Omnipotence

Chapter 1 Paul Jasper

      The waves fell upon the shore with resounding tranquility. Their waters roared through the light of the setting sun before sliding back into the great abyss. It had always been like this—the constant surge and retreat of the ocean.

Paul remembered those serene, lazy evenings when he came to this beach with Claire, his fiancée. He would lie on his back while she rested her head on his chest, a wool blanket draped over them. They talked for hours as the light slipped away. All the while, he was soothed by the waves' steady vibrations and how Claire's warm breath on his neck seemed to match them in rhythm.

“We came from the waves,” she had said. “Rose out of ancient waters and kept going. Never stopping.”

Paul considered a reply but decided against it. In the time he’d gotten to know her, Paul had grown rather fond of her musings. It was one of the many qualities he adored about her.

“And we keep moving—escaping—”

“Escaping?” said Paul. “From what?”

Claire rose on one elbow and looked Paul in the eyes.

“From the past.” She glanced down the shoreline. “From the ocean.”

Everything within Paul’s world was at peace, except…

Except, Paul was not on the beach. And Claire, well...Claire was dead.

Paul had said something then, but he couldn't remember what. A high-pitched beeping interrupted the memory. The beeps tore holes in the calm waters and replaced them with sharp pangs of white light.

He struggled in vain to hold onto the memory; it was one of the last he had of Claire before her death. He focused on the sound of the ocean, but soon realized it was no longer the waves he heard. In their place, was the sound of his own steady breathing. The ocean was gone and with it went the memory of the girl he had loved so long ago.

*  *  *

     Paul lay on his back with his head resting on a soft pillow. When he opened his eyes, pain fired at the back of his head. He clamped them shut and listened to his surroundings.

     Electricity coursed through the overhead lighting while machinery beeped and hummed near his right. The thick scent of bleach enveloped him.

For some reason, these sensations seemed oddly magnified. The pulsing of electricity and each sound from the machines pressed against his skin.

With more caution, he reopened his eyes.

Eventually, the pain subsided and a hospital room manifested itself before him. A thin wire dangled down from above his head. It was taped to his right arm with gauze. A maddening itch pulsed where the needle punctured his skin. Paul shifted in order to get a better look when he realized with mild confusion that he was strapped down.

“Jesus, he's awake,” said a man’s voice. Paul turned his head toward the speaker and jagged pain shot through his neck. It felt like slivers of glass were lodged in his spine. But even more troubling than the pain was the sight of a dark-clad soldier just inside the doorway.

The soldier wore a black uniform covered with gray ashes. A streak of dried blood ran down from beneath reddish blonde hair, mottled with charred earth, and clung to the side of his face. Several other wounds stood out on his arms like red oil slicks.

     Paul met the soldier’s gaze and his blood ran cold. Unnatural glints of light burned within the soldier’s dark eyes—a connection to the vEYEsor network—but that wasn’t the worst of it. Behind those lights, something else was raging. Something Paul wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t seen the same look in his own eyes time and time again. Hate. Pure, unchecked hatred.