Note: I accidentally posted this in The Coming of Shadow. This is supposed to be here, in this book.

Chapter 28: Tick. Tock.

"What makes us men and them gods?"

The Anla'Shok looked up from where he was pinned underneath a fallen bulkhead, smoke diminishing just how much visibility he had. The yellow glow of fires down the corridor was just enough to cast shadows from fallen wall lining and broken doors. A few shapes which he guessed were bodies were outlined. Everything had all but died down noise wise, beyond the crackling of the electrical fires and a random shout from an unseen person.

"Why should they have all the power and we have nothing?"

He understood the value of staying awake. So, it gave him to to contemplate the deeper questions of the soul. The bizarre circumstances that had created this universe that he lived in. Was it simple destiny that created it so? Was it the failure of the master computer of the grand creator that forced itself into his life? To pinpoint him, a poor Drazi, under something that he was quiet sure had sliced through his spine and only the pressure kept him from bleeding out automatically.

"I assume it is that the gods simply are the ones with big brains enough to do what needed to be done. Perhaps we mortals are simply unable to be trusted with such responsibility."

He knew he was going to die, but there was nothing to do but await the end with as much grace and dignity as he could muster. Even if it was only enough to sooth his own aching longings for something far better than this.


"Mom?"

The name and question drew Delenn from her musings. The whole ship was shaking, from the cataclysm of battle. The door closed off most of the commotion of the outside corridor. She wouldn't have come to this battle, but she certainly had an obligation. An obligation to see this war finished.

"Yes, David?" she asked, her voice tired from many years of complacency.

"Did you ever love Dad?" he asked, from where he sat.

"Sometimes I'm not sure," Delenn said, closing her eyes. "We certainly never had the most smoothest of relationships, even from the beginning."

David hummmed and putting his chair on the ground walked up to his mother. He put his hand on her shoulder. At only sixteen, he was a giant if there ever was one. He already saw eye to eye with her. He gently but irresistibly turned her towards him.

"Do you believe Dad loved you?" he asked.

She looked away. She wasn't sure if there was a true answer to that question. Many times since she had returned and been freed, she had suspected that maybe if there was anything on his part, it was merely in love with a dream. And not her.

"I have something for you," he said.

Delenn sighed. "What-" she gasped as he put his hands on her forehead.


The ship shook as another wave of dark energy rolled forward. The helm and navigation stations suddenly began spinning and moving wildly. The electric station shot electric jolts at the two Minbari who were sitting there, killing them both instantly. They were hit with another wave, this one so hard the entire surviving bridge crew was thrown to the metal floor. Sheridan felt himself land against the raised step of the command chair, and he winced as he felt the bruise beginning to form.

Grabbing the armrest, he pulled himself up. He shook his head, a slight ringing in his ears. The power was flickering and he cursed not choosing a ship with more of a punch. With more power and resilience.

"Has the rest of the fleet jumped in yet?" he demanded, looking around to anyone who might know. There was nothing but silence. Even the captain of the vessel, an Anla'Shok of Human species, shook his head. His eye had been sealed shut by a recent burn, as was most of his face. But, he refused to leave his post.

"I've...I've been betrayed," he snarled, slamming his fist on the armrest. "They've betrayed me! After all I've done!"

There was no response, but he knew they all felt it. The Senate of Silence had condemned him to death for his crimes. Was this judgement and punishment being meted out? He refused to go down so easily.

"SsShHhEeERRRIIIDDDEEEN!"

The voice was calling. The God of Death was calling him. Not with the anger and finality of an executioner hoping to dole out judgement against a wicked and unwise servant. No, he was as the parent, searching for the wayward son. Or a benevolent lord going after a most trusted servant and confidant. There was one way. One way to weaken and perhaps kill this beast and villain. He stepped forward, the ship beginning to list in the flows of hyperspace, further and further from the artifact.

"I am here," he said, bending all his will to the act. "I am waiting for you."


The Walkers were an old and ancient race. They were among the first of the First Ones after the Shadows and Vorlons to go about their thriving empire. Their ships were unlike anything understood by the Younger Races. It was on their greatest flagship, the Sdrow'FOWT'Tide 28 that Lorien, as a captain of old made his flagship. He stood, his arms folded across his chest, his tired eyes looking at the wall.

His feet stood on a floor made of sand. The walls were made of wood. The ceiling was a star-scape of black with every color imaginable twinkling into existence. Each star in remembrance of the old empire, which had stretch across a seventh of the galaxy. The wall rotated, until an opening was made. In through this opening came a being, non-corporeal but in respect for Eldest wore their environmental suits of massive wood masks. It left footsteps in the sand.

"Eldest," the Walker said, its language all but forgotten. "The summons have arrived."

Lorien nodded. "Yes, they have," he acknowledged.

A few seconds of contemplative silence followed. "And yet the bloody banners of the armada remains at this present place," it pointed out.

"Yes," Lorien nodded. His eyes followed the lines in the wall, which were creating a visual image of the battle going on below. A Narn Heavy Cruiser erupted, the lines distinguishing it bursting to reform in the corrupted Vorlons that had killed them. He could feel every death that was being inflicted. The battle was going in Sheridan's favor, most of the fleet pushing forward.

"Then why do we wait?" the Walker asked, his voice showing the fear they were breaking their oaths.

"Tick." Lorien said, a massive Centauri Primus moving in on the corrupted Vorlons. "Tock."


The bridge crew stood, anxiously awaiting the oncoming storm. They knew not what to expect, or even whom it was. But they knew Sheridan was anxious. And if he was anxious, it caused them all to worry. The ship shuddered as an out of power Minbari flier plowed into the ship, causing it slowly to spin. Artificial gravity was remaining, but it didn't stop them from shuddering and falling as sparks flew from ruptured floor boards and conduits.

Come on you b-d, Sheridan thought to himself, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Let's finish this.

A dark energy was spewing forth from the vortex and the artifact. He was coming. Dozens of Imperial ships had been destroyed, and as they spun in place, the few places they could see clearly beyond the debris, only one ship remained moving. A Shadow ship, trying to outrun it's pursuers while dealing blows to those before it. But, they could not help it or them it. Sheridan awaited, sweat beginning to pour from his face.

There was a sneeze and a fire leaped up on the bridge, between the two control chairs of the helm and navigation officer. A man grabbed a fire extinguisher and rushing forward began to put it out, spraying a stream of foam at it. The fire, instead of dying, raced up the stream and vaporized the man, who was too stunned to move. The fire began to move in a circle around Sheridan, tendrils of flame lashing out at every living being opposed to its will. Those weaker of will tried to run, only to fall as flames of fire was shot forth, and vaporized. Others tried to fight it off, only what they expected to do with denn'boks and swords and PPGs was anyone's guess. But, as screams filled the room, Sheridan drew his sword. Last time to play with his sword. He kissed the handle like a warrior of old and held it gently in his hand as the fire, satisfied that all were dead, seemed to fire in their positions, effectively blocking anyone from entering to rescue the Emperor.

A dark column of cloud appeared infront of him, spiraling around until it became in the image of the Greek God Ares, wearing armor as the Greek hoplite wore and carrying a sword in one hand and a spear in the other. His eyes of red were burning with a fire that was more than just hatred. Both weapons were dripping more and more blood onto the floor, being feed by the lives of those who were dying. Sheridan did not fear him, but he respected what powers this being did possess.

"Sheridan, I have come for you," the God of Death said, "My son. Time to end the conflict between us."

Sheridan shook his head. "I can't do that," he declined, "Our conflict has just begun."

Death looked him in the eye. "Why must that be?" he asked.

"I have seen the light and it has brought me back from the abyss," Sheridan replied, eyeing him as a wrestler does his opponent, "It has unveiled the lies you placed. You offer no freedom. Only death. You offer no peace. Only woe. Your life is nothing but the bones of others. I no longer am bound to your lies."

Death threw back his head and laughed. "Light?" he mocked, "It is merely an illusion that keeps the truth of the dark at bay. Freedom? I offered no freedom, except the greatest freedom that only death gives and that is release from all obligations to the living. Peace? The only peace I desire is the peace that comes when there is no living to give me and mine woe. Life? The life I promise is to none except myself. You know that I speak the truth."

"I am not interested in your truth," Sheridan snarled, gripping the sword with both hands now, "I am not your puppet."

"You will always be my puppet," Death smirked, "Any who hear my words will always be mine to command and destroy."

Sheridan swung his blade, only for Death to vanish from before him. He turned his head to see him reappear. He stabbed backwards, only to see Death vanish and reappear at his side. He swung upwards with as much speed as he could muster. But without the speed of his god powers, they were nowhere able to be fast enough. Death vanished yet again.

"One you were a God and worthy of to serve me," Death said, spinning around him in a cloud of darkness which he slashed at, "But now, you are nothing but a shell. A shell none the less has it's uses. And it will serve me. But first...you must see the error of your ways."

Suddenly Sheridan was assaulted by images dark and dreadful. They filled every crevasse and space in his mind. Minbari cruisers slicing through outpowered and outmatched Earth Alliance ships. Rotting corpses beneath the rubble of collapsed buildings. Explosions of a nuclear scale sweeping through cities of innocents. Anla'Shok rounding up and executing Drazi as they begged for mercy. Food being ripped from the fingers of starving children. Blood pouring from speaking mouth. Power surging to kill those who stood and rallied behind him.

He dropped to his knees, vomit spilling to the floor as he threw up. But it was a black bile. Which could only be from Thirdspace. Ice seemed to grow inside him, as if icicles were being formed inside of him. He grabbed his sword and forced himself up, his legs trembling to support him. He prepared to strike again, but the sword suddenly blazed so hot that he yelped and dropped the sword, his hands bleeding from the intense heat. Suddenly the God of Death appeared and with an upward stroke, he began to spin, his lower abdomen to his upper chest sliced through, the blood flying from his sword. But he was stopped and forcibily pinned to the ground, Death driving his spear into his chest.

"Time for the shell to become of use," he said, his body turning into a mist that flew towards him.

It touched his body, searching every pore and bound. He felt it entering him, his blood boiling, than turning icy. He could feel it surging into his mouth and through his eyes. In desperation he reached for his pocket and he could feel the small cylinder. By memory he pulled it out and flipped open the top notch, the reveal a button. He went to push on it, when his body convulsed from super heated electric charges that caused his hands to raise up and the cylinder to go flying across the room.

"Now, now," Death laughed, "You cannot defeat me."

"Maybe not!" a voice shouted and Death turned. Delenn stood there, his black silk dress with red stitching torn. Everything had been a lie. SHeridan had loved her, but had been warped. No escape. She had learned of it, but had never understood what had been said. But now she did. It was so clear, it was like crystal scratching on glass. And she had and should have loved him. But it had all been robbed. "But I can. This is for destroying our love and lives!"

She pushed the button. Deep in the bowls of the ship, atoms began to speed up. Soon they were going so fast they were colliding, each collision causing they to break. The outwards flying atoms pushed against the cigar shaped casing, and it pushed outwards, causing an explosion that began to rip through the ship. Death laughed in defiance at Delenn.

"Do you think you can kill me, insolant woman?" he snarled. "I am a God. Your God. The only one to be worshiped. Do you really think you can kill me?"

"I will admit when you are a single form you are too much," she admitted, "But when you are divided as you are?"

The God of Death laughed even more manically, his glare of death making her skin curdly. But that glare changed. To doubt. And from doubt to fear. Realizing the truth she spake he roared in alarm.

"NNNOOOO!"

"In Valen's Name-"

The ship exploded, the nuclear blast ripping through a two hundred kilometer radius, hungrily eating everything it could.


Tick.

The Time has come.

Tock.


"First one ships are jumping into Hyperspace and beginning thier assault on the artifact," the Centauri captain reported, the ship shuddering from another strike.

"You are nothing but a puppet Jonah. You have always been. That's why you care for nothing."

The words he had heard from the Day of the Dead were haunting him more than usual. But Lord-Admiral Marrago would not be haunted by them. Not now.

"Drop us thirty degrees and turn us on our Y-axis!" he ordered, gripping his armchair as he gave the orders, "Fire pulse weapons on the advancing Vorlonish ships."

He felt a slight bounce as the ship began to descend and turn. The Primus was a massive warship. It was not meant for fast maneuvers. But it was a powerhouse. And as they dropped, they fired shuttle bay sized bolts at six ships, moving on the damaged Vorchan cruisers that had taken up behind them, making emergency repairs. Each shot made its mark, and the enemy vessels were pushed like a skinny Centauri pushed by a fat Narn. And at the same moment. A Drazi, Vree and Narn assault force were firing forward, all speed, destroying the damaged enemy ships as they were stun by the hits.


Death had survived the explosion. But just barely. Normally, he could have just shrugged it off without so much a wince. But when he had been divided, being in the process of completely taking over Sheridan's body, he had been weak enough. And now the oldest races were attacking his gateway. If it was destroyed, he would die. He had to get back. But none of his ships on this side or the other was responding to his summons. He was so...weak. He had to get back to Thirdspace. Even if it meant the doom of the war here. He raced forward, as fast as he could, entire sections of the gateway being blown away by the firing of the First Ones cruisers.

He could feel the gate as if it were on fire, melting away like snow before the blazing sun. Sheets were falling, burning in the absurd laws of Hyperspace, where oxygen and vacuum were both one but different. Streams of oxygen from long forgotten conduits were flying into space as those same conduits were broken. He could feel the vortex. It was destabilizing. But he could...yes...he was entering! And then the explosion. The gate was completely collapsing, and the vortex was being destroyed. He couldn't go forward, curse it! He tried to flee backwards, but a voice said two words. And two words only.

"Tick. Tock."

The gate and vortex swirled around him and he felt a force outwards in inwards suck him in. He couldn't escape, all the powers that he had poured in now at war against him. He pushed, only to get pushed even harder. He had been destroyed, by his own power.

"NNNNOOOOO!"

And with a puff, the entire affair was sucked in and forgotten. The God of Death was destroyed. Not with a bang. But with a whimper.