Untold trillions were dying across the cosmos. Almost all were infected by madness. Species living in peace and civility were plunged into barbarism. Planets were sieged, captured, retaken, sieged once again, until they became no longer habitable. The atmospheres were destroyed, leaving no breathable air. The waters were either poisoned or had evaporated. And the vegetation wilted and withered away as the grounds became irreparably irradiated.
The war is bloody, hateful, and ludicrous. There is no true justification for the slaughter. Only one thing is clear. It is unavoidable—especially to those on the receiving end of bullets, bombs, or blades.
But it wasn't all pure carnage and chaos. Sometimes, systems, planets, and stars would simply vanish from existence, completely erased from the universe's memory—a quiet, untold rapture.
Whichever was more terrifying, who was to say?
There is a rumor spreading amongst the cosmos. It is little more than a whisper. It tells of someone or something that appears before the dying, the desperate, and the desolate. They give aid to the injured, food to the starving, comfort to the comfortless, help to the helpless.
Somewhere, the vast expanse of space, someone is giving hope to the hopeless. Someone is offering an escape.
.
.
.
A baby is crying. Its wails echo throughout the streets. But no one seems to care. No one rushes to its aid.
It is unclear what the baby is crying about. Is it the loud cracking of gunpowder and the deafening detonations of nitroglycerin, the rumbling of the planet as the plates crack, or the estranged liquid soaking into its backside? It does not know. All it wants is to be held. But no one is coming.
The baby is wrapped in a blanket. But it does little to shield the newborn's backside. It is far too saturated. Sodden and sopping wet, it acts more like a sponge. The baby lies alone in the center of a pool of blood. It is still warm, fresh. The pool grows wider and wider as the child continues to cry. It is spilling out from the temple of a young woman.
She lays there, eyes dim and wide, never expecting her end to be so soon. Bits and pieces of gray matter are sprinkled around. Chunks and slabs of white matter split out with the blood. Her hand is extended outward, toward the child. But it is just out of her reach.
Warmth, comfort. The infant wants so little. But there is no one left to offer such things.
Then, the cries cease. It has seemingly vanished, having been taken far from this place. But there is none to witness its departure.
It is being held once again. The child coos as it feels the warmth and comfort it so desperately sought. It is being rocked back and forth. Its eyelids grow heavy and its breathing becomes steady. Slowly, it drifts to sleep.
"Hush now, little one. No need to cry. Go to sleep and dream."
.
.
.
A city is burning. The flames spread incessantly throughout the alleys, rooftops, suburbs, and streets. Very few places are left standing in its wake. A firestorm—a true force of nature. Unstoppable, absolute, and uncaring.
"Are we the only ones left?"
"Who knows… at this rate, there won't be anything left of us either."
"Aye."
Only five survivors remained. They were huddled together at the foot of a skyscraper, the epicenter of the city. It would seem it would be the last place to be scorched to rubble.
Survival seemed to be the only thing they had in common with one another. They had all become displaced when the rapture first started. They were all of different species who prior would have never fathomed of one another's existence. There was a human adventurer, an Arjuna, a Cerelikite, a Mozeck, and a goddess.
They were most likely the last ones alive in the entire city. They may very well be the last ones of their kind.
In the distance, the adventurer could hear another series of explosions. But she said nothing. There was no point in telling the others. It would just add salt to the wound. Their fates were already sealed. They were beyond rescue.
"Well, suppose it was nice knowing you lot, even if it were for a short time," the Mozeck smiled.
"Indeed," the Arjuna nodded. "It was nice to be amongst sane company."
It all happened so quickly and without warning. Friends and family, lovers and strangers, all turned to bloodlust and barbarism, bearing arms in a war that none of them fully understood.
"Umuh! I would give a toast and a cheer to commemorate you all in our final hour, my fellow friends. But I'm afraid there is no drink, nor goblets to do so," the Cerelikite sighed.
"No, but perhaps I have something better."
The adventurer fished into her pocket and pulled out a small handful of berries.
Under normal circumstances, they would have been grounded up in a mortar to have their juices safely extracted to make potions. But they would not be used to heal this time.
"Here," she began handing them out to her companions. "These ought to give us a far more merciful end than the fire."
Quick and painless, at least, that is what she had heard in passing.
"Very well, either fire or berry, what difference shall it truly make?"
They all grabbed a berry. All save for one.
"Goddess Demeter, here take one."
She turned. Her eyes were still puffy red from the tears she had shed. So many lives, children, gone. And she could do nothing about it. For all her divinity, she could not stop the pain and suffering and death. She had failed. She did not deserve such kindness.
"My fate is with the fire," she somberly shook her head. "Go, my children. Go, and be glad."
None of them argued with her.
The Cerelikite raised his hand, the berry held firm in-between his webbed fingers.
"Here, here! I, Mrollikih, son of Mrizillih, shall remember your names! May we find one another in the life after this one!"
With that, they all toasted for the last time and collapsed into a coma-like state. The lone goddess looked at each one of them. Yes, good. This would be a fitting end. She closed her eyes and waited for the flames.
"Hello there, little goddess."
Startled, she spun around to see a cat smiling at her. For a brief moment, Demeter found herself too stunned to speak.
A cat? Was it some other kind of species that was also displaced? Where had it been, or had it appeared in this place just now?
"Who—who are you?"
Out of all the questions she wanted to ask, this seemed to be the most appropriate.
"Why, I am your escape."
Escape? From this place? But… but…
"I cannot allow you to waste your life in such a way."
"—!"
She looked at her hands. So much blood was on them. She was not worth saving. Her children… her children! They should have been the ones to be saved! And yet, the cat stood before her and no other. She found herself unable to refuse its offer.
"Come now," the cat gestured. "I am on a tight schedule of sorts."
She said nothing as she felt her body being whisked far away from the skyscraper, the fire, and her children. Perhaps, she could find her redemption and salvation elsewhere. Perhaps, she would not have to trade her life for repentance. Perhaps, her children would forgive her if she were to survive.
.
.
.
"Well, now. Things seem to be wrapping up on my end. Things should also be on yours, shouldn't it, me-self?"