Ezekiel was, by all accounts, an ordinary man. Born into an ordinary family in Ethiopia, his childhood held no grand narratives. He grew up, earned a nursing degree, and, driven by necessity and a deep sense of responsibility, began working to support his family. The job wasn't his passion, but life demanded pragmatism. He worked hard, saving diligently, fueled by an ambition he held close. Yet, the capricious tides of the national currency kept his dream frustratingly out of reach, a constant, low-grade disappointment.
But recently, a new, unsettling struggle had emerged, manifesting as relentless nightmares – visions of him fighting endless enemies. These began after that particularly 'unfateful' day. He had finally gathered the courage to express his feelings to a woman he deeply admired, only to be met with a gentle but firm rejection: he wasn't her type, she didn't want a relationship. It wasn't the first time; a pattern of desired companionship being refused had marked his adult life. He'd always told himself it was his awkward way of expressing himself, but perhaps, as an inner voice whispered (or the narrator reveals), it was his fundamental kindness that women mistook for a lack of... something.
Dejected, he walked home. That night, consumed by frustration and a desperate need to release the emotional pressure, he sought a physical outlet. The relief, when it came, was overwhelming, followed by an exhaustion so profound it felt like a complete physical and mental shutdown. He 'knocked out,' falling into a deep, cold sleep. Since that night, the nightmares had been a constant, unwelcome presence.
The next morning dawned like any other, demanding the usual routine. Ezekiel woke, performed his daily chores, but a subtle strangeness clung to him. A peculiar feeling in his body, an unusual tension or power he couldn't place. He dismissed it, attributing it to the 'night workout' – the intense, solitary physical release of the previous evening. Pulling on his trusty black and white Nike shoes, he headed for the door. As he reached for the handle, something unexpected happened. With a slight tug, the metal snapped clean off in his hand. He stared at the broken piece, initially rationalizing it away – years of pulling and pushing must have finally taken their toll. He decided to fix it, grateful he had a spare part he'd bought long ago. The repair took only fifteen minutes, a mundane task in a day that was beginning to feel anything but.
Meanwhile, in a realm far removed from the ordinary world, in a space unbound by conventional time and matter, a sword existed. It shimmered with an ethereal golden light, radiating a celestial beauty that was both awe-inspiring and terrifying. Powerful shockwaves emanated from its core, waves of pure energy that would instantly disintegrate any substance, any form of life that dared to exist within its confined domain. Nothing lived there, nothing held shape or form, save for the sword itself and the incandescent light it cast.