The last thing Sam remembered was the asphalt beneath his cheek, cold and hard and wet with blood.
He remembered lying there helplessly while the world blurred above him, unable to move no matter how desperately he tried. His body had stopped listening. The streetlights had smeared into pale halos, pain had swallowed every thought, and the cold had pressed in around him until it felt less like weather and more like something waiting to claim him.
Then the lights went out.
But it was not the end.
The cold remained, and so did his thoughts. For a while, Sam existed in nothing but darkness, falling through it as if the road had opened beneath him and dropped him into an endless arctic sea. He had no body anymore, no hands to reach with, no legs to kick, no lungs to drag in air. There was only awareness, sinking through black water so cold it felt alive.
And somewhere far below him, something waited.
Not pain. Not sleep. Something deeper than that. Something final.
Death.
The word came to him before he fully understood it, and fear tore through him with a force so primal it scattered every other thought. He did not want to die. Not yet. Not like this. Not after everything he had endured, everything he had built, everything he had still meant to do. The refusal rose inside him, desperate and furious, and as if the darkness had answered, a faint gray light flickered into being.
At first, Sam thought the light was somewhere ahead of him. Then he realized it was around him. It pulsed weakly in the dark, small and fragile, like a dying ember wrapped in ash. For a few confused seconds, he stared at it without understanding, until the truth settled into him with terrible certainty.
The light was him.
The moment he understood that, the darkness sharpened. He was not alone. Countless other lights were falling with him, pale and trembling and helpless, all sinking through the same endless black toward a distant glow far beneath them. It looked like a furnace at the bottom of the abyss, a single bright fire waiting to swallow everything that reached it.
Sam did not know what it was, but every part of him knew there would be no return from it. If he fell into that fire, everything he was would be gone. His memories, his anger, his dreams, his stupid jokes, his bruises, his stubborn little plans, all of it would burn away until nothing remained.
"I don't wanna die…"
The words formed inside him before he could stop them, echoing outward into the void.
"Please… I don't wanna die…"
Then he heard the others.
Their voices had been there all along, but only now did he understand them. They pressed in from every direction, thousands upon thousands of souls crying into the dark. Some begged. Some prayed. Some screamed. Some whispered like lost children in the cold. Yet beneath all the different voices, all the different languages, all the different shades of terror, they were saying the same thing.
I don't want to die.
The sound became a terrible chorus, endless and haunting, and Sam felt it pulling at him. Their fear wrapped around his thoughts, dragging him down, tempting him to join them completely. His own panic slipped into theirs. His voice began to blend with the wailing until it no longer felt like his alone.
That was when the truth struck him.
He was dead.
Or close enough that the difference no longer mattered.
His life was over, and soon no one would care what he had tried to become. His money, his training, his plans, his dream of helping the farm, all of it would vanish as if it had never existed. The girl he had saved might not even remember his face. Eric might show up to training tomorrow, wait a few minutes, laugh, and call him lazy. After that, life would move on. The world would keep turning, and Sam would become nothing more than a brief inconvenience, a sad story, a name someone mentioned once before forgetting.
His gray light flickered.
"I don't wanna die…"
This time, the words came weaker, almost surrendered.
The chorus welcomed him. The fear around him pulled harder, offering him the terrible relief of giving in. No more pain. No more struggle. No more waking up exhausted, working until his bones ached, fighting for scraps while people like Eric began life already halfway up the mountain. For one brief moment, it almost felt easier to let go, to sink with the others, to disappear into the endless noise.
Then something inside him pushed back.
Hard.
A voice cut through the dark, sharp and familiar and irritating enough to be impossible to ignore.
Wake up, Sam.
You can't give up yet.
You haven't even beaten me.
Sam froze.
Eric.
The thought of that smug bastard reached him like a hand through the abyss. Wake up, Sam. You don't get to stop here. And with that, memories burst through the darkness, bright and brutal and alive.
He remembered cold mornings before sunrise, when every part of him had begged to stay in bed and he had gotten up anyway. He remembered pulling a hoodie over his head, stepping into freezing air, and running while his breath fogged in front of him. One step after another, he had moved because stopping had never been an option.
He remembered work. Training. Hunger. Exhaustion. His lungs burning, his muscles screaming, his heart hammering so hard it felt as if it wanted to break out of his chest. He remembered striking the heavy bag until his knuckles split and blood mixed with sweat. He remembered lifting weights until his arms trembled, dragging himself through another shift after too little sleep, coming home sore and angry and still setting his alarm for the next morning.
Because it had to mean something.
All of it had to mean something.
The vision shifted, and suddenly he was back on the mat beneath the bright lights, his body hitting the ground as the breath left him in a hard rush. His vision blurred. His hands shook against the canvas. The crowd roared, not for him, never for him, but for Eric, who stood above him tall and golden and impossible, one hand raised in victory, that easy smile on his face like the world had never once told him no.
Sam remembered the taste of blood in his mouth. He remembered the shame, the anger, and beneath it all, the promise he had made through clenched teeth.
"I'll beat you," he had said, voice rough and broken but certain. "Just wait. I'll get there."
Eric had looked down at him for a moment, then smiled wider and held out his hand.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm looking forward to it, hobbit. Now come on. Get up."
For a second, Sam had only stared at that hand. Big, stupid, strong. The same hand that had knocked him down more times than he could count. Then he took it, and Eric's grip closed around his, almost swallowing it completely.
And Eric pulled him up like he weighed nothing.
Up from the mat.
Up through the pain.
Up toward the light.
And then suddenly, the light burst against Sam like a flare. The roar of the abyss vanished, replaced by wind moving through grass.
Warmth struck him next, sudden and impossible, and air rushed into his lungs with a sharp, desperate gasp. He sucked it in like he had been drowning for hours. His eyes snapped open, and his body jerked upright as if something had hooked him beneath the ribs and dragged him back into the world.
For a moment, Sam could only breathe, In, Out, definitely alive.
Somehow, impossibly, alive.
Then as he sat there, he saw where he was, and the relief slipped sideways into confusion.
Golden wheat stretched around him in every direction, swaying gently beneath a soft summer wind. Above it, the sky spread wide and impossibly blue, so clear and endless it looked almost unreal. Sunlight poured down over him, warm without burning, settling into his skin like a blanket.
Sam stared.
Then stared harder.
"…what?" he muttered.
His voice sounded wrong. Not completely different, but off enough to make him pause. A little deeper than he remembered, rougher around the edges, like it belonged to him but had not quite settled yet.
For one brief, ridiculous second, hope sparked in him.
Had he come back better? Maybe taller, stronger, like some upgraded version of himself?
Them he looked down and the hope died instantly.
Nope.
Still short. Still compact. Still built like someone had tried to make a tank but ran out of height halfway through.
But whole.
That mattered.
His legs were there. His arms moved. His ribs did not feel like shattered glass. His spine was not folded into a shape medical science would politely call "unfortunate." No wheelchair. No hospital bed. No car-crushed body.
Sam let out a slow breath through his nose.
"…okay," he said. "So this definitely isn't heaven."
Then he realized what he was wearing.
Or, more accurately, what he was not wearing.
Sam blinked down at himself.
He was sitting in an endless field of golden wheat wearing absolutely nothing except his pink bunny boxers.
For the record, they were not girly. Pink was a perfectly respectable color. Historically speaking, powerful people had worn colors close enough to pink. Romans. Byzantines. Probably other people with swords and opinions. Tyrian purple had technically been the real status color, sure, but pink was close enough if you were not being annoying about it.
And the bunnies were not the issue either. In fact, they were kind of motivational. One of them was even smiling brightly and giving a thumbs-up beside the words: "You got this, champ."
Sam stared at it for a long second.
"…yeah," he said flatly. "Those are definitely my boxers."
The wheat whispered around him. The wind brushed warm against his bare legs. Beneath him, the soil was dark and soft, almost pleasant. The whole place was quiet in a way cities never were, peaceful enough that it immediately made him suspicious.
It was nice.
Too nice.
Sam turned slowly, scanning the horizon, but there was nothing to see. No signs of civilization, no cracked phone. Just wheat, sunlight, and endless blue sky.
"…just where the hell am I?" he muttered.
The field gave no answer.
For a moment, Sam just sat there, completely lost.
Then a small, babyish voice spoke from somewhere beside him.
"Y-you ever wonder what's up there?"
Sam froze.
The voice was right next to him.
"Like… if someone up there is wondering whether you're wondering about them?"
Very slowly, Sam turned his head.
There, lying in the wheat as if it had always belonged there, was a toddler in a diaper, with wings.
Actual wings.
Soft white feathers spread from the child's back, catching the sunlight with a glow so delicate they looked less like flesh and bone and more like something made from air and light. The toddler lay flat on his back with his hands tucked behind his head, staring up at the endless blue sky with peaceful fascination, as if absolutely none of this was strange.
Sam stared at him.
Then he stared a little longer.
"…okay," he said slowly. "So either I'm dead, or I finally snapped."
He squinted.
"…are you an angel baby?"
The toddler did not even look at him.
"J-just answer the question," he said, pouting slightly as he folded his chubby arms with surprising seriousness. "I w-want to know."
Sam breathed out through his nose.
"…yeah," he said after a moment. "I mean, sure. Everyone wonders. What's out there, what's above us, what's watching. Gods, aliens, weird space ghosts, whatever. Kinda hard not to."
The toddler nodded slowly, as if Sam had confirmed something deeply important.
"That's why I like humans," he said softly. "You ask questions. That's how you grow."
For a second, the child tilted his head, like he was listening to something very far away. Something Sam could not hear.
Then he smiled.
"But you, Leonardo… you did more than ask. You helped. You tried. You made things better."
There was something almost proud in his voice now.
"So I decided you deserved another chance."
Sam frowned.
"…okay, hold on," he said. "Who the hell is Leonardo? I'm Sam. You know, the guy who just got turned into roadkill five minutes ago? The guy who tries to do the right thing and somehow still gets billed for it?"
The toddler blinked.
His little face scrunched.
"…oh."
A tiny sigh escaped him, heavy with dramatic disappointment.
"I must have s-slept too long again…"
Sam stared at him.
"You what?"
But the child perked up almost immediately, as if the mistake had already stopped mattering.
"That's okay!" he said brightly, pushing himself upright. His wings fluttered behind him, scattering little ripples through the wheat. "Your soul value is quite small, but it's also quite pure. So I'll just pick you instead and send you back there."
Sam blinked.
"…pick me for what?"
The toddler's smile widened, and something playful slipped into it. Something that did not quite belong on such an innocent face.
"You can be the one," he said. "The one who goes to the stars with them."
He nodded to himself, looking deeply satisfied.
"Yes. You can help them reach their destiny."
Sam looked at him, then up at the sky, then back at the child.
"…the one what?" he asked carefully. "I don't even have a car. And I'm pretty sure the stars are, you know, far. Really far. What are you even talking about?"
The toddler giggled and completely ignored the question.
"Oh, I know!" he said, eyes suddenly sparkling. "Since you have been chosen, I will grant you the wish you made before death as a gift."
Sam went still.
"…what wish?"
The toddler's smile turned wickedly pleased.
"The one about being your own g-girlfriend."
Sam froze.
"…I—what?"
The toddler smirked and began wiggling his tiny fingers in the air, as if preparing a spell.
Sam shot to his feet.
"Wait. Wait, hold on. What are you talking about, chubby cheeks? You're not making any sense. What is this place? What's going on? How did I die, turn into a gray light, fall through death soup, and then wake up here in my underwear? Explain literally anything!"
The child did not answer.
Instead, he stomped his chubby legs. His wings rustled softly behind him, and that sweet, innocent expression on his face shifted into something that did not belong there. It was not cruel. It was not kind either. It was simply certain, as if whatever came next had already been decided and Sam's opinion had never been invited.
The toddler raised one tiny hand, and light gathered in his palm.
At first it was only a soft glow, but then it condensed into a perfect white sphere, like a snow globe made of pure radiance. It blossomed from his hand like a visible breath, gentle and steady, growing brighter with each passing second. There was nothing wild or chaotic about it. The light pulsed calmly, rhythmically, like a second heartbeat.
Sam's stomach dropped.
He took a step back.
"Hey," he said quickly, raising both hands. "Hey, angel baby. What are you doing? I didn't agree to anything yet, alright? Let's not rush this. There are rules for this kind of thing, right? Contracts? Terms and conditions? Some tiny little box I have to check before you mess with my soul? We can talk."
His voice cracked at the end.
Around them, the world shifted.
The wheat bent outward.
The sky seemed to lean closer.
Only the light in the child's hand remained perfectly still.
The toddler frowned slightly. His wings fluttered once, not with anger, but with quiet excitement.
"Come meet y-your destiny… my chosen one."
"Nope," Sam said immediately, backing away faster. "No, no, absolutely not. We are not doing that. You explain, I listen, we negotiate. Hell, I'll even go to the stars if you throw in a million euros. We can make this work."
"Stop whining, mortal."
The stutter vanished.
The voice dropped.
Suddenly, the tiny angel no longer sounded like a toddler at all. He sounded like something ancient wearing a child's face. Something small, divine, and dangerously close to throwing a tantrum with the power of a bomb in its hand.
"Now come here, foolish mortal, and let me grant your wish."
Sam did not want to be his own girlfriend.
So he ran.
"Oh shit—oh shit—oh shit—"
His bare feet tore through the wheat, his heart hammering against his ribs as every instinct in him screamed to move, to get distance, to be anywhere except near that glowing little nightmare. Behind him, wings snapped open with a sound like sails catching a storm. The first beat struck the air like an explosion, flattening the wheat in a widening circle.
"You cannot run from your destiny!" the angel baby cried. "You have been chosen!"
"Yeah, that's exactly when I run!"
Another wingbeat hit, harder this time.
The air slammed into Sam's back. He stumbled, nearly went down, and glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the toddler launch himself into the sky like a divine cannonball.
Sam had one second to regret everything.
Then the angel dropped.
He crashed into Sam's chest with impossible weight, driving the air from his lungs and smashing him flat into the soil. One tiny hand grabbed a fistful of his hair and held on with the strength of an industrial machine.
"Don't defy me, mortal!"
"Get off—!" Sam wheezed.
He tried to twist away, tried to shove the glowing hand aside, but the child was heavy as an anvil. Sam bucked, kicked, tossed dirt at the baby, anything to throw him loose.
Then the angel's right hand came down.
The white sphere touched Sam's chest.
And sank in.
It passed through skin and bone as if neither existed, sliding into him with the awful ease of a coin pressed into soft clay. For one suspended second, Sam felt only pressure.
Then the pain hit.
It was beyond anything he had known on the road. Beyond broken bones, torn flesh, ruined lungs. This was deeper. Cleaner. Worse. Like a blade made of sunlight had slipped between his ribs and gone straight into his heart.
Sam screamed.
"A—AH!"
His body locked.
Then convulsed.
A raw, tearing sound ripped out of him as his hands clawed at his chest, trying uselessly to dig the light back out.
"What—what did you—ah—fuck!"
It burned.
No.
It lived.
Something had entered him.
A pressure. A heat. A foreign presence forcing itself into the deepest part of him, wrapping around his heart like roots around stone.
Then it beat, once, twice and Sam felt his own heartbeat answer.
There were now two rhythms within him, two pulses. He was not alone inside himself anymore.
The angel baby stepped lightly off his chest, wings settling behind him as he watched with a small, satisfied smile.
"Worry not, mortal," he said, his voice soft again, almost gentle. "The pain is temporary. Your soul will be reforged."
Sam could not answer.
He could barely breathe as the light inside him grew brighter.
It expanded through his chest, his bones, his blood, his thoughts. It Consumed him, until everything turned white.