1

I was conceived in great pain. I saw the terror, dread and hatred in my own mother's eyes when she first beheld me. The sight of myself, and something reflected in my eyes drove her mad, mad enough to attempt infanticide upon my defenseless self. Stopped only by the timely intervention of my father.

What did she see in my eyes that made her hate me so? What could make a mother so despise that which she suffered to bore? Perhaps it was death, I knew what my future held or rather what a future held.

My father was a leader, a man of great power and responsibility. He did not look upon me with as much hatred as my mother had, he just did not even look at me, I broke that which was most dear to him. He had too many responsibilities, but at least he gave me love on days he felt generous enough to before he was reminded of his beloved wife's state and my supposed hand in it.

My brother hated me for taking our mother away from us, for destroying her mind because of my birth. He would torture and maliciously bully me incessantly till I grew large enough to teach him manners, fast, hard and painfully.

If I were a child as I was meant to be, it's obvious I would've grown into a monster from all these experiences. But I was a man in a child's body, a reincarnator to some and a body stealing parasite to others, I was a monster with morals.

Excuse my tone if it sounds like I have experience with being one (a reincarnator), I do not. It is a first for me, I know not the reason behind my continued existence or even for my rebirth. I haven't a clue if I even died in my last world.

All I remember leading up to my rebirth is darkness, tightness and light.

"Thanos, you shall be granted the audience you so seek with your mother." Said A'lars, Mentor of Titan, my father, waving his hand off and dismissing me. There is a softness in his voice, one that accompanies a pain he keeps hidden. Perhaps regret at how he treats me, perhaps something else entirely.

"Thank you, Mentor." I tell him. On occasions I find it hard to call him my father out loud, contrary to my sensibilities and general lack of emotional display, I do feel. I am capable of such after all.

I exit the high tower and beneath me is the Eternal city of hard light constructs, hover transporters and smart plants. A'lars was the architect of this great world, you could see his touch in everything if you looked, the clean and ordered nature of our streets and buildings, the functional polytone of our garments and bodysuits, the surgical efficiency of the androids that automated the process of transport, delivery and healthcare.

It was all in great unity and tune. Except for me. I was the aberration and difference. I was the red eyed, purple skinned boy that could properly walk just two months after my birth, the same one that could speak clearly structured and nuanced sentences before his first birthday, the same one that simultaneously graduated from the most elite of advanced education complexes where people my father's age were my colleagues and peers, and published a wide reaching paper on micro hard-light topography before I crossed fourteen.

My graduation ceremony was to be held today, but I traded the banal thing for the reward of seeing my mother. Something I'd been trying to accomplish since I was but a toddler.

"Deviant." "Abomination" "Monster." Their whispers were picked up by my sharpened senses. For a race of technologically superhumans, the eternals were fatally traditional and superstitious. The color purple is associated with death, it is what black is to funeral goers on earth, it is for mourning and sorrow. When eternals die, they are wrapped in purple filaments for their burial. Should they leave a family behind, the family switches their home's display to a purple spectrum to express their loss and grief.

I who was born with purple skin and demon red eyes was marked at birth as death's own personification. I was an ill omen and fated for destruction. I did not hold their opinions against them, it meant nothing to me. Why would I allow other people's opinion of me color my own opinion of myself? They did not live my life.

If my father were anyone but A'lars, I would be locked away and studied. Cut open, prodded and poked in an experimentation complex somewhere. Perhaps even Mentor himself would oversee it, humming over my sedated body to understand what caused my unique biological state. Alas, I was his son, and no child of Mentor would be cut apart and studied.

Yet my comforter came to me, her pale bony hands wrapped around my shoulders, she floated with me as I walked, invisible to everyone else.

"Leave me alone, I have nothing for you." I was not indebted to Death, I refused to be infatuated by her warmth and undeserved affection. I saw it as an attempt to have me fall for her so she would direct me to the bloody ends of dealing demise to living beings. I refused to become another puppet bound by love, I refuse to become just another Thanos; Another madman and warlord, another death bringer, another instrument of destruction. No, that is not my future, I refuse it. There is more to life than being a slave to death.

"…" She says nothing to me, she has never spoken since we first met. Not a single word has been uttered from her jaws. She smiles in understanding, the way an adult smiles at a child that has yet to grasp the full picture.

"Leave me be." I draw attention by speaking to myself, my words are easily redirected to the whisperers who become quiet and hurry on their paths. The mistress hangs on my back weightlessly like a feather, she holds me as a lover would, resting her skull on the side of my neck.

I continued on my path to the health-spire, the humanoid droid at the door scans my face, acknowledges my updated authority and grants me access to the silvery, well lit, sparsely populated interior of the tower.

Passages open that lead me to my destination and nowhere else. I reach a leaf green door which slides open to allow my entrance, peering past the transparent shield barrier I spot my mother. Seated peacefully in a meditative pose upon a cushion of sweet scented flowers, she is serene and beautiful, the sight of her fills me with a wave of emotion that tug at my chest.

How could someone so perfect give birth to something like me?

I sit and stare, minutes pass into hours and yet I am content with just gazing upon her. A genuine smile, for the first time in ages, graces my face. I construct a variety of scenarios in my head. I want to say something to her but my furiously beating heart will not allow me the calm for it.

"M..Mother." I say. Her eyes snap open, her attention whips to me. I see the changes without those eyes, the recognition turn to the fear, the dread, the despise. "Mother please, it's your son, Dione."

"You!" She spews with cold hatred. "I did not give birth to you!"

"Mother. I miss you. I am happy to see you well. It's been fourteen cycles since we spoke."

"I regret not killing you sooner!"

"I know you don't mean that. I am--"

"You must die! You must die! You vile deviant spawn! You will kill us all!"

"It seems I'm disturbing you. Please rest. I hope to see you again."

"Die! Die you demon thing! Return to the depths of hell you crawled out of! Go back to death!" She bangs hard enough on the shield to make her knuckles bleed. The droids enter her section and restrain her from harming herself. She howls insults and curses at me as I exit the spire. I am glad to see her so strong.

Death walks with to me, she follows me to the bench and sits next to me, her bony appendages caress my cheek in a soothing fashion, my clenched fists relax. I find myself leaning into her hand like an affection starved puppy.

With her touch I see things, sights mortal eyes are not privy to. I see the death of a world, I see destruction. I see the end of lives. I see the death of Titan.

"Haah." I sigh out loud. Saving my home world wasn't a question of ifs, I had to do it. This was my world, I know they hated me, but that was only because they couldn't understand me. Regardless, I couldn't let millions die because I felt a certain type of way.

I had alerted A'lars to my findings, and despite my intelligence and apparent genius, my words are not heeded, even with the proof I have presented, A'lars does not take my warning with the grim significance they deserve. I am wrong, he says, I haven't factored in the things I should, he says.

If you want something done, you have to do it yourself.

Maybe they'll accept me then.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Thanos." My antagonistic brother jeered. He was a psychopath that manipulated the emotions of the opposite sex using his powers.

"Why so quiet brother? Did you mother not tell you how much she loved you?"

"Keep walking Eros, I am not in the mood."

"Clearly, don't take it too hard, mother was only being honest you know."

"You don't want this smoke Eros, keep walking." Earth lingo would at times creep and slip into my Titanian vocabulary.

"You are clearly deluded, there is no smoke or fire here. Is the purple disease on your skin finally getting to your brain?"

"Perhaps I should give you a broken ankle to remind you of your place?" I speak and stare him in the eyes, he avoids my gaze and falters back.

"Hmph, I have better things to do than converse with a beast." Snorted the young adult who went about his business, leaving me to mine.

"I don't have what you want, Mistress. I…I appreciate your attention but I will not become your tool, I will not become your agent, there's more to life. I'm sorry." I said to the smiling entity, arose from the floater bench and walked back into our housing spire. I felt embers of warmth on my face from where Death had touched me. As laughable as it appeared to be, she gave me more affection and care than anyone had in this world.

.-.-.-.-

I lay in bed browsing over holograms of interesting new findings and complex data beyond anything my agemates could comprehend, submitting nothing of significance but humor to other perplexed users on the network. A smile crossed my lips as I performed the scientific equivalent of a shitpost on a planet that did not have the concept of memes.

I was summarily banned by A'lars moderator bots for my lack of a useful contribution. It was useful, they just failed to perceive it. How could they see the truth behind the jest when they could not even swallow the one on their plate?

I am not one for superfluous poetry, maybe I am, but in this moment I am not. I sensed a disturbance in the air, a shift in matter itself. It was intangible, negligible even to the physical senses, but I was attuned to much more than the physical, such came with Death.

A tinge of cosmic energy, a trace of active tachyons, a dash of burning brimstone, electricity soaked the air, particles jumped and power soaked the atmosphere.

I could taste the charged currents dash along my tongue. The blue, tiny crackles of plasma arced over my fingertips, the room became increasingly hotter. Something was coming. No.

It was already here.

It was instantly recognizable, a towering figure clad in spiked, tight fitting leather combat suit, a flaming skull of bale fire that shimmered the very air around it. It burned with brimstone and demonic rage. Its sockets were doorways to a hellish inferno. A skull emblem reminiscent of the Punisher logo burned over its torso beneath crimson chains wrapped around its chest.

The Ghost Rider, the Lord's own spirit of vengeance, retrieved a black sidearm from its waist and pointed it at my face.

I stared down the barrel of the weapon, meeting the gigantic slug that would rend my skull to bits and pieces and the eyes of flame that stared back at me from behind the weapon one thing became startingly clear.

CLICK!

I was face to face with my death.