Dick felt like a river had swallowed him whole. Not water, something heavier, stranger. The current dragged him through an endless tunnel of swirling light and shadow, like a thread yanked through the eye of a needle between worlds.
Through the darkness, a glowing portal appeared, spinning like the iris of some colossal eye.
He didn't have time to brace.
The current spat him out. He was weightless for an instant, suspended in open sky.
Then gravity found him.
Air screamed past his ears as salt and wind stung his face. Far below, a circular stone platform floated in an endless ocean. Around its rim stood at least a hundred figures in dark cloaks, weapons glinting in their hands—swords, spears, bows, things Dick couldn't even name.
He plummeted toward them, the world blurring. The speed should have killed him, but the thought barely stirred a flicker of fear.
Instead, his eyelids slid shut.
Finally… I can leave.
Since the accident, he had tried to kill himself in a multitude of ways, but his body clung to life like a curse, dragging him back every time.
For the first time in ten years, Dick didn't fight the fall. He welcomed it.
But death would have to wait.
Something caught him midair. An invisible force slammed against his chest like a wall of glass, stopping him inches above the platform.
His eyes snapped open. The stone was so close he could see every crack, every dark seam of moss between its slabs.
Then the force vanished.
He hit the ground face-first. His nose crunched. Warm blood slid over his lips, metallic and bitter.
Damn it. Why can't I just die?
He tried to claw at his own throat, but his body refused to move. The same unseen weight pressed down on him, pinning him like an insect under glass. His head alone was forced upward, dragged until his gaze rose.
Not to the cloaked figures, but to the throne rising from the center of the platform.
There, seated high above the circle, was a woman.
She wore a gown of white silk that shimmered like moonlight over still water. Her hair was black as ink, tumbling in soft waves down her shoulders. But it was her eyes that caught him. They were golden and bright as molten metal, radiating a beauty so sharp it almost hurt to look at her.
Instinctively, his brow furrowed.
Because this divine-looking woman was chewing on a strand of her own black hair.
She noticed his stare, blinked, and casually spit the strand out before speaking. Her voice was soft yet sure, like velvet over steel.
"An outer worlder. We haven't had one of those in centuries."
She tilted her head, studying him.
"What is your business here?"
Dick stared at her, stunned by the fact that he was still breathing. More than anything, he was gutted by the simple, crushing truth that he had failed to die again.
My therapist made a portal. Sent me through it. Then said it was the wrong world.
He should have been panicking, but instead, a strange calm spread through him. The air here was different, the ocean brined and alien, yet the weight in his chest was the same.
Life was just as colorless in this world as it had been in the last.
His lips twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile, nor a grimace. He raised his hollow eyes to meet hers.
"My therapist sent me here," he said at last, his voice flat, stripped of anything but exhaustion. "I have no business."
Unable to lift a finger under the invisible weight, he flicked his gaze toward the ring of hooded warriors.
"Actually… could you have one of your people run me through with their sword, please?"
Murmurs rippled through the circle. The figures tightened, their weapons shifting as they whispered to one another.
Atop the throne, the woman drew in a sharp breath. Her hand froze mid-motion, fingers still tangled in her hair.
"No. That would be cruel." Her expression flickered—divine composure melting into something almost human. A single tear glinted at the corner of her eye before she blinked it away. "Why do you wish for death?"
Dick didn't hesitate. His reply was as flat and brittle as broken glass.
"Long story."
She tapped her finger thoughtfully against her cheek, studying him in silence.
"Well…" a faint smile tugged at her lips, "you are somewhat fortunate. You've interrupted the Deviant Ceremony." She gestured to the platform. "If you truly wish to die… this is the place for it."
Dick's eyes widened. He didn't know what a Deviant Ceremony was, and he didn't care.
"Great," he barked, his voice echoing across the ocean. "Let's get to it."
But the woman only raised a single finger and waved it slowly, side to side.
"I feel I must warn you. If you die in this ceremony without giving the effort the Gods deserve…" Her eyes sharpened like blades. "You will be sent to hell."
Dick just sighed.
"No objections."
The woman's back straightened, her voice regaining its divine resonance.
"These one hundred Deviant Aspirants will spill each other's blood until only fifteen remain. Survive, and you become something more than human. Die without trying…" She let the threat hang. "I've warned you."
With a flick of her wrist, the crushing weight pinning Dick vanished. He lurched upright, legs folding beneath him as he sat up.
A bright shimmer enveloped him like molten light, evaporating his ragged clothes and replacing them with a sleek black cloak. The fabric fell heavily over his limbs, smooth and strangely warm.
For a moment, he caught a glimpse of his hand before the sleeves covered it.
Smooth skin. No scars. The thick, steady fingers of a man in his prime.
Another burst of light flickered at his palm. A katana coalesced in his hand, its blade gleaming like liquid silver.
In its reflection, he saw a stranger staring back at him.
His breath caught.
The beard was gone, and so were the lines carved by sleepless nights.
His face was sharp again, handsome, the face he'd worn the night he walked out on Mary and Alice. His hair now spilled around his face in the thick black waves of his youth.
This was the man he'd been before the fire. Before the bottle.
For a moment, something stirred in his chest. Not hope, but recognition.
Then the weight of it crushed down.
This is what Mary and Alice saw. This is who I was when I let them die.
His grip tightened on the katana's hilt until his knuckles went white.
The goddess's voice cracked like thunder across the platform.
"Now that you are properly dressed to stand before the Gods…" Her hand rose into the air, holding still at its apex. "Let the Deviant Ceremony—"
She brought her hand down.
"—begin."
The circle erupted.
Hooded warriors lunged forward with guttural cries, weapons flashing. Steel clashed against steel, screams split the air, and blood sprayed across stone in dark arcs. Some fighters clung to the edges. Others charged straight for the center, hungry for glory.
Dick didn't move.
He sat cross-legged near the center of the storm, katana resting in his hand.
I guess I won't be able to follow you, Alice. Mary. But… this is my punishment.
A shadow fell over him.
One of the warriors—tall, broad-shouldered, wielding a jagged greatsword—had broken from the pack and was barreling toward him. The man's eyes gleamed with bloodlust behind his hood.
Dick didn't flinch. He stared up at the charging figure, whose blade was raised high.
Finally.
The greatsword came down.
And Dick's body moved.
Not his mind. Not his will. Just reflex.
The katana flashed upward, catching the descending blade with a sharp, ringing clash. Sparks flew. The force rattled through Dick's arms, but his grip held firm.
The warrior stumbled back, shocked.
Dick stared at his own hands, at the weapon trembling in his grasp.
What…?
He hadn't decided to block. His muscles had simply responded, moving with a speed and precision he didn't recognize.
This isn't my body.
The warrior recovered, snarling, and swung again.
Dick rolled aside, the greatsword gouging stone where his head had been. He came up on one knee, katana raised, breath coming fast.
His heart was pounding now. Not with fear.
With something else.
The warrior charged again, and Dick met him halfway.
Their blades crashed together in a flurry of strikes, each impact sending shockwaves up his arms. He didn't know how to fight like this. He'd never trained with a sword in his life.
But his body somehow knew.
Around them, the ceremony raged. Blood pooled on stone, bodies fell, and screams echoed across the endless ocean.
And Dick, for the first time in ten years, felt alive.