Rebirth-Transcending All Beings-Chapter 1: Death

"Fairness was invented by God to make the living equal. Humans changed that." A being watched as a boy cursed heaven.

Lightning arced through the cloudy sky, illuminating a deluge of downpour that crashed against headstones — along with the lone boy that stood amongst them.

"Is it so wrong to be average?" he muttered to himself as the cold pierced his skin.

The question echoed throughout the cemetery — then carried along with the wailing wind.

Unanswered, as if mocking him.

"Yeah. Must be nice," Vergil clenched his jaw, until the muscles stood out.

He never cared about money or status.

It was something he lacked.

Talent.

His knees hit the earth, mud soaking into his cheap pants. He clutched the soaked grass, fingers trembling until his nails bit crescents into his palms, as he remembered his times in school.

Across the field, children laughed while the teacher sighed at his exam papers.

"Leave him. He’s an orphan."

"His father ran away. Trash."

His fingers clenched instinctively as he fought back the urge to strike.

For a moment, he imagined it–how easy it would be to lash out, to make them feel the same pain he did.

The thought of it sickened him–lowering his hands in rejection as his nails bit into his palms.

I don’t want to be like them..

So he let their voices echo in the back of his mind.

The ones who looked down on him, pretending to feel pity–they were the worst of all. "They could all go to hell."

The rain ran down the names etched in stone as the wind carried a chill that bit through his clothes.

’As long as the winners existed, the losers would too.’ He remembered the words that a man once said to him.

He looked up at the black sky, hoping for an answer, only to find nothing.

"What God?"

His pale fingers ran over the eroded name on the middle of the gravestone. He remembered–a lullaby that played in his mind. So warm yet so distant.

"Oh, mother." His voice vanished under the rain, the words leaving his mouth as if he were confessing his secrets. "Would you... hate me too for being like this?"

He almost wished the grave would answer.

"Vergil, you’re enough." He knew the voice was a figment of his imagination, but he embraced it anyway. "You tried and that was more than enough."

He wished she had lived.

Yet her name carved into the stone, was only fading as time passed.

He brushed the grave more gently than he had ever touched anything before.

With a sigh he looked down at the puddle below him–his reflection warped beyond recognition by the rain.

Somehow that felt more honest than any mirror ever had.

A frail-looking young man stared back — pale skin and dark circles under his eyes, partly covered by his messy black hair.

The laugh broke out, sounded more like a strangled gasp.

He stood up, wiping droplets from his eyes before hearing something.

Splash.

For a moment, he thought he had heard something. ’Was the rain playing tricks on him?’ The cemetery was empty. ’Maybe I’m too tired.’ Vergil sighed.

The footsteps drew closer. One step then silence.

Each move made a small splash, soft yet deliberate. He made no attempt to turn his head. ’Another mourner perhaps.’

Yet the footsteps stopped.

The cemetery remained completely still. Even the leaves stopped moving.

Leaving only a cold shiver to creep up his spine.

"Am I hallucinating?" He whispered, as a breath huffed against his ear.

A gloved hand covered his mouth. "Mm–! Mmmph!"

His body began to thrash instinctively.

His lungs screamed for air, as a needle stabbed into his neck, sending a cool sensation into his blood.

"Who–are." Before Vergil finished speaking, his eyes returned–back to darkness.

---

Eventually, his consciousness returned, eyes fluttering open, and he lay flat on a cold surface.

Above him, a blinding light hummed at his face, forcing him to squint his eyes, yet he could see shapes moving around.

’Doctors?’ he thought to himself. No, something was wrong.

The metal clinked on steel trays, and the smell of alcohol was strong enough to make his nose exhale.

"Boss, he’s awake." The voice said, bored.

He turned his head slowly, his muscles failing him at the simple act.

"Wait, please," Vergil begged. "I’ve not done anything."

A masked surgeon spoke this time, flipping through a clipboard. "Compatible," the man said. "Everything can be used."

’Compatible?’

The word "compatible" hollowed his chest.

Two assistants nearby chuckled from the side, their masked faces unreadable.

"The father’s debts have passed to the son." He talked as if he were explaining an expensive dinner bill.

Vergil’s eyes widened. ’Why... tell me why, you bastard father,’ he screamed inside. His father had left him to fend for himself, after his mother died during labour.

The one calling himself boss leaned in, blocking the light whilst grinning.

Vergil tried to scream, but for what reason? And then the sound came out of his mouth.

His heart beat slower.

And suddenly, everything felt ridiculous.

His father.

The debts.

The word compatible.

A warped laugh that sounded like a screech came from his throat.

The kind of laugh that comes when something inside a person had snapped.

The surgeons hesitated, giving uneasy glances.

"Doesn’t matter," one spoke, as the fluids gleamed under the light.

The boss flicked his fingers. "Keep the boy awake, think of it as a final gift. If you have someone to blame, he can curse his runaway father."

As the needle bit into his neck, the liquid entered his body, numbing him.

The scalpel touched his skin–cold at first, then it burned.

The scalpel slid deeper.

He had always imagined dying in a quiet place, at peace. But this was worse. ’I don’t accept it.’ Yet one thought took over all others. ’Stop... please.’ Vergil didn’t want this. To die in such agony.

Something tore out of his throat and he didn’t know if it was prayer or noise.

His eyes could only look at the light above, his ears hearing its faint hum along with the squelch of flesh.

Before long, the warmth spread beneath him, pooling and sticking to his back like goo.

Badump. Badump.

And there it was, his own heart, each beat slower than the last, in the surgeon’s hands as his vision faded away.

’No... no... no. This can’t be real.’ As darkness swallowed him, the question from the rain returned.

For once, he wanted to be more than average.

"If I’m reborn, I will never be weak."