"Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance: these are the five stages of grief. Right now\... I wonder which stage you're in."
The man, about thirty years old, lit a cigarette and calmly smoked it in the dimly lit room as he stared at the young man seated in front of him.
The boy was completely naked. His fingernails and toenails had been torn off. His fingers were twisted and broken. Bruises, burn marks, and infected wounds covered his body. His left eye socket was empty, and many of his teeth were missing.
At the man's words, the boy trembled but remained still. He had no idea how long he had been there—one day? Two? It didn't matter. He knew he wouldn't leave alive. With difficulty, he raised his head and looked at the man in front of him.
He was handsome—light-skinned, with short brown hair, an intense gaze, a neatly trimmed beard, and a strong build.
The man continued smoking his cigarette as he stared at the young man. And he remembered how he had ended up there.
His name was Marcus. He grew up in a relatively normal family. His father was American; his mother, Brazilian. Despite some difficulties, they were a happy family.
But nothing lasts forever. When Marcus was sixteen, his father was shot and killed as he left a small grocery store. The police said it had been a robbery gone wrong.
To make matters worse, his mother, already over forty, was miraculously pregnant with his younger sister at the time.
From that point on, things spiraled downward. The family began to face financial hardship. At eighteen, wanting to help ease the burden at home, Marcus enlisted in the army.
It wasn't a well-thought-out decision. He had no military ambitions or thirst for war. He just wanted to help his mother. So he joined.
The early days were tough. Intense training and constant discipline. Marcus lost count of how many times an arrogant sergeant humiliated him.
When training ended, there was no rest. He was sent directly to Afghanistan. There, he made friends—and lost many.
He rarely returned home. Sometimes, he didn't even feel like he had one anymore.
Marcus spent the next ten years serving in the Armed Forces. He specialized in demolition and infiltration and received training in urban combat.
After ten years of service, Marcus "retired." He bought a beautiful house near his mother and sister. From time to time, he took on contract jobs for certain organizations. The pay was good, and it kept him active.
Life was good—for a while.
His sister—his best friend—was only ten years old. It might seem strange for a nearly thirty-year-old man to be so close to a child, but their conversations made him feel at peace. Perhaps it was her innocence. The innocence of a child comforted him.
Of course, they argued sometimes, and Marcus often scolded her. Despite being siblings, he had to take on the role of a father figure, something she had never had.
Other than that, they got along perfectly.
They didn't talk about everything all the time, but both loved discussing movies and series. It was something Marcus inherited from his father and passed on to her. Marcus loved the classics, while she preferred newer stories.
Soon, she would go to college. Her future was bright. Until that bastard showed up. A rich kid who thought it was smart to drink and drive. That guy took his sister's life—and indirectly caused his mother's death from a heart attack upon hearing the news.
Marcus was devastated. He was on a mission and couldn't attend either funeral. To make things worse, the idiot walked free after paying a fine, because according to the "investigation," it was just an accident. Apparently, no alcohol or drugs were found in his blood.
Thinking of his sister, Marcus took another drag from his cigarette and looked at the boy in front of him. The young man, weak and bleeding, would die soon—but Marcus didn't care. He glanced at the camera that had been recording everything for the past four days. The footage would soon be sent to the boy's parents.
"I guess I'm still in the anger phase, you know?" Marcus broke the silence, answering his own question while staring at the boy. "Yes—anger. Absolutely. Once I'm done here, I think I'll skip the other two and go straight to acceptance."
He then extinguished the cigarette on the boy's forehead, got up slowly, and pulled out his SIG pistol. He pointed it at the boy's head and, without hesitation, pulled the trigger—giving him no time to beg or defend himself.
Marcus looked at the lifeless body and finished recording. Then he poured gasoline everywhere and set fire to the place. Outside, he found himself in a large desert, under a night sky full of shining stars. The small shack burned completely. He got into his pickup truck and drove away.
The night breeze was freeing. Marcus drove silently—until suddenly, everything changed. He exited the truck and found himself inside a sleek, modern office.
Instinctively, Marcus pulled his gun and aimed it at the woman standing in front of him. He had no idea how he had gotten there.
"A dream? How? When did I fall asleep? Or did I die out there?" Questions raced through his mind. He was nearly panicking when the woman smiled at him and gestured for him to sit.
Still holding his weapon, Marcus scanned the area and slowly approached. Sitting down, he examined the woman up close. She was beautiful, wearing a formal suit. Her brown hair was straight and shoulder-length, her lips red, her eyes green, her skin bronze.
He sat down, gun in hand, ready to shoot. The woman smiled and typed a few things.
"Marcus Alexander Foster. Age thirty-five. Single. Family: father, deceased; mother, deceased; sister, deceased. Served ten years in the U.S. Army—fifty-seven confirmed kills, wounded three times in combat. Served seven years in a covert unit dealing with 'inconveniences'—seventeen confirmed kills."
Marcus remained calm. That kind of information wouldn't surprise anyone powerful. If someone wanted to expose him, it would be easy.
The woman smiled when she finished reading and said, "First of all, I'm sorry for your loss—"
"Don't. Don't say that. I don't know you, and your sympathy means nothing to me." Marcus snapped coldly.
He hated funerals. He hated people showing up just to say they were sorry. If you didn't care about the person who died, don't pretend to.
Marcus didn't know how to deal with grief. He was still angry. He was trying to move on to acceptance. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
When he opened them, the woman was smiling gently. She stood, grabbed a bottle of bourbon and two glasses, and poured them.
"I'm sorry. I forgot how you react to loss," she said, sipping her drink. Marcus stared at the whiskey but didn't touch it. He was still alert, gun in hand.
The two remained silent. They studied each other. Marcus was about to speak when the woman beat him to it:
"How would you feel about giving your sister another life?"
"What?" Marcus asked.
"Another life. No, a new life. In a place where she could grow up safe and fulfilled."
Marcus said nothing. He just clenched his fists tighter.
"Explain," he finally said after a few moments.
"Have you ever wondered why beings from secondary dimensions never invade the real world? Beings like Galactus, the Living Tribunal, Darkseid, Beerus, and others?"
"No. Who the hell thinks about that?"
"No one—normally. But these powerful beings can't enter higher realities because of certain protections. More powerful entities."
"You mean… God?"
"Depends on your religion. To some, it's God. Others, Allah, Shiva, Buddha. Or the Big Bang," she said, sipping her drink again.
"Belief is what makes humans special—whether for better or worse. Anyway, let's move on. As I said, they can't interfere in higher realities. But that doesn't mean the reverse isn't possible."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, some entities from higher dimensions like to play. Sometimes, they send people to lower dimensions to kill boredom. Their lives are nearly eternal, after all," she said with a smile.
"So... you're one of those beings?"
"Yes and no. I'm from a higher dimension, but I can't interfere in lower ones. I'm like… a probationary intern."
"You seem too capable to be an intern," he said, glancing around.
"This? Just a false setting, so your mind doesn't collapse. No one can handle seeing a higher being in its true form."
Marcus nodded and asked, "What do you want, exactly? And who are you?"
"My God. All this time and I haven't introduced myself. My name is )!&\*%#@!%¨&@HW\@O!@, but in your language, I guess it would be Vexalyn Syllivara."
"I'll call you Vex, if you don't mind."
"No problem, Marcus. Now, about what I want… Look, even though I represent Chaos—just one among many—I'm weak and want to grow. But there's a problem: with so many embodiments of Chaos, there's not enough chaos in my world for me to evolve."
She paused and poured more bourbon.
"A few days ago, I met one of the embodiments of Luck. We made a little bet. It was fun—but more importantly," she said, pulling out a strange glowing blue orb with a hopeful smile.
"What's that?"
"This is what will allow me to grow. It's an Omni-universal Key. One of the few in existence. Normally, to send someone to another dimension, you need a universal key. But that person would be stuck there forever. Omni-universal Keys are special. They let you send someone to various worlds at will."
"I see. And you want me to go to these worlds for you? Cause some chaos?"
"Exactly. I'll send you to lower worlds so you can disrupt their natural flow: save those who were supposed to die, kill those who were supposed to live, create events that shouldn't happen—or stop them from happening. This chaos destabilizes the world, allowing me to absorb it."
"And in return..."
"In return, I'll reincarnate your sister into a good family. With loving parents. And you'll be able to see her in your dreams. Of course, she won't remember you—but you can act as her guardian."
"I accept."
Marcus didn't consider the consequences. As crazy as it all sounded, he didn't care. The idea of a world where he could finally protect his sister? Saying no would have been insane.
"So. First, let me explain how this works. The Omni-universal Key acts as an anchor that takes you to another world. It's also like a system—a guided interface that gives you missions depending on the world you enter."
Vex touched the orb. A dark purple energy flowed into it. The orb trembled, then stopped. She looked at Marcus.
"It's now programmed to inform you of each world's stages—even how much you've already corrupted the main timeline. It'll also show you other things—your powers and so on."
She handed him the orb. It dissolved into his body. A strange vortex formed behind him and pulled him in. Marcus tried to hold on—but failed. Moments later, he was thrown into a new world.
---
Vex watched calmly as the office dissolved into a sea of stars. Her body shifted, expanded, and twisted. From a beautiful woman, she transformed into a grotesque being.
"Ugh, I hate this imperfect form," the creature muttered, turning its gaze away. "Only by evolving can I assume a more dignified form—and my existence will finally rise."
She drifted through the stars, passing by others like her, until her "eyes" focused on a small point of light. Dark tentacles emerged from her body and wrapped around the light as if about to consume it—but they stopped at a barrier of light.
"Don't disappoint me, Marcus," the creature whispered, caressing the barrier with its tentacles. "You do not want to disappoint me."