The funny thing about cursing at the heavens in a place where deities can actually hear you is that you don't know who may take offense. Or worse yet, who may find you amusing enough to pay you some modicum of attention. Unfortunately at the time, when an explosion threw me off an infirmary bed waking me up in a room caught on fire I didn't quite care who was hearing me. I just let out my frustrations for anyone to hear.

Intellectually, I knew that different pantheons were looking over this last piece of heaven. If I actually cared to stop and think clinically over the encyclopedic knowledge I possessed at the time I could even remember the fun fact that Prometheus was involved in helping Chaldea. In practice however, I didn't have the mentality to make those kinds of rational judgements, I lost my composure the instant I regained awareness of my surroundings and just started screaming.

Afraid from the sudden awakening, having my ears still ringing from the loud sound from the explosion, suffering from the scorching heat of the flames boiling my skin in an enclosed room; all this culminated in the most logical of outcomes.
I was completely unable to form any kind of thought or plan other than immediate half-light style reactions to the immediate danger. My body moved of its own accord, crawling away from the heat and rushing towards the nearest exit with the grace of a lame mule. The fact that my mouth started cursing anything and everything I could blame for my predicament was more of an instinctual defense mechanism rather than an actual choice on my part.
I'm sure that if I was lucid enough to analyze my situation I would be able to come up with a proper plan of action. I did have plenty of options, even trapped in this inferno. There were multiple places I could, logically, have gone to. But as I said, that wasn't the case, so there is no point in lamenting my behavior.

I just ran, no plan, no destination, no wise comments. Just the uninterrupted string of curses one after the other.

Cursing whatever brought me here.
Cursing Marisbury.
Cursing Chaldea.
Cursing Flauros.
Cursing Goetia.
Cursing Solomon.
Cursing David.
Cursing God.
Cursing all The Gods.
I didn't care who.
I just cursed.
I just had to blame someone.
And so I did, over and over again, until I was left without breath.
Until I was forced to take a breath while I ran through smoke filled corridors.
Until the smog was so thick I couldn't see where I was going.
And when I found a little pocket of air I rushed in.
And cursed once more.
For I found bodies laying around.
I cursed once more, for at my feet laid the corpse of The Director.
Her death, I knew of beforehand, so I did not curse her passing.
Even in this state of momentary madness I knew better than to blame her.
Who I did blame
Who I did curse
Was the still twitching body of Romani.
He shouldn't be here.
His chest still moves
He shouldn't have been able to be here.
Raising and falling trying to draw breath
Then I remember a conversation
But he is not conscious
One that I realize never happened here.
"Hurry up, will you? If you are in the infirmary, then you can get here in two minutes"
"This is not the infirmary, is it?"
"Whoa… Please don't mention that… It's going to take five minutes from here no matter what... Well, I think they'll forgive me for being a bit late."

I take a knee close to him to examine him. His body is mangled, one of his arms bent in an unnatural shape trying to stop some collision. Half his scalp shaved clean by what I can only imagine was a heat wave. The remains of his medical glove wielded to the skin of his eye, melted as he tried to shield himself from the blast. His back black and bruised, with some muscle now visible under the remains of his lab coat.

He is unconscious, but he is alive.
He is in pain, but he is still alive.
He is twitching in spasms of agony.
BUT HE IS STILL ALIVE.

I repeat this statement over and over again like a mantra as I take his remaining good hand in a desperate attempt to anchor myself instead of falling to despair due to the scene of carnage in front of me. "You are still alive" I repeat. I do not think "Everything will be alright" or "You will be better" because those are uncertain promises of a future I cannot bring myself to believe. I take a hold of the present and grip, with more strength than I should, the hand of what should not be happening. As I do, I feel the shape of something under his , the sudden metallic sound of closing doors being shut seal somewhere down below shakes me awake from my stupor.

"System switching to the final phase of Rayshift."

I hear the final sentence of an uncaring mechanical voice ringing on the speakers from the room down below. If I had walked a few steps forwards towards the remains of a broken window I could have seen a familiar scene.

A child accepting death. And another taking her hand.

But you do not. Instead, you focus on the hand you still hold, and the ring it wears.

"Rayshit requirement not met. Searching for qualifying Master...Found."

With care, you take off his glove, and run your thumb across the engravings on it.

"First Order commencing operation."

You close your eyes and let out a final curse.

Even with your eyelids tightly shut, you can still feel the kaleidoscopic swirl of light and color burning through your retinas as the rabbit hole you are falling into swallows your soul.

When you open your eyes again, instead of finding yourself in a burning lab, you find yourself in a burning city.

And as you unclutch your fist, you find a ring resting on your palm.