How I Became a Suicidal Superhero

I sought power, as most men do, however foolishly. It was something I was willing to wager my soul upon, as I thought my devilish scheme could outwit the Devil himself. Sure of myself and my plan, I stared into his eyes and was only met by hellfire and oblivion.

“And for what reason did you summon me,” he said in a chorus of pained voices,

“What is it that you are willing to suffer for eternity for?”

Hesitation, for but a moment, before my response.

“I want an immortal body that will never die,” I say.

I’d thought about this long and hard, for I wouldn’t go to hell if I could never die. I saw a shark-toothed grin stretch across his face, his fangs bared to make way for a barrage of laughter.

“Fair enough,” he said. “This world will become your hell soon enough.”

At the time I was unsure of what he meant, and so he took advantage of this confusion. The Devil stretched his hand out to shake mine and finalize our deal.

When we did, a tempest of flames shot from the ground and engulfed us both. I saw my flesh melt away and reveal a skeleton. I felt the fluid in my eyes boil before I went blind. I screamed until my voice fell silent and I fell into unconsciousness.

Upon awaking, I had no burns. I had gotten what I wanted.

Time passed and I was feared across the battlefield. The immortal soldier, incapable of being stopped. However the taste of victory turned to ashes in my mouth. Many men received honorable deaths by my hand, something I could never achieve myself.

Many years later, I fell in love. The biggest mistake I ever made.

She was beautiful, the only person I’d met that was capable of filling a century’s worth of emptiness. For a time, we were happy. She’d known what I was, but stayed regardless, and I was grateful. She fell ill about 15 years into our marriage, the sickness took hold quickly.

“I can’t meet you where you're going,” I told her. “Please. Please don’t leave me yet.”

She grasped my hand in hers, her grip growing weaker and weaker, and looked straight through me to the soul that was no longer there.

“You’re a good man,” she said, “Help people. Save them. Maybe then your name can join me in heaven.”

She smiled, and that was it. She died on a Tuesday.

I don’t know how long it’s been, how many lifetimes I’ve surpassed. Every form of death cannot affect me, as I’ve tried them all. I can’t even be hurt. I can no longer feel. I’ve become the hero she wanted me to be, but no matter how many people I save, no matter how much of a difference I’ve made, I still want nothing more than to die. I keep thinking to myself, “maybe tomorrow.” This world has become hell.