Mark groaned quietly as the colosseum quickly fell apart around him. He had maybe twenty seconds before the floor gave out beneath him and he plummeted into the chasm of infinity.
He knew it had to have happened at some point, of course. His finish line was a minute or two ahead of the other three, but he knew deep down that there was really no way to have avoided any of this. That was one of the few things that the thing in Mount Rainier had made quite clear.
The ringed wall around the colosseum crumbled to dust and fell away, leaving nothing more than a rapidly-shrinking floor. Blood pooled on the sand around Mark, soaking his hoodie in a circle centered on the bullet wound.
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that after everything that he and his friends had sacrificed, all that they had gone through to get here, the end result was the exact same as if they had done nothing at all. If anything, the more they had struggled, the worse they had made things.
But life was pretty far from fair. As much as Mark silently protested against how unjust all this was while aimlessly squirming on a disintegrating platform, that wouldn’t improve anything. The world was ending for reasons he barely understood, to achieve someone else’s goal that he understood even less. He wasn’t exactly unfamiliar with the feeling.
He strained to pull himself six inches across the ground as a chunk of stone fell away beneath him, which would have sent him over the edge had he not moved the slight distance to more stable ground. A small rock hidden in the sand pressed into his abdomen, sending another shock of pain throughout his body.
He understood, of course, that this was how the world worked. One was born, experienced a consistent chain of misery for– in his case– three and a half decades, and then died. What he didn’t understand was why the unfairness of all that only seemed to cross his mind once the time had already come to suffer the consequences. It seemed almost petulant, to only protest now.
The last of the colosseum’s floor fell away, leaving nothing between Mark and the bottomless expanse of blue beneath him. He began to fall, surrounded by the debris of the scene of his final humiliation.
He screwed his eyes shut as he dropped into nothingness, still clutching at his stomach in agony. Maybe he would fall forever in some distance-warping non-space, maybe Asmos had left something at the bottom for him to hit.
Mark didn’t understand much of why all this was happening. Maybe Asmos would provide an explanation to his friends right before killing them all off. Probably not. But at least Mark understood the reasoning behind everything.
He understood that, if anyone could do the things that this secret second Roman could do, things would turn out similar to this. The real question was why Deus didn’t.
He understood that the course of the world had been set a long time ago, and nothing would ever stay its course.
He understood that, despite the energy within him being enough to keep his friends alive from his mere presence, it would never amount to more than that.
He understood that he had never been in control of how his life played out, even if Asmos had only recently started dictating his next move without him ever knowing.
He understood that this had always been the way the world worked, and were it not for its sudden end, it would be how it would work until the end of time.
He understood that the abyss below him would be his grave, the same with the rest of humanity.
He understood that his brief time had run out.
He understood that, after all these years of unchangeable outcomes, he was finally succumbing to inevitability.
The bottoms of the floating islands were high above him now.
He understood.
And he refused.
-
Wind whipped around the lookout station, rattling the window covers. Inside, Quet and Horan rushed from end to end, desperately trying to secure the tiny room as the elements outside tried harder and harder to push their way in. Waia, meanwhile, had entirely fainted from blood loss a minute or so prior, lying face-down in a still-expanding pool of gold.
Just wrapped up killing your pet human, came Asmos. He was able to sway me into putting you three higher up on my priority list. Or you two, I suppose. The Hawaiian’s quite the non-factor by now.
Horan growled and looked around at the empty space around him. “Sh–Shut up! Just leave us alone!”
Oh, come on, replied Asmos. You think I’m not going to pay a personal visit to the Primoi who made all this possible? You’re dying in a few minutes anyway, after all. Seems kind of petty to deprive me of the honors, doesn’t it?
Quet raised her gloves defensively. “Don’t think we won’t put up a fight if you come for us, by the way. These gloves are pretty ingenious; it’s a good thing I stole them from your lackey.”
Of course they’re ingenious. I’m the most talented and competent thaumaturge on the face of the planet. You think you’re hot stuff just because it’s your ‘passion in life’, Aztec? Magic’s taken up half my life for the past two millennia! You should consider yourself lucky that I ever even looked at the low-grade-Domain hobby fodder that you hold so dear. At least you got to see the pinnacle of what your ‘craft’ can accomplish before you get put with the rest of the mortals.
The door to the lookout station flew open, clattering against the wall. Now get out here, finished Asmos, and die somewhere a little more respectable. And by the way, if you try to stay cooped up in there, I’ll convert all the air in the room into carbon monoxide. I’m being nice here, you know.
Horan glanced at Quet. “You think he’s bluffing?”
I’m not. You get to the level I’m at, whatever powers you had originally don’t really matter. I can do whatever I want. So get out here and do as I say before I prove that to you.
Horan took a deep breath and stepped outside the station, sword in hand. “He can’t… He can’t get us if we stay close…”
I’m sure you’d like that to be true. But Deus threw up that barrier long before he was in his prime.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Asmos’ effigy flickered into being twenty feet away from Horan, the top of its head billowing upwards into a flaming cloud of ‘hair’ and its lower half fusing into a single column of fire. The effigy raised a single hand and pushed forward into empty air.
Around the lookout, rocks split apart and cracks formed in the earth for no apparent reason, as if compressed by some invisible force. The effigy drifted forward, leaving a small trail of fire on the ground in its wake. Told you, said Asmos. You were never making it through this.
Quet emerged from the doorway behind Horan, gloves raised. “I swear, if you try… anything…” Her eyes rolled upward into her skull and she collapsed on the ground, motionless.
I decided to be nice and go for chloroform instead of carbon monoxide. Killing a ‘Primus’ deserves a touch more gravitas than some invisible gas when given other options. The single eye that dominated the effigy’s face fixed itself on the comparatively tiny form of Horan before it. And then there was one. Any tricks you want to try before it’s lights-out, old man?
Horan shrugged nervously and shrank away from the effigy that towered over even his seven-foot frame. “No, uh, nothing. A–Anything you can think of?”
Laughter echoed around Horan. It’s always so funny when Primoi like you beg for your life like this. It’s not like the world is missing out on anything, after all.
Horan took a step away from the effigy, almost backing up into Quet’s prone body. “…How much of what’s been going on this past year was your fault? What parts were just all the things you set into motion acting by themselves?”
More laughter, quieter this time. Oh, I didn’t hand the Indians a script or anything back in Mexico, if that’s what you’re asking. They just knew what was up. But if you refuse to give me any decent final words, I guess I’ll just take what I’m given.
The effigy raised a single hand and pointed it palm-forward towards Horan. The torrent of fire that came out of the palm, however, was stopped in its tracks by some invisible wall inches in front of Horan. He didn’t even feel the heat.
The effigy lowered its hand and examined the baffled yet unharmed Horan. …What?
The wall that had saved Horan’s life flickered into visibility in front of him: A prismatic pane of shimmering energy that flashed blindingly fast through the entire color spectrum. The kind of flashing color produced by the monsters of the Down Below. The kind produced by humans.
The wall of color vanished and Horan looked over the effigy’s shoulder to see a beautifully familiar face, one whose presence didn’t make him any less confused. “…Mark?”
Asmos’ effigy turned to look at what Horan had noticed. …Oh, you’re kidding me.
Mark floated in mid-air about twenty feet behind the effigy, his eyes consumed by the same flashing sequence of colors that had comprised the wall that had saved Horan’s life. More of the same scintillating energy engulfed his hands, which hung limply at his sides.
Mark grinned nervously and waved at Horan. When he spoke, his voice seemed refracted, as if he spoke with a dozen mouths at once. “Hey, Horan. I can do this now.”
No, you can not! The effigy flung both arms forward, projecting a cone of fire at Mark that made the human’s floating body vanish in a sea of blue before continuing past and reducing the floating mountain behind him to a puddle of slag in a quarter of a second. Asmos’ avatar kept up the stream of raging fire for several more seconds before giving up. When the wave of blue light dissipated, Mark remained in the exact spot as before, unharmed and grinning like an idiot.
“Sweet,” he said. “My turn.”
His first action was to snap his fingers and send Horan, as well as the unconscious forms of Quet and Waia, out of the way. He didn’t especially care where. He just wanted them gone, somewhere they could have their old lives back, without this idiot breathing down their necks. He had a feeling his wish had been granted.
Oh, you would, wouldn’t you? More flaming blue eyes protruded from the ground beneath Mark’s legs, gazing up at the transcendent human. Fine then. If you want to act tough with however you’re doing this, fine by me. Let’s rumble.
“No, I don’t think so.” Mark pointed at the effigy before him and focused on one thing: Making the representation the real thing. Asmos and their power wouldn’t touch anything else besides this very spot.
The effects of this command upon reality made themselves immediately apparent: The light issuing from the void between the floating islands flickered and died, and the islands themselves slowly entered freefall. Then, more. The eyes in the ground staring up at Mark were seemingly sucked out of the earth and drawn into the effigy’s body, trailing streams of fire behind them. More and more of these streams raced through the air towards the effigy from miles in every direction.
No, this… The effigy, now a sufficiently centralized point of the Primus’ incorporeal essence to be called Asmos himself, looked around in horror as his power retracted itself from the rest of the earth and was forced back into a single body. This isn’t fair! You can’t do this! Humans don’t do this! The swirling column of flame connecting his upper body to the ground dissipated and he attempted to fly off the falling island.
Reflexively, Mark lunged forward and grabbed Asmos by the neck. Where once physical objects had passed through his form, now he was tangible enough to touch. Mark slammed Asmos into the ground, more and more streams of energy flowing past him and into the Roman’s form. Waves and waves of blue fire poured themselves into the individual vessel, drowning out the space around the two for miles around as it rushed to return to its original unified state.
“I’m in charge now!” declared Mark, shouting over the roar of incandescent blue force around him. “You play by our rules!”
The rush of air that surrounded the falling islands slowly dissipated as yet more fields of rainbow energy surrounded them, slowing their descent as the distance between them shrank. Little by little, the scattered shards of the planet were putting themselves back together.
Asmos’ burning claws swiped madly at Mark’s face as his formless lower body engulfed the human’s legs. Neither could muster the power to harm him. This isn’t possible! bellowed the Roman. You’re meant to be dead!
“Dying becomes pretty hard to do,” hissed Mark, “once you’ve realized just what kind of things you could do if you didn’t. Kind of like a fight-or-flight response for your–”
Shut up! I don’t need to kill you to make you stop being a problem! Asmos’ hands moved from Mark’s face to his chest.
Immediately, Mark could feel Asmos’ power moving from his body to the space around him as space attempted to twist and compress him, like a sheet of paper being crumpled into a ball. He strained as he held back whatever effect Asmos was trying to enact upon him, but he could tell that he couldn’t hold for long. This trick was much more esoteric than simply trying to flash-cook Mark, and while the human had the raw power, the Primus had the experience.
Fortunately for Mark, that was the exact moment the last of Asmos’ essence flowed into the singular, finite form, whose neck had Mark’s hands wrapped around it. Every last trace of the Roman’s unfathomable influence, which had stretched around and within the entire planet mere moments before, had been restricted to this lone vessel. Mark’s grin returned. Time for phase two.
For one final measure, Mark willed the now-touching shards of the planet to fuse back together, creating a planet that, if still likely hollowed-out, at least had the same topography as before. Barring the mountain that Asmos had incidentally obliterated. Close enough.
Finally, in the split second before his concentration failed and Asmos’ spatial warping did its work, Mark removed one hand from their throat and threw it into the air, bringing forth one singular command: To keep Asmos trapped here, far from anyone he could torment forever. Any attempt to destroy him now would just re-scatter his indestructible essence all over again. But he could still be contained. Deus had evidently figured that out long before Mark did.
As he was yanked into whatever impossible non-space Asmos had created to imprison him, his hand still firmly gripping the Roman’s throat, Mark looked up and saw the clear, blue, cloudless sky above him for the briefest of moments. Then, another wall of shimmering light obscured it, enclosing both him and Asmos from the outside world. He had done it.
If Deus couldn’t keep this monstrosity contained, then neither would this spur-of-the-moment ward of Mark’s. But his hand did not leave their neck as both of the two were pulled into Asmos’ space between spaces. He were going down with him, and wherever they were being taken, Mark had a score to settle.
He had given himself one final chance to make himself worth it. And he wouldn’t be passing it up of his own free will.
The world went blue.
Then white.