This is it.
This is the end.
I'm about to spam all of your inboxes, so here's how things are going to play out tonight: There's the little!Christophe finale, the big!Christophe finale, the epilogue, and the acknowledgements and some final author's notes coming your way.
Thank you so much. Everyone. Please enjoy.
Meant to Live by Switchfoot
The Good Left Undone by Rise Against
Warrior Concerto by The Glitch Mob
The Greatest Show On Earth by Machinae Supremacy
When Christophe Simon wakes up in hell, there's an eight-year-old in a parka standing over him.
"Where am I?" he asks.
The kid in the park tells him, his voice muffled by his hood.
"Ah."
He stands up and brushes dust off his clothes. Around him is the typical fire-and-brimstone, just as he expected.
"Now what?"
The kid shrugs, and says, "Mmmpph mmmpphhhmppph."
Christophe translates this to mean roughly: I don't know.
"'Ow long 'ave you been 'ere?"
"Mppphhh mpphhh mmppph, mmppph mpphhh."
A few days, I guess.
"And you still 'aven't figured out what we're supposed to be doing wiz our afterlives?"
"Mpppphhhh-"
"Take off ze damn 'ood."
The kid complies. He has a scruff of blond hair and chubby cheeks.
"What's your name?"
"Kenny McCormick," the kid replies promptly.
"I'm Christophe DeLorn. I mean, Christophe Simon."
"Identity crisis?"
"Not really."
"Cool."
Christophe looks around, surveying the area. There don't appear to be any other . . . hell-inhabitants around.
"Where are ze ozzers?"
Kenny shrugs. "Dunno. He keeps me around up here because I give him relationship advice."
"Who's ''e'?"
"Satan."
"Ah."
"Hey, aren't you from South Park? I think I've seen you around."
"Oui."
"Me too."
"Zat coincidence ees too great." Christophe narrows his eyes at Kenny.
"Yeah," Kenny agrees. "It's probably fate."
"You believe in fate?"
"No."
Christophe inspects him.
"You're all glowy and fade-y," Kenny says, nodding his head at him. He chews his lip. "Wonder why that is."
Christophe looks down at his body. Kenny's right. His skin gives off a bright yellow light, and his body is almost translucent. It feels like there's a blanket wrapped around him, separating him from everything else that is hell.
"Maybe eet's because I just arrived."
"I didn't look anything like that."
Christophe doesn't know it, but it's because he's a High Heavenfilth. Being a High Heavenfilth, he used up his spiritual energy just to stay alive, and he doesn't have enough left to sustain a form in one of the afterlives. He'll fade away within a few minutes.
"How'd you die?"
"Doing somezing stupid."
Kenny grins. "Me too."
The kid is shifting his weight from one foot to another. Christophe crosses his arms.
"What's up wiz you?"
"Nothing. Okay, that's a lie. Look, Satan and Sadam Hussein-"
"Sadam 'ussein?"
"His gay lover. Look, it doesn't matter. Sadam Hussein and Satan left after packing their bags a few minutes ago, and they went to like, this stage thing to give a grand speech to the council of hell leaders, and they're going to go to earth. And take over earth. And break a thousand years of darkness. And stuff."
Christophe's eyes widen.
He thought now that he was down in Hell, he wouldn't have any more heroic things to do. He could just . . . be dead.
He really hates all the heroic things.
"What can we do?" he hisses.
"Um. Nothing." Kenny blinks. "It's Sadam Freaking Hussein and Satan. I've tried warning my friends on the surface, but that's it."
"Fuck!" He clenches his fists. "Where are zey right now? Do you know? We've got to stop zem-"
"Chillax, chillax," Kenny says, laughing. "Dude, who would think the quiet weirdo kid would have so much of a savior instinct in him?"
Christophe blinks.
"No – no, I don't – "
"Sure, dude, whatever. Look, I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do."
Then he feels the rumbling under his feet. He glances up to see stalagmites shaking. The stone crashes down around them, splintering. Roaring fills the cavern. Bright light pierces the cavern from above.
Hell opens up.
Kenny starts to float. Kenny waves down at him as an invisible current in the air drags him up to the bright light above.
It's moonlight, Christophe realizes now. Stars flicker against the blackness in the sky beyond the cavern. Kenny's being taken up to the surface.
And some part of him wants to live.
"'Ey!" he screams, reaching up, trying to grasp a hold of Kenny just as the momentum carries him out of his reach. "I want to go, too! I want to be alive, too!"
"Hey, be careful, Christophe!" Kenny calls down. "With your afterlife and everything!"
"Fuck!" Christophe kicks the ground. "Of all ze fucking luck. Fuck. When I finally get down to fucking 'ell I can't even participate in ze fucking apocalypse!"
He doesn't know why he's not floating like all the other denizens of Hell. He doesn't know it's because he's not really 'there' – he's just a visitor. His body is still fading, turning translucent, the color draining out of him. He starts to feel weak and dizzy. His head throbs.
His corporeal body has almost faded in its entirety when his surroundings change.
He blinks, mind whirling. His body is solid again. Fluffy white clouds float around him. Gray sky swirls above his head.
Heaven. The reek of celestial magic clogs his nose. His fists tighten. He remembers the last time he was here. He remembers the delirium and the threats and the blood and the collar and the keys.
Then there's God, right in front of him. He blinks. He didn't even see God approach. His skin crawls as he stares down at the mish-mashed animal-parts deity. The deity stares back at him.
"I'm dead, aren't I?" he says, his voice rising in pitch. "I'm fucking dead, so why ze 'ell do I 'ave to deal wiz you? I zought zat would be one of ze advantages!"
"You aren't dead any more," God says, his voice deep and booming.
Christophe blinks again.
He and God stare at each other.
"I zought being dead was a permanent zing."
"It is."
They continue to stare.
"All right, I'm alive. Why am I up 'ere, zen? Are you going to kill me again just for ze 'ell of eet?" Because if he's alive all of a sudden, he's going to hold onto that, goddamn it.
God chuckles.
Maybe he can hear my thoughts.
OH FUCKING HELL WHAT IF HE CAN READ MY THOUGHTS.
OF COURSE HE CAN READ MY THOUGHTS HE'S OMNIPOTENT.
"There's no need to be so alarmed," God says.
OH JESUS FUCKING CHRIST HE'S READING MY THOUGHTS.
"Wait," Christophe snarls. "Eeff you're omnipotent, zen why ze 'ell do you need Gregory and Maria and Chase and me and all ze ozzers I killed? If you can just do whatever ze 'ell you want, you wouldn't 'ave to fuck wiz our lives."
"I am not omnipotent," God says, "although I am close enough to trick people into thinking so most of the time."
"Zen why ze 'ell did you let me escape zat time before? When I was zreatening you? Zere was no way I could 'ave gotten out eef you wanted to stop me."
God smiles. "I don't want to interfere with free will."
"Son of a beetch," Christophe says. "You 'ave some sort of manipulative, evil plan een place, don't you? You're going to fuck wiz my life even more. Zat's why you brought me back to life, eesn't it?"
"Well, not exactly," God says. "But you have the general idea."
"I'm against ze fucking Yardale School! You know zat!"
"True. But that doesn't mean you're against me."
"Fucking 'ell! You're a cocksucking beetch who only wants to make my life miserable! I knew eet! I was finally down in 'ell, I was going to get my peace and quiet, and you messed eet up! I was dead, and everyone knows to let ze dead rest in peace. I want to rest," he says, hating himself for how pathetic he sounds. "I want eet all to be over."
"You don't truly want to die, do you?"
You can read my thoughts, Christophe thinks, you don't need my confirmation. Then he realizes it's the kind of question that is supposed to invoke something deep and emotional in the person being asks.
He hates those kinds of questions, but he answers it anyway.
"I'm tired," he says. "Maybe . . . maybe I don't want to die. But I'm so, so tired. I just want to sleep and never wake up and never 'ave to deal wiz any of zis again."
God sighs.
"My child," he says.
Christophe wants to snap at him and tell him to shove it. But he's tired of fighting back. He just lets God speak.
"Your life is not going to be easy. Even if I were to take away these powers and take away the Yardale School, you would still manage to find chaos. You have a role to play. It will be a long, hard path, and it will bring you little happiness. But you can't give up, not as long as you're alive. You have to keep fighting, no matter how difficult."
"I want eet all to be over."
"It's never over."
God places a furry hand on Christophe's boot.
Christophe closes his eyes.
It would be easy to relax and sleep and pretend none of this is happening to him.
That would be lying to himself.
He wants so badly just to curl up in the eternal solitude of Hell.
He sucks in a deep breath.
Then he kicks God's hand off his boot. "Get away from me, beetch," he snarls. "I'm sick of smelling zis celestial reek. Get me ze fuck out of 'ere or I'm going myself."
God gives one of his half-smiles.
When he opens his eyes, Gregory is leaning over him.
"Are you real?" he asks.
Gregory answers without hesitation. "Infinitely so." Then he kisses him on the forehead, turns, and walks out of Christophe's line of sight.
Christophe closes his eyes and waits for the Yardale School to pick him. It takes him a minute to realize they aren't coming.
Gregory must have delayed them somehow. He wonders how much punishment the blond British fag will suffer for that.
He tips his head back and sighs. He's tired. So damn tired. Every muscle aches. It feels like rocks weigh down his limbs.
He sits up. His head spins. The world around him looks peaceful and clean. Green grass, unhindered by snow, surrounds him. He doesn't fully understand why he's alive, but it doesn't really matter and he'll work out the details later when he has time to think.
He stands up. He has to hold out his arms for balance.
His coil of rope lies by his feet. He picks it up and wraps it around his shoulder.
It takes a twenty-second self-inspection to determine that the damage done by the guard dogs has been eradicated.
Convenient.
He hears helicopters buzz from far off. Doubtlessly it's the Yardale School. He has minutes to escape, maybe less.
His shovel lies on the ground a dozen feet away. He doesn't know how it got there, but he walks over to pick it up. It's still stained with blood. It feels solid and permanent in his hands.
He smiles.
Then he starts to dig.