Remy stared at the object as it flashed and pulsed with a power that he recognized as the inspiration for creation itself.
“The future,” he said.
He stepped down from the stone upon which he stood, mesmerized by the slug as it gradually morphed back into a bullet.
He sensed Lazarus’ approach and managed to tear his eyes from the object he held.
“I think you’re going to need this,” Lazarus said, holding out the Godkiller.
“I think you’re right.”
Remy took the gun from the man’s bloody hands.
Lazarus stepped slowly back, then sat upon a piece of floating stone. “Go ahead,” he said to Remy. “Load it up.”
Remy flipped open the cylinder, staring into the chambers. Then he slipped the bullet into one of the black holes. The weapon thrummed in his hand as if it had somehow gained a pulse—a heartbeat. He looked to Lazarus, who was slumped upon the rock.
“It won’t be long now,” Lazarus said, slurring his words.
And Remy could feel that he was right. It was time for him to do what he’d been brought to this hellish reflection of his own reality to do.
He was going to fix things. He was going to make things right.
Looking out over the edge of the Golden City, he saw Francis standing below, looking sadly up at him. Waiting.
Waiting, as this very world was waiting.
Remy raised the gun, and Francis gave a barely perceptible nod of acceptance.
The Seraphim turned away and gazed upon the Lord God as he hung frozen in time and space. He took a deep breath, walking toward the moment, remembering how it had all played out, Simeon’s commands rattling around inside his head, the ring of Solomon compelling him to do exactly as he was told.
Now he awaited another command. Standing before God, he waited, pistol in hand. He was about to ask his Creator what was expected of him now, when his eyes were again pulled to the circular black hole in the center of the Almighty’s head. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, his stare becoming more and more intense—the hole seeming to grow larger the harder he concentrated upon it.
Soon all that he saw was the hole.
There was nothing but the lonely darkness.
And that was when he knew what he had to do, raising the gun that had once been called Pitiless, before it was a Godkiller.
Pitiless to all who fell to its bite . . . pitiless now to the void before it.
Remy aimed the weapon into the dark and placed his finger upon the trigger.
“Let there be light,” he said as he squeezed and fired.
Murdering the darkness with light and what would follow.
And there was light.
T
he world was ending.
At least, that was how it seemed at the moment.
Ashley held tightly to the trembling Marlowe, trying to be strong for him.
This strange place somehow connected to Remy was coming apart.
Did that mean Remy was gone?
Where there had once been a sprawling park and a playground, there was now only gray static, and it was quickly finding its way toward where they waited, pushing them closer to the hole, which also continued to grow larger.
Soon there would be no place for them to go.
Ashley looked to the sky above them and, instead of blue, she saw only the salt-and-pepper snow of static.
“If you can hear me, Assiel, it might be a good time for you to reach out,” she said, hugging Marlowe all the tighter.
Marlowe seemed to be getting more nervous, struggling in her grasp.
“It’s all right,” she tried to soothe him.
But the dog shook off her arms, pushing her backward onto what remained of the grassy area.
“Marlowe, no!” Ashley yelled as she scrambled to her feet.
The dog had positioned himself at the lip of the spreading black hole and had begun to bark crazily, as if calling to their friend.
“Marlowe,” she called again, crawling across the grass toward him. “Come here, boy.”
He looked up, but his attention seemed to be captured by something behind her. He began to growl, and instinctively she turned around to see the wall of crackling white sweeping toward them.
Moving far faster than it had before.
Marlowe darted between the static and Ashley, barking and snarling wildly as it moved inexorably toward them.
Such a brave boy,
Ashley thought just before the wave covered them both.
• • •
The world was ending.
Linda stood on the beach in the midst of the raging storm.
The dark waters churned and boiled as hurricane-force winds whipped. She watched in horror as waterspouts formed in the air above the angry waters and jagged bolts of lightning stabbed from the heavens, as if attempting to agitate the storm to an even greater fury.
She’d never experienced anything like it and doubted very much that she ever would again, for there was no doubt in her mind that this was the end.
Her end.
There was an instinctual part of her that was urging her to run, to seek cover and survive, but she knew there was nowhere in this world that she would be safe. This world was ending, slowly coming apart at the seams, and to hide from the reality of the situation was pointless.
Instead, she stood there cold and frightened, drenched by the crashing waves and torrential downpours, watching the world coming to an end and wondering what it all meant.
Is he all right? Is Remy still alive, or is this a sign that . . .
Lightning flashed, brightening the darkness of the sky, and though she had raised her hands to shield her eyes from the searing white light, she thought she saw something in the turbulent skies above the raging waters.
She thought she saw a man, hovering in the eye of the storm.
A man that she knew . . . and loved with all her heart and soul.
Linda found herself wading into the dark waters, the pull of the shifting currents taking hold of her eagerly and dragging her away from the protection of the shore.
She struggled to keep her head above the water, to see past the shifting, boiling cloud formations, to see if she could catch a glimpse of him.
To see her Remy again.
• • •
The world was ending, and he was responsible.
Remy Chandler floated in the eye of the cataclysm, at the center of a cosmic storm.
He was the end . . .
And the beginning.
The Alpha and the Omega.
It was up to him to pick up the pieces, to shape the new, to wield the stuff of creation. To make a better world from what had come before.
For all intents and purposes, he was God, and the forces of creation bent to his beck and call.
He would reshape this universe in his own image; he would be a part of all that was and will be. He would be in the sky above, and the earth below, in each and every drop of rain that fell and every single grain of sand that was trod upon. He would be in the sun and the moon and all the stars that shone down upon the multitude of worlds that he would form.
He would be part of everything, and everything would be part of him.
And gradually, little by little, the being that was once called Remy Chandler . . . Remiel . . . Seraphim . . . angel of Heaven began to go away.
To forget what he had been.
To become something far greater, until . . .
There was a voice . . . little more than a whisper.
“Remy.”
But there was a power behind it as it made its way out into the universe, floating upon the cosmic winds, drifting up into the maelstrom of creation, to fall upon the ear of the one who was the Creator.
“Remy.”
He almost did not recognize the name being called, so far was he from what he once had been, but the voice . . . the voice . . .
“Remy.”
The pieces of his identity slowly, gradually fell back into place.
A being of Heaven . . . an angel in the Heavenly host Seraphim . . . Remiel . . .
• • •
“Remy.”
He turned his gaze to a facet of a world in transition, drawn to the sound of a voice with a power as great as the one that now coursed through his body.
In that voice was the power to heal and to transform, to take something once cold and heartless and make it—
Human.
In the world before, that power had belonged to a force of nature called Madeline, whose voice had been silenced by death. But that same power would not—could not—die.
Fighting to remain who he had been, Remy focused his attention on a particular portion of reality in the midst of transition. It was from that area of the maelstrom that he’d heard his name called, brought back from the brink by the power returned.
The power born again in the form of another.
“Linda,” he said from the center of it all.
Searching for his love from within the eye of creation.
• • •
Linda had never believed that she would be around to see the end of the world, never imagined being a part of it.
She had swum out into the turbulent waters as far as she could go, trying to keep her eyes on the spot in the sky where she’d thought she’d seen something.
Seen him.
But it was all chaos now, with the lightning and the thunder and a wind that raked across the water with its claws of air, driving the ocean into spasms of agony.
A small speck upon the vastness, Linda refused to let the elements have her, even though the wind tried to snatch her up from the water, and the great, angry sea tried to swallow her up. She remained afloat, eyes rooted to the spot where she thought the sky would be, and thought about the man she loved and how she had tried so very hard to save him.
And then it was time for it all to end.
There was no difference between the ocean below and the sky above. It had all turned to chaos. Yet still she managed to hold on to her thoughts, refusing to acknowledge the terror that now gripped her as the end of her existence drew near.
She thought of Remy, and how if he had been there he would have taken her in his arms and told her . . .
“Everything is going to be all right.”
She heard him say it, and a smile came to her lips even at the end of her reality. She was brave enough to open her eyes to catch a glimpse of the final death throes of a world, and in her delirium she thought the impossible, that Remy was there, a calmness at the center of the storm.
And then she felt the strength of his arms as he drew her to him, and the beating of his heart as he pulled her so very close, and she had no idea if it was real or the peace of death.
But at that particular moment, either one was fine with her.
T
he bedroom door wasn’t going to hold them back for very long, even though Squire had rammed a dresser from across the room up against it.
“Be sure to add this to the list of things that we’re going to need to reimburse Remy for,” the goblin said with a crooked smile.
“Fuck you,” Mulvehill responded, hauling out the heavy wood drawers of the dresser and stacking them on top to give the obstruction a bit more height. It had grown quiet on the other side, the Bone Masters probably regrouping, trying to figure out how they were going to get through.
Squire stepped out of the closet with some heavy Samsonite suitcases. “Do you think he’s gone?” He grunted as he tossed them on top of the drawers.
“Who, Assiel?” Mulvehill asked. He’d gone to the closet as well, coming back with two smaller cases. “Yeah, I think he is.”
The pair stood back, admiring their work.
“It ain’t the Great Wall, but it’ll have to do,” the goblin said.
Mulvehill went to the bed and stared at the figures upon it, deep in the grip of unconsciousness.
“Maybe we should throw them up onto the barricade,” Squire suggested. “Least that way, they’d be serving some purpose.”
“They’re serving a purpose,” Mulvehill retorted, looking first at Ashley, then at Linda, and finally at Marlowe. “They have to be someplace . . . doing something.”
“They’re doing something, all right,” Squire grumbled. “But it ain’t doing squat for us.”
“They’re doing their thing, and we’re doing ours,” Mulvehill said. “It’s what we agreed to.”
“Do you think they’re actually helping him?” Squire asked, motioning with his chin to Remy lying in the center of the bed.
“Yeah,” Mulvehill answered. “I do. I have to; it’s the only positive thing I’ve got to hold on to.”
“You’ve still got your health.” Squire shrugged with another of his crooked smiles.
“Have I told you to go fuck yourself recent—”
There was a sudden pounding on the door, and the sound of splintering wood.
“Ah, showtime,” Squire said, as he picked up the small battle-axe that he’d gotten from Francis’ place.
Mulvehill checked the clip in his gun for what could have been the hundredth time, thinking how awesome it would have been if the ammunition fairy had been by to replenish his bullets, but no such luck. He still had less than a full clip remaining. Every shot was going to have to count.
Again something slammed against the door, and he could see the cracks through their makeshift barricade.
“You ready for this?” Mulvehill asked, his gaze now focused entirely upon the door.
Squire spun the axe in his hands. “Oh yeah, this type of bullshit has become old hat.”
The door, and the things stacked in front of it, shook again, and Mulvehill could hear the sound of wood splintering and falling away. It wouldn’t be long now.
The bangs and crashes were coming closer together now.
“Let me take the first crack at them,” Squire said, hefting the axe. “If it looks like they’re gonna get past me put a bullet in their eye. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds good,” Mulvehill said, feeling the tension in the room escalate with each new assault on the door. He was about to check his clip again, just to have something to do, when he heard the sound, a soft sigh of exhalation, and spun around to see. . . .
“They’re awake,” Mulvehill announced, going to the bed.
Ashley slowly sat up, looking around at the room, confusion on her face. “Where . . . ?” she began.
Something pounded savagely on the door, and one of the drawers crashed to the floor.
“Jesus Christ!” she exclaimed, eyes wide as the realization of the situation began to sink it.
“How are you doing?” Mulvehill asked her, wanting to make sure that she was all right but also wanting to keep an eye on the door situation.
Marlowe had awakened as well, and he appeared just as confused.
“We’re good,” Ashley said, patting the dog’s head and looking over to the still-slumbering Linda, and, of course, Remy.
“Nice to see ya back, kid,” Squire said. “I’ve got to go take my place near the door to hold back unwanted company.”
“You do that,” Ashley said.
Marlowe was sniffing at Remy and Linda.
“Did it work?” Mulvehill asked her.
Ashley looked at him and then back to Remy and Linda. “I really don’t know what we did in there.”
The door was being slowly hacked apart by their attackers, holes now appearing.
“So I’m guessing he won’t be back,” Mulvehill said, feeling a nearly overwhelming sadness envelop him. He hadn’t realized how much hope he’d placed in the three saving Remy and somehow bringing him back.
“I don’t think so,” Ashley said, tears running from her eyes. “I don’t know about her, either.” She reached over to take hold of Linda’s hand. “Maybe they’re together.”
Mulvehill wasn’t about to let the sadness cripple him; he forced himself to replace his moroseness with a growing anger toward their aggressors. “That would be nice,” he managed, then turned away to join Squire in front of the barricade.
The dresser slid forward, revealing the door, its wood broken away in strips. They could see their attackers on the other side. Squire stepped forward, battle-axe ready for first blood. Mulvehill’s finger twitched upon the gun, eager to squeeze the trigger.
“I’m going to use this, okay?” said a voice from behind him.
He turned his head to see Ashley and Marlowe standing behind him. She was hefting a short sword.
“Yeah,” he said. “Are you sure?”
She nodded. “I’m sure. . . . Where should I stand?”
• • •
Remy had found his love, snatching her up from the maelstrom and hugging her to him.
He had no idea how she could be where she was—in this place—but it did not change the fact that she was indeed there with him.
She trembled convulsively as he clutched her to his body, taking her away from a world in the midst of disarray. The reality below them had gradually come undone, as one reality was erased to be supplemented with another.
In the center of it all, he held Linda tightly, using the love he felt for her as his focus.
It would be so easy to let it all go,
he thought, his identity slowly dwindling as he infused himself into the very universe he was creating. No longer would he be only who he was.
He would be everything, and everything would be him.
“Remy.” Linda whispered his name once more. He looked down at her and into her eyes.
“Is it really you?” she asked.
Feeling the tug of a universe upon him, he hesitated only briefly. “Yes, it’s me,” he said, pulling her up to him, and they kissed.
As a universe took shape around them.
• • •
Linda awoke with a gasp, having witnessed the birth of a universe.
For a moment she simply lay there, in a kind of shock, as she attempted to adjust to her new reality. Her body felt stiff, achy, and she rolled over on the bed, onto the body of her lover, who was incredibly still.
And cold to her touch.
She couldn’t find the words as she looked at him, the memories of what she had done and why rushing back to her now.
“Oh, Remy,” she said, bringing a hand to her mouth to stifle the flow of emotion.
It was the sound of a single gunshot that brought her fully back to the moment at hand. She looked away from the body of her lover to the front of the room, staring in abject horror at the sight of her friends as they attempted to keep monsters from forcing their way in.
She looked back to Remy, saying a silent good-bye before bounding from the bed to help her friends. Having just witnessed the birth of a universe, she was filled with a sense of wonder the likes of which she had never experienced before, and was not yet ready to surrender.
Desperate to hold on to the life that still remained for her.
• • •
Floating in the midst of creation, Remy began to truly understand how God worked.
For great things to happen there is always a catalyst, something that jump-starts the process of change, a spark struck to the gasoline.
Unification was to be the start of something glorious, the next phase of something amazing that began with creation itself.
But for that next chapter to begin, for the new to be ushered in, the imperfections in the old plan must be found.
The flaws—those nasty bugs—those annoying defects that seemed to arise whenever the process of change began.
They had to be driven into the open, drawn from the shadows, and once exposed . . . destroyed.
As dramatic as it all was, as reality took shape around him, Remy understood the method to God’s madness.
And his place at the head of the asylum.