Prologue:
Day Zero
It is said that there is no sound in a vacuum, and no place better illustrated that than Final Destination. The oxygen was negligible here in the void, a most inhospitable place. There was no Earth below or sky above, just a lavender-tinted emptiness stretching for miles. The lack of audible sound only made the stage more eerie. Outside of the gaseous nebula clusters and shooting stars that seemed too far away to be real, the only solid mass was a brick platform suspended in the void.
One might have mistaken the high-pitched whistling to be incoming space debris, only this flaming mass was far larger than the distant falling stars. Within seconds, the mass crashed into the platform, sending shards of brick and glass flying everywhere. Black smoke rose from the massive impact crater, obscuring the broken form within.
From above, a deathly white figure descended. Two bulbous eyes glowed a bright red through the smoke and dust like kindled embers. "You have caused me far too much trouble," came a telepathic rasp like a murder of crows from the depths of hell. Within the crater, something groaned in agony. As the smoke cleared, one could see massive fingers, twisted and broken. They spasmed and curled involuntarily, each movement causing the grievous injuries to weep a viscous, black ichor. The dust settled finally, revealing the two combatants.
The glowing red eyes were set on either side of a sleek, tapered vulpine head which peeled open at the snout, revealing a single row of massive, shark-like teeth. Smooth, plastic skin like a cetacean stretched over the emaciated frame, warping around the prominent collarbone and ribs like the membrane of a drum. The extremities were long and slender, ending in vaguely humanoid hands and feet. A thin tail twice the length of the body whipped about. The cat-like head craned down mockingly at its victim.
Within the crater, broken and bloody, was what appeared to be a massive, disembodied white hand, fading into ether at the wrist. By way of some occult power, the hand summoned the will to right itself, levitating in the air to meet its opponent at eye-level. Though its lips and tongue remained motionless, the wraith's telepathic voice filled the void. "There is still some fight left in you, is there?" The injuries sustained by the carpal demiurge still wept. Though its ocular organs were not obvious, its vision clouded. It truly was a pitiful sight. This was once the god of this trans-universal realm.
Soon, he would be just another victim.
The carpal deity folded two of his fingers inward, firing off a barrage of menacing golden bullets at his assailant, but the wraith merely deflected each wave with little obvious effort. Raising its arms, it taunted Master Hand with a demonic chuckle. The demiurge splayed himself out, ignoring the waves of pain coursing through his broken form, and hurled himself towards the cat-like demon. Inconceivable tendrils of energy burst forth from the wraith's outstretched hand, crucifying the demiurge where he hovered and pinning him to the ground. Acrid smoke curled from the entry and exit points as Master Hand was cooked from the inside. He had no voice left to scream, though he still tried to arch himself to face his assailant. "You have delayed my conquest significantly," the wraith spoke into the deity's mind. Around his numerous wounds, Master Hand's substance began to char, though the demiurge could only muster a rattle in his agony.
Its feet touching the platform for the first time, the wraith gracefully toed towards its victim, still summoning the deadly bolts of psychokinetic energy from its hand. "You do not even come close to my power." The wraith paused, looking down to see its feet wet, stained black by its opponent's ichor. Taking advantage of the distraction, the tips of Master Hand's fingers glowed with a celestial brilliance. Breaking free of his bonds, Master Hand rocketed towards his assailant, only to be stopped by a protective barrier radiating mere inches from the demon's body. As the power faded from Master Hand's fingertips, the demon stared unblinkingly, not even remotely phased by this affront to its might.
Instead, he grabbed onto the deity's index finger and effortlessly tore it from its foundation. A piercing shriek filled the demon's curled ears as it held the severed appendage in its delicate hands. The carpal demiurge threw himself backwards in agony, continuously shrieking as his entire essence was overcome with pain. His vitality slipping, he could hardly recall how this rather slight-looking beast had entered his domain and made such short work of him. His mind instead wandered to his greatest joy in life, sparring with heroes of renown, and even villains. Never had he been bested in battle with such cruelty and ruthlessness. Never had he needed to fight at full power. Never…
The first blow came, jolting the demiurge back to his cruel reality. Then the second, and more blows began landing with lightning speed. At first, he thought his impaired vision had betrayed him, but he came to realize this demon was bludgeoning him with his own severed appendage. Like klaxon alarms in a submarine, unbearable pain throbbed from the stump of Master Hand's index finger, the rest of which the demon carelessly tossed away. Stalking towards him on all fours, the wraith bared its monstrous teeth, coming to sink them deep into the fallen deity's substance. Belying its size, the creature flung its head and tossed the massive hand in the air. A leathery purple tongue flicked out of the demon's mouth, licking the black vitality from its teeth and snout.
The deity crashed down at the demon's feet, sending more splintered brick and stone into the air. With its mind, the wraith-like figure willed the shattered platform apart, splintered brick and stone coalescing into a crucifix shape. It raised its hand and summoned forth incomprehensible bolts of alien energy, levitating the fallen deity into the air effortlessly and affixing him to the blasphemous construct. Its nostrils flared at the odor of burning flesh as it watched the substance of the demiurge bubble and melt, fusing it to the cross. Telekinetically planting its morbid display firmly into the platform, the demon lifted its snout, proud of its profane masterpiece. The massive hand continued to twitch involuntarily, his palm heaving with effort. The demon contemplated his foe. The god of this multiverse hung before him, dying on the cross, disgraced and broken. The fight was brief, cruel and knew no honor. All around them, dark clouds began to envelop the stage, crackling with lightning and thunder.
The display meant nothing to the sadistic vulpine.
It stood before the slipping deity, emotionless eyes combing over the curls of acrid, black smoke coming off his enemy's flesh. Some of that flesh formed hellish webs between the deity himself and the purple and yellow icon he was transfixed to. A gash on the deity's palm drew the demon's curiosity. It slipped a single hand into the wound, and the cacophonous thunder seemed to grow even louder. The vulpine wraith recalled his hand, dripping with red-tinted ichor. It opened its mouth to speak, carefully articulating around the forked tongue and shark-like teeth.
"Blessed are those who have not seen, yet have believed."
The supernatural weather had grown to apocalyptic proportions, though the demon stood unfazed. The swirling smoke and detritus could not mask the blood red, unblinking eyes of the wraith, its deathly white skin illuminated by each spark of lightning. Its blood-stained hand shot downwards like a scythe, tearing a rift between dimensions. Disappearing into the void, the wraith's face contorted into a curved, hideous smile. The rift closed, leaving the corpse of Master Hand crucified on his own home stage.
The clouds billowed. Thunder clapped, lightning shot into the air. The very universe seemed to roar in agony. It would soon be known that the creator of this universe was no more, and his murder would set off a doomsday clock ticking ever closer to the eventual end of the entire world. Its effects would come to pass, even now as Final Destination is obscured in black smoke. No one would be able to escape it.
Yet, even in the din which heralded the dawn of the apocalypse, it still seemed so quiet, so empty.