Chapter 91: The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 13

  It was the end.

  Sylvester felt it in his bones. The end of the world, the end of time, with humanity on the brink of the abyss. The end of his long, endless struggle.

  And he just had to hold on a little longer. That was truer now than ever before, more than during the other times he had thought it. Just a little more, and he’d be free. They’d be free.

  Free to forge their own future, to be happy, to be normal. And it wouldn’t even be him who turned the tide. Nor Heather.

  The Lunar Remnants, recently dismissed as an insignificant crisis in comparison, would once again be the key to everything. It was fitting, it was just, that the mistake of sending powers to this universe would be what cost that being its life—a being that believed it could do whatever it pleased with entire universes. As if countless existences were nothing more than pieces on a game board. It had been racking up an enormous debt, and now the time had come to pay it.

  No escape, no mercy. Now was the end.

  Sylvester could see flashes of what was happening behind the curtains, sharp and painful like shards of broken glass piercing his skull. Universes trembling, stars dying, galaxies spinning out of control as the entity howled and thrashed, extending its tendrils into adjacent universes.

  They're devouring it, Sylvester thought.

  It was liberating to know the fight’s outcome didn’t depend on his efforts. Not that he would sit idly by, waiting to see what happened. But it felt good, for once, not to carry the entire weight on his shoulders. He’d never felt that way before, not even after forming a proper team—one that could fight alongside him as equals rather than just support him. Maybe because, in addition to the mission, he now had to worry about their lives, their love, their friendships… more complications.

  But the Lunar Remnants were nothing more than monsters to him. Yes, there were people inside, innocent people. He knew that, but it didn’t change how he felt. Not after they had made his life miserable for a decade. He felt no compassion or fear for the people trapped inside them. Maybe he should, but he didn’t. There was no fixing that now.

  In the past, he had thought that a fundamental part of being human had died within him. But Heather had shown him otherwise, that he could still love. So, really, he didn’t care anymore.

  They're devouring it, he thought again. Just as this abomination has devoured other universes. I have no idea what’s going on, but that doesn’t matter either.

  What mattered, in the end, was always the result. Honestly, he felt inspired watching those horrible monsters at work. Tentacles lashing out like whips, jaws crunching and snapping, teeth grinding, tearing, crushing; tongues licking up the blood and other oozing fluids. Witnessing the carnage, the grotesque spectacle, inspired him. It was as if he were seeing the fury of humanity personified.

  You never should have crossed our path, he thought. But it’s too late for regrets now.

  Most of the Lunar Remnants weren’t even biting the body—the last copy of Sylvester—but something beyond. The real body that existed in this and hundreds of thousands of realities simultaneously. Though he couldn’t see it with his own eyes, only in glimpses, only with great effort, only painfully.

  And he was in the middle of it, of course, wielding a regular sword and one of black crystal, howling wildly, not even using his abilities. He felt like he had transcended all that, as if what he was now couldn’t be measured by blue boxes or levels. Maybe it never had been.

  Heather was there with him, shoulder to shoulder. The being writhed, using all its power. Dozens, if not hundreds, of Lunar Remnants died every second, but just as many emerged from somewhere, spilling into the void. They surged toward the being as if born solely to erase it from this world and every other. To feast on its flesh, its blood, and whatever else a being so powerful—a god to them—might have.

  It’s like a human being killed by an ant, he thought, letting out a grim laugh from deep in his throat.

  “Screw you. Screw you,” he snarled as the being’s noises began to sound rabid, pained. “We’re more than ants, you son of a bitch.”

  ——

  It soon became clear that the Lunar Remnants wanted nothing more than to pass through the portal. They only turned violent if someone got in their way. So they stopped doing that. They cleared the path for the macabre procession.

  Cynthia leaned her head back against the wall and let out a breath of mourning.

  “Do you think this is really okay?” she asked. “That they’ll be okay?”

  “If that man wanted to stop the beasts from crossing the portal, he would have,” Ryan replied. “Well, beasts… I didn’t mean that.”

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  Ryan winced. It was just a slip of the tongue, though it was obvious why he had called them beasts. They looked and behaved like them. Their only goal was to cross the portal. There was no trace of human determination or will.

  “Besides,” Ryan continued, “even if the creature summoned them to help… for lack of a better term, Heather is there. She should be able to control them.”

  Should.

  That was the key word. Many things were not as they should be.

  “In any case, I think they’ll be fine.” Ryan stood up from the bed. “If a significant part of the world, what’s left of the world, has to die to save this universe and countless others, I consider that fair. Though I’m not the one to decide. But if that’s the case, I should join them because I’m like them. I’m just another beast.”

  Cynthia had no idea what lay beyond the portal, past where Heather and Sylvester were. But she knew one thing for certain.

  “If you go, you’ll die like them. Let’s say they’re turning the tide in there. Even so, they’d be doing it as an army. You’d die before you even realized it, and not necessarily for something worthwhile. You couldn’t be sure you really contributed.”

  “Even so, I feel I have to. I feel it’s my responsibility. The reason why I, and only I, ended up like this. Half-human, half-monster. Without Shizer’s influence. Without help. If what happened to me was a miracle, and it certainly seems that way, it must mean something. I have faith it does. So…”

  Cynthia grabbed his wrist, gripping tightly.

  “You don’t have faith, Ryan. You have something to prove, and I think it’s enough. I think you need to grow up already, like Sylvester. And let it go. Don’t go.”

  After a moment:

  “I’m sorry. Fine.”

  Did he even know why he was apologizing? She supposed it didn’t matter. What mattered were the results, not the intention. If he still had stupid ideas in his head, she’d help him work on that. In the future. Assuming they had a future. Them and all of humanity.

  Bit by bit. As friends. As a team. At least she’d stopped him from committing suicide. That was a major victory.

  ——

  Reality was melting. Blurring. Colors bled, exploded, and swapped places. Relief was torture, and pain a comfort. Warmth brought cold. It was as if the fine threads of the universe were cracking amid the great battle, the consumption.

  Sylvester felt he couldn’t hold onto his identity as a human if this continued. But that didn’t matter. He just had to keep pushing forward. Whether as a beast or an alien, a human being or something for which there were no words. He was someone. He was here. And he mattered.

  Everything was falling apart, blending into chaos. His soul—or whatever it was he had—detached from his body and connected with Heather’s. Everything was shaking, crumbling. The battlefield had shifted, though they remained in the same place. They had stepped further, beyond the curtain. Like beings of pure energy.

  Words were no longer necessary. Sensations lingered like trails. Beyond them lay a journey of energy, colors like a bad acid trip, spirals drawn in specks of dust, stars, galaxies. He had transcended his body. Now, Heizer and he were together. And in transcending everything else—the laws of the universe, the very concept of life—they were rising to the level of the being they had come here to defeat.

  Everything was unraveling, dying in agony. Yet something would be born from this chaos. Something would emerge. Wonderful. Fragile. Powerful. It was the final phase of the journey of their evolution. In the midst of a dying world, he would find himself, as he had always wanted from the start, but in a way he had never suspected.

  Life was always like this: spirals, strange gasps, murmurs. He saw a spinning black hole. He could barely process what was happening with what remained of his human heart. After his death, his ascent, the painful yet beautiful fragility of the human cocoon.

  What kind of—? Ah! His bones ached.

  Butterfly would emerge. It hurt. What was pain? The black hole consumed him, swallowing stars, dragging the enemy inside. Black blood splattered everywhere, along with pieces of the enemy, of his human body. His real body. And pieces of things he preferred not to think about. Transcendence.

  Now, in flashes, he saw the world behind the curtain. They had exchanged their positions irreversibly; this was what he suspected. There was no way back.

  No, no. Enough of that cheap, pessimistic crap. Things could get better. They always could. He had to believe that.

  Through the darkness of the spirals, he felt close to understanding something important. Something beyond what Jonathan had reached inside César. Perhaps he hadn’t pierced the veil. Perhaps he only thought he had, and this reality he was experiencing as a being of pure energy was nothing more than another layer. And he was moving toward the true reality, toward what that godlike being was experiencing.

  Heather.

  Her voice was lost in the void. Words weren’t necessary to begin with, but he called her as if they still were, as if he needed to be sure she was still there with him, though he could feel her. Though they were one. And not in a metaphorical sense.

  Sylvester saw... no, they saw. A single reach to the edge, becoming a supernova.

  A howl shook the galaxy they now inhabited. A rain of stars, tears in the rain: red, black, green. Forces of creation after personally bringing the destruction of so many universes. They managed to construct a planet right over the being, a mass to strike it with.

  The planet only lived for a few seconds. It exploded, scattering fragments into the spiraling darkness. Spiral. Black, red, green. The Lunar Remnants kept fighting, devouring, erasing.

  The being called Sylvester hurled the so-called God against and through a black hole. Time sped up, slowed, froze. His perspective shattered like the fragile pane of a mirror.

  Come on, come on, come on. He knew they could do it. The signal was there. This was the end.

  No spiral would sever the serpent’s head. They would stop the Ouroboros circus. Here and now. Here and now. Forever.

  ——

  “Do you want to leave, Caim? There’s still time. We could slip away with the refugees. I don’t know what world we’d end up on, but hey, it’s something.”

  Yonah looked at him too, her gaze steady.

  Caim shook his head.

  “No. It’d just be delaying the inevitable anyway. Besides, we should stay here, wait and see if that being stirs again. Only then will we leave. A little hope isn’t so bad for a change. Just a little hope.”

  ——

  Everything was falling apart, drifting away. In that chaos, in that battle on an unimaginable scale to end the monster, they were becoming a true monster themselves.

  He forgot his name. He forgot the names of many things. Her name included, the name of love.

  It didn’t matter.

  Overcome every adversity and move forward. This wasn’t death. This wasn’t an end.

  He lost the pain. He lost the cold and the warmth. Soon, he even lost his thoughts, as his consciousness expanded to encompass the universe.

  The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 13: END