The first thing I tried was brute force. There was no way this thing could hold me.
The cosmic energy burned my skin, but my rage burned hotter. I clenched my fists and pounded the container's walls with savage fury. The metal rang dully, like a bell, but didn't yield. Each blow sent pain shooting through my knuckles, the echo reverberating in the cramped space, returning distorted and mocking.
"Monsters!" I roared, pouring all my strength into each strike. "Let me out! Let me out of here!"
My fists smashed against the unyielding walls, blood trickling from my knuckles, leaving crimson streaks on the cold metal. But the pain only fueled my rage. I kept hammering, feeling tendons strain to their limit, muscles burning from exertion, until I sensed the bones in my hands begin to crack. Yet the walls remained unscathed—a special alloy, built for space travel, impervious even to superhuman strength. The metal was laced with a fine web of energy lines that glowed faintly with each hit, absorbing kinetic force and dissipating it.
I tried bracing my back against the container's base and pushing against the lid with my legs. The position was awkward, the tight space barely allowing movement. My muscles tensed to their limit, veins bulging in my neck, vision darkening from the strain. The metal bent slightly—a millimeter, no more—before snapping back with a distinctive twang of elastic recoil. Damnable resilience. This material wasn't just strong; it was designed to absorb any impact.
"No way," I rasped, catching my breath. My lungs burned, throat parched. My weakness was humiliating. "No way this metal box is stronger than me."
I searched for weak points—seams, joints, any flaw in the design. My bloodied fingers traced every inch of the inner surface, probing every curve, every ridge. The surface was flawless, as if molded from a single piece. The seams were fused by some unearthly method—I could feel faint lines where the metal had been welded at a molecular level, leaving no gaps. Not a crack, not a crevice, not even a space for a needle to slip through.
Panic crept in, but I kept pounding. Walls, lid, base. Blow after blow, methodical, desperate. My hands became a bloody mess—skin torn away, exposing muscle and tendon. Regeneration worked sluggishly; the cosmic energy hindered healing, turning each wound into a source of constant pain.
"I won't die here!" I screamed into the darkness, my voice hoarse and broken. "Do you hear me, you monsters?! I won't die!"
But my cries were swallowed by the metal silence, absorbed by the walls as if they'd never been. The container continued its descent into the ocean's abyss, dragged down by its own weight and unrelenting gravity.
When it became clear brute force was useless, I turned to my primary ability.
Blood. My blood, which I could always control. If I couldn't break the walls with strength, maybe I could pierce them with blood.
I focused, trying to feel the flow of blood in my veins. Normally, it was effortless—a thought, and the crimson liquid obeyed, an extension of my body. I could shape it, harden it like steel, or make it thin as mist. But now, something was wrong.
The cosmic energy in the walls interfered, like static in the air, making my blood vibrate chaotically. My abilities faltered, like a broken instrument. My blood surged erratically, ignoring my mind's commands. Each attempt at control brought a splitting headache, as if nails were being driven into my skull.
"Come on," I whispered through gritted teeth, massaging my temples with trembling hands. "Work, damn it!"
I focused harder, pushing my will to the limit. I felt sweat bead on my palms, my heart—or whatever replaced it—pounding slowly, pumping blood through my arteries. Slowly, agonizingly, I forced a small amount of blood to seep through the pores of my fingers. Crimson droplets hovered in the air, trembling with effort, glinting in the faint glow of the energy lines on the walls.
I tried directing them to the container's seams, seeking microscopic gaps to infiltrate. The droplets drifted toward the wall, trailing thin red threads. But the moment they touched the metal, the cosmic energy obliterated them. The blood hissed and evaporated, like acid on hot steel, leaving only the acrid stench of ozone.
"No, no, no!" I tried again and again, forcing more blood from my body. "This has to work!"
Each attempt cost precious blood, yielding only pain and frustration. The cosmic energy was poison to my abilities, neutralizing the essence of my power, rendering my blood useless. I regenerated and tried again, but nothing worked.
It was futile.
I tried another approach—gathering all available blood into a single mass to punch a hole with a concentrated strike. A crimson orb the size of a fist formed before my face, pulsing with strain. It held all my rage, all my remaining strength. I hurled it at the wall with every ounce of force I could muster.
The impact rang dully, like a hammer striking steel in a confined space. The blood splattered across the metal in a fan, hissing and smoking. The stench was vile—burned flesh and molten metal. No effect. Not a scratch on the flawless surface. Not even a mark remained.
"Damn it!" I roared, slamming my fist against the wall. "Damn it, damn it, damn it!"
But rage changed nothing. The container remained my prison, the ocean's abyss my grave.
Time passed. It was hard to say how much—in absolute darkness, minutes stretched into hours, hours into days. The air grew stagnant, each breath revolting. Oxygen dwindled, but I didn't need it. I simply stopped breathing.
Strangely, death by suffocation seemed almost merciful compared to the slow decay from cosmic energy. If I'd breathed like those lesser creatures, I might've died more peacefully.
No. That spark of rage still burned inside me, faint but alive. Damn those monsters—I'd return, and their bodies would drown in the blood of thousands.
I tried sensing other living beings nearby. If there were fish, maybe I could control their blood, make them help. It was a desperate idea, but I had no others.
I focused, extending my perception beyond the container. It demanded immense effort to pierce the metal and cosmic interference. Slowly, bit by bit, I caught faint signals.
Fish. Many fish. They swam around the container, drawn to the strange object that had fallen from the surface. I felt their heartbeats—rapid and uneven in the small ones, steady and strong in the larger predators. Small and large, predators and plankton-eaters—an entire ecosystem thrived outside.
I tried latching onto their blood, forging a connection. It was incredibly difficult—their cold, alien blood moved slower, its structure foreign. The cosmic energy created constant interference, like a relentless wind.
At first, nothing worked. The fish swam by, ignoring my desperate attempts at control. Their primitive nervous systems resisted intrusion. But gradually, through pain and strain, I established a faint link with a few.
A small silver fish, likely drawn to the container's metallic glint, swam closer. I felt its tiny heart, the size of a pea, pumping blood. I seized it with all my will and forced it to ram the walls.
The fish thrashed, striking the metal with its tiny body. The impacts were weak, like tapping armor with a feather. But it was something. I drew more fish, then more. Focus grew harder, my head splitting with pain. Soon, a school swarmed the container, battering it chaotically.
But it was useless. Their fragile bodies couldn't dent metal built for cosmic voids. Within minutes, the fish began dying from the relentless impacts—their delicate skeletons shattered, scales tore, gills bled. One by one, they lost consciousness and sank. I lost my connection, their small bodies drifting into the abyss.
I tried finding something larger. Deep below, sharks prowled—I felt their powerful hearts pumping cold blood. Ancient predators, built for killing. If I could make a shark attack the container…
But connecting with such large predators was even harder. Their more developed nervous systems instinctively resisted control. Sharks were too cunning to let a foreign mind seize them. The cosmic interference made every effort agonizing. If only that energy weren't here…
I pushed to my limits, wringing out my last strength. The pain in my head pulsed. Finally, I hooked onto the mind of a reef shark swimming nearby.
The predator was about two meters long, muscular and agile. Its heart beat steadily, pumping blood through a body built for speed and power. I felt its primitive emotions—hunger, curiosity, caution.
The shark turned and charged the container. I forced it to strike the walls with full force. It slammed into the metal, its razor-sharp jaws scraping the surface. Teeth capable of crushing bone left faint scratches.
The shark attacked ferociously, driven by my will. Its tail thrashed, stirring powerful currents. But the metal held. After minutes of futile assaults, the shark, exhausted and concussed, lost consciousness. The connection broke, and it sank, leaving only a few drops of blood on the container.
"This is impossible," I whispered in the dark, my voice cracking with despair. "They can't have built a perfect cage."
But the facts spoke for themselves. The container was designed to dispose of refuse. My abilities, however unique, were useless here.
Despair clawed at my heart. For the first time in centuries, I felt truly powerless. No plan, no hope, no way out.
Only slow death in darkness and solitude.
Time flowed, blurring the line between reality and delirium. The cosmic energy burned my skin with a relentless, exhausting fire. I drifted between consciousness and oblivion, clinging to the last threads of sanity.
In a moment of clarity, a mad idea struck me.
What if I could control the cosmic energy itself?
The thought was so absurd I dismissed it at first. Cosmic energy was hostile to my nature, causing pain and destroying my body. It was the antithesis of life, a force meant to annihilate me. How could I control what was killing me?
But there were no other options. It was the last straw for a drowning man.
I focused on the burning sensation the cosmic energy caused. Instead of fighting it, I tried to accept it, to understand its nature. The pain was constant but rhythmic—pulsing not with my heartbeat but with something deeper.
The energy was alien but structured, with a rhythm, a logic. It wasn't like my blood control, instinctual and simple. It flowed in waves, like tides of an invisible ocean, pulsing slower than a heartbeat but faster than breath. If I could sync with that rhythm…
I tried matching my heartbeat to the energy's pulse. It was agonizing—each beat sent pain ripping through my body, as if my blood had turned to molten lead. But slowly, I found a harmony between my body and the hostile force.
Early attempts were catastrophic. The energy erupted inside me, causing unbearable pain. My skin blistered, muscles spasmed. I writhed, biting my lips bloody to stifle screams. The metallic taste of blood mixed with ozone and burned flesh.
But I persisted, ignoring the pain, the destruction to my tissues. Slowly, I began to understand its language.
Cosmic energy was like music—complex, layered, with harmonies and dissonances. High notes like ringing metal, low ones like howling winds. I had to dance with its rhythm, find resonance between its frequency and the life in my veins.
After hours of torturous effort, I gathered a small amount of energy in my palm. It burned like molten metal, but I held it, keeping it from dissipating. A tiny, pulsing golden light, the size of a coin.
"It's working," I whispered in awe, staring at the trembling glow. "It's actually working."
But my joy was premature. Controlling the energy was one thing; using it to escape was another. Cosmic energy was both creative and destructive, demanding precision. One wrong pulse could kill me faster than slow decay.
I tried directing the energy against the container's walls. Carefully, like a surgeon with a scalpel, I touched the glowing mass to the metal.
Damn you, Gilgamesh, and your memories of that surgeon girl you bedded. You felt no pleasure, yet your blood gave me this control. I'm grateful not to you, monster, but to myself for drinking it.
To hell with it. I'll kill you anyway.
The result exceeded expectations—the metal smoked and melted under the concentrated cosmic force. A small indentation formed, no larger than a finger. Progress!
"Yes!" I shouted. "Yes, it's working!"
But the next moment, the energy spiraled out of control. It erupted like a miniature sun, filling the container with blinding light and unbearable heat. The temperature spiked to thousands of degrees in a second. I screamed as the energy burned me alive.
When the light faded, the metal was damaged—a fist-sized dent. But the cost was horrific: my hands were charred to the bone, my face's skin blackened and flaking, my hair burned to ash. Even my eyelashes and brows were gone.
Regeneration worked slowly, struggling against the cosmic energy. Each cell fought to rebuild. The pain was excruciating, but I gritted my teeth and prepared for another try.
Hours turned to days, days to weeks. Time lost meaning in this metal tomb. I kept experimenting with the cosmic energy, earning burns and wounds, healing sluggishly. Each attempt was a small step forward, but agonizingly slow. The dent grew, but at a snail's pace.
The container rested on the ocean floor. The external pressure was immense—thousands of tons of water pressed the walls. I heard them creak and flex, but the material held. Cold water enveloped my prison, chilling the metal to near-freezing.
This was taking too long. At this rate, those monsters would devour the planet, and me with it.
Then a desperate idea hit me.
What if I condensed all my blood into a single mass and infused it with cosmic energy? Create a core of life to break free?
The thought was absurd, like mixing fire and water. But death was the alternative, and I wasn't ready to surrender.
I began slowly, painfully drawing blood from my veins. Each drop carried a fragment of my life force. The blood resisted, as if knowing its fate. But I persisted, gathering crimson droplets in my trembling palms.
Slowly, I was turning into one of those Egyptian mummies from ancient tales.
The blood pulsed, still linked to my body, warm and alive, brimming with energy. It was my essence—centuries of accumulated power from thousands of victims whose lives fueled my strength.
When I'd gathered enough—about a fist's worth—I began the most dangerous part: blending it with cosmic energy without letting the hostile force destroy its fragile structure.
I summoned the energy, feeling the familiar burn in my hands. I proceeded cautiously, letting it seep into the blood layer by layer, like paint soaking into fabric. Too fast, and the blood would burn. Too slow, and no reaction would occur.
Early attempts failed. The energy incinerated the blood, turning it to smoking, charred droplets. The stench of burned organic matter filled the container. I started over, losing precious life force with each mistake, my body wasting to a skeleton.
"Slower," I whispered, steadying my trembling hands. "Careful. Don't rush."
Gradually, I found the balance. Just enough energy to stabilize the blood without destroying it. It was like balancing on a knife's edge.
The process took hours of excruciating focus. I wove cosmic energy into my blood's structure molecule by molecule, creating an impossible hybrid of biological and cosmic. My hands shook, sweat stung my eyes, every movement demanded precision. One error meant starting over.
Phastos would be stunned by such a bold experiment. He'll be even more stunned when I rip his eyes from his skull.
It happened.
In my palms pulsed a small orb—no larger than a walnut—glowing faintly red from within. My blood, infused with cosmic energy, compressed to incredible density. It was both alive and not, organic and artificial.
"It worked," I whispered in awe. "It actually worked."
The orb was warm, alive. I felt its pulse, like a second heart in my hands. It held immense life force, enough to sustain existence in extreme conditions. The energy and blood harmonized, forming a stable structure. And the only thing I could do with it…
I brought it to my lips and swallowed.
The effect was immediate and overwhelming. Energy surged through my body, filling every cell with incredible power. Wounds healed at a staggering pace, charred skin regenerated, burned hair regrew.
But something went wrong.
The energy was too potent for my weakened body. It raged through my veins like a wild beast, tearing everything apart. I felt my body ripping from within under the strain of excess power.
"No," I groaned, writhing in pain. "Not now. Not when I'm so close."
But it was too late. The cosmic energy in the container's walls resonated with the energy in my blood, amplifying each other, creating an unbearable strain on my body.
The world blurred. Consciousness slipped like water through fingers. My last thought: "I didn't account for the walls' energy shielding…"
Darkness swallowed me.
Dreams didn't come.
Only nothingness. An absolute void, devoid of time, space, sensation. I drifted in this abyss, neither alive nor dead, existing in a liminal state.
Sometimes—I couldn't tell if it was days, months, or years—something disturbed the void. Faint pulses from outside. Sounds? Movement? I couldn't tell.
Strange processes stirred in my body. The blood, fused with cosmic energy, was rebuilding me at a cellular level. It forged new neural pathways, strengthened tissues, adapted me to survive in extreme conditions.
I was changing.
Not healing in the usual sense. Evolving. Transforming. Becoming something new, something that could endure where no ordinary mutant could.
But the process was slow, agonizingly slow. Each change demanded immense energy; each adaptation took weeks or months.
Time lost all meaning.
The first awakening was brief and painful.
I opened my eyes in absolute darkness, unsure where I was or what was happening. My body felt alien, like it belonged to someone else. I tried to move but lacked the strength. My body was still transforming, expending all energy on internal changes. Minutes later, consciousness faded again.
The second awakening lasted longer.
This time, I assessed my state more clearly. My body had changed—muscles denser, bones stronger, skin thicker. My heart beat slower but more powerfully.
I tested my abilities. My blood responded instantly, but its behavior was strange—smoother, more controlled. And it carried a trace of cosmic energy.
The experiment had partially succeeded. I hadn't died, but I hadn't escaped. My body had adapted to confinement, entering a hibernation-like state to conserve energy. Damn Gilgamesh's terms—they infuriated and helped.
But how long would the energy last? What would happen when it ran out?
These questions tormented me for hours until consciousness dimmed again.
The third awakening brought strange sensations.
The container was swaying. Not still, as before, but rocking rhythmically. A familiar motion from centuries past. A ship. I'd been raised from the ocean floor and was now aboard a vessel.
I listened, trying to discern what was happening outside. Sounds were muffled, distorted through the metal and marine growth, but I made out mechanical hums, creaking decks, human voices.
Voices!
Someone had found me. But who? Simple fishermen or something more serious? I tried to sense signals outside, but the cosmic energy in the walls still interfered. I caught only faint pulses—several human hearts beating normally.
Humans. Not Eternals.
The rocking continued for days, perhaps weeks. I drifted between consciousness and oblivion, feeling the ship cut through waves, carrying my prison to an unknown destination.
Finally, the motion stopped. Loud voices, clanging machinery, and metal scraping metal rang out. Someone was unloading me from the ship.
"What the hell did we pull up this rock for?" a gruff worker's voice cut through the port's noise. "Bob, you ever seen anything like it?"
"Nope," another replied. "Looks like a giant dinosaur egg, but stone. And heavy as a truck."
"Checked it with sensors?"
"Yeah. Nothing. Dead as a grave."
My insides twisted at those words. Sensors couldn't detect me? But how…
Of course. The cosmic energy in the walls not only blocked my senses but shielded my vital signs from external devices. To any scanner, I was just a lump of rock.
Footsteps faded, then returned—more voices, one authoritative and irritated.
"Show me this junk," the new voice said. "And explain why you hauled some stone block from the ocean floor."
"Boss, we found it in the anomaly zone on the map," a worker explained. "Metal detectors picked up weird signals. Thought it might be valuable…"
"Valuable?" The boss's voice dripped with scorn. "It's a rock covered in barnacles. What do the sensors say?"
"Nothing special, boss. Just stone."
A long pause. I heard the boss circling the container, inspecting it.
"How much fuel did we burn hauling this thing?"
"Well… a lot, boss."
"Dump it back in the ocean. No need to clutter the warehouse with garbage."
Panic—true panic—gripped me for the first time in centuries. If they threw me back, I'd remain trapped in this cursed prison. I tried to move, to strike the walls, to signal life, but my body wouldn't obey. I barely had energy to stay conscious.
"Wait, boss!" a worker interrupted. "I got a buddy in America, collects weird old stuff. Might be interested. Buys even plain rocks if they look odd."
"Collector?" The boss's tone shifted to curiosity. "Pays well?"
"Yeah, real well. Especially for deep-sea finds. Says they're… mystical."
"Mystical…" The boss snorted. "Fine, contact him. If he covers transport costs, we'll ship it. If not—back overboard."
Days passed in waiting. Waiting for a miracle. The container sat in a warehouse while negotiations with the mysterious collector unfolded. Finally, agreement came—an American was willing to pay for delivery and a small sum for the "artifact."
I was loaded onto a flying craft. The flight was long—pressure shifts, engine hums. The craft stopped several times for refueling, as the workers said. Had humans advanced so far? We reached our destination—a city in America. The names of the city and country meant nothing to me.
At the new location, the container was handled carefully. Educated voices discussed transport and storage of the "valuable artifact." I was taken to a spacious room, judging by the echoes.
"Interesting specimen," an elderly voice with a British accent said. "Truly unusual shape. Where was it found?"
"Three kilometers down, sir. North Atlantic."
"Three kilometers… Impressive. Dating?"
"Hard to say exactly, but at least a thousand years. Maybe much older."
"Excellent. A worthy addition to the collection."
Weeks dragged in my new prison. I lay in a private warehouse or museum, occasionally hearing footsteps and muffled voices. The collector sometimes brought guests, showing off his finds, calling me a "mysterious artifact of an unknown civilization."
But even his patience had limits. After a month—counting every second—I overheard a phone call:
"Yes, putting it up for auction. Takes up too much space, and I know nothing about it… Let other collectors puzzle over it."
The auction house was noisy. Hundreds of voices, the gavel's strike, rustling catalogs. The container was placed on a platform, and the auctioneer described the lot.
"Lot number 247," he announced grandly. "A mysterious stone sarcophagus of unknown origin, raised from three thousand meters in the North Atlantic. Estimated age—two to five thousand years. Starting bid—five hundred thousand dollars."
The room buzzed. A few voices raised bids, but the auction was sluggish—too little was known about the find. No, I had to escape. I had to.
"One million," a calm young voice said from the front row.
The room fell silent. Everyone turned to the bidder. I strained to listen.
"One million once, one million twice…" The auctioneer paused. "Any higher bids? One million three! Sold!"
"Mr. Tony Stark, congratulations on your purchase!" the auctioneer declared.
Tony Stark. The name stirred something in my memory, like an echo from a past life, knowledge surfacing unbidden. Who was he?
Days later, the container was delivered to the Stark estate. I heard water, a humming sound, and several voices. Stark was curious—very curious. Within an hour, he was probing my prison.
"Jarvis, what's with the spectral analysis results?" Tony Stark asked, his voice young, confident. Wealthy, if he could afford my cage. "Is this another artifact from some nutty collector, or something bigger?"
A voice answered—one I couldn't sense. Like a corpse.
Had humans learned to speak with the dead?
"Sir, I'm afraid there may be errors in my analysis algorithms. I need to…"
"Errors? You? Jarvis, I built you to be flawless. Spit out the results, no drama."
Built? Like a mechanism? A genius like Phastos?
"Sir, spectral analysis suggests this sarcophagus is at least two thousand years old. Possibly more."
Definitely more.
"Two thousand years? Seriously? Am I an archaeologist now?" Tony chuckled, but his voice held intrigue. "Okay. What's it made of? Anything unusual? And most importantly—what's inside?"
"I couldn't penetrate it; a physical inspection is needed. But I must note…"
"Pepper! Where's the crowbar?"
"Tony! What the hell's a crowbar doing here?! And why's there uneaten breakfast!"
Inside the container, I listened with growing interest. Tony Stark. Knowledge surfaced in my mind. Vague, fragmented, but enough to understand…
A young genius, a billionaire—whatever that meant—and, crucially, an inventor. If anyone could unravel my prison's nature, it was him.
Soon, I'd be free. Hurry, Tony Stark. Release me. Release me. I'll drink my fill of blood for these centuries of confinement. I'll bathe every corner of this world in blood.
And I'll find those monsters.