MR BIG STUFF

The crackling fire filled the silence among the group of strangers. Shadows danced around the surrounding forest like ghosts in the night, smoky embers rising into the cloudy night sky.
“This should do for now,” said a tall, strong-jawed man in a pinstripe suit. He dropped a few twigs onto the fire and settled down on a log, pulling his jacket tight against the cool air. He cast a glance at an older couple beside him, who smiled back. The two of them had been the most useful so far, knowing how to start the fire and keep it from burning through the forest.
The rest of the group remained silent. Little had been said for some time.
It had been a few hours since their bus had crashed on the highway, swerving to avoid a deer. Although no one had seen the deer except for the driver, who had died sometime later from internal bleeding. The only casualty among the ten occupants of the bus.
The bus was a turned-over wreck hidden in the trees and shrubs, and no cars had appeared on the dark highway, so all that remained was finding shelter and keeping warm. Two among them had gone back to the highway and would flag down any vehicles that passed, but at this time of night, they didn’t expect to see anyone. They just had to survive the night, and then find a way back to civilisation.
“Does anyone have any stories?” asked a young girl huddled beside her boyfriend. Her wide eyes sparkled in the firelight.
The man in the pinstripe suit smiled, showing bright teeth. “What a good idea. It’ll help pass the time.” He looked around the fire-lit group. “Anyone have anything?”
A gruff tanned man with a tattoo showing on his neck shook his head. “You don’t wanna hear my stories, man.”
The strangers looked at each other. Some looked away.
“Anyone know any songs?” the young girl suggested, perking up.
“Aw, hell no,” the gruff man said.
The others shared his sentiment, but more politely.
“I have a story.” This came from an old, white-haired man who had yet to speak since the crash. “One of magic, immortality, and eternal tragedy.”
“What, like a fairy tale?” the young girl asked.
The old man slowly shook his head, his frown creasing his wrinkled features. “Not a fairy tale. This is the story of a man named Mr. Big Stuff.”

Snow falls over the small mountain town before me, twinkling like falling stars. White rooftops are highlighted by the wavering lights of hundreds of little windows, glowing in the darkness. The wind howls upon the cliff top, but I am numb to the bitter chill.
I stand there like I have stood many times before, overlooking the snowy town, my boots on the edge of the cliff. Being here has always brought me a serene bliss, but now there is only a hollow, bitter resentment in me.
I have gone by many names in my hundreds of years, chained to this world as an immortal being. While my birth name has long been forgotten—if I was even born—the name that has stuck with me the longest is Mr. Big Stuff. A strange moniker, for sure, but one that came from a special person, so long ago.
Immortals like me, of which there are few, tend to go by nicknames or given names, as our origins have long been forgotten. Some stories have been told of us, from the few that have seen more than our quiet human facades.
Those who have witnessed a bloodied battle, conjured magic, or our heightened agility, have re-written us as fantastical beings. Some call us vampires, although I have never sucked blood or turned into a bat. As with many things, the stories are more fantastical, and more mundane, than the truth.
My deep sigh blows a puff of mist into the wintery air. I bring out a vial, its luminous blue liquid a beacon of light in the darkness. The light illuminates the specks of blood on his hands.
This is what I have struggled for, I tell myself. Everything has led to this potion. This moment.
Drinking it will make me mortal. Make me killable. Allow me to finally grow old. I cast another look down over the cliff, into the darkness below.
I could finally end it all so easily. Return to the darkness that had likely spawned me.
What good is this life I have been given, if I can never truly live it? Despite the love I’ve known, the love I’ve given, it all ends the same way; me alone. But this vial can change that.
I look over my blood-stained hands and the specks sprayed over my dark coat. So much death, so much hatred.
The horrified faces of my foes still flash through my mind. Ripping through their flesh, tearing limbs, I had been a whirlwind of blood and death. Seven beings, once-immortal, were now a pile of mutilated flesh.
At least I know this potion actually works.
The liquid was synthesised from a fabled crystal, known as a God Killer. A crystal that, when swallowed, could turn an immortal into a mortal who would age and die. It had been a decades-long task of mine to find the crystal and bring it to those men.
They had been so happy when I finally brought the crystal to them, not knowing I had synthesised a part of it into a liquid, which I had dropped into their wine.
I admit to taking pleasure in seeing their shocked faces when they realised something was wrong. There was also pleasure when I attacked them, and they found they were mortal. Blood had flown through the air, highlighted by the flashes of sorcery thrown about. Decades of resentment and hatred unleashed on them.
I had to do it, I tell myself. Their hold on me was too strong, and I had caused so much destruction for them. But now I was free.
Not that it matters anymore. My dearest love passed away, just a few weeks ago.
“No more pain,” Melina had said to me. Her frail, delicate form was nestled in bed, her light slowly fading. “No more pain for me. And, promise me, my love, no more pain for you.”
I gripped her hand, feeling the loose skin of her wrinkled fingers. Six decades together had not been near enough.
“Peace, Lucas,” she said quietly. Let my death bring us both peace.”
Melina was the strongest, most special person I had ever known. Far greater than this world deserved. I had told her everything about me, and she accepted it all. She accepted all of me, for who I was. Isn’t that what anyone of us want?
When we vowed to spend our lives together, it meant turning our backs on civilisation. We moved to an old castle of mine in the Carpathian Mountains, only visiting the nearby towns and cities on occasion. No one could really know us, and see that I was not aging.
It broke my heart that I couldn’t give her a normal life, but she’d insisted that she was happy simply being with me, and sharing her life with mine.
“Please, do not return to those men,” she had said, pausing to cough and grimace.
“I promise,” I whispered. “Once you pass, there is nothing more for me to do.”
Melina smiled weakly. “Never use it, for any purpose. Please. It can do no good.”
We both knew that she spoke of the crystal, the God Killer, and of those evil men I was bound to.
“It will remain with me, I promise. There is no more vengeance left in me.” Even back when I had said those words, I knew I was lying.
Melina’s breath grew shallow and short, her eyes slowly closing. “I will tell the angels of Mr. Big Stuff. And they will tell me they have heard of you.”
I held her hand tighter, sorrow tightening my throat. Despite her aging, her mortal shell withering over the years, she remained the same person I loved. And I loved her more than ever. It was a remarkable thing.
“I will see you some day, my love,” I said, fighting back the tears.
Her expression softened, a small smile remaining. Then she became still.
The tears finally fell, and I remember strangely regretting not having cried earlier, so that she could see my tears. But she would remember me being strong, and that was a good thing.
Hearing the name Mr. Big Stuff had brought a sad smile to my face. She knew me as Lucas, but I had told her of my old moniker, which she’d found amusing.  
We had both come a long way since we first met, which was strange circumstances, indeed.
It was during a battle with a great enemy of mine. We were bounding through the city streets in an uncommon show of our powers. Our darting forms must have been dark blurs in the night, although no one could miss our magical bursts.
A car was thrown into the air, hurtling towards a woman in the street below. I had dived off a building, streaming down to catch the car just before it crushed her. I managed to land a second before the car and caught it in the air, mere inches from her. Despite the moment—my physical exhaustion and the ongoing battle—my breath was taken by Melina’s bright green eyes, her shocked expression causing me to pause. Oddly, I remember smiling at her.
The heat from an oncoming blast of sorcery brought my urgency back, and I spun and caught the energy with the car, which melted in my hands.
My enemy landed in front of me, her hands blazing with purple fire. She extinguished the flames and stepped forward. Behind me, the shocked woman who I would later learn to be Melina, ran for cover.
“It doesn’t have to be this way,” I told the sorceress, Alryan.
A heavy cloak flowed behind her, revealing the figure-hugging combat clothing beneath. A streetlight revealed her long face, firmly set, her dark eyes shining. Her shoulder-length hair fluttered in the wind, much shorter than the long, sleek look she had when I’d last seen her. She raised her gauntleted hands, shaking her head with a grave expression.
“Look around us, Mister,” she said, her voice breathy from the fight. “It’s too late for it to be any other way. It was always going to come down to this.”
I sighed wearily, fighting back the deep sadness and regret eating away at me. “I never wanted it to, Alryan. Not like this.”
My shirt was ripped and mostly hanging off me, smudges of dirt over my arms and trousers. Her left shoulder was bloodied. How had it all come to this?
I darted into the air, pushing off a window sill, and landed on a rooftop. At this time of night, the streets were mostly empty, although I knew that several people were watching us and I wanted to take the fight away from them.
This woman, Alryan, possessed superior magical abilities than me. But she was not immortal. She was planning on overpowering me, likely chaining me up or keeping me somewhere far away for eternity. She couldn’t kill me, so she likely planned a lifetime of torture for me.
So I knew what I had to do.
The fight took us across the rooftops to a nearby riverside. I remember the dark water glistening in the moonlight. I managed to barge into her, gripping her tight as we fell through the air and crashed into the water.
She struggled to throw wave after wave of sorcery, but we plunged farther into the dark depths. Although breathing underwater was not a problem for me, she only had minutes left. Her expression grew pained, her eyes widening, but I held on to her and dragged us down farther.
I’ll never forget her face in that moment. Somewhat pleading, shocked, and something sorrowful. I’d like to think it was regret, a plea to start over and not end this way. But it was too late. Alryan was gone. I had taken her from this world.
I know there was no other way.
But it hadn’t always been like that, between us. We had been lovers for many years, drawn together under the strain of tragedy. We were the best of friends before she changed. No, that isn’t true. Maybe we just grew apart over time. Because of me.
When she’d discovered a dark truth of mine, she had erupted with fury. Our arguing became sorcerous and she’d attacked me. Her anger had brought the building down around us, and while I had escaped, she’d been crushed under the rubble. Or so I had presumed for many years, until she returned, far more powerful, and tried to kill me that night on the rooftops.
I have never known anyone to possess as much passion and perseverance as Alryan Aldobrasse. She was a descendant of an ancient race of witches, and one of my greatest loves.
Before we became enemies—before we became lovers—we were students under the same mentor.
We trained and studied in a monastery in the mountains, under the mentorship of Yenophis Creel. That night when Yenophis had been murdered, a dark shadow had entered our sanctuary, witnessed by the young Alryan. The face she made when she’d drowned was similar to her horrified expression as Yen was killed, torn apart by a figure wreathed in shadow. I would never forget either of those moments, for they have caused deep fissures in my heart. They are a part of me.
My time in that monastery contained some of the most pleasant and enlightening experiences of my life.
That all ended the night Yen was killed. Alryan had run away, and I’d been left all alone.
Alone, like I should be. Like I deserved to be.
Our wounds speak their own language. Some we can see on a person, and others are under the surface. They can be buried deep and go unknown all our lives, but they are still there.  Our scars are the maps on our skin that tell us where we’ve been, and where we’re going.
It was clear why Yen had been killed, for he possessed the only remaining God Killer crystal in the world. The only one that was known of, anyway. The dark creature had taken the crystal as it departed, never to be seen again in this world.
Yen was the closest to a father figure I had ever known. I trained under him for many years, learning the sorcerous arts, and gaining mental and spiritual strength. He was the wisest, most sincere man I have ever known. While he was strict and highly disciplined, there was a childish humour to him that I became endeared to.
Yen was an immortal like me, but of a kind that could be killed conventionally. That he had lived for over four hundred years was a testament to his abilities and strength, and it had taken a very dark creature to take him down.
Alryan became a student of Yen’s at nine years old; an orphan who had somehow stumbled upon the monastery in her wanderings. Yen saw this as fate, and decided to bring her under his tutelage.
It was strange at first, me a grown man, learning alongside a young girl, but Alryan and I eventually became friends. I was trapped in time, aging only a fraction of time in decades, but it was my pleasure to watch her blossom into a young woman, strong-willed and fierce. We were close friends and shared many great times together, visiting the mountain villages, sailing off the coast. When we trained in sorcery, Yen and I both marvelled at her feats in conjuring magic. It would be later that we’d learn of Alryan’s magical heritage. A past that had been kept from her.  
I found myself falling for Alryan even back in those days. Her eyes would look into my soul, and I would tell what she was thinking from her hands. The way she fidgeted, or played with something, or hid them from me. The hands never lie. They tell us everything about a person. Even Yen had his own hand language, but his was harder to read.
One night, Alryan and I stumbled upon a hidden room within the monastery. We were in awe of a small chest hidden in the ground. It was there that we found the God Killer crystal. The secret of the Creel Dynasty.
Yen appeared, full of bluster and anger, but he’d explained the crystal’s power to us when he eventually calmed. When swallowed, it could turn an immortal into a mortal, who would grow old and be killable. The crystals once belonged to his people, he told us, and this was the last that remained. I later wondered if his people’s prolonged exposure to the crystal was what had caused them to become killable immortals. Perhaps they were like me, once. But no one had those kinds of answers, as far as I knew.
I was a very different man when I first entered that monastery. Homeless, aimless; a wreck. I had heard of Yen and his teachings and was greatly relieved when he agreed to help me. Perhaps he had seen something of himself in me. He’d told me of the family he had lost, and that his son would have been around my age if he still lived. I suppose I tugged at his heart in the right way.
I never wanted my life to go in the direction it did. I have owned many lands and properties, seen the world shift and communities grow and dissolve. I have possessed great wealth, and lived without a penny to my name.
It seemed that those evil men knew just the right moment to find me. How they knew of me, I couldn’t say. But there I was, a bum in the streets, having given up on life. Filth, grime, and old vomit matted my heavy beard. The gift of immortality had gotten to me, and I just wanted to end it all. I was ashamed at how weak I was, but could see no other way to go. A depression had taken hold of me. Several lifetimes of experiences and memories weighed me down.
Some people think they know depression, but they only know of one lifetime of grief and suffering. I had known many lives.
They came to me as businessmen in suits. When they took me in, they revealed that they were immortals, also. They had existed for almost as long as time itself, or so they claimed.
They offered me a deal. Do one thing for them, and eternal wealth and happiness would be mine. I was a fool to believe them, but I had no other choice as far as I could see. All I had to do was kill a man and return a crystal to them.
Before I made the vow, I had to promise my soul to them. Until I returned the crystal to them, I would be bound to them. If I tried to flee from their hold, they would take away all that I loved, and all that I have ever loved before. They would burn my entire history if I went back on my word.
Kill a man. Give them a crystal. It seemed simple.
I could never imagine that this man would become a father figure to me; a mentor I would love and respect above all others. While I tried to go back on the deal, once I had inserted myself into Yen’s life and seen what a great man he was, I found that there was no going back. Those men would take Alryan away from me, and take all that I have ever known and cared for. I had to do what I did. I was just glad that she didn’t know that dark murderous creature had been me.
Well, she didn’t know until many years later. And then, even our love couldn’t stop us from becoming enemies.
That was all so long ago, however. As I stand there now, on this cliff top, I have a choice to make. It seems simpler now that I’ve had time to reflect.
True happiness comes from being with loved ones. To truly love and be loved. That means sharing your life with someone. Someone you can trust without question. Someone who accepts you for everything you are.
I remove the stopper from the vial and swallow the blue liquid without hesitation.
My body warms and tingles almost immediately. The synthesised God Killer works its way through me, turning me mortal. I am suddenly overwhelmingly tired, as if a great weight has come over me, and at the same time I feel lighter. Cleaner.
I gaze upon the snowy mountain town, knowing that somewhere out there is the monastery I once trained in. I had come to this cliff edge with Alryan many times, and had even brought Melina here a couple of times.
The darkness below beckons me, like the soft whisper of a lost loved one. This is the last time I will look into that darkness, I tell myself.
I turn from the cliff edge and begin the rest of my life. To grow old. Perhaps to love again. 

A hushed silence had fallen over the group of strangers.
“Whoa, that’s some story,” said the young girl who had requested a story.
“It’s nice alright,” said the tattooed man around the campfire. “But I call bullshit. Ain’t no one like this Mr. Big Stuff ever been around.”
The old white-haired man smiled, though his eyes were sorrowful.
“Hold on,” said the man in the pinstripe suit. “Just how do you know all that?”
A gasp came from the group. They all stared in awe at the old man.
“You’re him,” the young girl said quietly.
The old man just smiled.