Chapter 83: The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 5

Sylvester taught Jonathan how to operate the portal machine. It wasn’t very complicated, but Jonathan apparently came from a world with scarce technology, where they still used candles and lamps, not electricity, and firearms were flintlocks. He could only imagine his reaction if he showed him a television, something everyone took for granted and even a child could use with ease. This machine, extraordinary even in his own world, would naturally be much worse.

But when he finished the explanation, Jonathan simply nodded.

"Don’t you have any more questions?"

"Not at all," he insisted, so Sylvester stepped aside, hoping Jonathan knew what he was saying. That it wasn’t mere pride, refusing to admit he was overwhelmed.

His heart was slightly racing. After all, the entire plan depended on Jonathan’s ability to open a portal to the correct world or space, allowing them to strike that being directly. Making it possible, though not likely, that they could win a fight against something that was basically a god.

Sylvester took a deep breath. He watched carefully. This was the only way to save his world and countless others, so Jonathan better learn. He wasn’t depending on Jonathan for his strength, for a change, but for the information that had been forcibly shoved into his head, nearly driving him mad.

The first attempts were fruitless, but at least the problem was that they formed portals to the wrong worlds, not that they had trouble with the basics, the operation of the machine. Then they really would have been screwed.

Around the nineteenth attempt, when he was starting to lose the little hope he had managed to gather after finally hearing a damn plan, no matter how grand, something different happened. A single glance was enough.

The portal was black, completely black. Nothing could be seen. Not from this side, at least. Either something had gone very wrong, or Jonathan had found exactly what they were looking for.

"Is that it?" Ryan asked from a corner of the room, arms crossed. Most of the people in this room, including Jonathan, couldn’t do anything but stand by with arms crossed as the fate of this world and the entire universe was decided. In some way, Sylvester envied them, though at the same time, he knew perfectly well that if he were in their position, he’d spend the whole time consumed by frustration, unable to put his fate in the hands of others. Unable to bear it, not the decision, not putting what was right above his pride.

So he was lucky that this was the right thing to do.

Once again, the responsibility to save the world fell on his shoulders. The responsibility and the expectation to be a hero.

Even though he no longer wanted to be a hero. Even though he just wanted to be a husband.

"I’m almost sure," Jonathan finally responded. "My head’s about to explode."

"Almost doesn’t seem good enough," Ryan said.

"Well, it’s the best I’ve got! The best you’ve got."

Ryan scoffed. Sylvester supposed he was thinking something along the lines of, "Some king, so used to getting his way he can’t stand the slightest challenge." But wisely, Ryan kept silent.

Jonathan was an asshole, but a necessary asshole.

"Alright," Sylvester said. "We can test it. If it’s not the right place, it shouldn’t be a problem to come back, as long as Jonathan stays here."

"It’s too dangerous to go in there without knowing where the hell you're going." Cynthia sighed. "But that’s what this damn job has always been about, right? And it’s not like you have many more choices. For starters, no one has the right to an opinion except the people who are going to risk their necks."

"Don’t be ridiculous. We’re a team, Cynthia. That’s not going to change."

"Yeah, and neither are you. Before you open your mouth to continue, let me guess. I’ll go in first, Heather, just to test it?"

Sylvester shut his mouth. To grow close to people, you had to open up to them. Logically. But having someone know you well could be a real nuisance.

"Fine, yes," he admitted. "That’s exactly what I was going to say. So can we skip to the part where everyone lets me do it anyway? The usual routine."

"No," Heather said, stepping through the portal, stealing the opportunity.

It was like a punch to the chest. So this is what it feels like, he thought. It was one thing to know you were doing something wrong and a whole other thing to feel it in your bones.

Sylvester made a move to throw himself into the dark portal, but he held back. If the portal hadn’t reached the right place this time either, then he’d only be putting both their lives at risk unnecessarily. If he truly believed his idea had merit, he had to respect it, even now that Heather had forcibly taken his role. He just hoped she wouldn’t have to pay the price for him to learn the lesson about how much he hurt the people he cared about by behaving the way he did. As if his life had no value, even if that was true.

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Sylvester held back for approximately three minutes, quite an accomplishment, even if it was wrong to say so himself.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to hold back a second longer, as Heather poked her head through the portal.

"It’s the right place," she said.

"Are you sure?" Sylvester asked, stepping forward, tense.

"Yes. I can’t explain it to you, but I don’t need to. You’ll understand as soon as you cross the threshold. You don’t need to prepare for an immediate fight... well, obviously, but get your wings out. Don’t let your guard down for a second, or you might die the moment you step in."

Sylvester barely managed to swallow. Those were a lot of ugly details without really telling him anything. Oh well, he hadn’t expected this to be easy.

Sylvester spread his black wings, preparing for the final flight. A few feathers scattered around the room. Feathers black as night.

Heather pulled her head back through the portal, and Sylvester dove into the void, prepared for the worst.

Or so he thought, at least, but he was very wrong.

Despite Heather’s warning, he almost died in the first instant.

Against what? He couldn’t see anything, and he suspected that was because there was nothing there, really. The air itself was hostile. This wasn’t a place designed for human beings to live. It felt like a wind made of pure steel was pushing against them. He could feel pain all over his body; even breathing was an effort. His body was being crushed by a pressure like steel. His head hurt, too much blood pooling in his temples. It felt like even his eyeballs were swelling, about to burst.

Go back. Go back already.

Heather didn’t need oxygen to live, but this place wasn’t fit for him, who was still fundamentally human. So he should go back. He still had time to turn back. He had no choice, really. If he didn’t, he’d die sooner or later. He couldn’t overcome that steel-like pressure.

But Heather had called him here. She had endured all of this and judged that he could do it, or else she would have told him to stay behind. And he knew she would have found a way to convince him, stubborn as he was. Ever since he’d known her, he’d never been able to say no to her. During the brief period when they hated each other, when they were enemies, he hadn’t needed to say no to her in the first place.

He had to trust her. If she had let him through, it was because she was sure he wouldn’t die.

For that reason alone.

He had to believe in her, in the one person who would give everything for him, and endure.

Whatever happened, this was the end—his last fight, his final sacrifice.

Even now, having come this far, there was a part of him that said:

Why does it always have to be me? Let someone else do it.But he knew there was no one else.

Same as always, for the same reason as always.

His blood seemed to be flowing backward. His whole body was going haywire, losing control. He was running out of oxygen faster and faster. The darkness—nothing like the emptiness surrounding him, but real, ultimate, impenetrable darkness—threatened to consume his vision forever.

He didn’t want to die here.

He was going to die. There had to be time to turn back, to cower. He felt that soon his lungs would run out of oxygen completely. And then there would be no turning back, nothing left.

Why did I come this far?

Why, even if I only had a few more days with Heather and the rest of my loved ones, wasn’t that better than throwing myself toward death?

Why had I come here?

If he couldn’t even remember that, there was no way he could overcome the steel wind.

His entire life had been swimming against the current. Despite the consequences, all he had ever wanted was to look someone in the eye and have them look back, to be recognized. Ever since his mother had fallen ill, that was all he had wanted. But at least that poor woman had the excuse of her illness. The rest of the world just saw what it wanted to see. They never saw *him*.

How could they see him when he himself wasn’t sure of his own form?

It was a selfish desire like so many others. But after so many years, after so many turns, his wish had come true. Someone had looked back at him. Someone had seen him. A weak, pathetic, lonely human being. Someone who longed to love and be loved.

That’s why he was here. Because it couldn’t end like this. Because he was selfish and a few days weren’t enough. He wanted to live the rest of his life by her side. He wanted to move forward. He wanted to find out who he was.

Sylvester clenched his teeth. His entire body, on the verge of collapse, was suddenly filled with strength. He pushed against the steel wind threatening to consume him. He had no idea where they were going. He had no idea how long it would take to get there. But it didn’t matter. He just had to focus on this moment. He just had to put all his strength into the present moment to overcome any pressure like this, to let it pass through him as if it were nothing.

Sylvester felt alive. He felt full. His heart was beating calmly, as if he were just taking a stroll. It was partly because of the lack of oxygen, of course, the difficulty in breathing. But true peace had wrapped around him. He believed he hadn’t known what peace felt like until this moment.

He was proud. He was selfish. He was greedy. He wanted everything, and he wasn’t going to let go.

Damn it. No matter how scared he was, he wasn’t going to let fear stop him.

Good intentions were fine, but he was still running out of oxygen. And once he ran out, he’d die. Unlike Jonathan, he couldn’t just resurrect. He would simply die.

But that was a human thought, telling him that he really needed oxygen in his lungs. He had to let go of his preconceived human notions before it was too late.

Sylvester’s lungs emptied. He felt his heart slowing, like a broken clock. His heart stopped, but then suddenly beat again. It started up again, but something different filled his body, and suddenly he felt warm and energized once more.

And he resumed his flight through the void, close to Heather. He caught up to her and intertwined his hand with hers. A warm hand. A firm hand. His only harbor in this storm.

Heather and Sylvester continued their flight into the darkness and beyond, not knowing what they would find, but ready to face anything as long as they could stay together.

Anything. That’s what love was.

The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 5: END