup. It was delicious.

As he drank and drank, he felt stronger and stronger. Until there was nothing left. He opened his eyes that he didn’t realise was closed and he only saw that what was left of the fish was nothing but a shrivelled, dried husk. He thanked it for its sacrifice and continued to swim.

The difference was immense.

With each stroke, he torpedoed upwards, travelling at speeds unimaginable to man. He swam and swam, outpacing his need for oxygen.

The light was getting closer, and closer, and closer.

With a final push, he sped towards the surface, hoping to finally catch that much-needed breath of air.

...only to smack into something incredibly more solid than the water’s surface was supposed to be.

With startling realisation, he discovered that he swam headfirst into solid ice.

The thing was spanning as far as his vision could reach, covering the entirety of the water’s surface with a thickness unbreakable with meagre human strength.

Dread filled him like a greeting from death itself.

The desperation he felt just a few seconds ago vanished into the hopelessness that he felt as he was bleeding into that pavement staring at the moon.

He was going to die.

Even after all that?

No.

He refused to die.

Not like this.

With a roar muffled by the water, he punched the encasing ice with all his might. It did not break. To his dismay, the ice seemed thicker than he imagined. It was at least half a meter thick, perhaps even more.

He punched, again and again.

The ice did not budge.

He panicked once more, realising that time was slowly running out, he could feel his lungs burning.

He was transported here from that pavement to where he was now, straight into water encased with ice, without ever breaking the water’s surface. Surely God was kind enough to not place him straight underwater without an escape.

He scanned the ice once more, looking for a hole, a crack, anything.

But there was nothing.

The only thing stopping from reaching towards the light was ice thicker than it had any right to be, it felt like dying in the darkness was the only option he had left.

But he refused.

He defied it.

Whatever fate may have written for him, he will deny it until his last breath.

He focused once more.

This was his last chance, his last action before his lungs collapse.

With unyielding concentration, he focus every ounce of energy he had into this once last punch.

His claws retracted, and big, blood-filled veins popped up on his arms, acting like streaks of lightning. With one last shout, one last hurrah, he swung his fist like it was made of the strongest of metals.

And the ice shattered.

He blasted upwards finally tasting that one sweet nectar that was the lifeblood of most living beings. Air. Sweet, sweet air.

It filled his lungs like a lost love embracing him once more.

Tears of relief were now cascading uncontrollably down his face.

He gasped for air, again and again.

He never felt so happy to be alive.

He was still swimming, but on the water’s surface now, completely oblivious to the destruction he caused around him. What once was several meters thick of ice spanning over hundreds of meters of a frozen lake was now blistered with tremendous cracks like a giant spiderweb. All of it originated from one place. Where he punched.

Clueless to his feat of herculean strength, He was trying to crawl over the ice, desperate to get out of the waters. After moments of struggle, he laid there on the floating ice trying to steady his breath, looking at the sun as it shines down upon him.

He smiled for the first time since he awoke. He smiled at his triumph against death. He smiled at his small victory against fate.

He lived.

He glanced around, suddenly aware of where he was. In the middle of a frozen lake, littered with cracks of broken ice, soon to be frozen solid again by the freezing temperatures.

He realised that he had a long way to walk to get to the riverbank. Yet he did not feel as hopeless as he once did. He escaped death once now, twice even? And he will continue doing so.

He steadily got up and started walking to the edge of land he saw in the distance.

[You’ve got spirit. I’ll give you that]

The voice was back. He felt almost relieved. He may not remember anything about who he was or how he got here but he couldn’t stifle the feeling of loneliness. He hated being alone, it was a feeling that was instinctually woven in his very being.

“Who, who are you?”

[Who I am is unimportant right now. We need to get to safety]

He had a feeling that the identity of the person behind this voice is rather important but at this very moment, having just escaped a life or death situation, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“A-Alright, but why weren’t you there when I w-was drowning?”

[I wanted to test your resolve, your will to survive]

“R-right, so it didn’t matter to you if I died then?”

[...No. I had faith you would survive. I picked you for a reason, afterall]

“Picked? Picked for what?”

[I will explain to you later. For now, walk]

The evading of questions was getting to him, but as a person with no memory as to who he was and being dropped into a situation as unfavourable as this, he couldn’t help but trust this voice thing.

He continued walking, putting one foot in front of him at a time, concentrating on not falling face-first onto the icy floor.

In not too long, his steps became a rhythm he kept steady, a melody for his survival. He needed to keep the rhythm going, else he keels over and dies.

He was still empowered from before when he drank from that catfish. His movements weren’t sluggish, they were filled with energy.

He’d been ignoring it for a while now, but as he was lost in his thoughts treading over the ice, he couldn’t keep ignoring it any longer.

What happened to him?

All he knew was that he was no longer human. Not after everything he just did.

Was this why he has fractured memories?

Every time he tried to remember, all he saw were vague images and all he felt were vague emotions. He knew for a fact that he was an orphan, but he couldn’t remember what orphanage he went to, or how he was orphaned. Did he even go to an orphanage? He could remember that he had friends, but he couldn’t remember their names or their faces.

Hopefully the voice had answers.

He was nearing the edge of the creek now, land just a few steps away from him.

[We should head north, the smell of blood is bountiful there]

He looked at the position of the sun. It was directly overhead meaning that it was around noon, but he couldn’t discern which way was north.

[North is to your left. Just follow the river upstream]

He listened to the voice. He couldn’t help himself in trusting it. A bit naive? Perhaps, but the voice did save his life. Albeit by making himself drink a rat.

He kept on trekking towards wherever.

He didn’t have any other choice at this point. He was a lost lamb with no memories.

“Is this a good time to ask who you are?”

[...I am a being called the ancient one. I am the first of the Eternals, the first immortal, the first of my kind]

He paused in his thinking, trying to digest the information given to him.

“...I have no clue what to make of that..but you do sound rather important. Even if you are this immortal person or whatever, what are you doing here? With me? Where do I fit in all of this?”

[You are one of my descendants. The first to awaken the ancient powers of my blood. You will continue my legacy.]

“O-Oh…”

This was a lot to swallow for him. Even with his blank slate of a mind, he knew these concepts were rather ludicrous to think about. He was a descendant of an immortal? How do immortals even exist in the first place? Were they gods, mythical beings not concerned with the decay of time?

He felt as if he was jumping the gun far too quickly. He needed to go back to the basics.

“Wh-who am I?”

[You have awakened my blood, and thus reborn. Who you were is of little importance. You will discover who you are now eventually. Then you will be granted a name.]

“R-really? How about my friends? The ones I had? I know I had some friends but I can’t remember them.”

[Your friends are of the past now. Perhaps a million galaxies away, do they live. Here in this world, they are of no importance]

“And where, exactly, am I? I felt that weird vertigo thing where everything was spinning. What was that?”

[You were transported to this world. Your homeworld. A world where I once ruled, one of the many realms I once conquered]

“Conquered?... You aren’t an evil dictator or anything, are you? Because I’m going to have some problems trusting you if so...and you didn’t exactly answer my question.”

[From my many years of living, young one, I’ve learnt that evil is relative. Some may call me evil for taking their homes. Some may call me good for bringing order into the mad chaos in the age before the gods. Nonetheless, I believe that I was neither. Just a being seeking the betterment of the realms.]

He chewed on this as he kept walking. He was approaching what seemed to be a village of sorts. The misty fog was compromising his sight.

[As to where we are…]

The village was closer now, as he came up upon the hill.

[Welcome, young one…]

The fog fades for a few seconds, allowing him enough time to see what was before him.

[...to the land of which you belong...]

The village...was breathtaking. Its structures were made of stone, one of the scenes seen in fantasy novels telling of old ancient times.

[Welcome…]

It was surreal. It was different to where he once belonged.

It was...what he dreamed to be an era he wished to live in once upon a time. An echo of his fractured memories.

[...to Midgard.]