The Seericide collapsed, lying gasping at the foot of the Throne. Rega, Empress First and Last, rose and stared off across the waste.

"I see now," she said, hollowly.

She glanced down at the ring of teeth she'd peevishly ordered thrown about the base of the ziggurat. Many died of those who'd fled to the One-eighth from across the collapsing Book died gathering molars from the countless dead littering the One-Eighth after the Mon's invasion failed, but she hadn't cared. It was all hers and no one remained to oppose her.

Her final scream of the battle against the Mon killed the few survivors of the Legions and Ancients, shattered the giant shell The Mother had used as a base, pulped the monsters and shattered the demons. She'd sat alone for a time before the first refugees returned, pleading for direction.

The capitol she'd then ordered built was more a tomb, a final gesture of defiance against the collapse of The Book, The All, everything.

Figures moved up the stairs: a poorly-camouflaged Feral and three Dynasts.

"Not entirely the last, it seems," she said to herself, returning to her seat on the Throne.

When the ascending group reached the top of the ziggurat, the Feral knelt beside the Seericide, putting her forehead against his. He wheezed something and she nodded, stroking his forehead, then closed her eyes and took deep, calming breaths.

"Comfy?" Ocyl said, picking a tooth from his sandal and looking it over. For once he wore subdued, practical skirts, tunic, and jacket, the practical clothing looking out of place on him.

Rega ignored him, looking at his companions with some surprise. "Skye. Fixed Feli. I never thought to see you again."

Skye didn't speak, Ebon's wandering younger sister gleaming from the criss-cross of uncountable luminescent threads tracing every inch of her skin. She stood naked but for a series of straps and harnesses holding a motley collection of pouches, weapons, and strange objects. The woman's eyes shimmered like liquid silver.

Fixed Feli looked old, the long-isolated Berujat Dynast managing to gain an absurd amount of weight in the decades since she'd seen him last. She'd hadn't believed a Dynast could grow fat, much less as obese as he. Somehow, the rich riot of fine robes he wore accentuated his size and made him look even larger.

"This is the end the Imminent spoke of all the way back when Ebon died," Feli said, his voice rich and nuanced. "You were deaf to all but the parts you wanted to hear."

"It was all to be mine," Rega said, barely keeping her tone from a petulant whine.

"Why, it is all yours, sister. You can have it all," Ocyl said, gesturing towards the wasteland. The mountainous god in the distance moaned, its booming tone somehow seeming lonely. "Look, you even have the last god in The All. Maybe enough to keep this verse going for a few more centuries even."

"You came here just to mock me?" Rega said, glaring at Ocyl.

"It's a bonus," Ocyl said, flicking the tooth at her. She shattered it with a whisper.

"We came to be sure you do your part to end this," Feli said, nodding at the Throne. "We agreed to shave off portions of the Donative for all these years not to make Monopolis rich, but to build up this gaudy pyramid for a singular purpose which rapidly approaches. Just in case you thought you had something more important to do, we're here to assure you there isn't."

"Das lied to me," Rega said.

Ocyl sighed and glanced at the Feral. "The Imminent told all of us exactly what they wanted or needed us to hear. Each story is a fraction of the whole. My part involved the Mother and keeping you all from killing each other too soon."

"Mine focused on building up the Rags and Fraction," Feli said, glancing at the Feral. "Remarkable that one. Let herself be Feraled so no one would expect she was the last and first Immanent."

"I, Mon," Skye said, the word rough as if it were the first word she'd spoken in years. Considering how many centuries it had been since anyone had seen anything of the Dynast, perhaps it was. Until the woman walked up the ziggurat, she'd assumed Skye was long dead. The second word didn't sound any better. "Mourne."

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"And me the Donative, the Ancients, and conquering everything for nothing," Rega said.

"Not nothing, sister of mine," Ocyl said. "We still have the task all of this led to yet to complete."

"Das told me nothing beyond this point, led me along to-"

"Stop, stop," Feli said, waiving his hands. "Enough of that, the Chronosite comes."

Rega stared at him, not willing to admit she didn't know what he was talking about.

"You have no idea what we're talking about, do you?" Ocyl said, then tsked. "Oh Rega, Rega, Rega."

After years of absolute deference to her every word and movement, sharing the end of everything with the few beings existent whom she didn't impress made feelings of impotence and despair deepen.

"The Mourne you've heard it called," Feli said. "They tried to push it off into the Vale when they discover that it found its way into The All and back to eating all the time. Apparently, the Vale only partially contained it."

He leaned in to tap the currence Throne a few times. "What do you think this giant beacon of frozen time is here for, anyway?"

Rega looked at it with fresh eyes. She'd long thought it was to both demonstrate and ensure the power of her rule. "Its a trap."

"Bait," Skye said, looking up towards the churning black clouds of ash and smoke choking the sky.

The wind howled and moaned with a new pitch. The Feral - the one that had been following The Mother around this whole time Rega realized - rose, walked over to Ocyl to place a bundle of long, red-tassled Sliver needles in Ocyl's hand. They exchanged a long look, then nodded. She turned, scooped up the Seericide over one shoulder, turned towards the Throne, and drew the unmistakable shape of an Aze Blade from its sheath.

"It's coming," Ocyl said, shivering and wrapping his rich robe tighter about him. "Everyone ready?"

"Ready for what? What am I supposed to do?" Rega said, feeling the power of the currence surging through her, turning time to syrup and every blink to an eternity of slow movement.

"You'll know," Ocyl said, dropping to a slow-motion squat. It comes.

She saw it then, like a bloated worm weaving through the trickling flow of seconds and minutes, devouring all as it came. It sensed her somehow, releasing a moaning sob as it dove towards her.

The scream she unleashed thundered into it, buffeting and tossing it as it burrowed towards her. Even hurling everything she had at it merely slowed it, didn't stop it. With all the power connected to the Throne, all the currence filling the hollow ziggurat, it wasn't enough. Her scream redoubled, now laced with fear as much as anger.

Then the Feral was there, walking calmly even as Feli and Ocyl stood frozen in place. Even Skye's movement towards the throne occurred at no more than half-speed. The Feral stabbed out with the huge blade as if it weighed nothing.

The Mourne/Chronosite reached the Throne the same moment Skye stepped into the watter pool about it and the Feral's blade punched into it. Skye's eyes closed, her threads gleamed, and everything halted entirely for a seeming eternity.

Then the currence about her vaporized, flooding into the Chronosite like water forced into a snake's mouth through a pipe. It swelled, writhed, thrashed, moaned... and tore apart, its pieces dissolving and whirling apart into nothing.

The Feral stood for a moment, then toppled over, eyes reduced to smoking holes. A similar fate struck the Seericide. Skye staggered and fell to a knee while Rega fell from the melting Throne as what currence remained sublimed instantly to swirling vapor. Rega touched her neck, feeling the blood where her strings not only snapped, but blew apart into wire splinters. For a long moment, only wind broke the silence, the very verse seemingly hesitant to move again.

"So, now the Imminent and Seericides have been born back through time and are extinct. The All is mortally wounded. Guess we're done here," Ocyl said, staring down at the two smoking bodies. "Anyone peckish? I've been too busy to eat for weeks."

"There's nothing left," Rega moaned, pure exhaustion making every word an effort.

"Not here, no. You're right," Ocyl said, grinning as he pulled a 'nail out from his robes. "I just so happen to have a copy of the last 'nail to anywhere handy though. Coming sister? Skye? Feli?"

"Found another place," Skye grunted out. "Beyond the All. Go there."

"Mind if I come?" Feli said, brushing his still-immaculate clothing free of invisible contaminants. "Never been one to go where the crowd is."

Skye shrugged, staggered to her feet, and made her way to the stairs. Feli followed.

"How about you, sister dearest?" Ocyl said as Rega slumped back down into the stump remaining of the Throne. "Shall we?"

He extended his arm for her to take, but she just glared at him. "It's mine. They promised me. Empress of Everything."

Ocyl smiled as though she'd told a joke, but the smile slowly faded. A long sigh fell from his lips. "Empress of Nothing, first and last. I guess I'll leave you to it."

Ocyl bent over the dead Feral to pull a bundle of Sliver needles free from inside her camouflage. He whistled a cheery tune she vaguely recognized as a bawdy tune having to do with a blind Verser Lord and a stable. Then he was gone and not long after that the last snatches of his tune on the wind. Hunched on her cracked, melting throne, she stared off at the smoldering volcanoes, the last god, and the barely-inhabited, ramshackle capitol she'd had built in exulting triumph that slowly faded as she realized the price to win it exceeded the having of it.

After a while, she screamed, her voice echoing across the desolation unheard.

---

The End.