Working under the scorching sun is one of the worst parts of being an archaeologist. Yes, I'm still in college, but I'm already involved in research. I'm an assistant to Professor Garrett, who, of course, wasn't here today. The hard work is always left to the students.
"Hey, Ben." A colleague from university called me. The two of us were searching and cataloging items at an archaeological site in Richmond Town. "It's getting dark; let's head out?"
"You can go ahead. I'll stay a bit longer. There are still some items left here, and today is the last day they are letting us here."
"Your call, but you shouldn't waste so much time working for others." He left right after saying that, not waiting for a response. I'm not the type to do things just for others. I help, but only because I want to help or because it benefits me. Having my name on Professor Garrett's research will be great for my CV, and he could recommend me for excellent opportunities in the future. Despite that, the truth is that I just really love my work. It's so much fun to study and uncover the world's past… even when it's just shards of porcelain and some boring, rudimentary utensils.
The sky was completely dark by the time I finished cataloging and storing the items in the archaeological warehouse. It was a moonless night. The visiting hours had already ended, so the historical center was completely deserted. Most people would find this place at night quite eerie, with its well-preserved historic buildings, all empty and completely lifeless. It's the perfect setting for a vampire or werewolf attack, which, in case you didn't know, are very real risks here in New York. For some reason, this city seems to attract all the bizarre things in the universe. Sometimes I feel like I live in Gravity Falls.
Luckily, no aberrations showed up to attack me, and I could enjoy my nightly walk. At least until I spotted a shooting star… or what I thought was one. It was a strange glow that appeared in the dark sky. As much as it gleamed, it also seemed dark and dim. My confusion made me fail to notice that it was growing and getting dangerously close to where I was. By the time I finally turned to run, I only managed a few steps before being thrown back by the shockwave of its impact.
After catching my breath, I crept toward the newly formed crater to see what had fallen there. I imagined it might be a meteorite or something similar, but when the dust settled, what I saw was far stranger—a… sword? Kind of. You know when you're hiking in the forest and find a really cool stick that looks like a sword? This thing had that shape, but instead of wood, it was made of some entirely black material.
At first, I hesitated to approach. With all the strange things in this world, this could either grant me superpowers or kill me instantly. The choice wasn't mine to make, though, as the ground beneath me gave way due to the impact, and I slid down, ending up face-to-face with the sword. Without much thought, I stretched out my arm and grabbed the hilt. Initially, it felt solid, but as soon as I touched it, it turned into a slime that started covering my arm. Scared, I screamed and shook my arm frantically, trying to rid myself of it, but it was futile. Before I could even climb out of the crater, the slime had covered my entire body, and that's when I blacked out.
...
Where am I?
Who am I?
Who are you?
Who are we?
...
FWUOOOOOOOOOOOUHN
The blaring horn was the first sound I heard, followed by a bizarre guttural scream. Before my eyes, the wet ground. I was on my knees in a puddle of some dark liquid, my hands on my head. Disoriented, I looked around, trying to understand where I was. It was an alley. Behind me was an empty street; the horn was probably from a passing truck. Between me and the street was a frightened woman clutching a bag with both hands.
"Where are w-" As soon as I opened my mouth to ask where we were, she screamed and ran away.
It took a minute for my senses to fully return and for me to notice the dead man in front of me. A decapitated body. Actually, that's not the best way to describe it. His head wasn't exactly cut off—it was more like it had been torn off by the bite of some very large animal. The dark liquid on the ground was a pool of blood.
I noticed something else too: there were other people in the alley. A group of four rough-looking thugs holding metal bats and wooden sticks. Despite their shock at their friend's corpse, it wasn't enough to scare them off. Instead, they became angrier and started coming toward me.
This time, I was the one who screamed and ran.
It was still night, probably early morning, and I was back in the middle of New York. I didn't know where, but the streets were deserted. I had some advantage until one of the guys hit me on the head with a bat and slammed me into a wall. The world started to spin, become darkier, and I fell to my knees.
Running wouldn't work; I needed to fight if I wanted to escape.
The guy with the bat swung again to hit me, and I raised my arm to block. That's when my arm turned black again, covered by that slime. It extended from my fingers, forming a sword. This wasn't the stylish stick from before; it was a real sword now. The hilt projected from my hand, and the black blade gleamed, thirsty. In an involuntary move to defend myself, I cut the metal bat in two, taking the hand of the thug attacking me along with it. Falling on his butt, he screamed and cried desperately, clutching his bloody wrist with his remaining hand.
Before, I was scared and lost, but now my blood boiled. I felt like I was about to explode.
"Fight." A demand echoed in my ears.
"What?"
"Fight!" The voice became more insistent, both an order and a plea.
"You bastard!" one of the other guys in the alley yelled, grabbing my attention as he came at me with his two remaining friends.
A piece of wood shattered against my head, yet I felt almost nothing. With the faint streetlight's help, I saw my reflection in a shop window. My body was covered in some kind of black suit, my eyes surrounded by white lenses, and the sword in place of my right hand.
When the second guy charged, my arm moved on its own and sliced him in half, splattering blood everywhere.
Realizing they were no match, the two remaining guys grabbed their handless friend and fled.
"Go after them! I want more blood!" The voice roared in my head. It was the same voice that had let out that guttural scream when I heard the horn.
"Who are you? Get out of my head!"
For some reason, the voice seemed to obey me. When I shouted, it fell silent, and the black suit retracted as if crawling into my pores.
What was that slime? That sword that fell from the sky?
I had so many questions, and the police would too if they found me there with a sliced-up body and a severed hand.
So I fled. It seemed like that's what we were all doing.
Under the light of a subway station, a few kilometers away, I stared at my hands in disbelief. They were clean, but the world around me was blood-red.