1 Prologue: The Wanderer Beyond

A man stood before a window, hammer in hand. 

The window was soon no more, its shattered pieces scattering all over the household floor. Clearing the bits of glass remaining on the frame, the man entered the house. 

"Irina, my dear, I'm home!" he shouted, a merry tone filling his voice.

However, no one inside the house seemed to mind his sudden intrusion much. Irina, a tall Russian blonde with a fading scar on her cheeks, sat on her couch sewing a small pink scarf, not even bothering to spare an eye at the sudden intruder. Her two daughters were playing house in the background, making a row of dolls on one of their beds. They, too, didn't notice the loud man.

Though, the intruder didn't mind this that much, and looked around the house with a wistful expression.

"Ah, no place better than home… Did you miss me?"

Silence.

The man's face suggested he was about thirty, with some wrinkles over his forehead and eyes, his overgrown hair and beard showing some grey spots here and there. But one thing that stood out were his clothes, which were decorated with holes and tears all over. The dried sweat and dirt all over it also suggested that the thing most likely smelled like the rectal creation of a skunk.

They looked so old and worn that one might think it was on him for centuries.

"You know, I went to Egypt this time, since most of them speak English and all. Thought I'd maybe check up on the Pyramids once again, before looking for the murders, you know?" the man said, as he walked over to the kitchen.

"You know they're having an insurgency now, right? Bunch of guerilla, terrorism, and religious executions. A sad state of things indeed, but it was a field day for me. People died practically once every week, which meant I had enough chances to meet someone of my kind. And you know what? I did… sort of. In one incident."

The man then picked up a muffin from the table and curiously observed it. But something very bizarre happened to the muffin when he touched it. It split into two identical versions of itself, one of them following the man's hand and the other one staying on the desk, like nothing ever happened to it. Moreover, the stationary one didn't look any different, but the one on the man's hand took on a very… 'off' color.

The man took a bite from it, before commenting something about it being too wet and Irina needing to work on it more. Afterwards, he dropped the half-bitten muffin to the floor and the thing slowly disappeared out of existence. The man then sat next to Irina and continued his story.

"The incident I'm talking about, was a government raid on a farm, which housed a dozen or so rebel militants. The police forces didn't try negotiating or anything, and just started pelleting the poor house with bullets. In the end, all dozen of them died under the barrage. The police then piled to bodies into a truck, not even bothering to put them in bags."

The man wrapped his hand around the Irina's shoulder, and got himself slightly more comfortable.

Even then, Irina did not feel his presence.

"I, of course, stood on the sidelines, observing the dead bodies. And lo-and-behold, one of the bodies there started turning into a spirit like myself. But… tch," the man scoffed, "he didn't last long. After screaming something zealous about the Yawn al-din and the Jannah, he slowly turned mad and started attacking me, trying to bite and rip me to pieces with their nails. You know, the usual stuff. He eventually fell apart into tiny little particles, like all the others ones before him…"

The man put his hands on Irina's cold cheeks and pulled her face towards him with a sigh. Like the muffin, the woman's face underwent a split, the 'off' copy following the man's pull, and the other staring down at the scarf she was sewing.

"Well, whatever. After that, I felt a bit dejected, so I decided to come back here to see how you were doing."

The man rolled up the copy's sleeve and looked at the wrist. He saw faded scars on it, but that was it. No new cuts. A prideful smile appeared on the man's lips and he gave the copy a kiss on the forehead. He then looked at the two girls playing, and smiled warmly.

"Well, I guess you won't leave these two to fend off for themselves..."

As he was about to give the cold copy another kiss, the real Irina idly glanced towards the clock, before making a panicked expression.

"Oy, blin," she suddenly exclaimed, and hurriedly got onto her feet, "Girls, come get dressed up, we're gonna miss your ballet classes!"

"Blin! Blin!" one girl giggled.

"Yes, yes. Pancakes, pancakes..." Irina murmured as she picked up the two girls.

"Mom! Miss Jones became really angry when I said 'Blin' next to her! She said it was a bad word!"

"No! Of course it's not a bad word! Did you tell her it meant pancakes in Russian?"

"I did, but she still told me not to say it!"

"Well, if she doesn't let you say it, then you can just say it all you want in your home, alright?" Irina smiled gently.

The girls nodded happily and three went toward their rooms to dress up, leaving the unseen man alone in the living room, who was still holding a copy of Irina in his hands. The man gave it a small peck on the lips and let go of his grasp on it, which lead the copy to disappear into nothingness.

The real Irina and her daughters soon went out of the house in hurried steps, all prim and proper. Seeing this, the man said his unheard goodbyes.

"Have a nice day, you two! I'll be staying on the porch, catching up on what humanity was up to, alright? Make sure you don't… disturb me!" the man said, snickering at his own joke.

Left alone, the man sighed exaggeratedly, and decided to go towards to the local publishing company to grab a few papers for himself. But as he was about to leave, he heard the door getting unlocked from outside.

"Did they forget something?" he murmured as the door opened.

But instead of Irina, or anyone else that he was familiar with, a casually dressed woman wearing sunglasses entered the room and seemed to look towards the man.

"An intruder? Or did Irina make some friends while I was gone?" the man murmured.

He didn't mind the fact that the woman seemed to look at him. Many times something like that happened and always he had his hopes dashed the very next moment. Instead, he unreservedly observed the woman from head to toe.

Although the newcomer didn't have the most striking of figures, she had an approachable round face, and she wasn't exactly lacking in curves. Couple that with her tightly fitting jeans, most men would find her sexy enough, the man himself included. She stood in front of the door silently, her one hand half inside the small pockets of her jeans and the other holding a dying cigarette bud near her mouth.

'I wonder if she's interesting enough to live with?' the man wondered. 

"Somewhat rude to stare so intently at someone you've just met, isn't it? Eh, Mister Evan?" the woman suddenly said, as she quenched the cigar inside her fist.

The man's calm demeanor paused abruptly at her words. Something in his head reminded him that the name he just heard was his own, and also pointed out the fact that someone else was talking to him.

"Am I going crazy again?" he murmured, quickly dismissing the taboo thought. "I thought I was doing pretty good lately, but I guess it needed to happen at one point or another, huh?"

"Heh, you can be more hopeful, you know? I'm not a part of your delusions, mister Evan," the woman smiled compassionately and pulled out her arms. She softly snapped her fingers, and a pulsating pink light appeared on her palm. With it, she touched the man's forever cold cheeks.

As he felt the warmth of human for the first time in centuries, a tear appeared in his eyes without his control. He tried to smile, but could only manage a broken grin. He tried to say something back, but could only stutter incessantly with his shaking jaw. A million different thoughts burst out like a tidal wave inside his mind as they tried to sweep away the battered dam that contained his tired sanity. The man could feel himself falling into a state he knew exceedingly personally.

Insanity.

"Why… Why? Why?! WHY?!" he growled ceaselessly, holding his messy head between with his shaking hands.

Glaring at the woman with so much hatred, as if she was the one who put him in his state, he suddenly started jumped at her, swinging his fists with little reason and logic. The woman didn't seem to mind the sudden outburst that much, as she effortlessly caught the man's hands and tripped him with her feet. The man fell the ground with his cheeks first, but before he could get up, the woman grabbed him by his hair and pushed him down to the ground. He still thrashed and struggled there, but no matter how much he tried to, he couldn't overpower the woman above him.

"Well, I guess it's inevitable that things come to this," she then sighed, as her pink hands took on the silver sheen of metal next.

With it, she gently grabbed at the man's head, unperturbed by the dirt and mess on it. The man felt the broken walls in his mind begin to mend themselves, as finally, sane thoughts reappeared in his brain. But although not insane, he still felt endless rage as he remembered the state he was put in for three whole centuries. He lashed at the foreign power in his mind, trying to break the connection in a fit of blind anger.

"I sympathize with your situation, but you must not resist my help. If you continue to be stubborn, I can only force it upon you," said the woman in an imposing manner.

Her words carried a heavy pressure behind them, but the man didn't wish to become calm and collected so easily. He felt he deserved to lash out for another few days, at least. Although he could now have rational thoughts, he didn't stop his fit, trying to struggle out of the woman's hold.

Understanding that there was no way of peacefully solving the situation, the woman grabbed at the man's throat, pulled him from the ground, before promptly slamming him to the ground by the back of his head.

Dizziness filled the man's mind as he dazedly groaning with his back on the ground. The woman sat squarely on his stomach before giving him a few good slaps with her healing silver hand, to shake him out of his stupor.

Grunting, the man opened his eyes and saw a very peculiar sight above him.

The sudden movements must've shaken off her sunglasses, as a highly abnormal pair of eyes gazed at the man. Completely white pupils that were surrounded by what one could only describe as looming storm clouds. Every time she blinked, strands of blue lighting would flicker violently from her eyelashes, as if she was barely holding the fury and anger boiling inside her.

"Do you want to die? Or do you want a chance at living?" the woman asked, noticing that the other had calmed down somewhat.

"What…?" the man murmured. "What do you mean?" 

"Exactly what I mean. I can kill you very easily," the woman said, as she clutched at the man's head, "or I can try giving you another chance at life. It's nothing complicated, really. Live or die, two simple choices. Pick quickly, or I might get pissed and leave you like this, you know? Who knows when in the future I'll bother to remember about the existence of a random defective soul like you?"

"I…" he stuttered, before thinking of the two choices… but the answer came to him almost immediately, "I'll live!"

"Good boy! That's the spirit! Eh? Spirit? … Ah, whatever," the woman shrugged at her pun and her silver hands took on a golden hue this time.

Compared to the metallic luster of the previous color, this one seemed more unearthly and ethereal than anything else. Using it, the woman started to draw a circle in the air. The golden circle shook slightly before sending out a violent ripple throughout the surrounding space. The man felt the powerful shock-wave washing over his body as he felt himself getting pulled off the ground by the woman.

"Walk through that and you'll find yourself in your new life. Though, I haven't really done anything like this in the past, so I can't guarantee anything, alright? The only thing I can guarantee is that you'll find yourself inside a body."

The man felt a little apprehensive at the words, but thinking that at least he'll be able to live once more, he resolutely walked through the golden door.

"Strive for eternity or strive for true death, lest your wandering undeath comes to haunt you once more."

Cryptic words came out of the woman's lips. But before the man could ask any more questions, the golden door closed in on itself and sealed his fate.

The woman looked at the gold fading from her hands and grimaced. A shriveled and almost rotten skin appeared from underneath, with faint wisps of golden smoke drifting into the air. Cursing the fact that she wasn't a demigod of space and time, she walked into the bathroom and held her hands under a stream of cold water, wincing painfully all the while. The hand was still fucked, definitely, but at least the burning sensation was gone.

As peace and silence came upon the room once more, the woman looked around the house. Sighing, she fixed the mess she'd made and sat on a couch with a groan.

"Fucking Ruler and his whims…" she cursed the missing deity. This was something she started doing practically every day. It was the only form of daily 'prayer' she could offer him these days.

The feat she'd accomplished today really wasn't anything she could do to every sane spirit she stumbled upon through this journey of hers. Up until this point, she simply granted them the swift death they desired. She really didn't know why she bothered to do all this for this spirit and this spirit only. Well, it wasn't the first time she did something random like this, so she didn't really think too much about it. Instead, she wondered what kind of life the man would lead in his next life.

"He's slightly unstable, but it shouldn't matter much in the long run. He'll likely stabilize after a few months or so, unless something goes very wrong," she sighed, "Well, after this, only fate will have a hand in his life. I've done all I can. But… he is quite interesting, so I can't be sure if the Empress will intervene."

She then stood up with some effort and fixed her scrunchy clothes. She put on her shades to hide the fury and tiredness she felt inside. She thought about the thousands of 'accidents' she had to slay as her eyes flared bright once more.

"Fucking Ruler and his whims…"

…