The Man Who Couldn’t Die

In the neon-soaked streets of Mega City, where towering arcologies touched the smog-choked skies, a man named Zachariah walked a lonely path. Zachariah was no ordinary citizen – he was a living legend, a cursed being who could not die, no matter how much he longed for the sweet release of death.

Born centuries ago, Zachariah had witnessed the rise and fall of empires, the relentless march of technological progress, and the slow decay of humanity. He had been shot, stabbed, burned, and crushed, but each time, his body simply healed, mocking the finality of mortality.

As the years passed, Zachariah had become a recluse, shunning the company of others for fear of revealing his secret. He wandered the city’s underbelly, haunting the neon-lit alleyways and crumbling tenements, searching for a way to end his eternal torment.

One night, as Zachariah lurked in the shadows, he stumbled upon a gathering of cultists – a sinister sect that worshipped the dark gods of the Metaverse, those eldritch entities that resided in the digital realms beyond human comprehension. The cultists, led by a charismatic and twisted individual known only as the High Priest, were performing a ritual, their chants echoing like the lament of a thousand damned souls.

Intrigued, Zachariah observed the proceedings, his curiosity piqued. As the ritual reached its climax, a rift opened in the fabric of reality, and a being of pure, malevolent energy emerged, its very presence causing the air to crackle with cosmic power.

The High Priest knelt before the entity, offering Zachariah as a sacrifice, promising the immortal’s eternal suffering in exchange for the dark god’s favour. Zachariah, sensing an opportunity to finally find respite from his curse, stepped forward, ready to embrace the oblivion that had eluded him for so long.

But as the dark god reached out to claim its prize, Zachariah felt a surge of power within him – a remnant of the ancient magic that had cursed him centuries ago. With a final, desperate effort, he channelled this energy, turning the tables on the cultists and the dark god itself.

In a blinding flash of light, the rift was closed, and the cultists were reduced to ashes. Zachariah, his body wracked with pain, staggered away, his immortal curse still intact. As he trudged through the empty streets, the neon lights casting an eerie glow over his weary form, he knew that his search for a way to end his eternal suffering had only just begun.

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