As Johua swings his legs over the side of the table his corpse rested on not forty-five seconds ago, the strange markings went from a swimming blue to a blood red, no longer dancing, but simply casting a glowing light from his chest.
Silence was the only thing that filled the room as he stood up and began to work his fingers around the buttons of the shirt he was buried in. Once flipping the right side of the shirt, and seeing a large gash, blood staining it, his memory of 'recent' events begin to flood back.
He had already known who the three hooded figured standing before him were, they've approached him several times in the past, somehow knowing of his ability, and asking him to come with them, each time Joshua scoffed at them and declined. But that's been happening since about 2012. With a sudden flash in his mind, his final hours flushed back to him, like a riptide. He remembered how some attacked leaped through the window of the house he had inherited one Wednesday morning. He remembered how he was hunted all the way out of his home in the city and all the way into a field, he'd been running for hours, the attacked made sure to keep Joshua going on a path that led away from highly populated areas, using what magic he could conjur up to keep him going and defend himself, but no matter what Joshua threw at his pursuer, they kept chasing. He remembered how he died.
He thought his legs might just tear in half, he was so scared, so tired. He always admitted to being a coward, after hearing people who had supposedly cared about him call him it, the word became sort of another name for him. A true name, he sometimes thought. Somehow, he tripped. Maybe on a root of something, and the dull pain slapping his torso felt like nothing compared to what his legs were feeling. They were screaming, screaming for him to stop running, he needed to stop. His body wouldn't function, he couldn't move his arms, his only movement were his eyes fixing themselves on the mysterious figure approaching.
In his final moments, the sun began to descend, casting an orange glow onto where he would die. He'd tripped in some forest just outside of Chicago. He felt himself quiver, in his sweat-drenched clothes, he'd decided to give up. The person loomed over him, strong looking arms, and a sword in hand.
Thanks to impulse, Joshua held his hand out to his killer, clenched his fist, and uttered a single curse. A powerful blast emitted from him and knocked his predator to their backsides. Before he could even sprawl his hands onto the ground to pull himself to his feet, a boot's heel strikes moon in the jaw, making him spit up some blood.
After being grabbed by the collar and pulled up so they're face to face, Joshua coughs out the word "please". If this had happened three hours earlier, Joshua'd have enough strength to use some form of magic, possibly getting away but not now.
A surprisingly kind voice responds from the dark helmet, replying with a simple "I'm sorry," before dropping their sword and pulling a knife, strapped to their leg, and shoves it into Joshua's side, letting him drop to the ground where he would remain until the Trinity found him.
Now, his wound had been healed thanks to a little of the liquid that was painted onto him had trickled onto where the knife penetrated his flesh.
With tears now rolling down his cheeks, he looks at the three robed people standing in front of him.
"You..brought me back?"
After a short silence, the person to the right responded saying "Yes."
"How long have I been dead?"