It was the winter of '89 and Ulysses was late again.
Not heroically late, like the rogue who bursts into the tavern just in time to hear of a great quest, but the kind of late that meant he'd have to walk into morning drill while everyone stared.
He had royally screwed up now.
"Haa~Praise The Consul!"
He yawned before saluting the gatekeeper and walking into the academy compound.
"Haa~" Another yawn.
He had spent the better part of last night watching the meteor shower, and now his body was paying the price.
"Today must be fucking special for you to come in late" The morning instructor sneered.
"I'm sorry, Ser. It won't happen again,"
But The instructor wasn't in the mood for excuses.
"That's twice the number of pushups, pullups and laps for you, ser"
"Yes ser!"
After spending a quarter of an hour more on morning drills than the rest, he walked into class.
"Good morning, Madam Audrey! First class trainee Ulysses Saint reporting for lessons!"
"You'd better sit down, Ulysses."
"Yes ma'am!"
He started towards his seat, and sat down, before pulling his notebook out.
Miss Audrey talked about Mathematics for ballistics, navigation, and logistics and some whatnots. While the other kids were whispering about the meteor shower and the plane crash.
Ulysses should have paid attention but he was exhausted and spaced out, spending his time watching a dove struggle to uproot a large worm from the sidewalk.
"Ulysses!"
A sharp voice cut through his thoughts.
He barely had time to react before a piece of chalk smacked against his forehead.
Bang!
He winced, rubbing the spot as the class stifled chuckles.
At the front of the class, Ms. Audrey crossed her arms.
"Is there some unsolved function in the street, Mr. Saint?" she asked.
Ulysses sighed but sat up straighter.
"No ma'am."
Ms. Audrey turned back to the blackboard, her chalk slashing across the surface as she drew a diagram of an ongoing battlefield scenario.
"Alright! If Squad X advances at twelve kilometers per hour, but the enemy cavalry flanks at fifteen kilometers per hour…" She spun back to face Ulysses. "How long before Squad X is overrun? And what's their best countermeasure?"
The room fell silent. Ulysses blinked at the board;
"A cavalry charge, huh…?" he muttered under his breath. "Well, if they…uh, the angle of approach… uh…" His words trailed off as he struggled to put his thoughts together.
"Assuming the cavalry is approaching at a forty-degree angle from the east," he answered, "Squad X has exactly three minutes before impact."
Ms. Audrey fumed. "And their best countermeasure?"
"Instead of trying to retreat, they tighten their formation and pivot their rear line into a spearhead to counter the charge. That'll break the momentum of the cavalry and force them into a deadlock before they can gain any real advantage."
Ms. Audrey stared at him for a moment before clicking her tongue. "Don't let me catch you spacing out, young man."
Ulysses scratched the back of his head—
"Yes ma'am."
—then dropped to his seat.
The day went by in a haze of equations, worksheets, and lessons.
During history class, Ulysses idly sketched a towering, four-armed, green-skinned Martian warrior with ivory tusks in the margins of his notebook.
In Geography, his mind buzzed with the jargon he had read, and at lunch, he sat in his usual spot behind the library, engrossed in a worn paperback from a high fantasy series.
The final bell came too soon.
"Remember tomorrow is combat training, don't forget!" Ms. Audrey yelled as a flood of sixteen-year-old trainees exited the class.
Ulysses waited a while before deciding to leave.
The moment he passed the gate, he saw a bunch of silver band kids: Scott and the others, lounging nearby.
"What took you so long, Thirdie? Busy wanking in the girls' locker room?" Scott put an arm around his neck.
There was also a silver armband around Scott's left arm, vastly different from the brown armband Ulysses wore.
"Is that pride from a turd?" Scott laughed. "Never seen a Third with pride."
A chorus of laughter arose from the others.
"C'mon, relax a little." He gave Ulysses a little pat on his chest. "You must see this place we found. You'll love it."
"I can't I'm-" Ulysses tried to refute.
"Don't be a grump, bro."
They dragged him inside a tram on its way one of the old abandoned districts.
"C'mon the place is just around the corner." Scott chuckled as they disembarked.
The district was in neglect, with heaps of snow and obscured clouds, with abandoned collapsed buildings.
There were also some tramps sleeping in alleyways.
"C'mon Scott, I have to go home early today"
Ulysses knew why they brought him here.
Humans tended to dislike those different from them, and would often do unsavory things to outliers.
It was easy to see who was the outlier here.
They were Seconds, with brothers and fathers in the military and some of great importance and high rank.
Very different from a lowly third that would become a technician or clerk or a non-combatant, much like Ulysses.
"Are you going to let me go?" he asked.
"Are we going to let him go? Should we let him go?" They all laughed.
"Thirdie thinks he's tuff, Thirdie thinks he's smart too. Smarter than all of us! You'll always be a Third!" Scott began pushing him with one hand, someone behind him then shoved him toward Scott.
"A Thirdie can't dream," somebody said.
"A Thirdie that stinks!"
"A Thirdie can't think!"
The next time Scott's arm came out to push him, Ulysses grabbed at it. He missed.
"Oh, you want a go, Third!" The boys behind Ulysses grabbed at him, to hold him.
They missed.
Ulysses twisted like an eel and kicked out high and hard, catching Scott square in the breastbone.
He watched the bigger boy drop to the ground.
For a moment, the others backed away and Scott laid squirming on the snow.
Ulysses stood there, panting.
Scott didn't expect him to retaliate and Ulysses thought Scott would block the kick.
'If ya beat a man, boy, make damn sure he's broke—else he'll come back burnin' hotter than hell.'
He heard his father speaking.
But Ulysses wasn't his father.
Sorry!
Ulysses cursed and sprinted away from the gang.
"Catch him!!!!!" he heard Scott bark from under his belly.
And then there was a cavalry of footsteps behind him.
#
Ulysses ran.
The ground blurred beneath him as he sped down empty buildings and streets and unfamiliar pathways.
A fence loomed ahead.
He launched himself at it, pulling himself over the fence.
The wire rattled, and he felt fingers claw at his ankle, missed by inches.
Then he was over.
The snow broke his fall, but it still hurt.
But he was up again, sprinting through the abandoned site.
Behind him, Scott and the others reached the fence, cursing, shouting.
Then he heard the wires rattle. Then the sounds of heavy bodies landing on the snow-covered gravel.
He cut left, into a maze of rubble and rock and heaps of snow. Twisting and turning, and most importantly sprinting.
His chest quaked from the beating of his heart. His ribs ached from the strain of his lungs on fire. And he hadn't even noticed the drool from his mouth.
The yells of the pursuing boys had suddenly grown fainter and fainter far off to his left.
He abruptly came to a stop, overlooking the trail.
He knew then that they had passed to the left at the edge of the site, and they would soon discover that they were on the wrong trail, and he didn't wish to wait to see when they'd do.
He circled back and quickly attempted to escape.
"Gotcha!"
But then a shadow lunged at him from behind a rock, he tried to turn, but it was too little too late.
Wham! Something slammed into him, something very large.
It tackled him to the ground.
"I captured the Turd." A burly voice yelled from above him.
Ulysses squirmed but couldn't free himself from the behemoth boy.
Then he heard the sound of fast-approaching footsteps.
Suddenly, hands grabbed at him, then he was hoisted up on his knees.
"You hit me, Third."
Then there was a faint whoosh and Ulysses felt his chest get hammered in. He almost puked, he almost cried, and Consul knows he wanted to cry for it hurt so bad.
Ulysses lifted his eyes at the sullen voice.
Scott loomed over him, thick of neck and red of face, with three of his friends behind him.
He'd forgotten their names. He'd hardly ever spoken to them.
Ulysses tried to stand up but the two arms on his shoulders pushed him back on his knees.
Scott was seventeen, a year older and a head taller than him.
All of them were bigger than he was, but that did not scare him.
Silas was bigger and wickeder, and had done worse things than they could hope to do. And in all honesty, he was tired of the bullshit.
They were going to beat him up in that place, and he just saved himself from the horseshit, and threw the first punch.
He counted all of them, seven in number.
"Do Seconds need to gang up seven strong, just to deal with one Third?" he said mockingly.
One of them grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back.
Pain ran through him, but Ulysses would not cry out.
"I-I thought that only lessers fought in groups."
Scott stepped close.
"You think you're so clever." He speaks. He had dark hair, long and shiny.
Wham! He kicked Ulysses in the chest again. This time harder.
"You're clever alright!" Then he laughed. "For a Third, that is."
"Fine," he said. "One on one. Me and you."
And the two suppressing Ulysses released him.
Ulysses tried righting himself and entering any combat stance.
He staggered forward on one knee, but used a hand to stop his fall.
Then he rose to his feet.
"Fucking Turd."
The bigger boy swung a heavy fist at Ulysses' head. Ulysses ducked just in time, the punch whistling past his ear.
He backed up quickly, his breath ragged, but his eyes calm, not the terrified look of a cornered prey.
But he was tired and momentarily stepped back in fear.
Scott laughed and jabbed at Ulysses again.
To his surprise, Ulysses stepped forward with a sudden burst of energy, ducked under the attack and threw the fist full of snow he had gathered in hand.
"What the f-"
The older boy staggered back, stunned and threw a lazy hook, but Ulysses evaded easily.
He twisted like an eel and body-slammed the already staggering Scott, knocking him backward and landing with both hands on his throat, slamming his head against the packed snow.
The others pulled him off, throwing him roughly to the ground.
And began to kick at him.
"I'll kill you!"
He rolled away from the blows, until Scott lunged at him.
Stomping his head and raining kicks at him.
Suddenly the world was very painful and hurting, and Ulysses didn't know when he reached the edge of the ledge.
"Wai—" one of the boys called out.
But it was too late. The final kick from Scott sent Ulysses tumbling over the edge.
Splurch! There was a wet crunch as Ulysses hit the sides of an enormous ditch, tumbling down.
Rocks and dust and snow exploded around him as he bounced off ledges and sharp edges, his body twisting helplessly.
'This isn't so bad.'
For a heartbeat there was peace.
Then thud!
He hit something hard, and the world went dark.
When he woke up, everything hurt. His head pounded, his arms and chest ached, and snow clogged his nose and mouth.
He could hear the cooing of doves somewhere far off.
Shit.
He was lying at the bottom of the ditch, sprawled in an unnatural manner.
It was already nighttime, and a cracked sky greeted him.
Above, the moon hung in ruins, fractured into jagged pieces that floated like frozen plates in the black. Its glow was uneven now, casting pale, shifting lights over the ight sky.
He inhaled sharply, but it felt like there were shards of glass in his lungs.
The cold bit deep as he laid across the ragged ground, his breath misting in the frigid air.
The fall should have killed him. Maybe it did. Maybe it was in the process.
He shivered.
Scott and his gang must have thought him dead and left him here to rot.
They almost killed me, and he couldn't feel anything from the hips down.
After gathering some strength, he struggled for a while.
That's when he noticed the cave nearby.
He thought on it for a moment. If he was going to die, then let it be somewhere he chose.
Eventually, he began to crawl toward the cave, dragging his unmoving feet behind him.
Every inch he moved, it felt like his muscles were melting.
Clenching his teeth and ignoring the taste of iron, Ulysses pushed forward.
'Just think about something pleasant,' he told himself. But what happy thoughts could he summon?
Eventually, he passed under the shade of the ominous... and strangely spacious cave. Almost as if people had once lived here.
He propped himself against the wall and sat, staring at the fractured sky.
At least something beautiful would be my last sight.
He wondered how his father would take his death.
He'd probably use it to squeeze out money and spend it on beer.
But his mother... his throat itched. A lump began to rise.
He hoped she would meet him soon in the afterlife.
"Is it death you seek, lad?" said a cracked voice from deeper in the cave.
Paralyzed with fear, Ulysses found himself unable to move.
Cough cough. "I asked if it is death you seek?" the voice repeated, this time in a low but distinct moan.
"N-no," Ulysses answered, petrified.
A deep, unnerving silence followed.
Then came a hoarse laugh.
"Come forward, child."
But Ulysses could not move.
Then the voice came again, this time with authority.
"I said come."
And then, disturbingly, his body moved on its own—rising from broken knees and walking steadily toward the source of the voice.
Like something was moving underneath his flesh and bone.
He exhaled, now kneeling before the figure. Through the oppressive dark, its form became visible.
A withered giant of a man, bleeding from a dozen places. A gaping hole in his torso. A long gash down his neck.
And yet, despite the gruesome state of his body, the man was impossibly beautiful.
Impossibly long black hair. Pale reddish skin. A face carved from sad marble.
His eyes were closed.
He looked like an angel of old. A Red Angel. Or maybe a devil.
His cracked lips whispered, "You'll have to forgive me for this burden I'm about to place upon you."
Then he moved and Ulysses felt something pierce his ring finger. Like a needle. Infinitesimally small, but sharp.
Then, something else surged into his veins.
Ack! Ulysses wanted to scream. It hurt. So much. So, so much.
"Oh, fractured heavens," the man chuckled. "Clench your teeth or something."
Ulysses clenched his teeth.
But it wasn't over.
Ack! His body began to spasm.
A sharp, electric jolt surged through his brain.
His limbs stiffened, jerking uncontrollably as he slumped sideways.
His head hit the ground with a dull thud, but he didn't feel it. His arms and legs convulsed, muscles locking and unlocking in rapid, violent bursts.
Then the withered man spoke, his voice suddenly louder and ancient.
"THY BODY IS AT WAR WITH ITS OWN SELF...
JUST AS THE ANGELS WARRED AGAINST THE FALLEN!
THIS IS THE PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION OF A PROMISED BLESSING AND CURSE, WHICH HAS BEEN LONG FORGOTTEN."
Ulysses' body tensed. His breathing was deep and ragged.
"YOU ARE WEAK, AND WEAKNESS IS A SIN"
His mind split like glass shattering into a thousand fragments.
Then he felt a sharp pain in the left side of his chest, then a soothing cold spread out from there, encasing his whole body.
The withered man whispered.
"DO YOU KNOW WHAT THE WAGE OF SIN IS, CHILD?"
He didn't understand what it was, till it was too late.
"Ah, I'm dying."
The world buckled and peeled away. For a moment, he was watching a boy die beneath a giant of a man in a cave.
Then they vanished, and he was lifting, dissolving—his mind scattered into the cold ash-swept wind.
He was in the dust, in the snow, in the smoke, in the dead silence between cathedrals and ruined villages and cities and towns.
He was a rat scuttling through a derelict sewer. A hawk gliding above broken kingdom.
A withered tree, clinging to a fissure in the concrete. Pigeons drifted soundlessly through collapsed settlements, scanning for bits of food.
Underground, mold bloomed in the dark, and he pulsed with it.
A hundred crows burst into the sky. A dog raised its snout and snarled at nothing. He moved on before their next breath.
That was his final human thought.
Death was cold.
Then the world turned dark.
For awhile there was nothing, nothing except a familiar emotion.
Some terrifying wrath, some insatiable hunger, an unkillable indignation, maybe it was spite even…. Or terror itself.
Having been suppressed by the boy for so long, because of the fear of becoming like his progenitor.
Yet... somehow it refused to die.
The suppressed expanded at full force, full of wrath and hunger than ever before, moving into multiple currents like the sea in the middle of a chaotic storm.
It picked up different emotions, thoughts, memories, will, things it couldn't comprehend, things that made the boy Ulysses.
And Ulysses could sleep no longer, because his wrath refused to die.
'Ah? What?'
Suddenly Ulysses was writhing in agony.
A furious flood of power rushed into his broken body, repairing it.
The pain was back, sending him into a violent convulsion.
His fractured legs restored themselves. The severed sections of his spinal cord connected back together.
Other minute changes happened all around his body, changes that told him he was more than healed.
It felt like he had risen.
It was euphoric really.
And it was finally over.
He laid still. Chest heaving. Drenched in sweat. Barely conscious.
"Most impressive," the voice chuckled. "Despite being a lowly Third, you succeeded."
Then, space began to ripple around Ulysses.
Pop!
And just like that—Ulysses was gone.
The withered man chuckled softly, his strength fading.
"I'm sorry I must burden you with this role. I know death would be the rest you deserve but unfortunately man rarely gets what he deserves."
His breath became hoarse and fainter.
"My role is fulfilled. Whatever lies beyond this point... is beyond my foresight."
But Ulysses could not hear him. No one could.