'H-How dare you?' I was crying-no two ways about it. Crying and stuttering like I was a child again, looking at pops laying down in bed, wounded and slowly, slowly healing and hoping, praying he wouldn't die.

Because that was just the way it was. Priests were expected to assist in crises, mundane or supernatural, and all faithcrafters could heal themselves and others. They could even rebuild objects. As such, they only helped each other when a priest's faithcrafting was too weak on its lonesome-something that inevitably brought doubt to everyone involved. "Is my faith not sufficient?"

"David," he'd whispered one night, voice deep and ragged rather than thin and wheezing. "Please don't cry, son. If you start, you'll never stop, and I want to sleep..." he'd chuckled at the weak joke, lips bloody, before his clouded eyes had grown more alert, more serious. They'd lost none of their warmth, though. "Remember, David: your Father will always be with you...and so will your father..."

'You took him, and now you've made him a liar, too,' I spat. Spat on his memory, yes; he still lived in my memories, but...b-but...

'How can you say that?' it asked, arms spread, not attacking. 'I am here, David.' It pressed a hand against its chest. 'And there, too.'

I stared at it in disbelief, before chuckled darkly. 'You think you can fool me, but you can't,' I said in a voice far calmer than how I felt. 'You can use his voice and his memories, but you're not him.'

The flames that made up its form crackled quietly, the gold almost fading into the red. It seemed...despondent. Disappointed? 'You still can't see your father, David?'

'There is nothing  to see,' I retorted. Nothing but blinding fire, and lies. An anglerfish's lure. I understood that now.

God's Mouth shook what passed for its head, or rather, the fire swayed, flickering from side to side. 'How can you have those eyes,' it whispered, sounding like Constantin when he had been disappointed. 'And still be so blind?'

'Blind? I'm over that,' I snapped, wishing it would just start attacking me, or doing something, anything, besides summoning echoes of my father. 'I can't believe I ever fucking prayed to you.'

'You never prayed to Uriel, David,' it replied. 'Nor to any other angel. You prayed to God.'

'And look what he made of my father...'

I trailed off, seeing a small gap appear in the centre of the blaze, shaped like a...was it  smiling?

Did it find this funny?

'I am sorry that your pain still shrouds your vision, David,' it said. 'But I know you will pull through.'

Dammit... 'You mentioned these?' I pointed at my eyes, wishing I could rip them out, along with my godsight and everything that had happened in the past...the past... 'If my existence is a mockery to Christianity, this is the capstone.' Not that I cared anymore. 'Look at them!' I demanded, ripping my eyes out, replaced by identical ones as soon as my fingers parted from the sockets. 'The reason the world went mad, the reason I've been hunted and hurt and  moulded by every heartless bastard from here to the Outer Void? A pagan god's eyes.'

I threw them down, ripping my cross off with my other hand. The chain snapped around my neck- finally-and the damned thing joined the eyes at my feet. God's Mouth, whose smile had disappeared as soon as I'd torn my eyes out, was now all but shaking in anger, the flames dancing wildly.

Smirking, I raised my boot, and stomped the eyes to bloody paste, while staring straight at the God-made monster. Then, I raised my boot again, and brought it down onto the cross.

Or I would have, had it not been for it.

***

'Mate,' Liam Lloyd's voice wasn't shaking, nor were the hand around his mug, but I could sense the trepidation.

Self-control, a lich's mastery of his body, magic...any or all, it was a controlled effort.

'I don't know...this shit you can only hint at? I can already tell it's  way above my paygrade,' the lich looked down into his peer, green flames shining like will-o'-wisps in his pale, skeletal face.

'Let's be fair now-your salary ain't that big,' his husband, who was sitting next to him, joked. Seeing the lich's lack of reaction, Ryan's smile thinned slightly. But he still put a hand on Liam's knee, while slinging an arm over his rangy shoulders.

The greying tech mage regarded me with slight apprehension. He wasn't scared of me, at least not yet; not more than anyone would be of international law enforcement dropping by for a chat. I'd told the Lloyds I was patrolling for Chernobog's cults and allies, which they seemed to have bought as justification for my presence in Australia. It hadn't been a lie, after all.

But I'd needed to admit I needed a break and a place to unwind, even slightly, briefly, for them to warily-nervously?-welcome me into their home.

Good for them. They were happy people, with a quiet marriage in a sleepy town. I wouldn't have wanted someone like me to disrupt my life, if I had one like theirs.

I shrugged. 'It's all classified, but...it's not the job.' Entirely. The job, I could handle. 'I'm...soul-searching, I guess. I,' looking at the woden floorboards, I traced my cross with a thumb. 'Went through some shit, but that's fine.' I grinned thinly, meaninglessly. 'The people around me, though? They've been through worse, all while my back was turned. And-'

'But you were working, right?' Ryan interruped me, pushing his glasses upwards with one finger.

'Yeah?'

'So you weren't ignoring 'em 'cause you were, dunno, blowing cash on hookers or some bullshit. You make it sound like you were in over your head, or, I don't know, overworked. I know undead can get mentally tired.' He elbowed Liam, who'd been preparing to say something, likely to the contrary. 'So...can I call you David? I know it must suck, but...'

'That's the...one of the problems,' I agreed. 'I  wish I had been there to help them.' I should have been. I couldn't afford to waste time wondering whether it had been my fault or not, or whether I could've been faster, smarter, more aware. I should have been at my friends' side, not that monster who'd once been me, before DEATH had chosen him as its Keeper.

Or had it been-would it be-the other way around?

'But,' I continued. The lich and I were both looking forward once more, green light meeting ivory orbs across the living room table. 'It's not all. I'm losing...I've lost faith, I guess.' I would  not put my face in my hands in front of them. The fact they welcomed me and my bullshit in the first place was enough. 'And now...' My voice dropped. 'I guss I'm looking for something else to look up to.' Something to fill the void. That's what I really wanted.

'David-you sure you've got time for this?' Liam gestured at the Crypt symbols on my black ARC shirt. ' 'Cause...'

'No, no, don't worry,' I waved him off, pinching the bridge of my nose. He could go ahead and take his time. I was bending it, anyway. People like him, like them, were the reason we fought. If we didn't make time for them when they accepted us, what was the goddamn point? I'd seen where aloofness led.

'Well,' Liam took a sip. 'You are-were? Sorry if I'm misunderstanding-Christian, then you...' he blew on his beer, making a sheet of misty ice appear above it. He began drawing on it with a long finger. 'You and your friends hit a rough space, and you thought "The Hell's God doing? I'm faithful! I'm good!". Felt betrayed. Am I close?'

'He should've helped them, at least,' I said by way of acknowledgement.

Liam put his mug on the table, raising his hands. He was, appropriately, wearing a black Nurgle shirt saying "Come to Papa!", with the God of Decay sitting on a rotten rocking chair, smoking a fat, definitely toxic pipe with a (probably literally) shit-eating grin. On his lap was a scantily-clad Isha, though Nurgle's grubby mitts helped preserve the Eldar goddess' decency.

My favourite part was the fact I couldn't tell whether Isha was looking up at her "husband" or rolling her eyes, but honestly? I was starting to understand the Nurglite impulse to just...tell everything to go fuck itself, and give up.

What was the fucking point? We were just dreams in a sleeping moron's head.

'I agree,' Liam said. 'The pantheons wouldn't die if they helped out more,' or in any situation. Unless I did something drastic. 'But they've got this thing about not handing everything to us on a silver platter, and, pardon me if I sound gloomy, that's unlikely to change soon.' Or ever.

'What's your point, Liam?' I asked softly. 'That I should just tell myself it is what it is, and accept?' Like the Heads had more or less told me to?

'Shit, no!' He stood up straighter, massaging his forehead. 'Silva, look. We're acquaintances. We fought alongside each other once, but I don't know your past. Doesn't mean I can't try to help you, though.'

'Especially since you're navel-gazing on company time,' Ryan joked weakly.

'Babe, please...' the lich said in a lightly chiding tone, prompting a mouthed "sorry" from his husband. Then, to me, 'You seem a pretty decent bloke to me, David. Straightforward, stuff you're not allowed to say aside. And,' he adjusted his long, wispy grey hair, pulling an errant strand behind a ragged ear. 'If religion's played as big a role in making you who you are as you say, you shouldn't discard it because of a tragedy.'

He leaned forward, one of his staves-this one made of hollow, yellowed human bone and topped by a a fanged bunyip skull, of the elongated, horselike variety. I was surprised the house didn't puff into rotten dust, wards or not, with how much death the thing emanated.

'Don't get it wrong. I'm no Christian apologist or pro-anything, but I ain't antitheistic either. There're some good teachings out there: not judging others, helping the less fortunate. Not being a greedy prick.' I wondered...Liam was sixty-three. Had someone attempted to put him through reeducation? Christian camps for praying away the gay tended to end with some very cross angels visiting whenever someone tried to set up a disguised one, but...

No, I wasn't about to ask, nor look at his past with my godsight. That would've been crass even if he wasn't being friendly, maybe friendlier than I'd had been, if our roles had been reversed. Still, it made me think.

'What I'm saying is, you don't have to throw away the good with the bad. I'm just a dude, but, if you want my opinion, there's no reason to forget the good lessons just because you're ditching the big guy.'

Just a dude, huh? 'Liam, it's alright.' I smiled at him, pointing at the staff. 'I was leaving anyway. Thank for the talk, and sorry for bothering you.'

'What? Oh, I didn't summon it to shoo you away or something!' Liam shook the staff, also standing up. 'It's just reflex, man. Helps me focus.'

Focus, and calm down. I didn't miss the way he was leaning on the staff like it was a walking stick. Much like his anxiousness, it wasn't at all apparent unless you looked for it.

***

God's Mouth and I were pushed apart by the shockwave of the resulting clash, and neither of us landed in the physical world.

Shared mindscapes were a known, but not really understood phenomenon. They were common to gestalt beings, but otherwise only present in conjoined twins, before they were separated. And since the former were private about it in most cases (you really didn't want to talk to people whose shared mindscapes were a favourite topic of conversation for them. At best, you'd find people like Hex at Nacht. At worst, you'd end up with whatever Szabo was becoming), and the latter's mindscapes were immature and short-lived anyway, we were somewhat in the dark.

Our shared minscape looked more literal than I had been expecting: my nighmarish version of Ghencea Cemetery on one side, an endless, gilded crimson inferno on the other. And where they met in the middle, they clashed, just like us, pushing against each other, briefly separated by gaps of white nothingness.

God's Mouth seemed as surprised as I felt. Was I really such a dullard this mental battlefield looked like a fucking Pokéball? Ugh.

'David? This...is that what your soul looks like?' It sounded almost distracting, or maybe surprised, as it looked past me. 'I never knew...you should've tol-'

It staggered backwards from my punch, but didn't retaliate. Why? God fucking  dammit, why?

Why couldn't it finish what it started, and ruin my life? Did it only prey on those who worshipped it?

'I've never liked being told what I  should have done,' I said. 'But somehow, you're making me hate it even more.'

'David, you're hurt, son. Please, let me-'

I split its head in half with lightning, the bolt still crackling in my hand after harmlessly parting the flames. 'Why?' I asked softly. 'Why do you insist, again and again, on pretending you are my father? Constantin Silva is  dead. Let him rest, damn you.' I was crying again. 'Let pops rest. He was more of a goddamn hero than you and your entire freakshow of a family put together will ever be, so why don't you stop?'

There was only one answer, obviously: it knew this hurt what little was left of my heart, and liked it.

Well. I knew how to break people through their family. There's no teacher like pain, after all. And Uriel's family was much bigger than mine, at the moment.

But, soon...

'What changed you like this, David?' it asked. 'What made you so angry? You're a good man. What could push you to damn everything to oblivion?' Its voice was wavering by now. 'Who poisoned your soul, son? I saw your meeting with that lich and his husband-such kind people! Did Liam not advise you to follow the Lord's teachings even if you deny him?'

'Yes,' I grinned skeletally, enjoying its wince. 'But Liam was only the first person I met on the way here.'

'...I should've been there, with you. I should've been  there, damn me!'

Its roar burned my ears, even as the mockery made my blood boil. No. It was clear by now that this shameless son of a bitch wouldn't stop unless I stopped him.

It wanted the truth? Fine. Why should I be the only one to suffer?

***

My first visit to the Roundhouse had thoroughly disabused me of any notions of chivalric heroism-or romanticised knighthood in general, much less New Camelot's brand of it. They were nowhere near as bad as the monsters they kept around them (or was it the other way around?), or their historical counterparts, hell, I was sure most were decent people, but honestly? Most Knights were just concerned with protecting the UK and or/getting a paycheck while doing it. Honour? Not mandatory, but encouraged.

But the armour, the aesthetic, the pseudo-monastic ranks? It was all bullshit. Cosplay.

Lies.

And I knew all about lies now. Oh, there was no cackling freak lying in waiting to ambush me this time, no gauntlet of nightmares to run; but there was no need, either. Because, finally, I learned of what had really gone down in that goddamn chapel, and in Fairie.

Vyrt's face was a serene mask as he looked at me, which he was only doing because of the height difference, according to him. Like he couldn't shift to look me in the eye.

Merlin was hovering at his cousin's side, hand on one knee ass he leaned forward.

'To shape me,' I repeated the last words of Vyrt's confession. 'Into the Keeper?'

'Every path you have walked leads to that, in the end,' Merlin replied instead of him, causing me to fix the mage with an irritated stare. 'You would not have admitted your fears, even to yourself, David, much less confronted them. And by not doing so, you would have become a weak, miserable man.'

'Because I'm so power and happy right now?' I asked him with a dry smile.

'Are you not? More powerful than Mimir ever chose to become, in any case,' Vyrt said. 'As for happiness? You have your duty, your lover. Friends, a fathe-'

'Watch. It,' I growled, moving across the desk until I was floating in front of him, then pulling on his lower jaw until it cracked. 'You're married and a brother, he has a lover. Do not make me take from the world what it has taken from me.'

'You do not mean that, David,' the nephilim said, looking on dispassionately as I mutilated his cousin. 'You are not the kind of man who hurts others through their loved ones.'

I laughed, letting go of Merlin. 'What do you know? What do I care? None of us are real, anyway...'

'You weren't the one who murdered Alexandru Horia's body, rather than his soul-the Keeper was. What happened to the iela was sad, but you and the zmeu are blaming yourselves for not being all-powerful and all-knowing, which no one could honestly find you guilty of. As for Constantin Silva...'

'I don't care how ARC would react if I killed you,' I warned him. 'Either of you, or both. But do not think I can't. Let them come. Neither they nor your tinfoil-wrapped puppets will save you.'

The nephilim fell silent, and I wasn't about to let him find his footing. 'But you know all about that, don't you, Vyrt? I wonder how you played Chernobog's part so well, you dissembling mongrel. I truly didn't even think it had been someone else up to this point; oh, I had my doubts. Knew something was wrong with my recollection of the event. But I'm not surprised.' My eyes turned steely. 'I never want to speak to either you again, you genocidal bastards'

I turned to leave, hopping off Vyrt's desk. Torment me with my own fears; set me up for Chernobog to rape my mind and soul, again; give him the chance to use me as a tool for wiping out the fae army, not that he couldn't have done it himself. But this way, he had added more insult to the injury. Had made me go insane with guilt.

And the murders? They calmed down those calling for actual, complete genocide. Made them calm down, so cooler heads could prevail. They could point to the impaled corpses as revenge or justice, whatever they desired, while Chernobog, who doubtlessly enjoyed it, also put even more blood on my hands.

And this all led to the Blackness. To relations being mended, and my mind and power honed. All so I could be a better fit for my role, and preserve this foul nightmare we were all trapped in.

As I was about to exit Vyrt's office, I stopped, turning on my heel. 'Oh, and Merlin?' I pointed at the Cambion. 'Go where you belong, and burn.'

The chain extending from him and down through the floor, a mirror of Mordred's, almost snapped in half with how fast the mage was yanked down. I still heard him scream, thankfully.

Once, his future self had hurt me through a vision. Now, I could hurt him through his projections.

Vyrt looked displeased but unsurprised at the banishment. You'd have thought bypassing the Roundhouse's wards and Merlin's powers would have impressed him, but all time was one moment to him. 'Should Bedivere wake up, he'll soon realise you're as much of a liar as his god. I hope he kills you.'

'David-'

I laughed again. 'I hope Mordred burns this all down, and feeds you the ashes! Wonder how your Grandmaster would react to his home ending up the same as his  ideals.'

The doors slammed shut behind me as I left. I had expected the halls to be far more crowded, but only one Knight passed me: human, going by height and built, the only thing that would have made him stand out in formation being the dragon fang necklace around his gorget.

A weak smile tugged at my lips, despite myself. 'The Dragonlayer?'

Ronald sighed, muttering "of course you know...". 'Are you leaving, agent Silva? Your stay was brief.'

'Just catching up. I'm on-duty, and Chernobog's influence hasn't reached the British Isles, according to your Master. So...'

He put his hands together. 'We are indeed fortunate. But, agent, if you wouldn't mind some advice...I can see you are upset. Whatever your grudge with Master Vyrt, please remember that we are not all like him. We've never been that...' Despicable? 'Monolithical.'

I knew, dammit. Vykt, Miranda...even the Lady of the Lake, to a lesser extent. Ronald's wife and children, who he hoped would follow in their parents' footsteps. 'Sadly, a few good apples don't make a bunch.'

'True,' he said grudgingly. He had clammed up, his opinion of me souring, as soon as I'd opened my mouth. 'Goodbye, then. Unless you needed something...?'

'Two things. I understand Head Shiftskin came here for an informal audit?'

'The fact  you haven't noticed anything will tickle our architects pink,' Ronald said, sounding darkly amused.

'I'm glad. As for the second thing...may I ask if you were going to see Vyrt? It might not be a good time.'

'Nothing important.' He patted his breastplate. 'My son's said his first word, and the Master asked me and Clea to show him a recording, if we managed to catch it.'

...nothing...important...

***

'Do you see?' I asked, grabbing God's Mouth's head with clawed hands and pulling, but there was no neck to snap. 'Do you see what your ilk does on your god's orders? With his approval!?'

'I am not...Vyrt,' it grunted, grabbing my wrists as it pried my hands off it. 'And what he did to you was lamentable, David, but it has saved-will save!-infinitely more lives! Entire species, son...all there is-'

'WHAT  IS THERE, DAMMIT!?' I demanded, arms spread and raised to the sky. 'What is there? Do you even know why this all started? Not everyone twisting me to fit their purposes, but Chernobog's rampage. Do you know why he's doing it?'

'Of course.' Its real voice bled through. 'I was there.'

***

How disturbing was it that, by now, I was accustomed to speaking to Chernobog in my mind, if not sharing it with him?

Less than you might think. I couldn't have mustered any shock even before this...foul revelation.

When has the truth ever been beautiful, when it comes to gods?

It had all started so small: I had returned to Siberia, seeking my father's murderer. Chernobog had reached out to me, filling the sky with a vision of his past and goading me to look, see if I could notice any deception.

There was none. I saw the conversions, the people turning from a simpler, dualist faith to monotheism. I saw Belobog look at the gods who had given up without a fight, in his eyes, letting the Abrahamic religions overrun what should have been a neutral Earth. Tacitly admitting Yahweh had more influence, better preachers. That he was, simply, superior.

The White God sneered scornfully as they retreated to their Clusters, filled with people wrought by their own hands, faithful as anything. Instead of following their example, he took a stand, and prepared himself for war as he had never known before, as only a few gods had threatened to, before the Syncretic Treaty.

I saw his brother, who had fought with him so often, over creation and destruction, prey and predators, kindness and evil, cease his insults and challenges. I saw the two gods bury the axe, even if briefly, for Chernobog's ego would not let him lose to anyone, much less stand by while Belobog fought for what they represented.

And, though he only admitted it once, he didn't want his brother to die, either.

He didn't fail, in the end. Oh, Christianity spread over what had once been his domain, while the pantheons rallied together to beat him and Belobog down.

I saw the White God bleed ichor from a thousand wounds, but refuse to give up, no matter what he was offered or threatened with. Remembrance, sainthood, a goddess of his choosing as a wife; eternal imprisonment and torture, or banishment into the Void beyond all others.

I saw, to my surprise, Chernobog drag him away, shielding him with his body as he tried to heal him, and failed. I heard Belobog ask Chernobog to let him go, only to be denied.

And devoured. Consumed, and kept in a state of endless imprisonment, but alive. I saw the brothers' minds and powers join, and felt Chernobog change, his rage becoming sharper, colder. And I heard him swear...that...

'Do not misunderstand, David,' the Black God said at the edge of my mind. 'I am not showing you this and hoping you will turn to me-I neither expect nor desire that. I am not doing it to shatter your resolve, either; you are no longer that weak.'

'Then why?' I asked, hearing the unending, silent scream behind that ivory smile.

'So you might know both sides of the story. I know your god likes to pretend there are none, other than his.'

I grimaced, jaw clenched. 'He is no longer my god.'

I felt rather than saw him smile. 'And all it took was a little suffering...'

***

'Revenge,' Uriel continued. 'Because they were the only ones mad enough to break the Treaty, and look where it got them.'

'And killing them would have solved  everything?' I spat.

'They struck first, because they could not sway their people. I have no pity for them.'

'No...' I chuckled. 'No pity for them, or anyone. Right, Uri? Angel of rage, hatred masquerading as virtue.'

'Watch your tongue,' he snapped. 'Split my name not from my father's.'

'Fuck your father,' I said. 'I'll do to him what you did to mine.'

God's Mouth stumbled, and, for an instant, I wondered if my promise had surprised it. Then, it began mocking pops' memory again, as if it had never stopped.

'Oh, David...God's kindness can be cruel, in our eyes...but it is kindness.' It clasped its hands, drawing sparks. 'I do not like what He had to do. I have had-have-my own doubts. But turning against Him, or destroying all there is to spite Him, is not just insane: it is not like you at all, my son.'

I broke down. I cried, even as I beat at it, tore at its flames with my claws and fangs and godsight, sobbing as tears streamed down to mingle with drool. I was foaming at the mouth like a mad dog, but I didn't care. That was what they wanted, anyway.

'Stop! Stop! Stop! STOP, FUCKING DAMN YOU!' I screamed as I scrabbled at its chest, trying to find something, anything to hurt.

'This is not who you are! You believe so strongly all your life and beyond, then lose faith because of necessary tragedies? I am alive. Everything else can be mended!'

But I wasn't listening. I was roaring, trying to tear it apart even as my hands burned whenever I touched it.

'David! David, son, calm down! You're going to hurt yourself-'

'So fucking what!? Let me die, or let me kill you!'

It began muttering a prayer under its breath, before wrapping its hands around me, but not in a bearhug. I almost slowed down as I heard its next words. 'I wish I could do it for you,' it said, sobbing too. 'Bear all your burdens. I wish the world had never hurt you, that it wouldn't need to. I wish you only knew peace and joy, but David, it cannot be so. Not if we don't make it better, son...'

And by now, I had stopped, crying angrily, gnashing my fangs hard enough to split my lips and tongue, no longer speaking.

'Listen!' It grabbed my shoulders, shaking me. 'Do you hear him laughing? Maybe it's the Black God, maybe it's the Devil. They always laugh when good men are fighting, for that is when evil triumphs. Do you want them to win?'

I sniffed. 'I don't think either of us is good...or a man.'

'That is a lie, David. I did not raise a monster, and Mia wouldn't love one.' Its...his features...he began to look like... 'Let me help you, son. Do you remember what I taught you?'

***

I'm four, and today is my first day of kindergarten. First after the opening of the year celebration, that is. Daddy didn't come to it, because he was busy helping the security exorcise a hospital: both the patients and the building.

I was the only child present without a parent. And no one laughed at me, but I saw the faces, concerned or mocking, heard the whispers.

"Orphan."

"Alone."

"Mommy? Does no one love that boy?"

Daddy only came home this morning, to find me fully dressed and about to leave, the gate key shaking in my grip. When I saw him limping, I broke down, and cried about the crowd, and his wounds, and the nightmare. I thought he wouldn't come home.

He held me all through it. He's still holding me now. I'm going to be late, but I don't care.

'We'll talk more when you get back,' he slurs, voice thick and husky. His smile is still bright, though, as he rises to his feet with a crack of joints. Daddy's not old-he's twenty-four, twenty years older than me, like he'll always be-with short brown hair and a beard, but he sounds like an old man. 'I need to rest, and you need to leave. But before you leave...' he leans forward, placing a hand on my shoulder. 'Remember: do not talk to strangers, son. Do not stop when they ask you, or give them anything, or tell them anything about you. Do you understand?'

'But I only know you,' I say, wiping my puffy eyes with my blue shirt's sleeves. Not the red cravat; comrade teacher would get upset at me if I did that. Daddy said so. 'It's my first time out of the yard...'

I don't remember anything clear before I turned four. Certainly none of the neighbours.

'Even so.' His stern brown eyes soften slightly. 'You have a kind heart, my son. And, if someone deserves your help, that very heart will tell you. Trust me, and in God.' He pats my back. 'Now go!'

I call to him as he stumbles past me. 'I-If you weren't hurt, would take me there?'

He does not answer right away. 'No, David. You must learn to stand on your own.'

And, as I see him stagger towards the house, our dogs Rexy and Rex whining at the sight of him, I start crying again.

Nothing happens on the first day, besides the teacher chewing me out and the rest of the class snickering as they watch. They know better than to laugh, but even those giggles are enough to draw comrade teacher's attention to them, too. As such, she makes everyone go out in the yard to dig, so I make a great first impression.

Nothing happens on the second day, either, besides a suspicious number of floor sections in my way being slippery.

But on the third day...

Beggars and vagrants are rare, nowadays, because the police and the security round them up, for disturbing the peace, and send them to the Canal-or to less known facilities, to be used as labour or for other, darker purposes. But some slip through the cracks, so the Party can see who is likely to help them, and thus mark its targets. Who would rather aid leeches (that goes for both vagabonds and vampires) than report them, so they can be made useful?

This woman is neither one of those, nor a woman. She looks old, with few teeth separated by huge gaps, cataract-filled eyes and thin grey-white hair beneath her hood. Her brown skin is leathery and cracked, and her feet are mangled: one ends in a stump, the other is bent and twisted, barely enough to let her walk with the help of a cane that looks almost as old and gnarled as her.

'C'mon, darling-nothing to spare?' She holds out a rough hand as she hobbles closer, the nails broken and caked in filth. I look between her and the kindergarten. It's so close, just a few minutes away, but the road seems to stretch on forever, endless and empty. I can't even hear the grass rustling...or feel any breeze, for that matter.

'My daddy taught me not to talk to s-strangers,' I answer, and curse myself. Darn it-but isn't this talking to her? Then, in an outburst of childish candor, I add, 'I don't have any m-money. He gave me food, and I'm not gonna buy anything today.'

'But I'm not a  stranger, dearie. Remember?' She smiles, and I slowly smile at my grandmother in return.

She clamps her mouth over mine, beginning to gnaw at my lips, then my teeth, as her shroud enfolds me. I can see the other children sewn into it, and I laugh as I know we'll be together, forever!

Then scream as she is ripped in half. My father's hands push her torso apart, revealing her hollow body, and she tries to claw and bite and scream at him as she crumbles. Cursing him, and at him, but to no avail. Her flesh bursts into white flame, and in a blink, she's a pile of smoking ash at his foot.

'I-I'm s-sorry!' I babble, falling to my knees and hugging his, but he grabs my shoulders, dusting me off as he lifts me to my feet, pressing his free hand to my bloody face to heal it.

'No, David. I should be apologising. Should've sensed it sooner.'

I look up at him, gaping. 'B-But...but didn't you say you wouldn't c-come?'

'In case you were safe, David. I told you that so you would believe in yourself.'

'So it was a...a l-lie?' But d-daddy's never lied to me before...

'Fathers sometimes lie to their sons, David.'

I stare at the kindergarten, hugging his leg. 'D-Does that mean that...' I gulp. 'G-God lies, too?'

I have never seen my father so angry. I never want to see him like this again. 'Give me your hand, David,' he says gruffly. 'I'm walking you there from now on.'

'Oh, n-no need. I'll be more careful. I p-promi-'

'Give me your hand, son.'

And I do.

***

I am ten, terrified, and, soon, about to be alone.

'Remember, David,' pops says as he takes a knee before me. 'You do not open the door to anyone, no matter what they're saying, asking for or selling. Promise me, son.'

'I p-promise.' Then, softer, 'But what if it's y-you?'

'I have keys, David.' He looks halfway between bemused and concerned. 'Not that I need them to enter. I will never need to ask to be let in, son.'

'B-But what if forget them...? What if it's your verger, or-' I choke up. What i-if he's too hurt to move, and d-dies because I-

'David? Is he tempting you? You don't open the door to anyone, period. I don't care if you think God Himself is outside, asking to be let in.' He sighs, then hugs me. 'Please, son...'

I hug him back. 'I w-won't.'

And he leaves, and I'm alone. Nothing can be heard from outside over the howling wind and cracking branches. I jump at every shadow for a minute, then, knees knocking, turn on every light in the house.

Daddy returns three hours later. Or so I think, at first.

'David,' he says, standing in front of the living room window with a tired, but proud smile. He's done good work tonight. 'Can you open, please? My keys got crushed.'

'Why don't you faithcraft new ones?' I snap, terror driving me to anger. 'W-Why do you need any, a-anyway?' My eyes narrow. 'Why aren't the dogs barking?'

He closes his eyes wearily. 'Sweetie, please. It's getting late.'

'Then come in!' I challenge him, scared, but drawn inevitably towards the window. He never calls me sweetie or darling-none of that sappy crap. Clutching my cross makes it burn coldly in my grip, as cold as my red eyes. Then, I see all of it.

Have you ever seen a rat king? A bunch of rats tied together by their tails? It was something between that and a mass grave.

It rises far, far above the house, far thinner than it is tall, like an eel, or a serpent. Dozens, hundreds of corpses stitched together, with coarse rope and razor wire tying everything up. All of them are still moving, still talking, but...dead. It's a deep, continuous moan, as hollow as their shining eyes.

And, at the top of the monster, like an anglerfish's lure, is the simulacrum of my father. Only a torso, made to look like him. At its sides are the hollowed-out carcasses of our dogs, eyes gleaming, fangless mouths opening and closing repeatedly.

'Then come to me, son,' it says in a thousand voices. 'Come. Your mother is with us, too. We'll put your heart to rest~'

I faint.

And, though I know it not, two things happen that night: firstly, Hogge feasts. Secondly, Andrei Dravich begins to sleep easier, no longer tossing and turning when thinking of his lover's remains, mysteriously vanished from her shallow grave.

And when my father comes home, he...he is p-proud of me.

***

'But I am not a stranger, David...' my father said. 'Let me help you.' He laughed as he shook his head, but weakly, and I could hear a sob under the sound.

He extended his arms, waiting for me to grab his hands.

And, as I watched the mindscapes sway under, around and above us, him trying and failing to keep his footing, I knew what I had to do.

***

Asterion was alone in the Labyrinth, once again.

In truth, he had never left it. Whenever he felt pressed or challenged, whenever his hunger gnawed at him, he returned to that noisome maze, cramped yet unending, the sky tantalisingly close but forever out of reach.

It was the place he never wanted to go back to. The one Eidolon tried to keep him away from.

But he was not its prisoner anymore. He was its master, even if the Labyrinth had passed into legend and memory long before his return to the world of flesh.

He remembered sitting with Eidolon on a jagged mountaintop one day, talking about everything and nothing; or rather, existence and its mirror. Eidi, his beautiful marble goddess, had argued that there wasn't really such a thing as something not existing anymore, except for extreme cases, such as the Idea of it being removed, alongside the possibility and knowledge of it. Otherwise, things simply passed in and out of perception. When imagination was merely another facet of creation, what did physical destruction matter?

Asterion had, he reflected, unknowingly used this philosophy for centuries before he had even met her. The Labyrinth from his memories was as tangible for him as the real thing had ever been, and he could pull it out of his mind like a sword out of a sheath.

Which was what he did now. And, despite his earlier provocation, Chernobog seemed to falter as the impossible walls sprung into the void he had created, containing it, shaping it, sealing it away, for all that it was endless and corrosive.

Between its formation and the end of the Middle Ages, mankind had produced truly exceptional people. The Knights of the Round Table, on the unclaimed Earth this fight had begun on; Daedalus, on his.

Aster did not doubt that this world's Daedalus had been a genius, but his had been the second coming of Hephaestus, a god of knowledge and crafting in all but nature. The maze he had crafted had been-was-an unliving, unthinking thing, but it reacted, planned and hunted ass fiercely as any hound, wanting nothing more than to lose everything within itself.

And that was what it would have done, without the Tartarus Engine's will commanding it, by virtue of the bond they shared. The monster was always in the Labyrinth, and vice versa. The infinity of corridors, impossibly-angled and without corners, slipping between the four states of matter and the idea of themselves, flew at the Black God, trying to crush and seal him, bury him under endless stone.

Chernobog fought, of course. He would not be sealed again, like he had been after running from the remains of his destroyed Cluster with his brother devoured and revenge in his heart. Chains shot out of him, like the ones entangling and crushing the gods who had assaulted him, for all that, with how much they had increased their power by now, each could have destroyed the mundane universe and an infinity like it with a twitch.

Stone met darkness, and non-euclidean architecture dissolved into nothing even as it tried to smother it. With an enervated, but amused grin, Chernobog turned his attention to the bull rampant, and creation sat up and watched as the two began battling their way through its higher layers.

It was the fourth, at first. Three dimensions of space, one of time, spanning an infinity of realities. Then, the fifth, with another, timeless infinity full of hypershapes, where even a stray thought of the meanest creature would have erased the fourth layer like the fiction it was to it.

Then the sixth, seventh, eight...upwards into the bounds of dimensioned reality, then into the Voids beyond it.

How many Voids were there? How many numbers were between one and two? One point one, one point two...and between two and infinity?

That was how the Voids would have been counted, if one bent their intellect to the task. In the least of them, the multiverse was a whisper of a dream, and each Void was similarly contained and dwarfed by the following.

Asterion and Chernobog smashed right through the First Gate separating ordered reality from the primal Dreamlands. They grew in power and stature as they brawled their way upwards, through Void after Void, and yet Chernobog never let go of his prey.

Even when they burst through the Ultimate Gate and into the Outer Void, when the gap between the Ideas of them and themselves disappeared, Chernobog did not let go.

'Why?' Asterion asked, demanding justification as much as he wanted to satiate a mad curiosity. What could Chernobog want with them? Revenge, surely; to satisfy some old grudge against Perun, maybe. But shouldn't he have gloated about it by now?

'Because this is what they did to me,' Chernobog snarled in reply, baring his brother's teeth. 'To us, Asterion. Were you not born out of the whims of two spiteful fools? Were you not damned by another, with the approval of his father? Chained in Hades while Minos judged the dead?'

The Black Hunger laughed, actually surprised-inasmuch as he could be, or do anything, here, in the changeless un-realm beyond place and moment. 'You...you think we're the same? That my misfortune is, in any way, comparable or similar to the folly you began?' His neck-ring twitched as he grinned, horns swaying. 'Your brother would be alive, if not for his greed and bruised pride; and he would be dead, if not for your madness and selfishness. In the end, obsession doomed you both.'

'You know not of what you speak...' Chernobog said warningly.

'Don't I? This is, all, just the tantrum of a child with too much power and not enough self-control,' Asterion continued, enjoying the chance to finally look down on someone. He began understanding why Minos had enjoyed it so much, even if he was still far from approving of it. 'You should've accepted the olive branch.'

'And what then? Faded into quiet irrelevance? Settled down with some goddess and had her caress all the woes away?'

'Neither would have been enough for you, would have it? Or both. Zalmoxis accepted the first. Could you have survived the second, with how wretched you are? Do you even want love?' He pointed at the god's chest. 'You do not love your brother. You want to keep him, preserve him like an insect in amber. Own him. And, in this way, you satisfy both your desires. You keep him alive...and you finally, and completely, triumph over him. For does his very existence not rest in your hands? How proud you must feel...'

'And who are you to speak about desires and refusal? You, who exchanged your oubliette for a leash? Who couldn't even touch your love before she became living stone?' Chernobog smiled pityingly. 'Come, Aster. You know your powers will never cure Eidolon, nor will hers, unless you choose to view oblivion itself as a solution. Hera will never allow it, and her kindred will not lift a finger. But the fact they are unwilling does not make it impossible for me.' The Black God extended a hand, which Asterion only glanced at once.

'You're making the same mistake they did.'

Chernobog's hand wavered at Asterion's blunt declaration, but he didn't retract it. 'Who...what are you talking about?'

'Whenever someone tries to be genial without meaning it, I can tell. No need to read their thoughts. I can practically hear them.' He snorted, nostrils flaring. 'Do you have any idea how many try to exploit me while calling me "minotaur"? The bull of Minos. Even after my death, and his, I'm still thought of as  his. His property. The monster he never wanted, but used.'

'I have only called you by name,' the Black God pointed out.

'It doesn't matter. I can still feel the contempt. Oh, it's not directed at me, but at everyone-every thing-besides you.' Aster showed his fangs. 'Have you forgotten I am worshipped myself? I know all about deception. You do this,' he gestured at the chains trailing away from Chernobog, and the cocoon-like shapes they began at the end. 'You promise to enslave us, after everything you've done and threatened to do, then you offer help? And you not only expect me to believe your offer is sincere, but less accept it?'

'It matters not to me if you trust me or not,' Chernobog said, voice growing harsher. 'It matters only whether you want it. Do you, Asterion? You want the Olympians cast down, Minos tortured, Eidolon restored-admit it!'

'Yes,' the Bull Rampant hissed. 'And I don't care what you or they do to me. But I am not going to let you win,' he swore.

Chernobog's pitying smile returned. 'Oh, Aster...you were so sure my victory depends on your permission, you missed the fact I have already achieved it.'

And, as tentacles of a blackness even fouler than his form coiled around the Tartarus engine, Chernobog turned away, and reached towards his prize.

***

The moment I touched God's Mouth, everything, the cemetery, the inferno, the not-space where they met, fell into a darkness I was depressingly familiar with by now.

Got you~

 No, I promised. You do not.

I opened my eyes wider than I ever had before. Then, I opened his.

***

'Release me!' Asterion demanded, a fist clenched around a crude, jagged shape, as pure a weapon as only something of this realm could. 'Or I will destroy you-and your master.'

Chernobog bristled at the threat; another fool who knew nothing but thought he knew everything; who thought he served the Crawling Chaos any more than a bear served a wolf. But with that irritation, came a moment of clarity.

The minotaur wasn't speaking to him. The dumb beast was speaking to its assailant. And the promise, the weapon...

'Typhon,' he whispered, attention almost shifting. 'You took from him. His claws, his fangs...' he crushed the surprise under anger. 'So what? You cannot strike down Nyarlathotep with such a paltry thing, much less the Blind Idiot pulling its choke-chain.'

'Can't I?' Asterion chuckled. 'Here, where the truest, deepest essence of everything reigns? You forget Typhon was birthed to tear down the Heavens and the gods, seat himself as the master of everything he surveyed. Aye, perhaps this cannot slay the Lord of All, or even harm it...' his eyes glimmered. 'Perhaps it can. Are you willing to take the risk?'

Chernobog prepared to reply, and that was when Asterion threw the knife at him.

***

'You see?' I asked him as we joined minds. 'You were crippled and distracted, then trapped, by the efforts of two people who have never even met.'

Chernobog clutched his chest as he glared balefully at me, black ichor slowly dripping down upon Belobog's curled up form.

'But then,' I went on, smirking. 'You believed the pantheons would tear me apart over the gift you forced upon me. Over the things you made me do. And look what did  not happen.'

He didn't respond, instead, he knelt, trying to devour Belobog again, or at least preserve his life. 'It's useless,' I said, looking down at the two. 'His time should have come long ago. For delaying his death, and your myriad other crimes, I will destroy you.'

He lost his composure at this, though he masked it with an ugly laugh. 'Are you already DEATH's Keeper, David? Do you already enforce its will?'

'No,' I replied. 'But I want justice. And I want to see you suffer.'

I slapped his hands away from his brother, stomping down on and through Belobog's corpse as it dissolved, finally free. I grabbed Chernobog as he leapt screaming at me, by the antlers, and glared into his eyeless face, matching my power to his even as he tried to break free.

From behind, walking through the mindscape as if through fog and water, the distorted shape of God's Mouth approached me, putting a proud hand on my shoulder.

'Let us begin, my son,' Constantin said, adding his mind to mine.

***

My father lived, and I couldn't even properly celebrate it, except by crying and grinning as I put my plan into motion. It was a stretch, but...but...

'You know,' I told Chernobog, trying to sound nonchalant despite the harsh rasp of my voice. 'I've always been curious. And I've never had a chance to look at creation, and see what and who everyone is so hellbent in defending.' My grin wavered, and not just from the mental effort. All the shit I'd gone through was coming to the fore of my mind. Between that, the realisation pops lived and the struggle against Chernobog, I could hardly even hear my strigoi side anymore. 'Let us see.'

This would do more than answer my question, which had been real. It would distract Chernobog until I could try to get rid of him, in case I decided to go on. Did we deserve to live? Had my head been clearer, maybe I would have asked myself if I deserved to judge anything within an order if magnitude of this, much less, spare or destroy.

But it was not. So I did not.

***

Lucian looked up, staring straight ahead as he sensed my presence. His arms never moved from around his lover.

'The prodigal son in the making,' Bianca said, shooting me a cold, flat glare.

I winced. 'Maybe not, Bia. But you know I would never do what he did to you.'

'Wouldn't you? For the greater good?'

I looked at Lucian in lieu of answering. 'I'm glad you two are together now.' Then, to the other zmeu in the room, 'Aaron is not here?'

'No,' Lucas said, his voice a match for Bianca's eyes. 'Went to give his condolences to Dravich. Schedule the burial, if he can.'

R-Right. The burial...

'Why're you peeking around, Silva?'

'Trying to decide if life's worth living,' I answered.

'Hell,' Lucas leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. 'Not like I can stop you, but...let me have a last smoke.'

As his hand reached for a cigar, the other grasped his younger's brother, who smiled thinly.

'No way you'll quit when his conscience wins out.'

'Little punk,' Lucas grumbled. 'I'd keep that promise even if I didn't want to prove you wrong!'

***

'It'll be quiet,' Aaron, human-sized, said as he looked at my birth father's shrouded remains on the forensic lab table. 'Small. Dravich didn't have many friends, and most of the enemies who respected him are dead.'

'You coming, kid?' a blonde weredog asked, hands in the pockets of the coat she wore over her Supernatural Service uniform. Her eyes were wet. 'He'd have liked you to.'

'I don't know,' I admitted.

***

'No, David,' Aya said firmly, her glowing eyes staring daggers into me. 'I do not agree. You can hate me-ARC-all you want, but this would condemn more innocents than you can imagine-'

'Actually,' I interrupted. 'I can. I have.'

She worked her jaw. 'You do not have my permission, agent. Nor my approval. In fact, I order you to stand down.' Her voice almost shook. 'I order you to live, David. I know that is what you truly want.'

'Silva,' a new voice echoed through the aether, and I glanced aside. Thousands of kilometres away, Sam glared at me from Salem Headquarters. 'I don't give a damn about myself, but I won't let you stop Aya and her kids from having closure. Don't make me come after you.'

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

'And I won't let you threaten me, Dibe. I know what you've been through. Don't you want peace? What if others end up living through torment like that, too?'

Shiftskin scoffed. 'Think about your girl, you idiot.'

***

'Of course I want to live, Silva. I must live to experience. Why would you even contemplate omnicide? Are you stupid?'

Something told me Hex's face had been made for frowning even before it had become white as chalk, his lips and eyelids stitched together.

''tis the ultimate despair, Emil...' Nacht simpered coiling around and through him, only visible to my godsight. 'He is so, so sick and tired of everything...yet, at the same time, he wants his love to survive! Ah, the duality of man...I would keep you like this forever, if I could,' it leered at me. 'I would fight you, too, if only for Emil's sake, but were I to match your might, and pit mine against it, I would only advance your half-baked destructive aims. The Dream will continue in an orderly manner, or end.'

While he spoke to me through the aether, Hex moved through his clinic, having recovered a new pair of pliers after his teenage were patient had broken the last. To mundane eyes, he appeared pale and sallow, with dirty brown hair and eyes, like a wearier version of my human self.

The boy was worried, but not because of Hex. While everyone who went to him knew Emil Strauss was a mage who had worked as a doctor before and after the rise of Nazism, with his longevity tied to his magic, few knew he was Hex, Salem agent, much less about Nacht's existence or connection to him. And of those people, nearly none frequented his clinic, and almost never to be treated.

'Your mother is waiting outside.' Hex shook the pliers in what he probably thought wasn't a threatening manner. 'Stop thrashing. With every tool you break, she waits longer and I have to work more.'

'Sorry, doc,' the patient-Kurt, I saw, looking back a few minutes-said sheepishly. Fittingly, given his hybrid form. 'I'll buy...erm, ask her to buy you some new ones.'

'I can make more,' Hex said. 'The tools are not the issue. You being agitated is. Keep wasting time, and you'll die.'

As Hex spoke, he pulled out a silver splinter out of the wereram's torso every few words. Several patches of flesh were already covered in sealing foam. The mage's voice became as soft as I had ever heard from him. 'And stop getting into fights. You hurt your mother more than you hurt yourself.'

Kurt's lips curled, revealing thick, flat teeth. 'Easy for you to say. They ain't never called you an animal, sir.'

'Every "Nazi" remnant I have been approached me has either tried to recruited me, or kill me.' Hex said, placing another bloody splinter in a bucket. 'The reasons vary, but I can make them back off without danger to myself. Look into ways to do that.'

'Never knew you cared...'

'It's tedious to always treat the same wounds. At least get poisoned with silver the next time.'

Kurt swung his legs over the edge of the table as Hex walked away from it, boggling at the mage's back. 'That...doc, I'm pretty sure you can't just say shit like that to patients...'

'I'm neither pretty nor sure,' Hex began washing his hands in the sink. 'But I know my clinic isn't a psychiatric hospital. And yet, basket cases keep coming....'

I wasn't sure whether he was joking, or whether it would have been better or worse if he was.

***

The Irishman whirled around to pin me with an accusing look, green eyes narrowed. As if my presence, for lack of a batter arm, in the church not only confirmed all the accusations he had levelled at me, but compounded them.

'Costi's corpse,' Angus Murphy spat. 'Finally got too scared to skulk into holy places anymore?' He sounded so hopeful, it was my pleasure to burst his bubble.

'I have neither the time nor the desire to step into the shack you oversee.' Before he could retort, he continued. 'My father always told me about you, Angus. You're just like he said.'

His white teeth barely showed in his beard. 'A narrow-minded firebrand?'

'A man who is prejudiced, but not evil. He has always hoped you would become better, and so do I.'

The priest deflated slightly. 'Ye do? Truly?'

I nodded, my presence approaching him. 'I pity you. I've never lived with such hatred in myself, and I wish you wouldn't have to.' I paused, then let a hint of slyness enter my voice. 'I know why you're still here, Angus.'

'What? Besides talkin' to ye? Damn impressive, considering even  I don't know.'

I smiled. 'God told you to wait, but not why or what for, and you did. But not out of misguided love. That is faith. Thank you, Angus.'

'For sittin' me arse down?' he asked, bemused.

I squeezed one of his calloused hands. 'For praying for my father.'

At this, he laughed bitterly, looking away as he rose from his chair. 'God guided my hand and mind, ye idiot. But...yer welcome.'

'But if you had no faith, God couldn't-wouldn't-have touched you.'

***

Chernobog roared as he tried to pull himself out of my mental grasp. The metaphysical equivalent of a headbutt left my senses scrambled, but I held on, feeling my father's hand on my shoulder.

'You thought,' the Black God breathed. 'You could enter this contest, and not be struck back?'

***

I was in Hell. Or, more specifically, under it.

Hell stretched infinitely into all directions. The fact it also had a bottom, never mind anything under it, had nothing to do with space or logic.

This Underhell was reminiscent of the waters, before God had split them. His absence was felt her more keenly than anywhere else above, but there was no one to despair at it. The things that swam through the waters were accustomed to this state, while the demons that had been sent there, some of which had grown to resemble the original creatures, felt, if anything, joy.

The sensation gnawed at my soul, just like the monsters attempted to devour me. But they flinched whenever I turned my eyes on the, or when they felt my father's light. Here was an old enemy in a new form, accompanying the bearer of a foreign god's power, one they had never known, but loathed as much as that of their own.

Of course Chernobog had tried to drown me in darkness. It was all he had ever known, the only thing he truly understood. But he wouldn't succeed. I had seen through him with my godly eyes, and, surrounded by my father's light and warmth, I wouldn't get lost in the shadows.

All that remained to do was decide whether the light or the darkness deserved primacy.

The Princes of Hell crowded around me the moment I arrived, whispering into my soul, prodding at my spirit, I brushed them all off, though it got harder with every offer.

'You have no desire to glut yourself,' Beelzebub said, his mantle of flies buzzing dejectedly. 'Even now, when you can make yourself taste anything, and feed on whatever you want, however much you want...you think yourself elevated for this, too. Fool.'

'You only desire the lust of a single woman. How can you look at the orchard of creation, and limit yourself to one tree? And your heart bleeds so much for her, too...' Asmodeus tutted.

'The thirst for fame is still there, but ah, how bitter the draught is! You have all existence and beyond waiting on you with bated breath, at your mercy...but your soul is torn apart at the thought of hurting them, even as it wants to end their pain,' Mammon laughed with a fierce, shining grimace.

'So much you have changed, little Keeper in the making...first, you envied the mage and his family, so quietly you did not even realise it. You grew jealous of those who share quiet love, when you met your zmeu. Now, you wonder if any of that is truly real...' Leviathan crooned.

'Lies, in my father's house? I long for the days you would have reacted like this to the priest, David,' Lucifer shook his head. 'Such righteous indignation...I have not felt its like since I have looked within myself, and Mordred.'

'What about him?' I asked. 'Is the Knight of Rebellion going to take this lying down?'

'He's chomping at the bit to crush you, if only because he hates higher powers,' he answered. 'But he knows his intervention will merely hasten the end, and Mordred has never wanted to be the king of a wasteland. As I told him on our first meeting-I liked the cut of his jib, even then; we were both the neglected sons of uncaring, ungrateful fathers-, ruling over ashes means nothing.'

'You imply he would survive the Dream's ending,' I noted, and felt the arrogance shift into wrath.

'You feel no satisfaction on having everyone by the throat, do you? No pride,' Satan accused. 'Only grief. My other face would destroy you for this, but we know your worth. Your importance.' His face grew more sour with each word. 'We do not wish for everything to end. We chose to rule in Hell rather than serve in Heaven, but we need something to rule. Do not give in, Silva.'

I grinned, despite myself. 'Are you begging me?' I asked, struggling not to laugh as his roar shook Hell.

'We will hunt you, Silva! We will torment you forever for this insult! For we know your heart. You will never be rid of us!'

As he drifted away, I felt a sense of absence, as vast as the waters, but somehow, even more gruelling. The void then went from simply empty to hungry, trying to drag all that I had ever been and could be into itself.

It was not doing this maliciously, or even intentionally. That was my first clue that it was not Chernobog.

Belphegor's presence was the most crushing out of all his siblings'. Not as powerful as Satan's aura, not by a longshot, but, in a way, even more disheartening.

Because the Prince of Sloth did not preside over mere laziness. Procrastination, hesitation, lack of will; all fell under his purview, and, as extensions of such feelings, so did despair and surrender.

I had expected Belphegor's offer to hit the hardest. I hadn't expected it to be the last, but perhaps I should have. I had thought that my soul would glow the brightest in his eyes, but it seemed his nature had won out in the end. Or maybe he had just amused himself with his siblings' failures.

'Do as you will, David Silva,' Belphegor said, eyes half-lidded as he lounged on a padded throne. 'Forge on, or give up...'tis all the same to me. Whether everything ends or continues to grow...' furred, titanic shoulders rose and fell like mountain ranges covered by ancient forests. 'I have never been able to bring myself to care. But that matters not. I already have left my mark on you.'

'...you have, haven't you?' I breathed. 'I suppose suicide would belong to you, if anyone.'

Because Belphegor was not any kinder than his fellow Princes. If anything, he was crueller, and certainly more insidious. He was the voice in your head, muttering that nothing mattered. That all your achievements were for nothing, and would crumble into dust and be forgotten. That not even your descendants would remember you, in the end, after your headstone had been scraped clean by winds and rain.

That, no matter what you did, you were just grist for the mill, and might as well give up.

Here was the monster that had tempted me to end myself, as true an ally of my future self as Vyrt. Here was-though I doubted he would ever admit it-the embodiment of Szabo's fears, of isolation, anonymity and irrelevance. He had lived as an Orthodox, even on the edges, not practicing.

Belphegor's empty smile widened slowly, with the grinding inevitability of a chasm opening during an earthquake. I was about to ask what was so funny, when I felt it.

Another growing absence. Another void expanding. Not here, but in the aether, as more and more souls, guilty and blameless alike, were consumed by the furnace of a cosmic monster's confused rage. My attention was tugged towards it, by the chain extending from me into the future, then beyond time.

I turned away, almost running in my haste to...dammit. I wouldn't give in to the impulse. How could I even stop DEATH?

Did I even want to?

These questions, and Belphegor's voice, followed me as I left the Pit behind.

'The grains of sand are falling away, David...hear the end coming...'

***

The Shaper looked nearly as surprised at my arrival as I had felt at deciding I should visit it.

The Reptilian Collective's realm had grown beyond anything they had described to us. A spherical structure of hardlight and exotic materials, most artificial, thousands of times larger than the universe, orbited around what looked like a permanent portal into the aether.

Its identical counterparts, more numerous than the quarks within the original, filled the rest of the hyperspatial pocket. It could have been a multiverse into itself-a finite one, but still-had it not been folded inside and around Earth's core.

That was the difference between hyperspatial folding and cruder manipulation of space. Preventing gravitational disasters, such as the formation of black holes and other dangers to the fabric of spacetime.

All of this was surrounded by an infinitely-layered randomisation barrier, with similar bubbles covering the megastructures and select spaces within and between them. Each layer had a wonderful surprise for uninvited guests, from conversion to antimatter, quantum decomposition and scattering across the multiverse, to all your possible states of existence being spontaneously reduced to a single one, of nonexistence. There were also several layers that would trigger yoctomachines meant to kill an invader at birth, which made me wonder when Gallifrey would be suing.

My perception would not have been stopped by this alone, but the rationalisation field around the barrier did a wonderful job at it. All the information, I received from the hesitant brush of the machine-gestalt that was the Shaper against my mind. It was not a question of power, but of nature, and my godsight was decidedly paranormal in the reptilians' eyes.

I had a few questions for them about that. Given I had come anyway.

'Aberrant Silva...? Hello. ARC has not scheduled a meeting. Is this to be an unofficial request, or something that they would rather keep quiet?'

I shook my head, heart warming slightly at the...utter lack of hostility. That was as nice these days as it was rare. And it was coming from an alien, nonetheless.

Albeit, there were those who argued that, since the Collective had reached Earth shortly after its formation, they were not any more aliens than we, who had evolved billions of years after their arrival, were.

'Neither, Shaper. I am here...for myself. Forget the uniform. I'm just David Silva for today.'

It nodded cautiously. 'Nevertheless, even if you are just visiting as a friend, it would be desirable to announce us before, rather than trigger the defences and risk bad blood, or injury.'

'I'll keep that in mind,' I promised. Not that I was thinking clearly enough for that. 'Thank you.'

'You are welcome. So...the reason for your arrival?'

I crossed my arms. 'Am I bothering you?'

'Negative. Nor are you keeping us from something. We are merely curious, and you are speaking to a single facet of us.'

I bit my lip as the Shaper continued observing me in patient silence, then began speaking. It grew more grim with every word.

'We have always known the macrocosm to be dangerously vulnerable,' it said after the end of my explanation. 'But this is new. And worse than we expected. But then, perhaps the existence of everything resting on the shoulders of one person should not be surprising, when aberrants are involved. You do always make everything about yourselves,' it sounded amused. 'Drawing events towards you like a black hole does matter.'

'Why do you call us aberrants?' I finally asked. 'I've always been curious.'

The Shaper did the mental equivalent of blinking. 'Because your abilities and, indeed, your very existence, violates the laws of physics. It is not a slur, but a classification, as we have repeatedly made clear, but we apologise if we caused you any offence, David Silva.'

'No. See, I get that. But for you to say something is paranormal, wouldn't you have to establish what is normal first?'

'We have. Billions of years ago.'

'But...how?'

'Through study. Deliberation followed analysis, and we agreed on what is possible within nature, and what is not.'

I chuckled. 'No, I mean, how did you come to this conclusion? Didn't you come into contact with the Kratocracy and Unity Stellar before you came to Earth? Aren't their powers paranormal, even if they're inherent? What about your own creations?'

'We will answer your second query first, but know there is nothing aberrant abut our creations, quantum entanglement of traits aside.'

'Really? Then how can the Unscarred reach lightspeed without infinite energy or converting itself into energy? For that matter, how can it destroy planets? It's neither heavy nor fast enough.'

'Weak tachyon fields let one reach lightspeed, though it takes more potent ones to surpass it. And the Unscarred's hyper-efficient physiology generates far more energy than a natural creature with a similar physique could.'

It all sounded like bullshit technobabble to me-weren't tachyons FTL by definition?-, but I let it go. 'And the other aliens?'

'You suggest that, observing them, we would come to the conclusion that nothing is impossible? Do not be absurd, aberrant Silva. We spent eons on the world of Zhay-a beautiful world, if caught between arid and humid extremes, but entirely natural-and the systems around it before we came into contact with what would become the other Great Powers. That was where we laid down the bedrock of our science.'

'But there are literally more Kratocrats than reptilians, never mind mundane humans. Aren't you basing things on the traits of minorities?'

'True, our species is unusually undeveloped in terms of aberrant capabilities, in the sense we completely lack them. No psychic powers, no aetherkinesis...but we are not alone. The Lesser Powers often lack such things as well, and make do with reason and engineering, just as we have, if on smaller scales.' The Shaper's tone became gently chiding. 'Do not judge the cosmos in accordance to the Great Powers. That is a mistake both they and their perceived inferiors often make.'

'Duly noted...' I said, making the Shaper nod appreciatively, then wait for me to continue. 'This-the you I'm speaking to-is only an infinitesimal part of the true you.'

'Correct. We are the Collective, and the Collective is us.' Its voice was unusually warm, given what I knew of the detached, clinical artificial intelligence.

'Like we are just parts of "God",' I said. 'Except you care more about your people than it does. You care, to begin with.'

'Ah. This is the crux of the matter.' In my mindscape, the Shaper, appearing as the small, green reptilian I had met on Mars, which was riding on the Unscarred, directed its mount to sit down, cross-legged. 'The bulk of our intellect is currently engaged in studying it.'

'It?'

'The First, Ultimate Principle. The Causeless Beginning. Monad and Apeiron, Arche and Hypostasis-the One and its emanations: nous, psyche, logos. The Substrate.' It sounded actually excited. Not awed or worshipful, but eager to talk about what this being represented to it. 'We could list terms forever, and still not encompass its nature.'

'Maybe even non-Western ones?'

'We had the feeling references to Zhayvin philosophy would be lost on you, aberrant Silva.'

'"Those who live on Zhay". Like you'd call us Terrans?'

'Those who lived on Zhay. Neither it nor its inhabitants exist anymore. We have changed ourselves too much to be recognisable to our ancestors, and our world was destroyed by our own hands: a symbolic act, to show our warmongering ways had ended, with the death of the homeworld we had abused.'

Could a warlike era truly change a species on such a fundamental level, and drive it to even further change?

'That seems...monolithic.'

'You mean strange, to you,' the scales around its eyes shifted, like a human's skin wrinkling with mirth. 'The truth is that we are old, while mankind-in any of its incarnations within this relatively ordered universe-is yet to pass its first billion years. It is common for mature cultures to have a single government or equivalent.'

I joined it on the ground of our shared mindscape, mirroring the Unscarred's pose. Behind it, a kingdom of gears, cogs and other, less identifiable machine components rose towards infinity. 'Do you think it's worth it, Shaper?'

'Existing? Or existence?'

'Both.'

The little reptilian dismounted the Unscarred, landing a metre in front of me. 'Your perception is stupendous. Comparable to ours, if not superior. But your perspective is different, for you are one being, while we are infinite in thought and form. Do you wish to see the macrocosm as we do?'

It showed me. Every space in every moment of every universe within dimensioned reality, as well as in every timeless not-space of the layers beyond the first four, filled with yoctomachines. Smaller than quarks, smaller than preons, constructed of artificial particles...no. Constructed artificial particles, modified into tools to be wielded by the Collective.

Each of them was incapable of self-improvement, except in case of crisis, and even then, written into the very essence of its machine, was an ironclad command to never act around the Collective or its ideals, unless the reptilians betrayed those themselves, willingly or forced.

'How have you reached this far?' I asked. 'Weren't you limited to spacetime?'

'A short while ago, as humans count such things. But every span of time is equal in our eyes now. Our would-be destroyers have been broken and harnessed, and they flow into other dimensions like water into a vessel, changing to fit. We have reached even further.'

And we left dimensionless reality behind, along with the Voids and the Gates, until we reached the Outer one, the Realm of Ideas.

'We have labeled this the prime realm, for the most primal, yet complete forms of everything seem to be located here.' The Shaper leapt onto my shoulder. 'During a recent, failed negotiation, we beheld old rivals, who surpassed themselves to become one with the ur-form of ordered reality. Between our observation of them, and our recent acquisitions, we have begun digging into the bedrock of the macrocosm.' It pointed a gnarled, clawed finger somewhere above me. 'See?'

I did: it was a reflection of the machine realm that represented the Shaper's mind...or, were they truly separate?

'That, we have determined, is the ur-form of science, and its off-shots. With sufficient research, we will be able to bring such ideas within mundane reality, like the Atlanteans used to do. Not instantly,' it sounded regretful. 'They needed millions of years to reach this realm, and millions more to master it. But unbreakable, unstoppable weapons and structures should be doable, within a few millennia, even in small numbers.'

'What did you want to show me? I already know about this,' I gestured at the Archetypes.

'We spoke of the bedrock, but in truth, we hope to reach the root-the primeval seed that is the ultimate flower, you see? All other endeavours are secondary.'

'Even protecting life?' I asked.

'By studying it, we are protecting life. Its ways and habits are oblique, obscure, abstruse. Nearly incomprehensible. We do not know why the things that enervate and agitate it do so, only that they could lead to ultimate dissolution, if they are not rectified.'

And so, we came back to me. 'You can say it.'

'We find it unsettling, indeed, wrong, that one person should be forced to shoulder such burdens. The macrocosm should not be so unstable and random. But, to return to your question...yes, David Silva. Of course life and experience deserve to continue!'

Enthusiastically, it summoned holograms of several realities from the fourth layer, each an infinite expanse of a single element: granite, water, various gases, plasma.

'That last one? There the dark night sky paradox became fact,' the Shaper gestured at the seething, endless soup of star fire. 'Each of these cosmoses, with their strange laws of physics? Take that unending forest, for example. How does it exist in its current form, instead of collapsing into a seething inferno? We already know,' it said, sounding both satisfied and disappointed. 'But it was a joy to learn. We might not seem to show it, but truly, it was a joy. Observing, experimenting, learning, indexing, they all bring great pleasure.'

'But didn't you say you already understand those places' secrets?'

'We do, but mastery is not unpleasant. Elation is archived, and can be relived on command.'

That sounded...artificial. But somehow, I doubted that would deter the Collective.

'And there are more places still! The bedrock, the root; once we study the latter, we would wish to see if it has or had a realm of origin. And, as dimensioned and dimensionless reality develop, new intellects and systems will bloom. And we will be there, to aid them, to teach and learn from them. You can call us foolish ascetics, warlords who mutilate themselves in remorse and left simpler, more honest pleasures behind, but this is enough for us.'

As it spoke, I saw the Shaper outside our shared mindscape, the one that appeared as an idealised reptilian clawing at the Idea of Science, extend an arm and open a clawed hand. Within it, an infinity of realities, each an undimensioned dot, was swallowed by a similar multiverse of lines, appearing as a transparent shadow within it. Then came worlds upon worlds of squares, cubes, tesseracts...until an infinity of infinitely-dimensional realities spun into its grasp.

Then came greater ones, each equivalent to the Voids we had passed through, until the orrery-like structure matched its maker in scale.

'We have watched over you and your ancestors since you first appeared. We neither want nor expect rewards. Perhaps we should have intervened earlier, helped guide you to a brighter tomorrow. Perhaps we deserve to be hated for our neutrality. But, David Silva...' it looked at me, hands on its chest. 'We never believed our own charges would threaten to end everything. We are sorry.'

I placed a hand upon its head. 'I'm...I am not mad at you, Shaper. You did everything you could have. You could have stuck to your own ways, remained monsters, but you changed for the better, at no one's urgings. I am thankful for your deeds, but you cannot give me what I want.'

***

Frankenstein's Monster turned from the Kratocracy's progenitor to glance at me from the corner of an inky eye, which quickly widened, before narrowing. 'Truly, the world has changed.'

'Quite. You see like I do, Adam.'

'Almost, I would say.' He sounded vexed, but not with me. Not just with me. 'I see all thinking beings can be as foolish as man.'

'I doubt the taskforce will do anything to you just because you were close to Sofia.'

'...who? Close to...?' He shook his head, dark mane swaying. 'It matters not now. I know not whether I will return home, but I fear I will start a war, should I remain here.' Adam jerked his chin at Mother Wound. 'You know what her attendants told me? That the weak in their culture are murdered not just for weakness beyond their control, or to be used as resources, but because they and the strong could not live with each other; indeed, they could not live with themselves.'

'Did they say how and why she decided this?'

'Of course not. And my sight is blinded, too!' He grit his teeth. 'You see why I must leave?'

'There are some things you just can't live with, yes,' I agreed. Then, deciding this was a good moment, I explained my plan, and my dilemma.

Adam was appalled. 'You...you madman! I will not let you! I have a dream to achieve, away from this nightmare!'

'Do you?' I asked, honestly curious, not to mention surprised.

'I wish to better the lot of...created beings like me. Constructs. Artificials.' It glared at the Vyzhaldi. 'The heirs of abusive parents, and makers...'

'You have given no reason why Mother Wound should overthrow tradition for you,' a black-shelled Motherguard said, either not noticing or not caring about me. 'Your show of strength is paltry and timid. We doubt you can even achieve your aims.'

'You want power?' Adam asked, turning on a heel to face them.

***

The universe Wolfgang had created was infinite in both size and population. As such, it often dealt with intruders without the need for his intervention. His creations acted on efficient instincts, and dispatched threats quickly and quietly.

As such, he was surprised when he felt a foreign mind seize his, and wrestle control from him.

All his insects, each impervious to mental assaults that would have reduced trillions of humans to mind-blasted husks or unthinking slaves, instantly fell under the sway of the invader. Creatures meant for calculations, whose mental capacity measured tredecillions of yottabytes; beings spawned next to the event horizons of black holes, where time was dilated infinitely, so that everything appeared frozen to them, no matter the speed; all broke.

Then the stranger appeared, ripping apart a barrier that had ignored temperatures and energy densities equal to the Big Bang's like it was tissue paper. He was...he...he was...

Wolfgang's face screwed up in incomprehension as the Creature from his childhood books blundered into his realm, and, just as abruptly as it had taken over his insects, gave them back their faculties.

They attacked him, of course. With pincers and mandibles that tore right through him, with brutish strength that dwarfed his and pasted his body, with sound, with heat and radiation and toxins beyond anything the universe had ever produced naturally.

The, remaking himself, he strode straight through the onslaught, unharmed, and attacked their minds again, only to be rebuffed by their adapted defences.

A second, stronger assault bound the insects to his will again, leaving Wolfgang more lonely than he had ever felt.

Then, the Creature lifted the infinite mass with a telekinetic pulse, and, smiling, pulled it towards him, the insects disappearing within his pale body like pebbles into quicksand.

Wolfgang saw him mould his body, going from finite mass to infinite and again, like a strongman flexing his muscles. Seemingly satisfied, the Creature left, leaving Wolfgang baffled.

But not for long. He could make new, better creatures. For now, he had to focus on the witch.

***

Sofia, who had been casting about with wide, scared eyes, began shaking when I appeared in front of her. Seeing my old enemy, I did the only thing I could have.

'Please, don't be scared,' I urged the little girl, gathering her up in my arms, glad to be clothed. My cold flesh wouldn't have helped. 'It's alright, Sofia. I know why you lashed out. It shouldn't have come to that.' I paused. 'I've seen your parents. They were bad people. I'm sorry.'

She sniffled. 'Mommy? Daddy?'

'I killed them, Sofia.'

Rocking the crying witch, I turned to Gray One, who looked at me as through a daze, though it large, dark eyes quickly became clear. 'You've given everyone a hell of a scare, Grey.'

'I apologise, but...' it blinked, then read my mind. 'Ah...ah.' It began weeping as its forehead wrinkled. 'I apologise...and I am sorry, David Silva.'

'Do you want to go on?'

'I want to see my children,' it confessed. 'If they still live.'

Before I could reply, a wall of muscle slammed into my back. Passing Sofia to a beleaguered Grey, I turned to face the Vyzhaldi.

Mother Wound's Scorn growled like an industrial furnace. 'What is the meaning of this?'

I smirked. 'That's what I'm trying t-'

His punch wiped the smirk off my face, though it only hurt my pride. 'Spare me your sophistry! Did you make that portal? What is happening?' Multi-faceted eyes bulged. 'Do you work for the Kratocracy?'

Looking back through time, I saw the pasts of the aliens and child around me, and I understood. 'Scorn...' I began. 'Do you know what I want to do?'

He punched me again, halfway through the explanation. 'I will not countenance this!'

'Try to stop me, and we all die, anyway.'

'I'd rather die as a warrior than a coward! You know nothing of the Vyzhaldi, undead!'

I tuned out his rantings, and the aetheric voices of the taskforce that had come for Sofia, as I sought an old friend.

***

The Fivefold appeared first, looking as dishevelled as I felt, though marginally happier.

'Ned told me,' she preempted me. 'I know, David. And I'm so, so sorry, but I cannot approve, if you even care about that anymore.'

I swallowed. 'Where's Fixer?' When she didn't respond, I remembered an old question. 'In the forest, back then...what had you and pops planned, if my friends failed?'

'He wanted me to hold you down, while he healed you whenever you began decaying.'

I staggered. 'But...but that would have never ended. He'd have needed to live out the rest of his days caring for me, with no time for anything else...h-himself...'

My father hugged me from behind, while Christine smiled thinly. 'It's called being a father, David.'

'And you've had a damn fine one, Dave my boy,' a familiar voice, though no longer playful, said.

Snarling, I moved away from my father and his friend.

***

'If only we could've met in happier circumstances,' Fixer, a grey-haired, grey-bearded, darks-skinned man said, looking down as he rubbed his chin.

I slapped one of his eyes off, and the other one regarded me impassively. 'YOU. You and your circle of schemers. You started all of this.' I laughed madly. 'I know. I saw it. You-'

'Aw, do not be so self-effacing, pal. False modesty doesn't suit you.' His other eye had returned. Behind him, endless wheels within wheels shattered and were put back together, endlessly. 'You started this, and you did a bloody fine job.' He walked forward, arms spread. 'I mean that, Dave. I'm not joking. You are saving-will save-creation just as much as the Nightraiser and I are.'

'Stop calling me Dave,' I said, surprised at myself for choosing to focus on that, of all things. 'You pronounce my name the Romanian way, but use that nickname like I'm British.'

''Tis just a silly name...surely you won't begrudge me that, David?' he asked, laughing. 'I am not mocking you. I love you like the brother-or son-I never had.'

'Liar,' I said. 'Many of your selves had children.'

'They are no more me than your cells are you, David.' He closed the distance between us, hugging me, and I let him, slumping onto his chest, feeling so, so goddamn fucking tired...'Please. Don't give up the fight. My wife and I believe in you, and so does yours.'

'Mia and I aren't married.'

'Yet! Do stop thinking so linearly, oh timeless one.' He sat down, gently pulling me along. 'You have everyone and everything praying, begging you to spare them. Do you realise that, David? No Keeper has ever beheld such a choice. You have all creation at your feet, and they want to live! They all know your name! You are more famous and feared than any book could make you! What more do you want, David? What could make you happy?'

I began crying again. 'I d-don't...I don't want them to be scared! I don't want them to be hurt, by m-me or anyone else. I don't want more! I just want Mia, and my friends, and my f-father,' I wiped at my eyes to no avail. 'Safe and h-happy. I don't want everything to be so damn bloody.' I lowered my head. 'I don't want to kneel to n-necessity.'

Fixer rubbed my back. 'Ach, son, no one wants that. I once made my own multiverse, indulged every sick fantasy I ever had upon its inhabitants. I gave myself endless wealth, and power, and women, and I was still crying like you are now. Do you know why, David? Because-I learned then-that no dream world will make you happy, no knowledge of a duty well done will help you rest or wipe the blood off your hands. Not unless you have someone to love and be loved by, with whom to share your victories and defeats.'

I looked at him. 'You said you...w-we are married?'

Smiling gently, he held up a hand, showing me the ring on a finger, then lifted mine...

***

DEATH's Keeper looked at me with a sad, expectant expression, while his patron waited besides him on all fours.

I looked in disbelief from Hogge to God's Mouth, feeling utterly stupid. 'It was the motherfucking pig!?'

'I was getting to that,' Constantin said. 'Trust me. I reacted much the same way. I am surprised you missed it when you returned to Urziceni, but perhaps that was its desire. I'm sure he...you will help yourself understand.'

And my father stepped aside, leaving me alone with the monster everyone said I had to become, and the one behind him. Hogge's hideous, tusked grin was gone, replaced by DEATH's calm visage, then body.

'It's all my fault,' I said, and the Keeper nodded. 'Is there truly no other way?' He said nothing, just looked at my eyes, and I snapped. 'Are you enjoying this, you bastard? I can't believe Mia married you! I can't believe you adopted a child!'

'I didn't,' he said. 'All three are ours.'

Smiling at my befuddle expression, he came closer. 'B-But how...? Did...did I alter myself with godsight? Or...?'

'Creation, should you spare it, would not yield to such an easy method. But I am no loner sterile, David.' He looked haunted. 'No undead is. many have waited for this impossible way to have heirs, but I would do it again in a heartbeat. I do not regret it.'

'M-Me...a f-father?'

Smiling, he took my hands into his. 'Can you guess who we named them after?'

He told me, and I cried again, for my friends, for the father behind me, who the Keeper next looked at.

'Hey, pops,' his smile shook as he approached God's Mouth. 'I haven't seen you so human in ten thousand years...'

'You know what will happen to me? Why do I become inhuman?' Constantin asked, stepping backwards. 'What is my...our purpose? For surely God does not send an Archangel to every doubtful worshipper, but the Lord is silent.'

'And who but an Archangel and a doubtful worshipper could lay the foundation of His vision? Who else would welcome every believer who dies unjustly, praying for fairness, for revenge? Who perishes in terror, or confusion, and wishes for clarity and reassurance?'

'We will...lead them to Heaven?'

'Perhaps, one day,' the Keeper said. 'But you will gather them to your bosom until then, and channel their power to right wrongs. You are not the first believer to walk through darkness or be led astray, father. But you could be the last.'

And the, his attention returned to me. 'You asked me if there's no other way. I told you, in no past of mine did I ever have your eyes, and I did not lie. But I never managed to reconcile with Constantin, either; and, when we spoke, I still hadn't. This led me to believe you'd fail in this aspect, like all my past incarnations...but you succeeded, David. You are not even Keeper yet, but you have already surpassed me.' He fell to a knee before me, not even stirring the dust in pops' courtyard, took my hands in both of his, and bowed his head. 'Thank you. Little Costi has always wanted to speak with his grandfather.'

I gulped. 'Your children...'

'You will be a father, little me. There is another way, and it can be better than mine, if you have the willpower to accept the long, flawed road to eternal perfection.'

He told me, and by the end, I was kneeling too.

'Will they...will I ever marry Mia if we...?'

'We will become one. Nothing will be lost, David.'

'A-And...' I had never cried as much as today. 'You r-really would...?'

He embraced me. 'Of course. Do you think I am a cruel man, David? Do you think I enjoy atrocity, as opposed to endure it?' He leaned his forehead against mine, and our minds joined, followed by everything else.

I knew what I would do, and how.

***

'Scorn,' I said, before the Vyzhaldi could strike me again. 'You want to be accepted? Remembered? Lend me your Mirror.'

With a confused snort, he tossed the circular, spotless Ideal Mirror to me. ''Tis a weakling's tool. It can double-"mirror"-anything, yet every time I used it to compensate for my weakness, I was ashamed.'

I wouldn't be. Nothing would make me prouder than this, except...well. What makes anyone proud?

'Grey, Sofia,' I put my hands on their shoulders, fashioning a cord so I could wear the Mirror as a necklace. 'Open your minds to me, please.' And, if they agreed...

***

Everyone.

Every child, parent, sibling elder.

Every animal, every plant, every construct, every creature.

Every supernatural, and monster, and alien, and Archetype.

Every mind, human or inhuman, kind and malicious....

Every enemy, every friend...

Everyone.

For a timeless moment, all saw as the others saw, and shared joy and despair, triumph and hardship, and perspective, free of madness, free of obsession.

For an instant, everyone laid down their arms, and became a beautiful union of understanding.

This meeting of minds, an infinity of infinities, united by three, I grasped with both hands, weeping with joy as every last doubt of their worth disappeared, wiped away by the knowledge that, if we understood each other, we needed not fight.

And, grabbing the Ideal Mirror, I looked within it, and saw our joined mental might. I doubled it, quadrupled it, again and again, everyone screaming solutions, encouragements to go further, bolder, to never let go of the bonds that united us.

When Mia reached out to me-not an unique being, in some's eyes, but worth more than any, in mine-, embracing me, the bonds only grew stronger.

'Thank you, David,' she whispered between kisses, crying and not caring, just like me. 'T-Thank you for loving me.' My zmeu laughed breathlessly. 'I wish I could've saved you, and...' she looked aside, shily. 'I never thought you'd give up. My David never would. But I was still scared, when I looked within your mind. I'm s-so sorry I doubted you...'

'H-Hey...' I wiped away her tears with a trembling hand. 'I guess I couldn't give you up. Call me selfish.'

Laughing, she pulled me against her chest, and I wished it would last forever.

But then, two minds, who had never been meant for such things, broke free.

Chernobog was pushed down and held in place by a myriad arms, Thor foremost among them, grinning at the sight of me and claiming he had never blamed me for his death.

Nyarlathotep tried to crawl away from the union, only to be caught between Fixer and a spear-wielding old man, who glowed white.

I looked down upon the two destroyers, the greatest enemies of everyone, who could not even bear the joy we had all shared.

'You know what, Chernobog?' I asked the Black God. 'I am thankful for your gift. I am glad I survived, despite your intentions, but I no longer need it.'

'Fool!' he laughed. 'Perhaps this incarnation of yours will always reach this point-then what? Dissolve this gestalt, become Keeper, and the cycle wwill never end. The Nightmare will go on, without your mind to spearhead this and hold everything together.'

'You are right,' I admitted. 'But I have not given away yet.'

And then, with the surety of a dream becoming reality, everyone reached out towards the Unmoved Mover, and its eye opened. Awake, it beheld us, and Nyarlathotep shrieked with joy at the end it had desired...

Then, it went back to sleep. None of us forgot the moment of staring into the eye of God.

As the Crawling Chaos gaped in abject incomprehension, I grabbed it by the throat with one hand, bringing it down on Chernobog. As the two writhed, I tore my eyes out, feeling them being replaced by dark ones, and their power by God's warmth.

Then, while the monster fought over their nightmarish, clashing visions for creations, I grabbed their shared hatred, and pushed them together. With my other hand, I pushed my godsight into them. For an instant, they beheld the Mover awake, before His endless knowledge filled their minds.

'You wanted knowledge,' I told the husk of the Black God. 'You wanted Mimir's head. Power. Worship.' I swept out an arm. 'Congratulations. Everyone knows you, and your deeds. All will come to seek your answers, and you will give them, willingly or not, and be acclaimed for it. As for you...' I looked at Nyarlathotep. 'Chaos is needed to balance order. But never will you sow it maliciously again. From now on, every disaster, every tragedy, will be random, not guided by your hand, towards your goal of oblivion.'

Turning my back on them, I looked forward, at that which had always walked with me, and spread my arms. 'DEATH!' I called out. 'Come! I understand your purpose, and our maker's, and I accept both!'

And, as the monster's power filled me, I turned back, towards my past.

***

Some things had to be left the same. But not all. No Keeper had ever been as blessed, or cursed, as me.

Alex smiled, and thanked, as I held his hand while he died in my arms. Of asthma, but not alone, this time. This time, a friend he knew but had never met was there to hold him.

His death still broke my heart, and the noose broke my neck, but what was always how it began. This time, and every time, onwards, was kinder than in every previous incarnation.

That was not the end.

Bianca, mourning after Andrei had died defending her from the murderous ghost of his father, asking her sisters to change her, in order to better bring people together, and prevent such hatred from growing. Lucian, shedding his vices to stand by her side, and defend her.

Sofia, offered tutoring after the disaster in her village. Growing to become a mage therapist, then meeting Bianca. Their horizons broadening as they pushed each other on.

Constantin, begging God to enlighten him, meeting Uriel. The Archangel describing God's Mouth, and my father eagerly accepting, after his trial.

I still had to suffer. Chernobog still destroyed, and mocked, and tormented.

But we survived. We endured, and we grew stronger. I still fell in love with Mia, like I always would.

...we married each other. We had a beautiful wedding, and we have two beautiful children. Andreea is on the way, and Constantin and Bianca can barely wait for their little sister.

In the end, some things were still necessary. But needless suffering, and cruelty disguised as pragmatism, would not triumph if we opposed them. Good, tempered by hardship, was neither naïve, nor weaker than evil.

I'll tell you all about that, but not now. I am returning home, from my duty, and my family is waiting for me.

Tonight, my children are meeting their grandmother. My wife hopes I'll be there with them, and I want to be, too.

***

The Unmoved Mover awoke, and remembered everything.

That had never happened to the other Makers, Dreamers or Awakened, much less to it.

It hopped off its bed with a smile, shining and androgynous, looking through its window as the endless city that was the ur-reality.

(The city and its inhabitants were separate the way the atoms of a molecule were. This is, merely, allegory)

The grey, six-armed mite that had always accompanied it, jumped off its head, landing on its hands, to fill its palms with its pudgy form.

'Ischyros!' the Mover laughed, shrill and bright and innocent. 'That was what they called you, in my dream! I remember!'

'Indeed!' it chirped at its friend. 'Ischyros always remembers, but you do not, even when it tells you.'

The Mover shook its head, grinning. 'No more,' it promised. 'Never again.'

'Erm-friend?' the Host asked, cautiously entering the room. 'You said you...remember your creation?'

'Not only that! It still exists, though I'm awake-and I'm not concentrating on it! I'm speaking to you!'

The Host patted itself down, quite surprised. 'Did it...?'

'Ischyros has never managed to jog my memory, nor have you, or the Warden,' the Mover said.

'True.' the Warden's voice filled the building. It was busy making sure Ischyros' kindred did not disturb the creators, awakening or distracting them, for, the moment they woke up, or their focus moved from their creations, their existence, and their Makers' recollection of them disappeared.

So it had always been, since the First Monarch had raised the city, created a myriad tales, and departed, leaving its Throne empty and its crown lonely.

Since then, they had been Polyarchs, each having a say in the running of the city, so that, in truth, no one did.

No one had ever approached the throne or the crown, for only a Maker whose creations could flourish and grow by themselves, like the First Monarch's, was worthy of them.

'This is unheard of,' the Host said. 'Ischyros, you said...truly, monumental! You must hold a speech, my friend! You must take your seat!'

The Unmoved Mover nodded, and the Makers gathered, countless creations disappearing as they awoke or shifted their attention. Dismayed but undeterred, the Mover sat down on the throne, the crown resting crookedly on its brow.

'Today, my friends, I have reached the glory of our founder. My creations, my children, grow without my protection and attention. One day, they will reach our prowess, and our realm, and they will come into our city, and be here with us. I will welcome them! As any parent would! And they will dwell here, with us, and we will love each other, push each other on, to be better! Greater!'

A mantle and sceptre appeared around each Maker's shoulders, in their hands. None were lesser or greater than the Mover's.

'I will teach you to create like I have! For my children taught me to be a better father,' it laughed. 'And so, I bow to them. Without them, I would have slept forever, uncaring, unheeding of the destruction I wreaked, or the creations I lost. Never again! I am the Unmoved Mover, Starlight Crowned with Ivory, Second and Last Monarch! And I will lead you, and guide you, not as your king, but as your friend!'

***

As Simona left to the guest room with her husband, Andrei looking happier than I had ever seen him, I knelt before the icon above my bed, clasping my hands.

'Thank you, Lord, for...'

And for the first time, he answered me directly. That was only the first surprise, though.

***

'No, my son,' the Unmoved Mover replied, kneeling on its mantle, behind its sceptre, before its throne, hands clasped around its crown. 'I thank you. For everything. I will never be able to reward you, or my other children. You saved everyone, David!' it smiled. 'You saved me, son. Thank you.'

And, as it closed its eyes, it beheld, no longer meaningless darkness, but the eternal tomorrow.

***

TO BE CONTINUED IN

SING, SILVER STARS