"Here I am, a Mythic! I call out into the wilderness seeking one who holds answers."

The world that surrounded Abel was no longer that of the star's. It felt like a reflection, an inverse, a scarlet mirror of reality. It had been a while since he had let any form of light touch his right eye.

It bore the face of a clock. His pupil housed a dial that fastened an hour and a minute hand. Small ticks lined his sclera, resembling numbers, presumably one to twelve. Amongst the viscous fluids of his scarlet iris were a series of gears and wheels that shifted mechanically, methodically. He felt it ticking underneath his eyelid whenever he blinked.

Tick, tick, tick.

His eye transported him to this alternate dimension. It was a desert, the apotheosis of ostracization. Save for a few rocks and a small ravine, it was all but empty.

Abel began to make his way to the ravine's bank. Everywhere he looked was shrouding in a clotted fog, further highlighting its desired design of isolation. So surreal and strange.

Surely, if a normal human were to venture into this place, they would go mad in but a few moments. Even the so-called brave adventurers who so willingly plunged themselves into the dungeon's harrowing depths would go completely insane.

The stillness, the lack of anything, the ever present sense of loneliness, it all culminated into a dread wrought by paranoia.

Reaching the water's edge, he crossed his arms as he waited. How did it all come to this? No, that was a rhetorical question. If anything, he was simply in a state of denial. He had to be sure of what he thought was happening. While any doubt in the ordeal would certainly help soothe his conscience, he knew deep down that he would be leaving in disappointment.

"Yes, yes, I am here."

Abel turned around to see an elderly man. He wore a robe that covered his torso and hung just above his knees. A small ribbon was tied around his waist, resembling a belt. Around his neck was a tattered and ripped cloth—a scarf of sorts. His hair was grey, and a few patches had fallen off his head. He sported a feral beard around his mouth, grey, long, and curled. Though, his aged, flint eyes were keen and savvy, contrasting his attire. He gave a friendly smile to Abel as he approached.

"It is I, Elijah."

Abel remained still, his arms firmly crossed and tucked, and he gave no welcoming, courteous smile back.

"Yes, I know who you are, Elijah."

He stopped a few paces away from Abel. He squinted at the Mythic as he leaned in slightly.

"Hm, you're awfully short today, Abel," Elijah remarked.

"Well, as it stands, I seem to be short on time," Abel retorted. "Tell me what it is that I need to know."

Elijah pinched the bridge of his nose as he rubbed his eyes. Frankly, he was growing weary of these sorts of exchanges with the Mythic kind. Perhaps his age was getting the better of him. He let out a sigh.

"To be honest, I thought you would've already figured it out by now. I did, begrudgingly, might I add, find you to be the most intelligent of your supposed family."

Abel would have given a cheeky smile at such a remark. Madness did no such thing.

"I'm afraid flattery isn't what I seek. Now, explain, Prophet," it purred.

"Very well then."

Elijah sat himself down on a nearby rock. Madness remained standing.

"There are over thirty trillion cells in the human body," he began. "Of these thirty trillion, there are roughly a hundred and seventy-one billion in the brain. It only takes a single cell to mis-fire, to mutate and become malignant, causing other cells around it to become cancerous. Such a small thing, such a small change, microscopic in nature, and yet, it could very well mean death for the host. And while it may be tragic, so rarely is it ever the cell's fault. No, that blame falls upon the host, the organism."

"I fail to see how this pertains to the situation at hand."

Elijah held his hand up.

"Listen well, Maker of Madness. The universe in and of itself is a celestial body—a body composed of many cells, stars. And in this body, a star has become mad."

Madness' eyes widened. The clock hands in its right eye rattled as the words echoed in its mind.

Tick-shceee, tick-shceee, tick-scheee.

"That'sssssssss—"

"Not possible?"

Elijah let out yet another sigh.

"Its madness is spreading like a cancer. Throughout the vastness of the cosmos, armies are amassing, preparing to annihilate one another. Beings woven in the fabric of space and time seek to partake in the great war as well. They all intend to feast upon the massacre wrought about by such mania. They do not truly understand why, nor do they need to. They will nevertheless fight wars and conflicts that they do not fully comprehend nor truly believe in."

Madness closed its eyes. It felt numbed by Elijah's statement. It wanted to feel sadness, pity even, but it all just felt hollow. Such a terrible and tragic thing, the nature of strife.

"It is a matter of cause and effect, Madness. Soon, the hysteria will spread and consume everything. Galaxies, solar systems, planets, and stars; they will all cease and vanish from existence, as the heavenly and hellish realms will also fade away, or be destroyed."

Abel felt his arms tighten in front of his chest.

"What is so different about the madness that this star has?"

He had to be sure. He had to be—! Anything. Anything to prove him wrong.

"Stars flare and wither away all the time. Every passing moment, people live while others die. Even the Mythics will one day cease from existence. So, what makes this any different?"

Elijah stood up slowly from his seat, his bones creaking from the weight. He looked wearily at Madness and mustered a kind, sorrowful smile.

"Because, you are responsible for it."

For a moment, nothing but the ringing in his ears could be heard in Abel's mind. The ticking in his eye stopped and grew stagnant. There it was. Staring back from the darkness he had left it in. He could feel its gaze from galaxies away. Watching, waiting, writhing in delirium.

"I do not know why you did it," Elijah said, his voice somber and quiet. "Empathy, remorse, or dare I say, madness. But the fact of the matter is, the star you saved from the universe that has long since passed has remembered, and has gone mad as a result."

Abel did not know why he did it either. But one thing was certain. He, in all of his eons of existence, of careful planning and crafting, made the grave error—one that was very human in nature. He succumbed to emotion and impulse.

"It's quite ironic. The star you saved has now come back to kill the universe."

Yes. It was his fault. No one else should bear the blame.

"Is there a way to stop it?"

The words hung in his mouth. If he were any more naive, he would have uttered the words aloud. Instead, he silenced himself as a solemn stillness hung over the two.

"Would you care for a bite to eat?"

Elijah flashed a warm smile to Abel as he tried to lighten the mood.

"The ravens come by every so often with bread and meat. Would you like to share a meal with me?"

"No, I'm—no."

Abel uncrossed his arms as he undid the bandage that covered his left arm. As the last strands of gauze fell off his body, he delicately began to unwrap the strings from his forearm. Placing a thread on each of his fingertips, he skillfully wove a covering between his hands in a few seconds. Silently he placed it beneath his white bangs.

"Leaving so soon?"

Abel began to rewrap the strings around his forearm, along with the gauze.

"Yes. You have already told me what I needed to know."

"Oh? I wouldn't quite say that."

Abel turned to face Elijah as he finished wrapping himself back up.

"I told you what you already knew. You simply wanted to hear it from someone else."

Yes, he wanted to be wrong. Never before in his existence had he wanted to be so wrong.

"Though, while I suppose I haven't been too helpful to you, I would like to give my condolences, and wish you good luck on your journey."

Abel didn't say a word as he placed the covering over his right eye as darkness swallowed its light once again, along with the rest of the world around him. In the blink of his uncovered eye, Abel was back standing on the deserted star. He was left alone, save for one. The cat stood a few feet away from him, its tail swaying left and right to a soporific effect.

"What are you still doing here?" Abel asked.

"Hm, I finished up my little chat with Elijah earlier than our other contemporaries, and was merely waiting for company."

Abel turned away from the cat. He looked out into the expanse of the cosmos to see stars. They were so far out, appearing as merely white dots, contrasting a blackened canvas. Abel stared at them for a few moments. Such a beautiful, marvelous thing. A pity he left one alive.

He reached out and pinched one between his fingers. The cat stared curiously at him as he traced out a rectangle in front of him, a door made of starlight.

It was as if he cut out an opening between locations and realities, and fastened a passage between them.

Having finished drawing a little doorknob, he carefully placed the star back in its place.

"Hrm? Not going to make it any bigger for me?"

"Are you coming with me?"

"Well, I would rather not have to make my own exit from this place, seeing as there is already one that you so courteously made."

Abel placed his hand on the doorknob.

"That still doesn't explain why you're coming with me."

"Then I suppose it's because I feel like it. I am Madness, and I do as I please. Isn't that like us?"

Abel laughed.

"Yes, I can't argue with that."

The cat cranked its neck around.

"Besides, we're on the same journey, are we not? I frankly don't see any reason to diverge our paths."

Abel twisted the knob, opened the door, and made his way through it.

"Well then, to answer your earlier question, no, I won't make the door any bigger. Too much of a hassle," he said with a sly smile. He looked back to see the cat had shrunken itself to a more fitting, petite size.

"There? Happy?"

"Yes. As much as we like the attention, we also ought to be careful of whose attention we'll be getting."

The cat pranced through the doorway.

"Hm, a fair point."

The cat lowered its forelegs as it raised its hind legs, stretching itself. Abel closed the door behind them. The passage vanished as the starlight faded and dissipated.

"By the way, where are we exactly?" the cat asked, looking up at Abel.

He looked down at it, then looked around him. They were in a nave. Blossoming flowers decorated the floor, sprinkled about around their feet. In front of them was a series of five stained glass windows, letting the gleaming light of the sun shine through them; and accentuate their intrinsic, multi-colored beauty.

A church.

Though, there were no pews lining any supposed isles. And save for a small confessional stand; and a small chapel in the corner, the building felt as though it held no true religious affiliation with any particular god. No, the building was of an older time, an older belief. Before the gods descended—before the time when zeal and ardor were shown by the mere act of joining a familia. It was built when prayer was deemed the only way of communicating to the gods. And now, the world has once again moved on and forsook such an archaic, antiquated place. It was reduced to nothing more than a glorified building, leaving no one but the strays to find shelter in its walls.

Children, most likely. Abel could see that there were small scuff and scratch marks on the wooden floorboards they were standing on. And while a rodent (or, gods forbid, a whole family of them) could have easily done it, they were littered throughout the place. They painted a pattern of childish games. Hide and seek, tag, heroes and monsters. Abel could envision it all in his mind. Oh—and the small, stuffed teddy bear by his foot was also a dead giveaway.

Abel reached down and picked it up. A few stitches had been torn out of its side, leaving a few cotton strands hanging out from it. Without much thought, he plucked out the needle from his jacket as he continued to stare at the bear.

"We are where our brother should be. Though, the passage isn't exactly Swiss in its precision. Might have missed him by an hour or two," Abel answered, not taking his eyes off the toy.

"Ah, you're referring to the one we don't despise to death."

A dark swelling burst from within Abel's heart. It was a mixture of loathing, spite, and sadism. His raw passion began to ooze out of him, souring the air with the stench of murder.

"He'd probably like that—if our hatred could kill him," he said with a wicked smile.

"We'd like that too, wouldn't we? Though, we also wouldn't want to give him what he wants. That'd be far too merciful."

Without realizing it, Abel had tightened his grip on the toy. He looked at his hand to see the bear seemingly more lifeless and limp than before. He looked down to see chunks of cotton had splattered onto the flowery floor. Abel exhaled as he calmed himself down. He bent over and began to pick up the strands of cotton. Prudently, he began to slip the pieces of cotton back into the bear. The cat turned its head to further survey its surroundings.

"Well, I certainly didn't peg our other brother as the religious type."

Abel let out a small chuckle as he finished refilling the bear with its cotton-esque organs.

"Well, knowing him, he was probably forced to stay here for the night. You know, since I may or may not have forgotten to give him some Valis for a proper place to stay."

The cat mischievously smirked at him.

"Right, like we forget about those sorts of things."

Abel shrugged while returning the smile.

"His fault for not asking."

The two waited silently in the church. After a few minutes, the cat let out a yawn through its canine teeth as it slowly laid itself amongst the flowers; and curled itself into a small furry ball. Abel began to silently stitch the toy, paying no mind to anything else around him. Nothing but the sound of his eye ticking filled his mind.

Tick, tick, tick.

.

.

.

A woman is singing. She sings an old melody that most have forgotten. She is bathing in the Great Rift of the Milky Way, delicately rinsing her body and hair. In the distance, in a neighboring galaxy, she sees a star. It is fizzling and sputtering, and after a few moments, it pops. But she spurns it; instead, she continues to bathe herself. It may very well be the last bath she will partake in. That alone was far too tempting of a prospect for her to not refuse.