Those Who Cannot Die by Levi Bible (urban books to read .TXT) 📕

her mouth gagged and her hands tied behind her back.
“Go right on ahead.” Isaac said, mentally shielding his eyes.
“Actually, I have a better idea. I shall marry her.” He said, throwing her back into the chair.
“Good luck with keeping me here for that.” Isaac muttered. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
“You really care for her, don’t you? Otherwise you would stay. Stay and witness what would agonize a normal man.” Cyrus called.
“You are right. I care the world for her.” Isaac said, leaving. “Bye now.”
“Very well then. Men!” Cyrus called, “Show the Immortal his quarters for the rest of his existence.” A group of four guards came out of the shadows, fully armed. Isaac scoffed, drawing his dagger. Gripping the hilt, he glanced at each of his foes, almost copies of the guards outside. The disadvantages here were, of course, the bowl style of the room, everything was pulled to the center. Also, Isaac now had no escape, the bowl had sunk below the door, walls filled with mechanical devices the kind of which Isaac had never seen before now surrounded him.
The walls, however, granted him a weapon. An angle that hadn’t existed previously. All Isaac needed was to get near the wall, and a whole world of skills would be his for that one strike. Even killing all four of them at once with naught but a dagger.
The sound of gears filled the room, the guards circling. Like hawks around their prey. Isaac slowly made his way towards the walls, their circle closing in. Tension hung on every breath, the only thing that truly made Isaac comfortable was the air, fresh and ready for blood to fill it. The visions of those ancient battlefields filled his mind; the Romans. His brothers, his family, what he needed to escape from the most.
A guard pounced, using his weight in an attempt to take Isaac down, which he easily avoided. Another guard took him from the left, forcing him skyward, spinning. He landed on his side, his dagger landing blade-first into the ground three feet away from him. Another guard stomped on Isaac, keeping him down by leaning all his weight onto the small child. Pain reverberated throughout Isaac’s body, visions of Rome flooding his eyes. Visions of the dead, the screams of agony, the ride for glory.
Isaac channeled his Astral Energy into his arms, pushing his way up against the guard, who looked wide-eyed at the child, who stood abruptly, sending him flying. Cyrus stared from his seat atop the sunken bowl battlefield, his eyes widened with awe. Such power must be his!
Drawing their blades, Isaac somersaulted, grabbing the dagger out of the ground, snapping part of the blade off. “Merda!” Isaac exclaimed, the guards all charging in to knock him out. Isaac ducked under one guard’s legs, spinning and somersaulting backwards, getting all of his targets in front of him. He backed toward the wall, the guards all steadily following him. The one he had knocked over had now stood once more, his humiliated face covered by steel. The sound of gears filled his ears, they all charged, Isaac spun and began to run up the wall, letting his momentum carry him against the pull of gravity.
Leaping off the wall, Isaac now had his chance. All four could now die in one torturous combo. Isaac landed on one guard’s shoulders, a pop telling him that the man’s spine had now been dislocated. Isaac placed his foot on the guard’s face, launching into another guard, who had spun with shock in his face. Isaac slammed the dagger through the man’s heart, another piece of the blade shattering within. Landing, he stabbed the guard to his left’s shin, bringing him down making it easy for Isaac to grab a hold of the guard’s shoulder. Landing on his back, he leaped off, the last guard watching in horror as his death descended upon him.
Isaac had stabbed the man’s throat, blood spurting out in a glorious dark red. Rome still flooded his mind, particularly the war with Alban. The screams of men and the deaths of many—surprisingly, it seemed to no longer faze him. Bloodshed’s effect dulls after centuries of war.
“So, Immortal, you seem to be an adept fighter.” Cyrus said, smiling grandly. “But I must ask, how long can you endure this torment?”
“That depends,” Isaac said, tossing aside his shattered knife, “how many men do you have?” Cyrus merely smiled.
“Not enough, apparently.” Cyrus said, looking down. “But I wasn’t asking about them.” Isaac raised an eyebrow.
“What?” Isaac asked, kneeling to grab a sword. “I don’t get—” The sound of buzzing filled the arena. Gates opened around him, hundreds of insects swarmed out.
“Against man, you seem to be a god. But what about insects?” He called, a net screen now covering the top of the pit. Isaac looked around, the buzzing blocking all other sound. He swung his blade at the insects, soon realizing the futility of attacking. The insects landed on him, and began feasting. Isaac dropped his blade, holding his arms out, and fell backwards. The biting, the buzzing, the biting, the buzzing…
Everything went black, Isaac found himself floating again. But something had changed this time. Something else was there. Something sinister. Visions filled his mind. People dressed in green and brown, with large black metal machines, firing small metal pellets and making loud noises. Explosions sounded in the distance, dismembered body parts remained scattered around the battlefield. The dirt reflected the sun in a dull golden-brown, the dust tinting the sky and air as well.
Two people had lay still, both panting. One had been missing his leg, the other’s face had been covered by the bloody gore of the battlefield. By the time Isaac looked around to wonder where he was, the vision was over. The world had returned to darkness, leaving Isaac to wonder what had happened.
The burning sensation had overtaken him, his blonde hair turning brown. His eyes shut tight, his body morphed, his shoulders changing shape as well as his hair growing a small bit. He shrank as well, losing the weeks of life his body had before reincarnation. The world flashed, purple, red, and black. The colors constantly shifted, covering Isaac completely, before he realized he was back in life.
Isaac opened his eyes, his limbs immobile. He was strapped to a wooden board, more than likely a Rack. Looking around, he saw a small room, more than likely a cell. Isaac laid his head back, relaxing himself. Great, he thought, looking to the shadowed and invisible ceiling. The images of what he had seen still were burned into his mind. Not of trauma, but rather, of intrigue. He wondered what was happening, and how their warfare was different than his own. How not only life would change but who he would be by then.
A noise could be heard at the end of the hallway. Isaac moved his head, looking to see Cyrus. Isaac smirked, looking at him.
“So, you won. What now?” Isaac asked, smirking. He could stand pain, and didn’t mind death, so what could torture do to him?
“Now, we figure out how you Reincarnate.” Cyrus said, walking over to a corner of the room. Isaac sighed.
“How we Reincarnate? Simple. I am Immortal.” Cyrus stopped, looking at Isaac.
“Yes but, what made you Immortal?” He poked Isaac’s forehead. “That brain of yours must contain such vast amounts of knowledge. Of power.”
“I don’t know how I came to be. I was adopted almost two thousand years ago by nice people. They were killed.” Isaac explained. “The only one I know who would know that is nowhere near here.”
“Oh? More Immortals?” Cyrus said, grabbing a knife, “That sounds intriguing. But tell me more about you.”
“Not much to say.” Isaac said with a monotonous voice.
“You must be kidding me, almost two thousand years and no story to tell.” Cyrus said, walking around Isaac. “No story at all? Dormant all these years?” He grabbed a handle, and began turning it, pressure increasing on Isaac’s limbs. He was being pulled apart.
“Torture will grant you nothing.” Isaac said, ignoring the increasing pressure, which quickly became pain. The pain increased, a normal man would have been screaming. He had felt worse.
“We shall see, shan’t we?” Cyrus said, motioning for something. “Allow me to introduce you to Lady Rosa, my fiancée.”
“So now you attempt to attack my heart?” Isaac asked, laughing. “I already told you. I have no feelings for her.”
“Oh, dear. It is just as I had told her.” Cyrus said. “Oh well. We shall both live forever, free to rule the world.”
“The world, huh? Pretty big wish.” Isaac remarked, looking upwards, bored.
“So, you will give us your Immortality, and we shall leave you hear to die.” Cyrus said, putting the knife to Isaac’s throat.
“How, exactly, do you plan on doing that?” Isaac asked, raising an eyebrow.
“We shall find out, won’t we, O Ancient One?” Cyrus said, and everything went black.


Chapter 4:
June 8, 1250-The Note
Over those few months, the pain I felt was near unceasing. My only relief lay with the knowledge that within a hundred years, he would be unsuccessful and I would be free. Each new day, he brought new and frightening devices in, each constituting a new and even worse pain. Time had passed, and I had even started to forget what the sun looked like. It didn’t matter; time was all that stood before me.
The day soon came, however. The day I escaped. And it came from a person I never would have expected; one I had always pushed away. However, after that day I never saw that person. All I have left is the Note left behind, still blood-spattered.
“Wake up!” Isaac heard, pain circulating through his latest body. Bright red hair now accompanied his bronze eyes, his body that of a severely beaten ten-year-old. Scars around his shoulders, bruises anywhere you looked, but he still stood from his hard, wooden bed as if it was nothing.
“Who are you?” Isaac called, dazed and slightly confused. After a few moments of silence, he realized the cell door was opened, his wrists unshackled. He walked toward the door, looking down each end of the hallway. The pain throbbed within his shoulder. He considered killing himself to relieve the pain, but decided against, as that would take too much time.
Isaac leaned against the cool dungeon wall, feeling the stone. Which way should he go now? He couldn’t tell. The voice was gone, but something dwelled within him. The malevolence he had felt before now dwelled deep within his heart. Possibly because of all his Reincarnations. Maybe Cornelius would know, but he had to leave.
He began running down the left hall, hoping for the light of the sun. A large door came in front of him, light coming out, piercing the darkness that had taken hold of his soul. He looked inside, seeing the bowl-room. The smell of blood still wafted in the room. He slid to the center, looking around. The arena-like trap was disarmed, for now it seemed. Isaac began climbing the wall, to the throne-like chair of Cyrus’. Reaching the ledge, Isaac clambered over, looking at the three seats.
Isaac spotted a door behind the chairs, black with red arches. Opening it, he saw what looked like a small study. Two book cases lined the walls, one singular chair in the center of the room. On it, a piece of paper, with a bloodied knife covered by a single rose upon it. He picked up the rose, looking over it carefully. “I wonder…” Isaac muttered, grabbing the knife. He looked at the note, covered with blood.