Three figures sat, surrounded by darkness. Three sat, warmed by the dying embers of the final star. The last of their kind, the divine, the infernal, and the mortal.

All waiting for the universe to end.

The three of them sat, floating in the void of space, unwilling to make a sound. Perhaps it was their way of honouring the dead. Perhaps they were simply given over to despair, for all of them knew, with absolute certainty, that they were doomed. The star could burn but for a hundred days more. They, too, were destined to be devoured by the darkness.

After what seemed like an eternity, one of the figures stirred. Slowly, almost reverently, he stood to his full height, his cape like an inky mist that swirled around his body. His silver horns shone brightly even in the fading starlight, his imperious gaze swept across his companions, and, in a voice deep enough to rattle bones, he said,

“Fuck me, you lot are depressing.”

At the end of the world, in the final days before the curtain falls, the only sound that broke the silence that seemed almost sacred was the indignant sputtering of a woman clad in white.

“I beg your pardon?!” the woman said, in a voice that would have commanded utmost reverence, were it not breaking with indignation.

“You prissy holy types thick or something? I said you’re depressing. Dreary. Looking at you all makes me want to just throw myself into the darkness and get it over with. That get through your goddamn skull?” The demon conjured a cigarette with a snap of his fingers, which he lit on the final star.

“In case you haven’t noticed, you damned-”

“Not an insult in my case, but points for trying.”

“-you utter bastard-,” the woman spoke with the full brunt of her divine authority, which in her prime would have annihilated any that incurred her wrath, “-The final war destroyed everything! There is nothing left for us! We are at the end of all Creation!”

“Yeah, so?” The demon reattached the arm the had been blasted away by the power of her divine word, and then he resumed smoking his cigarette, blowing smoke whichever way he pleased,

“So? What do you mean so?! Have you not heard a single thing I said?” The woman finally stood, standing eye to eye with the demon. Her flawless skin, features that evoked the marble statues of long dead goddesses, and billowing white gown stood at odds with the demon’s brutish demeanour.

In the face of this divine ire, the likes of which mortals sacrificed entire nations to appease, the demon breathed deeply. And then blew a cloud of smoke in the goddess’s face.

“I heard you. I just don’t see why I should give a shit.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Wha-?!”

“Like you said, world’s gone. I was there, I saw it happen. And we are all gonna die, no ifs or buts about it. Doesn’t mean I want to spend the last few days of my life like I’m at a goddamn funeral. Ain’t that right lil’ missy?” The demon’s gaze fell upon the last of the survivors, a small figure, no bigger than a child, wrapped in a tattered brown robe which concealed everything. The hood that covered that figure’s head rustled almost imperceptibly.

“See, she agrees with me.”

“That was just the wind!”

“Wind. In space. Right.”

“Shut up. How do you even know that’s a she?”

“Well now you’ve gone and hurt the poor girl’s feelings. And I thought your kind were all about saving poor lost lambs and shit like that.” said the demon.

“You seem to be mistaking me for some other god.” the goddess said in a low voice, her fists audibly cracking as she clenched them. “I’d advise you not to do so again.” She stared at demon, who returned her gaze with ease.

“Regardless of whether or not I agree with you, it’s not as if we can do anything other than wait for the end. The least we can do is face our death with whatever grace and dignity we can muster. Which, apparently for a certain member of our company of an avernal persuasion, is none.”

“Suuuuree, nothing’s more fucking dignified than gazing oh so mournfully at a dying star Maybe we should also let a single tear roll slowly down our cheeks as we drown ourselves in our fucking pity! That sounds real fucking graceful!” The goddess could not meet the demon’s fierce gaze. “Fuck that noise. I ain’t dying like a dog, and I reckon you ain’t so keen on that either.” The goddess said nothing. The demon’s gaze fell upon the cloaked bundle, then upon the dwindling star, and he smiled.

“I’ve got an idea.” the demon’s smile widened into a full toothed grin. “Since we’ve already got a mortal here, how about we do that thing always happens when three of our kind meet? Even back to when our two races were created by the wishes of the third?”

“You don’t mean-!”

“Yes! We tell stories of our greatest exploi- what’s with that look?”

“Nothing, nothing at all.” The goddess breathed a sigh of relief, and quickly smothered the power that had been welling up from within her. “Stories, though? You don’t seem the type to dwell on sentimentality.”

“It’s either that or that other traditional thing that happens when demons and gods meet each other.” The demon lazily cracked his fists. “Personally? I’d go with option one, and only because I’m so damn tired of fighting.”

“I can see your point demon, but this feels somewhat lacking in gravita-”

“P-please…” It was a voice that was barely a whisper, barely a sound, so quiet was it that one could not tell its gender. Both the goddess and the demon turned towards the cloaked bundle.

It was quivering, a vision of weakness in stark contrast to the overwhelming power of those that gazed upon it. Yet it’s tiny voice was more than enough to make these titans pause. Its hood slowly turned towards the goddess. “P-please…” it pleaded once more, its tiny voice cracking with the effort of speech.

“I suppose our oldest tradition is indeed a fitting curtain call…” the goddess sat down, beneath her weary tone, one could almost hear the ghost of a smile. “Very well, demon. I accept your proposal.”

“Knew you’d come around. So my story starts during the 3rd up-”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” The goddess wagged her finger in the demon’s face. “Not so fast. If we are to do this, we shall do this properly. The divine always go first, as tradition dictates. Surely, even you infernals are aware of this?”

“…Fine. Do whatever you want.”

“That I shall. This story, greatest of all my great deeds, is a tale of misery and woe, of heartbreak and betrayal, of-”

“Fuck’s sake, get on with it already!”

“You know, for a demon you really have no taste for dramatics. Very well.” The goddess gathered the last of her powers and with a wave of her hand, a moving image slowly began to form,

“This is a story of how I regained my lost glory. I shall call it:

"The Goddess of the Stream"