The young man was curled up in a ball, surrounded by darkness. He heard talking all around him. Slowly, it got louder and louder. It was as if the voices were screaming at him, then, all at once, there was silence. Slowly, he opened his eyes, but the inky blackness was still surrounding him. When he tried to call out for help, the blackness filled his lungs, choking him.
The young man awoke with a scream. Beads of sweat were running down his forehead. He gently reached his hand up and felt his forehead. He winced when his hand brushed over a sore spot. His head was throbbing and his mouth was dry. He tried to stand, but he fell over instantly. His ankle had been tied to a tree. With a groan, he looked around for help. He was in a forest, surrounded by thick undergrowth. A few birds chirped near his head. When he looked up, he saw the sun filtering through the leaves. The smell of the earth rose up to meet him. It seemed to have a calming effect on him, despite his circumstances.
The bushes near him rustled a bit, and the young woman stepped out with her cousins and a few other survivors. The hostage looked up at them and down at his ankle. He didn't know what he did, but surely it must have been pretty bad. The men walked over and tied his other ankle and both wrists to the trees too. There was no point in resisting. He had no purpose to fight back. He stood still as he felt his arms and legs restricted from all movement. He heard the young girl praying again, clinging to a cross.
"You don't have to do that." He whispered. His throat cracking from dryness. The woman paused and looked at him for a second, then resumed her prayers. "Can I get some water?" The young man asked. She prayed louder. "Please, my throat is completely dry." He croaked out. Her voice rose louder still. "Miss, just a drink and then you then you can pray all you want. I just need some water." He looked up at her, their eyes meeting. "Please, just a bit of water." He said softly. The young woman blinked a few times then nodded. She headed to their makeshift camp and brought back a canteen filled with water. Gently, she put it up to his lips and tilted it. Her family watched silently, awestruck.
"M-My dear, are you okay?" The old farmer asked, gently putting a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him confused, then back down at the young man. She blinked a few times. Since when was she holding a canteen? Why was she giving him water? Slowly, she put the canteen down.
"I-I just... he was so thirsty." She whispered. After a few moments of standing in the quiet of the forest, she began to walk back to the camp confused. The young man cleared his throat. It was no longer cracking and hoarse. Suddenly, one of the farmers sons threw a punch right into the young mans gut. Unable to block the blow, he hunched forward and began coughing violently. He felt the air forced out of his lungs. His brothers ran to restrain him and keep him captive while he flailed, trying to get in another hit.
"What the hell did you do to her demon?! You hypnotized her! How dare you play such a dirty trick. Return to the hell that you crawled out of before I force you back!" The man yelled. He was carried off by his brothers, still kicking and screaming. The young man lay helpless by the tree. Carefully, the old farmer limped over to the young man. He lifted his shirt to get a better view of his injury. He gasped when he saw his stomach.
"My boy, your stomach..." The farmer stared at it in shock and awe. "Its fine... There are no bruises, marks, or... But he hit you right in the stomach. I saw it, you should be at least bruised or red." The farmer stared at him. "And you were out there for at least a week. We walked through those fields every day and you are the only one we found alive. But you aren't just alive... you are healthy. There wasn't a scratch on your body. You weren't starving or anything. My nice says you were dead, but you were revived. God must have big plans for you." The farmer said in a soft voice. The young man looked up at him slowly. "What do we call you, man with magenta eyes?" The farmer whispered.
The young man thought for awhile. He didn't know his own name. Deep down he knew he had one. It was as if it were wiped from his memories. Did it start with an F? No, that wasn't it. Maybe his name really was Lucifer. It could be, but he wouldn't even know it. He tried to say something to the farmer, but it ended up being some useless stutters. The old farmer sighed and sat back against one of the trees.
"Poor man, you don't even know your own name. It must be hard being a sin. You don't have the light of god in your eyes." The farmer said quietly. The young man noticed a cross hanging from his neck. "I have a few questions for you sinner." The farmer said as he looked up at him. "First question, why are your eyes so... different? I don't think I have ever seen magenta eyes in all of my days on earth." The young man just shrugged. "Fair enough, next question, how did you survive the bombings, if you even survived at all?" Once again, the young man just shrugged the question off. "You really don't know? Alright, final question, why did the devil send you to us?" The farmer began to glare at him.
Yet another comment about being from hell. The young man felt an explosion beginning to happen inside of him. He felt anger deep in his heart. He didn't know why he was there, who he was, or where he came from. All he knew was that no matter what kindness he would ever show these people, he would always be the devils helper. If he couldn't win them with kindness, he would win them with fear.
"I am not from hell." the young man growled. "I am no devil or demon, but believe me when I say this, I can and will be your worst nightmare." the farmer cowered back in fear as the young man spoke. "I demand you release me from this rope, before I release myself and that is not what you want to happen." Terror filled the farmers eyes, but he shook his head. The young man gave a slight nod. With a sudden jerk, he pulled his right arm with the force of hundreds of men. The rope snapped under the presser. "Pathetic human," The young man paused. Why did he just refer to him as a human? Wasn't he a human too? He decided to play off of it and keep talking "did you honestly think you could keep me here forever?" The young man reached into the pocket of his pants and removed a knife.
"P-Please, have mercy on me." the farmer whimpered. The young man swung the knife, making the farmer scream. More ropes fell to the ground. He was free. The young man had escaped. He put the knife away and looked up at the sky. The sun had just reappeared from behind a cloud.
"Its a rather beautiful day." The young man said. He was calm, there was no anger in his voice or violence in his actions now. The farmer stared at him confused. With little or no difficulty, the old man could have been killed. The young man chose to set him free. "So, now that I am free, lets get to work. You are going to tell your family that you set me free and that I am a trustworthy person. I am not going to hurt you, that would take too much effort, and considering you are weak with brittle bones, that isn't very much effort." As the young man spoke, the old farmer gave shaky nods. "As for that young woman, I don't know what happened. I looked at her and she did what I said. I rather enjoyed it actually. It felt good to have someone listening to me properly for the first time since I arrived on this pathetic excuse for a planet. Tell me, what year is this?" The young man asked. If he was going to live in this world, he should at least know a bit about it.
"I-It's the year 1946." The old man responded quietly. The young man nodded. 1946, the world had just gotten out of a deadly war. Many millions of people were dead. But still, there were too many people to have just these few farmers alive in the world. The young man thought hard about it. Something was off. The bombs that were dropped weren't like the other bombs. If you got too close to them, then you got sick.
"Tell me farmer, what happened to everything? Where are the citizens? There should be more humans than this. I expected to arrive and be surrounded by people." The young man said quietly. Immediately afterwards, he wondered why he said it. He shook it off and looked to the old man for answers.
"W-well, there used to be more of us, but there was a war, and sickness." The old man said quietly. "I lost a few sons in the war, the others just got back before the bombs hit. Then, there was the sickness. Doctors didn't know what it was and it just showed up out of nowhere. Everyone who got it died though, there isn't anyone alive who is sick. The disease died with the last person in some African country. God rest their souls." the old farmer brought the cross to his forehead. The young man looked around at the surrounding trees.
"I am sorry for your loss, but we don't have time to mourn over their deaths. It is time to rebuild." the young man spoke with confidence. "All around you are the tools for a new society. How would you like to be known as the man who rebuilt the world?" The young man held out his hand to the old man.
"You wish me to make a deal with the devil?" The farmer looked at him for a few moments. After thinking it over, he reached out and took his hand. They had a deal. The young man smirked slightly and began to walk towards the camp.
"You will go down in history. What shall I call you to put down in the history books? Oh, and while you are at it, what is the name of that young woman?" The young man looked at the old man. He saw the poor farmer was still shaken up a bit.
"M-my name is Marzio Salvetti. And that young woman is my niece, Rosita." The farmer gulped as he spoke. The young man gave a slight nod and kept walking. "Have you remembered your own name?" The farmer asked.
"How can I remember something I never knew in the first place?" The young man said quietly. After a few minutes of walking in silence, they found the camp. It wasn't much more than a few tarps draped over tree limbs for makeshift tents. There was a small fire in the middle, surrounding it were a few survivors, including the old man's sons.
"You bastard, did you trick my father to set you free this time?!" One young man shouted. He stood up at walked briskly over to the two. His fists were clenched with rage as his eyes met the strangers.
"Romeo stand down." His father commanded. Romeo looked over at him confused and angry, then back at the stranger.
"No father, he has tricked you. He is nothing more than a snake in the grass." The young man admitted to himself that he would rather be called a snake than a demon.
"I wish to see Rosita." The young man said quietly. Romeo stared at him for a few moments, then swung his fist at his head. Unfortunately, the young man was now fully awake. There was no more lag from becoming alive. He had a reason to fight now. When the fist was a few inches away from his nose, he grabbed it and twisted hard. Romeo twisted with his arm and fell to the ground.
"Romeo, my son." Marzio kneeled down next to him. "You are such an idiot. I told you to stand down and you didn't listen to me." Romeo lay on the ground with the wind knocked out of him while his dad ranted to him about it. The young man wandered off around the camp, looking for Rosita.
He looked inside of a tent and saw her laying down. Silently, he slipped inside and sat next to her. She was sleeping peacefully. The young man let out a small sigh and leaned back. Slowly, her eyes opened and looked at her visitor. She wanted to scream, but at the same time, she knew that wouldn't do anything.
"What are you doing in here demon?" She whispered. He rolled his eyes at the question. "I asked you a question now answer it." She ordered. The young man kept his mouth shut. "Answer it this instant." She continued to order. The young man let his mind drift to other things. He didn't even know where he was. He figured, if anyone could tell him, it would be her.
"Where are we?" He asked quietly. She looked at him shocked, then angrily. "I have been here for at least a couple of hours and the only thing I know is that I am in a forest and that the year is 1946. But where am I? Usually that is pretty important information to have isn't it?" He looked down at her.
"We are outside the city of Milan, in the nation of Italy, in the continent of Europe, on the planet of Earth. Anything else you need to know?" She said with a sarcastic tone. The young man shrugged and looked around the tent. "Hey, I have something for you." She said quietly. The young man looked at her puzzled. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the picture she found with his body. "I found this with you back by the bombsite. You used to look like this, but then when you came to life you changed. I-I don't know what it means but... it must be important." She handed him the photo. The moment the young man touched the photo, his eyes grew wide with surprise.
"O-Oh my god..." He whispered. Quickly he flipped the picture over. There was writing scribbled on the back. Feliciano Vargas, North Italy. The young man got a splitting headache as if information was pouring into his skull. Rosita gulped and gently put a hand on his shoulder.
"Sir, is everything okay?" She asked quietly. The young man shook his head and looked at the picture. Everything made sense. He knew who he was, why he was there, and what he was supposed to do. "Sir? Demon? Whatever you are, are you alright?" Rosita asked again. The young man looked at her, his eyes were glowing again. It terrified her, but she stayed by his side.
"I have a name." He whispered. "I am not a demon, or a human. I am something new... I am a new species completely." He quickly grabbed a small broken hand mirror that Rosita had brought. "Well, not really new, there are others. Hundreds of others, and there were hundreds of others before us. We are just the new generation. Tell me Rosita, with the bombings and disease, did 90% or more of the population die?" The young man spoke quickly.
"W-well yes, I suppose so. There were a lot of deaths, but what does that have to do with this situation?" She asked curiously. None of this made sense. He didn't make any sense. His existence didn't make any sense. "Please tell me what is going on." She requested. The young man shoved the picture back into her hands.
"What does it say on the back?" He asked quickly. She read over the words quietly to herself a few times before answering.
"Feliciano Vargas, North Italy." She read aloud. He nodded quickly and took the picture back.
"Feliciano Vargas. He was me, but now I'm me, and he is dead, and wow my head is spinning." The young man passed out on the ground. Rosita stared at him for a moment before putting a pillow under his head and fanning his face.
"He has lost his mind." Rosita whispered. Her mind flashed back to when she first found him. She saw him change. He wasn't human, but at the same time, what else could he be? It only took him a few moments to reawaken.
"I know my name." He said excitedly. His eyes flashed towards her as he sat up. "And I swear to you that it is just a coincidence." He said quickly.
"What are you talking about?" She looked at him completely lost. He held up the picture once again.
"We have already established that this is Feliciano Vargas, correct?" He pointed to the smiling face. Rosita rolled her eyes.
"Sir, we have said that at least 5 times now, I know that mans name and at the moment, I don't care. What I want to know is what your name is." She let out an aggravated sigh.
"Well you should care about your own old nation." The young man huffed. Rosita just looked at him even more confused than before. "I am northern Italy, and my name is Luciano Vargas." He said with a slight smirk, loving the sinister sound of his name.