Slow, atmospheric, detailed
There was no pain anymore.
No cold pavement.
No flashing lights.
No sirens wailing toward a body that no longer had a heartbeat.
Instead, John floated in a space that felt impossibly vast — a place without up or down, without air, without time. It was as if he were suspended inside the moment between breathing in and breathing out.
A soft glow appeared in the distance, weaving through the darkness like drifting silk.
John tried to speak, but his voice felt muted, swallowed by the void.
Then the glow took shape.
A figure emerged — a woman, but not quite human. Her presence felt too big, too ancient, like she carried constellations woven into her skin. Her hair flowed like liquid starlight, shifting colors with every movement: gold, silver, violet, then back to gold.
When she spoke, her voice wasn't loud.
It simply appeared inside him, warm and steady.
"John."
He felt his thoughts sharpen. His awareness grew clearer. He managed to respond — not with his mouth, but with something deeper.
"Where am I?"
The goddess stepped closer, her feet not touching anything, because there was nothing to touch. The darkness bent around her as though it recognized her.
"You are between endings," she said, "and beginnings."
John's memories rushed back — the truck, the street, the moment everything went silent.
"So… I died."
There was no fear in his voice. Only confusion, disbelief.
The goddess nodded slowly.
"Yes. Too soon. Far too soon."
He felt something tighten in his chest — or whatever version of a chest he currently had.
"Why? Why did this happen?"
Her glowing eyes softened.
"Because your world does not follow a script," she said.
"Accidents happen, choices collide, destinies end before they blossom."
Her words drifted around him like dust motes of light.
"But yours was not meant to end yet."
John frowned.
"I don't understand."
The goddess lifted her hand. Light rippled outward. Images spiraled into existence — not like memories, but like windows.
A metallic man soaring through a desert sky.
A thunder-wielding figure descending with lightning.
A shield painted with a star spinning through the air.
Monsters. Aliens. Cities burning and rising again.
John recognized all of it.
Marvel.
His breath hitched, or the soul-equivalent of it.
"That's— that's not real."
The goddess smiled gently.
"It is real somewhere. Many worlds exist, each following their own path."
She lowered her hand, and the visions faded into soft light.
"One of those worlds," she continued,
"is entering an age of heroes… and an age of disasters."
John swallowed hard.
"Why show me this?"
"Because you are not returning to your old world," she said.
"You will be reborn in theirs."
Silence stretched, heavy and unreal.
John stared at her, unable to form words at first.
Finally:
"Why me?"
The goddess approached until her presence felt like warm sunlight.
"Because you possess something rare."
He blinked.
"What?"
"Choice."
Her voice echoed through the darkness.
"In that world, many walk paths carved by fate. But you… you will walk one of your own making."
Her hand rested gently on his forehead, and warmth spread through him, dissolving his fear.
"You will be reborn in the Dominican Republic," she said.
"A city called Santo Domingo."
A strange comfort washed over him — the promise of a home he'd never known.
"Will I remember this?" he asked quietly.
The goddess's expression softened with something like regret.
"Not everything. But enough."
Light coiled around him, pulling him downward — or upward — or somewhere beyond understanding.
His form began to shrink, becoming smaller, lighter.
"Live well, John," the goddess whispered.
"Grow strong. The world you enter will need you long before its heroes rise."
The darkness folded into brightness.
His consciousness blurred.
And the goddess's final word followed him into the light:
"Begin again."