When Christopher Columbus died on May 20, 1506, he expected to pass on and enter Heaven. However, due to the atrocities he committed against the Tainos, he was barred from Heaven.

"I have also gotten a message from Yucahu and Atabey. They want to speak with you." Said the gate guardian. There was a flash of light, and the furious Taino gods showed up.

"Christopher Columbus, for mistreating and exploiting the Tainos to death, the spirits of the Tainos want justice. For your actions, you will never find peace in death." The Taino gods declared. A hole opened up below Columbus' feet, and before he could open his mouth to protest, he fell into Hell.

Time lost all meaning in Hell. Columbus suffered in ways beyond mortal comprehension as demons and his own actions punished him. Somehow, his curiosity remained intact. Hell was monotonous, a realm of eternal suffering, but what plagued him even more was the question of what had become of the world he had once explored. Had his legacy endured? What had his actions wrought in the centuries since his death?

Driven by this burning curiosity, Christopher Columbus began to search ways to escape Hell. He endured and evaded pursuing demons, wandered around Hell, and concentrated as hard as he could. The world above called to him, and Columbus reached out to the world and with enough force, emerged from the underworld into his tomb.

Tomas, a janitor, had been mopping the floors of Seville Cathedral when he heard a faint scratching, then a louder scraping sound. Tomas stopped, the mop halfway to the ground. He stood perfectly still, listening to the strange and desperate sound as though someone was trying to break out. The noise had been coming from Christopher Columbus' tomb, which was held aloft by four states representing the kingdoms of Spain: Castile, Leon, Aragon, and Navarre. Tomas hesitated. He wasn't one for superstition, but the sounds of scuffling and tapping against the stone lid made Tomas' heart race. Immediately, he grabbed his phone and dialed the emergency services. His hand shook slightly as he waited for the connection.

"Emergencias," said the operator.

"I... I think someone is in Columbus' tomb at Seville Cathedral." Tomas stammered. "You need to send someone--quickly!"

The operator's voice remained steady, though she probably didn't expect to be fielding such an odd call.

"Senor, can you clarify? You believe someone is trapped in the tomb?" Asked the operator.

"Yes! It sounds like someone is inside--scratching, tapping... I don't know how else to explain it!" Tomas responded.

"Alright, we will send a team. Stay on the line." The operator said.

Tomas barely heard the operator's reassurances as he rushed toward the tomb. His mind raced. How could someone be inside the tomb? It had been sealed for centuries. Christopher Columbus' remains, some believed, were scattered between Spain, the Dominican Republic, and Cuba. Still, no one had entered the tomb in Tomas' memory---at least, not recently. 

Minutes felt like hours, but soon the wail of sirens pierced the calm evening, and a team of EMTs arrived at the cathedral. Tomas met them at the entrance and quickly led them down the narrow aisle toward Columbus' resting place. The paramedics exchanged puzzled looks.

One paramedic, a tall woman named Marta, raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure about this, sir?"

Tomas nodded eagerly, "I heard it with my own ears. The sound was coming from inside the tomb!"

They reached the base of the monument. The EMTs quickly assessed the situation, shining flashlights up at the marble structure. Though it appeared solid and untouched, the scratching noise still did not cease. With help from Tomas, the EMTs prepared both a step ladder and some tools to pry open the stone lid. "Alright, we are going to open it. Stand back." Said an EMT. Tomas, holding his breath, stepped back and watch as the EMTs used a mix of precision and careful force to push open the sarcophagus. Lying inside the tomb was a naked man with fiery red hair, his skin pale and clammy, as though he had just emerged from a deep sleep. His eyes fluttered open, blinking in the harsh light, and he looked around, confused.

"Who... where am I?" he mumbled, his voice hoarse. His hands moved to his head, raking through his tangled hair.

Marta stepped back, "You are in Seville Cathedral. What is your name? Are you injured? Do you need medical attention?"

The man blinked again, trying to focus on her. His brow furrowed as he glanced at the paramedics, then down at the tomb he was lying in. His mouth moved as though tasting the words before to spoke. "My... My name is Christopher Columbus."

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The EMTs exchanged incredulous looks. Tomas could only gape.

"Wait--what?" Marta asked, incredulous. "You're who?"

Christopher Columbus nodded slowly, his hands trembling as he sat up. "Christopher Columbus. Navigator and explorer."

Tomas blinked. His mind tried to process the statement, but his disbelief was thick. "But... that's impossible. You've been dead for centuries!"

Christopher Columbus shook his dead, looking more confused than defensive. "I don't know how... or why... but I was... sleeping. In a tomb, I guess. A long sleep."

Marta cleared her throat, her professional demeanor shifting to something a little more bewildered. "Okay sir. We need to get you to a hospital. Let's figure this out." 

As the paramedics helped him to his feet and lead him to a gurney, Columbus looked around at the cathedral's soaring arches and stained-glass windows. "This place...this doesn't look like anything I remember."

"Of course it doesn't." Tomas muttered under his breath, still too stunned to offer much else.

"You said I've been dead for centuries, but I don't... I don't feel dead," Columbus said, his voice distant, as if still trying to make sense of it all.

The EMTS, having gotten over the initial shock, offered Columbus a blanket for some modesty and helped him out of the cathedral. Tomas was left standing at the tomb, staring up at the empty stone sarcophagus. He couldn't help but wonder: Had Columbus truly never died, or had something far stranger--something beyond reason and time--just unfolded before him in the heart of Seville? As the EMTs and Columbus made their way to the hospital, Tomas couldn't shake the feeling that the past, like the cathedral itself, was more alive than he had ever imagined.

Inside the somewhat cramped ambulance, the EMTs got to work. Columbus seemed disoriented, rubbing his eyes and muttering to himself in a mix of confusion and disbelief. Marta, the lead EMT, was the first to speak, her tone calm but with an undercurrent of concern. "We need to get some vitals: blood pressure, heart rate, oxygen levels."

She moved quickly, putting a blood pressure cuff on his arm, squeezing it tight, and then reaching for the stethoscope. She listened intently for a heartbeat. There was nothing. She frowned, repositioned the stethoscope, and listened again. Still, nothing. Marta tried again as she moved the stethoscope to different parts of his chest, then placed two fingers on his wrist to feel for a pulse. Her fingers trembled slightly as she pressed harder, but there was nothing. She clipped on a pulse oximeter, but instead of getting data, she got an error message and tried again. Still nothing. There was no pulse, no breathing, no response from his vital signs, no data recorded on their machines.

"Do you feel anything?" she asked Columbus, trying to maintain a professional tone, even though unease was creeping into her voice.

Columbus looked at her blankly, his eyes clouded with confusion. "Feel?" He swallowed, his throat dry. "I don't... I don't understand what's happening."

"You don't have a pulse," Marta said softly, almost in disbelief. "There's no heart rate, no blood pressure. You are not showing any vital signs."

Columbus blinked at her, his face pale but strangely calm. "I can't... I don't..." He trailed off, as if trying to piece together the shattered fragments of his own reality.

The air in the ambulance grew thicker with tension. Diego, a colleague of Marta, leaned in, his voice low and nervous, "Marta... this isn't normal. This is... impossible."

Marta shot him a sharp look, her gaze flicking between Columbus and the medical equipment. She ran her fingers over the touchscreen monitor, trying again to take a reading. There was no readings and no data.

Columbus, still sitting up, seemed lost in thought, his hands twitching at his sides. His eyes wandered, as if noticing his surroundings for the first time, but when he spoke, his voice was distant.

"I... I remember sailing," he said softly, almost to himself. "I remember crossing the ocean... I remember... finding the New World. But this... this isn't right."

Marta's voice trembled slightly as she spoke again. "You said your name was Columbus... but you don't have any vital signs. You are not showing anything on the monitor.

Columbus met her eyes, his gaze steady but unsettling. "I remember dying on May 20, 1506, but now? I am not dead." he said, his tone flat, as though trying to convince both her and himself of the truth. "I feel... awake. I don't feel dead."

The tension in the ambulance mounted as the EMTs continued to try--everything from a pulse oximeter to manual heart compressions--yet the results were always the same. Columbus' body seemed to defy every biological rule they had come to understand. He had no signs of life--breathing, heartbeat, blood pressure, no temperature--yet he had no signs of death either. His body wasn't rotting.

"What the hell is happening?" Diego muttered under his breath.

Marta gripped the edge of the stretcher, her mind racing. "There has to be an explanation. We can't just... we can't just have a man with no vital signs and no explanation."

"Maybe I am dreaming," Columbus said suddenly, his voice distant. He stared at his hands as though seeing them for the first time. "Maybe I never woke up."

"Maybe you didn't," Marta said, her voice barely above a whisper. She shook her head, her mind spinning with questions she couldn't answer. How could he still be alive if there were no vital signs? Was he in some kind of coma or a suspended state? Was it even possible to survive, let alone exist, without the fundamental markers of life? There was no time for answers right now. The hospital was approaching. The city lights flickered by the window of the ambulance, and Marta found herself praying that they would reach a diagnosis, that there would be some rational explanation once they reached the hopsital.

Deep down, something gnawed at her. Something told her they weren't dealing with any normal patient, that they weren't just transporting a man who had simply "come back to life." There was something ancient, something inexplicable, about Columbus' presence. With every passing moment, the question began to rise, larger and more impossible to ignore: If he's not alive, and he's not dead...then what is he?