At first I suspected I was dreaming, but that was impossible: the dead don't dream.

A bright building, illuminated with pockets of stored lightning magic. Some genius had learned to house it within small glass bulbs. To my fascination, intricate filaments of metal fed into those lightbulbs and connected with a larger metal system spreading like veins throughout the building.

I shook my head, dimming my magical senses. Moments before, I had amplified them to dangerous levels, which was somewhat to be expected. Ever the optimist---even to the end---I once thought I would accept defeat with grace. What was the point of fighting the inevitable? But, ever the human, in my final moments I fought with everything I had.

My divine vision subsided, returning the world to relative normalcy. I use this phrase for two reasons. Firstly, because adrenaline still suffused my body, setting my heart to pounding in my chest, and with this came an unnatural clarity. And secondly, because the world appeared so foreign that few parallels existed with the reality I held dear. I sat within a spacious room of wood, metal of bizarre alloys, and a variety of other materials. The craftsmanship of everything was exquisite, more exact than even a master carpenter could pray to achieve.

A young woman, perhaps halfway through her third decade, sat across the table. She was also too exquisite, too perfect. Her long black hair gleamed. Flawless tanned. Exotic features, but very symmetrical and pleasing, her slightly parted lips revealing suitably perfect teeth. An unfamiliar part of me recognized this was Julie, and she moved here shortly after she was born from a massive empire known as China.

This was no dream, certainly. All evidence pointed to this being some manner of purgatory, though it resembled no afterlife I was familiar with. Various other people, alone or in groups, sat at tables spaced throughout the room. Each of them was so different I could have spent hours observing them. They read books, conversed amongst themselves, stared at devices of metal and electricity. Most of them held large, lidded cups. This, I knew, was a coffee shop.

The watch around my left wrist let out a shrill cry. My forearm was surprisingly youthful and well-toned, though truthfully I should have suspected I would not be forced to shamble through the afterlife in my old, failing body. Julie reached across the table and seized my hand with both of hers. Her hands were tiny, ringed with several thin bands of diamond-studded rosegold. Soft and warm, but I ignored that. She looked not much older than a child to me.

I pulled away from her grasp. "My apologies, but I am married."

Julie appeared so comically dumbfounded I had to hide a snort of laughter behind my hand. My gesture only added to the hilarity of her expression as her eyes widened.

"No you're not," she said.

My grin turned a little sad. "No, but I was."

Julie threw both hands in the air and leaned close.

"What the fuck are you talking about, Johnny?" she hissed out in a sharp whisper. "Was that a joke? Your watch says that your heart rate is one-ninety. Did you snort something in the bathroom? You're supposed to be clean, man. Five years clean. 'My apologies, but I am married?'"

I composed myself, folding my hands on the table in front of me. "Again, my apologies. I did not mean to mock you. Your reaction was so unexpected. Moments ago I was confronted with my own mortality, and now---" I lifted one finger to point at my nearby cup--- "I am drinking this coffee beverage and making you so very confused."

Julie leaned back and rested her elbow on the table, propping her forehead up against her fingers. More vulgar language, just loud enough to hear. "I can't keep doing this. Look. John. We've known each other a long time. We've both gone through some weird phases. But what we're doing, that's not healthy. This back and forth over the years. You're like sugar to me. You're sexy and charming and wealthy but you're no good for me. You just mock me like this and think you can invite me to a coffee shop a few months later and I'll come crawling back. Just stop."

Once her diatribe was finished, she heaved out an exaggerated sigh and glanced up at me, keeping her face downturned. "There," she continued. "It needed to be said and I said it."

"That appeared to be very heartfelt, Julie," I said, absently wondering what the point of this afterlife was. Some sort of test? But what was expected of me? "I must commend you on coming to such a difficult realization. Once, I had a daughter. If I had been able to watch her mature, I believe she may have been much like you. She possessed a fierce vitality. Quite temperamental. Always getting herself into trouble, but she always followed the lessons she learned in consequence."

Julie relaxed back into her chair, almost slouching. Her reaction was more muted this time, but the slight tilt of her head and uncertain quirk of her mouth made me think she suspected something was deeply wrong with me. And, of course, she was correct if she truly believed I was this John fellow.

The man at the most adjacent table was making a poor effort of pretending not to listen to our conversation. A young sort, dressed in a button-up and chinos, eyes flickering away once I turned toward him. He took a sip from his cup and pretended not to notice my attention.

I nodded and lifted one hand in a little half-wave. "A coffee drink. Quite invigorating, if I recall correctly."

"Oh.” He nodded uncertainly before looking away again.

"Should I call your sister, Johnny?" Concern coated Julie's words, as if she was attempting to soothe a frightened horse. "You're not---I don't know---having some weird mental break, are you? Have you felt like yourself, lately?"

Truth be told, the name Johnny did hold a certain familiarity, almost as much as if she had referred to me as Ludo. Part of my mind contained the knowledge of what it meant to be John Parish. If I had wished to deceive this young woman, I could have acted out the role, though I had always been the most obvious liar. Once, when I was a child and against my better judgment, my parents volunteered me to play the role of a haughty prince from Somer in a play performed in my village. The result had been so awkward I was deemed by my father, with a sort of proud amusement, to be far too Ludo to pretend to be anything besides.

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“I must be honest with you,” I said. A pause stretched between us as I considered the most tactful way of broaching the subject. “Yes, I believe honesty is essential. I am not very convinced that this is real. But what is real for a soul is just as real as it is for a mind, I suppose. Many philosophical things to parse through, and while I am aware some people insist that a person grows wiser with age, I began as a---so to say---not particularly intelligent fellow, and I fear I have only become worse.”

“I’m calling your sister.” Julie shook her head and reached into the small white purse near her elbow. Her fingers trembled slightly as she extracted her cellphone and fiddled with the screen.

My approach did not appear to be helping the situation. “I really do apologize. It has…been a very long time since I interacted with another human. I found that isolation tends to make one forget proper etiquette. Please, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Ludo Edkeis, third-ring paladin of the Shining Goddess, from the world known as Allara. Upon testing, I was determined to have a dual high-grade affinity for lightning and metal. If you are aware of Allara, you know---”

“Just stop this,” said Julie in a strange voice. “Whatever you’re doing, stop.”

Lost in my silly monologue, I had not even noticed she had risen and retreated several feet away. By this point, her facade had cracked and the reality of my social ineptitude became apparent even to me. Scrunching up her face in fear made her look even younger than she already did. Her cell phone was propped between her cheek and shoulder as she likely waited for this gentleman’s sister to pick up on the other end.

I blinked a few times and considered the situation from her perspective. Her companion had just suffered a complete personality shift in the middle of a conversation. For all intents and purposes, I had possessed this young gentleman, and likely without his explicit permission. How would I feel if I was sitting at dinner with my wife, and suddenly she claimed her name was Julie, she was from Earth, and said she was a moderately famous interior designer of the Christian God?

I would be livid. I would wonder what had happened to my wife. But surely the Shining Goddess had not crushed John Parish’ soul and socketed mine into his body, like a swordsman swapping an elemental gem for a new one? Likely he was wiling the time away in paradise, feasting on ambrosia and nectar and dancing with the other spirits at the Eternal Feast, content in the knowledge he would be returned to normalcy as soon as I settled matters upon this world.

Deception was my anathema. But for a man like Johnny Parish, a paragon of charisma and sociability, it was his second nature. So I summoned an aspect of his personality, settling it over my shoulders like a familiar cloak.

“You’re right, Julie,” I drawled, flashing that brilliant smile that the young gentleman practiced in the mirror for five minutes every morning. “I’m just messing with you. Thought you liked that sort of stuff. You know. Fantasy. Magic. I thought you’d play along.”

Julie slid the cellphone out from beneath her cheek and hung up the call. She bit her lower lip, a hint of tears gleaming at the corners of her eyes. “Seriously, fuck you, Johnny. We’re done. You scared the shit out of my over a stupid joke.”

Crying women have always been my weakness. My wife had insisted that it was absurd and slightly offensive---though I never did quite understand why---since women did not cry for attention or any personal gain, but rather because they were not afraid to reveal their frustrations. But the sight had always sent me into a slight panic, desperate to remedy the offending situation, seeking solutions despite her insistence that it was merely a method of personally coming to terms with her emotions. My enemies had enjoyed laying traps for me exploiting this particular flaw, among others.

A deep, heavy pit settled into my chest. The mask of Johnny Parish I wore across my face remained undisturbed. “Oh, come on. Remember when you and Genie pretended that creepy ex of hers was outside her apartment and refusing to leave? Just to lure me into a surprise birthday party?”

“Yeah, I do,” she retorted, her tone laced with venom, “when we were stupid teenagers who thought it was funny to be assholes. Too bad you never grew up.”

I bit the fingernail of my thumb, trying to ignore the rising dread from engaging in such deception. The Shining Goddess despised charlatans and cheats, though many other paladins employed such methods to further her aims and suffered no punishment.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and meant it.

Something about my tone caught her off guard. For a moment her anger faded, then her lower lip quivered and she shoved her phone back into her purse. “Don’t message me.”

Julie turned and started to walk away. Perhaps it was for the best. Whatever quest the Goddess intended for me, this young woman should not be dragged into it. Johnny Parish had access to a wealth of resources and connections that would prove invaluable. No need to drag her into this.

Then, I sensed something that should not have been here, and realized the Goddess’ intention. Something I should have known from the beginning, but had hoped that this world, with its unique corruptions and problems, had nonetheless escaped Allara’s cruel fate.

Its electrical signature differentiated it from the humans and rare insects some trained corner of my mind used to catalog all living organisms within twenty paces. For the past fifty years, this sense had remained alert even when I slept, jolting me awake whenever mankind’s ancestral foe entered my periphery. I trusted it with my life over and over again, without fail.

Time both slowed and accelerated, each detail rendered in perfect clarity as I sat there, useless.

A massive, hooded figure stepped through the doors, standing head and shoulders taller than anyone else. The others within the coffee shop noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Most of the occupants were facing the other direction, and the workers bustled behind the counter, absorbed in their tasks.

An older man heading towards the exit, focused on his cell phone, almost collided with the demon before glancing up. Seeing the face beneath the hood, the man stumbled back a few paces.

Not far enough. The abomination’s arm, unnaturally long and multi-jointed, lashed out in a sideways sweep. The man’s face shattered under the impact, glasses flying, the audible snap of his neck drowning out every other sound. Lifted off his feet, the man spun through the air, head turned at an unnatural angle so that for a single moment his ruined visage seemed to stare straight at me. This is your fault, his expression said.

The corpse collided with an empty table some ten paces away. Dislodged teeth clattered to the floor. An errant eyeball rolled before halting right next to Julie’s slipper, pupil focused upward. She looked back at it, uncomprehending.

Screams. Confusion.

I ignored them. With so much electricity and metal about, an exceptional effort had been necessary to resist the urge to tap into these fountains of energy. Now I submerged myself. Every hair stood on end. Like an intoxicating drug, magic coursed through my veins, limning the world in vibrant streaks of metal and lightning.

My first instinct was to seize every bit of metal on Julie: the buckles on her purse, the buttons of her light jacket, her phone and keys and every other flare of silver magic around her body. With them I tugged her back my way, coming to my feet to catch her with one hand on her lower back. Though she screamed something in my ear, my attention was solely focused on the demon.

And it, in turn, observed me.

“Ludo Edkeis.” Its voice was grating, unnatural. Words are an aspect of creation. Abominations like this are only capable of destroying. Corrupting. They are unworthy.

Darkness crept into the corners of my vision.

No.

I could not succumb to my berserker tendencies. Not with so many others about. Long ago, I had learned this lesson.

Yet, the demon’s electrical signature was familiar. One of the Errata, a harbinger, tasked with sowing chaos before the true assault began. This one, I had encountered several times before. Its cruelty stood out even amongst its peers.

The one who had visited my village.

Before rage completely consumed my mind in darkness, I thanked the Goddess.