A Sensation of Falling

                                                                        Antlers [https://i.imgur.com/ZPQNpwE.png]

  Collateral always knew she was going to die. Everyone else would. But then, bursting at the seams with love wasn't how she thought she'd go.

  Her erratic footsteps echoed in the empty expanse of the warehouse. In the gloom, only vague shapes existed, details smoothed out and faded into the soft linen surfaces of cloth thrown over silent indistinct mounds. The sharp aroma of wood paint and damp molds clung to Collateral's torn jacket, and the used-to-be-long blonde hair sheared off cleanly half an inch from the nape of her neck. 

  Her heart was beating ten thousand miles an hour, pumping contaminated blood across swelling veins, filling her head with whispers she couldn't quite fight. 

  It's almost impossible to suppress one's true nature.

  The very first lesson she ever had, and the same one that killed her Master twenty-one years, four months and five days ago, after which she put a pillow over every single impulses she ever had and pressed down--hate, lust, greed, jealousy, kindness. Even fear. They would not Inflate her weakness, because she had none. 

  Except fucking love. 

  How far had she gone? The lift had been right ahead, past the main floor, down a cabinet hallway, behind a fake panel. Not exactly a safehouse, but might be enough of a breather for one last desperate attempt. 

  Collateral stumbled over an unseen obstacle, right herself and pushed forward. The laboring of breaths and the hammering in her chest screamed. Then why was she not running? Every step left patches of sweat sizzling in the darkness behind.

  They said Deific Whispers had an angelic hymn to the rhythm, a deep resonation of that otherworldly sensation beneath a Church Altar, but dialed to seventeen so your bones vibrate with a pleasure so intense nothing could ever compare again. 

  They lied, of course. Words couldn't come close to describe the climax of having a God's love running through your veins.

  How was she holding on?

  A freezing surface rushed up against her palm, or rather, she fell against it. A door. Collateral fumbled for the key in her jacket, turning the screeching lock with grunting heaves, leaning against it as much to keep herself upright as to fight the rusted hole.

  A flash of light. In her head, outside. The high windows of the warehouse trailed white beams, sweeping from wall to wall. Underneath her eyelids, golden halos bloomed. 

  Love. Unconditional, pure. Selfless.

  Love, and be loved in return. You don't have to give in, or change, or fear. You are not required to submit. Just...smile.

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  Voices echoed. Metal wailed as the warehouse's gate at the other end was dragged open. 

  Collateral's lips twitched, trembled, frowned. Eventually, slowly, the barest hint of a corner lifting widened against the cold cement floor beneath her cheek. Just down this hallway, to the right. More sand for her emptying hourglass. 

  Flashlight punched through the swirling sawdust, searching, closing in. Empty faces followed empty footsteps, shouting hollow calls. 

  Collateral's nails dug into the concrete floor, finding little purchase. Closer, closer. 

  Pain is a part of life. You are in pain. It is noted, and valued, and shared. Share your pain with me, Amna. 

  Behind the blinding flashlights circling her pitiful progress, silent robed forms watched. They wore autumn-red with a crest of Stag Antlers below their right collars. Even dying, Collateral noted the alien design of these Apostles. The twelve Churches would not tolerate more Holistic Entrances into the city, under the threat of paganistic cleansing.

  Three steps more. She could see the panels. The Apostles did not stop her, only observed with faint interest. They were waiting. For what?

  Of course. 

  Rise beyond your body. We are one, Amna.

  Even if her body wasn't spasming from the intense pleasure, the cardiac arrest alone would never allow her to make it.

  There was a conspiracy here. Collateral could laugh out loud, if she had the strength. Underneath all of their bitching and wailing, the Churches were going to be skewered by...

  Thoughts slipped away. The dampness of the floor under her was distant, like a candle burning low. 

  It is not required of you to sacrifice, only to love.

  If everything she had ever been was a flame, then she was falling through a golden inferno.

  Fuck the flame. Fuck the poetry. Fuck sentiment, the Second Church, her bastard of an uncle Bishop. And fuck love.

  The flame of everything she had ever been winked out. A momentary vacuum formed, only for a brief second. 

  In the absence of faith and soul, the Constant of Death takes a single breath of life, putting a finger through the crack in the Gods' veil to keep Him away.

  Collateral fell upwards; the world lurched perpendicular until she was horizontal--on her feet. Glass shattered all around--windows, flashlights, bulbs, panels and eyes. Sixteen faces opened their mouths at once, unleashing a choir that braided together like chains. Walls crumbled, plaster blown outwards, metal screeched and ripped itself free from hinges. 

  The cacophony ground the space Collateral had stood on to a crater as the spine of one Apostle slipped from her hand. Her blood from a ruptured heart spilt from jaws opened impossible wide, drenching three singing robed forms. Their voices had only begun to shift into screams when the rest Phased out. Collateral caught two mid-Phase, one with each hand, and they took her arms with them, albeit stuck deep between ribs. 

  Flesh melted and red robes blew apart into tatters, merging mid-air. Antlers made of teeth protruded from the forming mass, fingers blinking red eyes.

  The body that had been Collateral stared into the face of a Pagan God. Through her, a Constant set its unknowable attention on spaces unraveling, breathing through the opening into life.

  I love you.

  The Stag's lips of thighs did not move, but the words were clear. 

  Death's crack snapped shut. The mangled body dropped to the floor, motionless. The flesh projection remained for only a moment longer before wavering. It flowed downward, towards the female body, encapsulating it like a cocoon.

  Then followed silence--the screaming, violent silence of something ripped to nothing. 

  And when Collateral emerged at the heart of evened ground for miles beyond, she was whole.

  The Twelve Altars of New Gothernburg crashed and churned, waking the sleepless city for something more than a sleepless night. 

  The Thirteenth had arrived.