Ascendant Cycle

A humanoid figure stood upon a flat, steely structure above a majestic, yellow-tinted ocean. The horizon appeared to extend infinitely on all sides, as there was no sign of land anywhere. The wind traversed the surface of the ocean, imprinting barely a ripple upon the water. A large moon hung low in the sky. Behind it, a slightly smaller moon partially revealed itself. Red and purple hues adorned the cloud-laden sky, revealing patterns of a runaway greenhouse gas effect. The temperatures were incredibly high, the weather erratic, and an acrid scent pervaded the air. The tranquility of the immediate surroundings stood in juxtaposition to the turbulent climate above. The figure was all too familiar with this world; it made him sick just thinking about it. This reality had overstayed its welcome. He closed his eyes, prepared for what was to come next. He was dressed in what appeared to be a hooded ceremonial gown. The body of water, although clear, was deceptively deep. The darkness created the illusion of never-ending depth, as if the entire universe resided below his feet. The figure hesitantly stepped forward. The structure itself was the shape of an inverted pyramid. It appeared it wouldn’t float, given the metallic nature and shape of the vessel. But despite its apparent density, it drifted effortlessly above the water. As he stepped forward, he revealed a large stone, previously hidden beneath his robe, anchored to him. The heavy object was square with ornate patterns carved deep into the surface. It was connected to his leg via thick, interwoven, metallic threads and wrapped firmly around his ankle. He slowly opened his eyes and raised his gaze upward. He was calm, his posture perfect, although his mind was a different matter altogether. He breathed deeply, taking in the serenity and majesty of his surroundings. There was a peace and calm about this particular place that he would somehow miss. But in its perfection, therein lied a subtle flaw, under the surface. It constantly scratched at his mind; tore at his innermost consciousness. Something was wrong, horribly wrong, and his unwavering determination carried him forward. Progress must be made, there was no other choice. Perhaps more accurately, he was given no other option. The figure unclipped the bindings in the front of his robe and pulled back the material exposing his scalp and shoulders. The robe flowed down to the platform as if made of silk. With the robe removed, the figure’s mutilated body was now exposed. He had deep lacerations across his torso. His skin was severely burnt, creating an interlaced tapestry of scars. His calloused hands were large and covered with dry cracks. His nails were bruised and brittle, and several were missing completely. His scalp appeared deformed with layer after layer of scar tissue. His body told a story of a man tortured and left for dead again, and again. He rubbed his middle and index finger against his thumb on his right hand. This motion was a habit from when he was a younger man. It always comforted him in stressful situations. He braced himself and took his last breath. Twisting backwards elegantly with arms spread, he leaned over the edge of the platform. He fell gracefully into the ocean. The figure was embraced by the water; the block attached to his ankle following suit. His eyes were open to the sky as the sea engulfed him. He sank quickly; the anchor accelerating his descent. After a short time, his grip on the air in his lungs failed. The last reserves fled his body as his mind forced his mouth open in a desperate bid for more air. Instead, copious amounts of liquid rushed into his mouth. The pressure increased as he fell further and further into the abyss. He had never experienced anything like drowning. The horror defied description. His body convulsed in pain, crying out in a medium that so effectively carried his screams to the surrounding inhabitants. His muscles tore from the violent movements, which only accelerated his body’s consumption of oxygen. Water continued to enter his throat, causing him to cough. He was dying, all too slowly, all too painfully. He never wanted to die this way, but he was desperate to widen the possibilities. He was desperate to end this feeling of imprisonment; to escape a reality that felt so unnatural. The darkness started to surround his vision; the convulsions slowed. His eyes stared upward towards the last semblance of light. His last thoughts were of frustration and anger as he was swallowed by the void. His throat muscles ceded as he slipped into unconsciousness, the liquid flooding his lungs at last. Moments passed as his body floated in the darkness. Where there was once life, now only an unnatural silence existed. Suddenly the figure’s eyes opened as he gasped for air once again. He was alive, back on the vessel. His body was dry. His lungs were devoid of water. His torn muscles were healed. He frantically scanned his surroundings. The same yellow sea, the same hues and turbulent clouds in the sky. He grasped his chest as he looked down. He was wearing the same clothing. His anchor was gone, presumably deep beneath the water, where his body should have accompanied it. Tears began to swell in his eyes as the reality of the situation set in. He slowly examined his hands as a wave of desperation engulfed his state of being. As his breathing became increasingly labored, his eyes widened, contemplating the ramifications of this event. He slowly leaned back, head to the sky, and unleashed a cry of hopelessness to the heavens. Collapsing upon the vessel, he began to sob uncontrollably.