Such an unassuming ship, the ark was. Robust, archaic, frankly brutalist in its design. But it was perfect that way. Its exterior design was merely a clever visage. Like all things, nothing is ever what it seems from the outside. No one would suspect the sort of world that lies just below the deck. This ship was meant to hold thousands, each were different species with their own physiology and biology; their own survival needs and palliate desires. This place was meant to cater to them all without favor or bias.
He walks down the steps. Every few steps, he passes by various signs marking the different levels. As he passes, the ship seemingly morphs and changes. It was a jungle, then a theater, then a field of flowers, and the last he passed by was a banquet hall. Finally, he reaches the door to his desired destination. The central hub, where most of the different creatures, beings, and mortals have gathered. Gently, he gives the door a light push. As he does so, he instinctively shuts his right eye.
Many eyes look toward him. Many, many eyes. Some of them don't have eyes, and others have nothing but eyes. But they cast their gaze to him all the same. He can feel it.
Looking around the room, there are a few species he immediately recognizes.
Qunsians, Arkaitz, and Thalanors. Arjuna, Cerelikite, and Mozecks. How strange to see them gathered here, living together in such peace and harmony. But of course, they are friends on this vessel.
He continues to scan the room, eyeing the different species he is not as familiar with.
Shimmering and flaring along the edges of the entire room are the Stern Nui. They are a superheated being entirely composed of plasma. Normally, they would stretch out for millions of miles, but have condensed themselves for the others around them.
Then, there are the Sylocore—beings composed nearly entirely of wires and circuits. Inside them are nearly three-hundred ninety miles worth of printed circuitry sandwiched between layers of wafer thin metal. They speak in pitched beeps and wiring. They are humming in a monotone tone as they scan him.
Just a little to their left are the Amebites, a mass of gelatinous matter. It was translucent, but there were different splatters and splotches throughout the mass. Each represented a different brain. A hive mind, then. Different beings all composed into a singular conglomeration. It oozed as it sloshed about.
They continue to stare at him before a voice interrupts from behind him.
"This is our last passenger: Me-self. Just as any other amongst ourselves, kindly treat him with the utmost care."
They all give a singular nod (or at least, those that can), before amassing and chattering amongst themselves once again.
He looks down to see the cat brush past his leg.
"What do you mean by 'Me-self', Cheshire?"
The voice came from a curious Thalanor.
"To put it as simply as I can, he is me, in the form of a human. Or if that is too much, perhaps think of him as my human twin brother of sorts."
The Thalanor tilted its stem and fluttered its pedals as it mused at the thought.
"I suppose that makes it easier to think of, yes."
Abel looked down at the feline.
"I thought your name was Schrodinger?" he said playfully.
The cat froze in place.
"I changed my mind."
Its words were confident but the hairs on the back of its neck were perked up and stiff, an unintended self-sabotage.
Abel smirked as he shrugged and looked back around the room. Most of the eyes on him had averted themselves already. And others did not even bother to cast their gaze. Particularly, the woman with honey-colored hair in the corner.
Weaving delicately between the different species in the room, he began to approach her. As he drew closer, he could see that she was preoccupied. Held tenderly in her hands was an infant. It was sleeping soundly as it could once again feel the warm, familiar embrace of a motherly figure. The blanket it was wrapped in had golden feathers and swirls signifying wind embroidered on it—a staple of the Arjuna culture. But the infant itself was not an Arjuna. As he approached the woman, Abel could see the fur, the whiskers, and hear the soft purrs it made. It was a Chexenae.
Abel flinched ever so slightly before he recomposed itself. Flashing a smile on his face, he bent down slightly.
"Hello Demeter."
The goddess looked up and was startled for a moment. The baby in her arms began to stir at her sudden movement. Looking back down, Demeter back to gently rock her arms, hushing the infant back to sleep.
"My apologies," Abel said as he unfurled a hand to her. "But may I have a moment of your time?"
It was more so of an order than a request.
Demeter looked up at him then back to the child. Letting out a deep sigh, she gestured at the nearby Cerelikite.
"Agathillies, could you please watch over this one for a moment? I have something I must tend to."
"Certainly. Though please make it quick. Despite us being on this ship, I fear the little one may still want to take a bite of me if she wakes up and sees me."
If the circumstances were different, Abel would have surely laughed at that remark. But right now, he had other things on his mind. His heart twisted and churned as it pumped. He felt something he hadn't felt in a long time. Anxiety. But he stifled it and hid it well. Like an actor in a play, he would veil himself with that cordial smile and suave body language. But it was almost as if he was too engrossed in that persona that he had forgotten what it was like to act natural. Even as she stood up and the two made their way to the door, he could still feel the smile on his face, frozen and unchanged.
Yes. For the first time in eons, he was afraid.
.
.
.
"Well, isn't this a cozy spot?"
Abel held the door open for Demeter. They were on a different floor of the ark now, far away from any curious ears or prying eyes. The interior was decorated to resemble a small cafe. It had a counter which housed a bag of coffee beans, a kettle, a grinder, and other various tools for making a fresh brew. There were a few small tables sprinkled throughout the floor, each with two seats placed opposite from one another. On each table was a small plate with a variety of baked goods such as cookies, muffins, scones, and much more, all covered by a glass lid. In front of the chairs on the table were coasters and napkins.
"I'm honestly surprised he actually made this," he commented aloud. "How thoughtful."
Demeter didn't respond. She watched him carefully. Every move he made, every gesture he did, even every breath he took; she observed and noted to herself. Her salient stare frankly amused Abel. How it must feel for a god to look at him—something above her divinity and beyond her comprehension.
Plopping himself down on a nearby chair, he gestured for Demeter to come and sit with him. But she could only stand, staring. Abel let out a deep sigh, unable to keep up his persona any longer. He leaned forward, his elbows propped on his knees as he held his hands together.
"I need your help to save the universe."
His words were blunt and honest. There was no other meaning behind them.
"Wha—what?"
That seemed to snap her out of her gaze.
Abel looked up, directly into her eyes.
"You know what I am, yes?"
Demeter could only meekly nod. She knew and yet, she didn't. It was like he knew of him, but not who or fully what he was.
It was like being given an empty canvas and being asked what the piece represented. There were no sketch lines of characters or objects, or any colors to signify themes or emotions—but you still understood that it was art.
"Ouranos spoke of people like you, a long time ago."
They didn't believe him, of course. It was ridiculous, farcical, blasphemous even. And yet, somewhere deep within their subconscious, within their innermost essence of being—they believed them to be real. It was as if their existence were an unspoken truth. Never to be acknowledged, but as real and as true as the threat of the universe ending just beyond the veil of the ark.
"Then you understand fully well what it is I am asking you."
His words were almost laughable. Either from the amusement from the absurdity of such an order or how pitiful it would be to even bother to try at this point. And yet, Demeter didn't laugh.
The words held firm belief that somehow, despite everything, he could restore the universe. That firm conviction somehow sparked a certain yearning within her. She felt something she had not felt ever since the great razing had begun. Yes, his words offered something to finally believe in. What she could only assume was her soul began to cry out, desperately wanting to believe and give into his words. Oh, to have such credence! But her rationale and doubt stopped her.
"Wha—why me…?" she meekly asked.
Abel let out a quiet sigh.
"To be blunt, it's because you're the only god left."
Demeter's stomach churned at the very thought of such a thing. Everyone else was… gone? Were the children not enough!? This genocide had to take her fellow dieties as well?!
She wanted to cry. She really did. But her tears had all but dried already. And if she could, there wouldn't be enough tear drops for every single one of them—of her fellow gods and those she had called her children.
"Why do you need a god?"
Her voice wanned. She sounded exhausted. Abel couldn't blame her. But he also couldn't grant her any time to process her loss.
"Believe me, I only ask this of you because of how dire the situation has become. I need you because, well, I'm too weak," Abel sighed as he slumped into his chair.
Demeter's eyes widened at such a notion.
"Much of my power was sealed away in accordance with the rules that bind the universe. However, much like you gods, we Mythics can grow in strength from one simple source: belief."
"Why must I do it? Can you not?"
"No. It would be against the rules. You have to tell them."
Rules were rules. Irrevocable, restricting, vital. There was nothing more to elaborate on the matter. Still, he couldn't simply ignore her wistful eyes staring at him.
"I am the Mythic of Madness. I require from them that sense of lucidity if I am to gain the necessary strength."
Demeter's eyes widened as her jaw hung ajar. Instinctively, she held her hand over her mouth as she shifted her posture away from him in horror.
"You… you demand for the same madness that caused this war in the first place?! Are you—"
Out of your mind.
The words hung on her tongue as the absurdity of saying such a thing dawned on her.
Abel smiled. There was amusement in it, but it was a gentle, warm smile.
"You all think that madness can only be associated with corruption and wickedness. I won't lie and say that madness cannot lead one to be depraved in morality and humanity. But ultimately, madness is simply audacity."
He stood up from his seat to face her properly.
"The audacity to dream, and to go beyond one's own limitations. What would Genkai be like had you gods not had the audacity to abandon your divine comforts of Tenkai?"
Abel approached Demeter. Her posture had loosened and laxed itself. Somehow, his presence had become seemingly soothing to her.
"Each and every single one of you had a dream that sprouted in your minds, and I gave you the audacity to chase it."
Gently, Abel took her hands into his own. When was it that Demeter had lowered her hand from her mouth and was simply staring at Abel in awe?
"Tell them. Tell them to keep the madness in their hearts, and to wish for a new reality."
Her lips quivered slightly as her eyes became downcast.
"But you can't expect them to listen to me—"
"Yes I can," Abel interrupted her. "Because, they are your children, and you are their god."
She blinked a few times. Abel knew exactly what it was she was thinking.
The children. Why did it always have to be the children—her children. Why could she not help bear their weight? Why was it so wrong for motherly deity to not be allowed to help ease their burdens?
"You are immortal, you've never felt that thin veil of mortality, between life and death."
Demeter's eyes flickered. She was caught off-guard by the precipitance of his words. He continued.
"You've never closed your eyes and slept with lingering, cruel thoughts of your own vulnerability. You've never truly been helpless and have never truly struggled for anything, whether it be food, water, or even a breath of air. But these mortals, your children—they are constantly forced to cast a die and struggle against the hand that fate has dealt them."
He smiled.
"But even still, against all the odds, they still have the utter audacity to look certain death in the face and deny it its power."
Abel let go of Demeter's hand. Subconsciously, she flexed her fingers, missing the warmth his hands had offered her. Brushing past her, Abel made his way back to the doorway. Giving the handle a firm tug, the latch clicked, and swung open. Abel turned back toward the goddess, holding the door expectantly for her.
It was time.
"Tell them, tell them to face death once more. Tell them, out of sheer spite and outright insanity, to struggle for their lives, just as they always have. I will do the rest."
"And if it doesn't work?"
Abel frowned.
"Well, then we'll all be dead."
That much was clear. It's the end of everything, after all.
"And if it does?"
Abel let out a quiet sigh that did not go unnoticed to Demeter.
"...You won't remember anything. Not me, not this ship, nor this conversation. The universe will act as though nothing has happened, like it always wanted to exist. It can be quite unfair like that."
Seeing Abel gesture to her, Demeter made her way towards him. Just as she was about to pass through the doorway, Abel spoke softly.
"Thank you, Demeter..."
She turned to him, mustering a weary smile. But as she looked at him, the man, the Mythic, a question sprouted in her mind. For the smallest instances, she felt genuinely hopeful. However, she was only met with Abel shaking his head.
"I know that look in your eyes. Before you ask, no, I'm sorry, this resetting of the universe will not bring back the lives of the children you've lost in your conflict against Evilus."
"—!"
"But smile and be glad. Know that their souls, their existence, but most importantly, the memories of them you hold in your heart will be saved, along with everything else. Nothing is ever truly lost so long as we remember it. Think of that—think of them—when you tell the others."
A singular tear fell from Deneter's eye. Quickly she averted her face to not show such a pitiful thing.
With nothing else to be done, Abel followed the goddess, shutting the door behind him.
Right on schedule. He can feel it. The last planet was on the verge of collapse.
.
.
.
They failed. They knew it was coming, they tried to prepare for it as best they could. Or in the very least, stall. But what was the point? There was nothing left. There would be nothing left in just a few minutes.
His breaths are ragged and deep. His eyelids are growing heavier by the second. The titanium ground beneath him is stooped in a deep purple. Blood. His blood. There would probably be more present had it not already begun to seep through the various cracks and crevices on the ground.
Above, he hears the distant roars and explosions, the rattling of gunfire, and the screeches of crafts, both on the ground and in the skies. It's growing louder and louder as if they were all making their way to him, sensing his presence. But it doesn't matter. He's dead already.
One hand is clutching his side. The other, a thermal detonator tied to the planet's core reactor. If everything was going to end anyway, might as well spit in the face of everything to spite it one last time.
His vision is blurring before swirling into darkness. He can't hold on anymore. Using the last of his strength, he holds the detonator up in front of him. His cybernetic digits twitching and shorting, but still clinging onto the device. The rumbling of the great raze is right above his head now. And he can no longer stay awake. His fingers slowly uncurl themselves as he shuts his eyes and whispers a final breath. For one last instant, everything in the known universe becomes dead silent.
Click—
.
.
.
"No… still not it. I'm not dead yet. Hmph. That was supposedly the last planet. Must be Abel's meddling. He's always getting in my way, isn't he. Oh well. Nothing to be done. I've asked my question to everyone quite enough today. My quota is full."
.
.
.
"Children, please, gather around! There is something I must tell you."
They were all gathered in the central hub, now. All the creatures had vacated the other floors and rooms and worlds when the goddess had announced she had something important to share to them. The urgency of her message caused them to make haste. In a matter of a few minutes, they were all jam-packed in the space. Had it not been for the rules of peace and amiability, some of them would have surely been stampeded. Alas, they were all here, awaiting the urgent news.
"It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you all that the final planet has fallen."
A deafening silence fell over the crowd as they hushed themselves in somber mourning. It wasn't just the last planet but the known universe that was now gone. Everything was gone. Nothing else remained. Nothing, except for this ship.
"What are we to do now, then?" asked the Arjuna, Arakiba. "What are we supposed to do? What can we do?"
It only made sense. Everything was gone. It was beyond comprehension. The guarantee of safety of the ark meant little with that knowledge that there was nothing but the ark and those inside.
"How long will we last?"
"Are we sure this ship is safe?"
"Will the supplies on this ship run out? What do we do if it does?"
"Even repopulating seems out of the question. There will inevitably come a point where the growing population exceeds the resources on this ship. We would only be stalling the inevitable…
"Well, we can't just sit around and wait to die… can we?"
"What else are we to do?"
Arakiba had opened the whole room up to questions. The crowd became rowdy and paranoid, anxious and depressed all in a matter of moments, all at the same time.
"Children, children, please!" Demeter pleaded as she raised her hands in front of herself.
"There is more I must tell you."
The crowd quickly hushed themselves as they stared at the goddess. All eyes were back onto her. Some were teary, others were tired, most were curious, and all were staring.
"There is still a way to save the universe."
"—!"
Everyone in the room immediately perked up upon hearing those words. There was a chance! They might be able to do something after all!
"It requires each and everyone of your cooperation. And the task at hand will not be easy."
Yes, yes! Anything. Just tell them what to do and they will do it!
"You must believe that the universe can be saved."
"...what?"
The Mozeck, Gadek muttered what everyone else had on the tips of their tongues.
"Urrr?" the Qunsian, Urath, grumbled in confusion, his limited verbal communication still being well understood.
"What? I—I don't understand," Qhond, the Thalanor mustered aloud as its mind raced, trying to piece together the goddess' cryptic words.
It wasn't long before the crowd once again became an uproar as Demeter's solution only brought more questions and outrage.
Sensing the distraught atmosphere, even the child Chexenae. Hurriedly, Agathillies tried to hush her back to sleep, but even he was weary of the situation.
"Goddess Demeter," the Sylocore, directly addressed her. "Beneath my hardware skin are sixty-six million miles of printed circuitry sandwiched between wafer thin layers. Every nanoangstrom of those circuits are unable to comprehend the words you have told us. Please, may you elaborate?"
Demeter let out a quiet sigh. This was to be expected. Of course they would be confused, angry, fraught, and overwhelmed. She herself was just earlier when she had learned of this task from Abel. Nevertheless,
"Each and every day you struggle to survive. You might not know, you might not feel it, but you do. I ask that you struggle not only for your own survival, but for the survival of everything. I can't say I empathize with how you feel right now."
She could feel her heart ache as she said those words. She can't. She's a god, she's immortal. But she knows the hardships her children face and this herculean challenge they face now. She knows that they can achieve the impossible, especially when their backs are to the wall. They will attain the unimaginable .
"But please, for the sake of everything we love and cherish, for the vast universe that gave birth to us, and keeps us wondering. Cling to it, wish it to be made whole again, believe that it can be restored."
She paused considering her next words carefully.
"Just… want it to be so. And it will be."
Yes, I will do it for you.
The voice rang out in everyone's mind. Everyone except the goddess.
Suddenly, the room practically froze. Everyone held in perfect stillness. Not a breath, not a blink, not even a bead of sweat to dribble down someone's forehead was allowed. Confused, Demeter began to scan around the room. All of her children's eyes (some didn't have any, but she could feel their gazes) seemed to be transfixed on something. Their pupils were dilated, their eyes as wide as their physiology would allow them. Finally, there was a snap and they all fell to the floor like dolls being cut from their strings.
Horrified, Demeter sprung up to check her children but a voice stopped her.
"Do not worry, Demeter."
It was Abel.
"I merely overloaded their minds with a plethora of information, inducing a comatose state over all of them. It's a neat trick, minus the circumstances, of course."
Sure enough, they were all breathing. There seemed to be no real harm done to them.
"Even if I wanted to, this ship won't allow me to hurt anyone."
Those words seemed to put her mind and ease and her quickened heart at rest. But looking upon her collapsed children, Demeter spotted a black, ink-like liquid staining the ground and her children. When did that get there…?
Behind her, Abel staggered slightly. Demeter spun around to meet him.
"Sorry," he apologized with a light chuckle. "A little woozy is all."
Looking around one last time, ensuring that no one had somehow escaped his grasp, Abel looked toward the entrance to see Cheshire licking its paw patiently. There was only one thing left to do inside this ship.
"Thank you, Demeter," he said softly, one last time. "Now, rest with your children."
He grabbed a hold of her hand. Immediately, Demeter felt that ink-like substance on her skin before her mind became a nigh incoherent scramble of fact and fiction, fables and tales, truths and lies, parables and fibs.
The truth, the voices in her mind will give her the truth. What is the truth? The truth of the universe. The truth of the universe that is all but dead? What does it mean to be dead? Death, death, death—! What is death? The end. What is the end? Nothingness. What does it mean to be nothing, what does nothingness truly mean?
Too much. It was far too much to handle. I was merely moments before her mind too slipped into a deep slumber.
Still holding onto her, Abel gently let her down onto the floor. The work here is done. But there remained one final task. And would be by far the most arduous.
Carefully, tiptoeing past everyone, Abel stood beside the cat. He looked down at the cat, seemingly preoccupied with finishing its grooming. He reached for the handle but the cat spoke.
"Congratulations. A fine job you've done here."
Able looked down at the cat, amused.
"If we did not share the same identity or if I wasn't so sharp, I would think you were being sarcastic with me," Abel quipped. "Am I really that egotistical as to congratulate myself?"
"Well," Cheshire shrugged. "Someone has to congratulate you. After all, when everyone is said and done, we'll be the ones that remember. Save for one, of course."
A bridge to be burned when crossed another day. If another day should come.
"Scared, are we?"
"Yes."
"But do you regret the choices you've made leading up to this moment?"
"Somewhat. I just wished I didn't have to rely on so many others."
"But we are selfish like that, aren't we?"
Abel said nothing as his hands clasped the door for the last time.
"When you open that door, my time here will also be up. I've done enough anyway. Can't say it's been fun, but it sure has been interesting."
Cheshire flashed one last cheeky smile at Abel as he pushed the door open. In an instant, the feline disappeared from reality, ceasing to exist. Now, Abel was all by his lonesome.
Just him and the star now, just as it was all those eons ago.
.
.
.
The ship needed no steering to head towards its fated destination. Yet another mechanism Abel was grateful to Noah for. (Certainly made Cheshire's job all the easier). There was a small pocket, a gash in the fabric of space itself. The ark had been slipping in and out of it in order to avoid detection from the star. Now, it was time to announce their presence.
The ark's boards groaned and moaned, sensing the clash soon to come. Abel slowly ascended the steps back toward the main deck. He passed by the now emptied levels, biomes, quarters, and realms. Just a little further—for both himself and the ship.
Step. Step. Step. Step—
He reaches for the door right as the ark slips back into real space.
He opens the door to see the antithesis of the universe—absolute nothingness. It's strange. It's somehow different from the black hole. In the singularity, he could at least feel its presence weighing on his body, and yet here, there is nothing. He feels his mind beginning to rewire itself, creating noises, sensations, smells, and splotches of make-believe objects, all in an attempt to fill the empty spacing lest he go mad. How funny that works. This place is wrong. It is an affront to the natural order. Not so unlike its creator.
"Brother! I have looked all over for you!"
The star sounded strange. For a moment, Abel couldn't quite figure out why. Then, it clicked. For the first time since they've interacted, the star sounds sane.
"Here I am."
"Do you like what I've done with this place? This abomination, this affront to all that is natural?"
Abel said nothing.
"I must ask, how are you here? Everything is supposed to be gone. Or better yet, why are you here?"
Once again, the star was met with silence as an answer.
"Don't tell me! You're here to save the universe. That's it, isn't it?"
"Yes, that is correct."
Finally, an answer for the star.
"Why, why, why? Why must you insist that this place should exist at all?! Surely you would feel disgusted by its mere existence!"
"It doesn't matter what I think. This place must continue to live. It is not its appointed time yet."
Just as Abel finished his sentence, the star flared, just as it had their previous encounter. All of Abel's senses were engulfed in a pure, brilliant, white light. He staggers, before he feels himself letting out a momentary scream of agony. But it goes unheard by his own ears, drowned out by the deafening pain.
His body is burning from the brilliance of the star's light. That's all he can feel now.
He thinks he feels himself collapse onto his hands on knees on the deck of the ark. He thought he would have built up some kind of pain tolerance by this point. Then again, this was the same power that had just wiped the universe clean.
"You are weak, Mythic. You are puny, you are small, you are nothing. The universe is destroyed, razed by madness you had supplanted in it. Smoldering, I burn you. Burning you, I flare, becoming hot and brilliant and fierce and beautiful. I leave scars to mark your weakness—your failure—upon your flesh."
Abel grits his teeth as he staggers to get back up. But his sense of direction eludes him.
"Everything is gone. There is nothing left to save. And yet, you still try to oppose the natural order."
His fingers dig into the deck. If it wasn't for the gloves, he would have torn off his fingernails with how tightly he was burrowing them into the ship. Get up. You have to get up—!
"What do you have against me, the anti-life?"
In that singular instant, everything is cleared. He no longer feels the searing pain. He can feel his heart beating in his chest, and the ragged breaths dragging out of his mouth.
"I have madness. I have audacity. I have hope."
He opens his right eye, revealing the ticking clock-like contraption beneath his eyelid. The hands begin rapidly spinning, accelerating faster and faster as he stares into the nothingness, unnerved and unblinking. Then, he reaches out and grabs the very fabric of reality.
"You will not cease to exist. I will not let you."
In madness, there is audacity. Audacity gives way to change. Change breeds hope. In him, there is change for your predicament. In him, there is change for your problem. In him, there is change for the outcome. He is madness. He is hope. He is hope in its purest form.
The hope of the universe lies within him.
Feeling its power grow once more, Madness outstretches his hands. His six hands. Two reach up to touch his face. It was bone-like, hollow, and outstretched, resembling that of a bird's skull. Two curled horns were adorn on the top of his head. His upper back had a pair of wings, its wingspan twice that of his arms. They were adorn in jet-black feathers, the edges of the vanes sharpened like a dagger's edge. His lower body was now four legs, making him a quadruped. The legs bore scales and each foot had three digits, its ends bearing curled, razor-sharp claws. They resembled that of a dragon's body. And finally, his lower back sprouted innumerable scarlet tendrils, alien and eldrich. They curled and furled and unraveled and dangled all about at their leisure.
Ah, how long has it been since he's felt this power? The ark is now little more than a toy in size compared to him now. He picks it up and opens his beak, swallowing the vessel to keep it safe.
The star shrieks in a panic as it flares once more, growing in size to match its brother and betrayer. But the Mythic is seemingly unfazed by its attack and reaches back out, clinging tightly onto reality with his hands and tendrils. His three left arms are vaporized by the blast in an instant, but in the very next, they are restored. Again and again and again.
The star then begins using anything and everything within its power to stop him. Supernovas are hurled at him, detonating in his face and chest. He curls his wings in front of him to take the brunt of the blows, but the heat still seeps through, scorching his hands and tendrils. But they continue to cling all the same, even before his body regenerates. A wormhole opens a rift in space-time, transporting him all across the newfound oblivion. But it does not dissuade nor disorient the Mythic. He unfurls his wings to maintain some semblance of balance. Desperate, the star creates a blackhole, opening behind him. The gravitational might tear his lower body and lower back as his hands grasp the fabric of the universe between their fingers.
He won't let go. He can't let go.
It is a battle of sheer determination, tenacity, and audacity. The very fate of the universe dangling on the tip of a needle.
Pulling and weaving and sewing and stitching, Abel ties back reality at its seams. But he can finally feel the toll of the star's frenzied attacks begin to take effect. His fingers are melting from the heat, his tendrils are turned to ash as soon as they sprout. All the while, another blackhole opens, forcing him to dig his claws into the "ground" to avoid being sent into oblivion again. Despite having four legs, he can still feel himself being dragged away.
More, just a bit more—
Then, his right eye cracks like glass, the stress too much for it to bear any longer. He lets out a shriek as one of his wings is ripped from his back and disappears into a wormhole. His power is weakening. His form won't last for much longer. It's getting harder and harder to regenerate and maintain. But he's so close, he can feel it—
Crack!
He lets out a feral roar, adrenaline and anger coursing through his veins. Then, he suddenly begins laughing hysterically.
Oh, what a thrill! When has he ever felt like this?!
Adrenaline, anger, thrill; it all serves to distract him from the pain. His hands are in auto-pilot, they need not be commanded or controlled any more. A stitch here, a snip there, a splice here, and a knit there. He's almost done. The task at hand is almost complete. And yet, something is missing. Something deep within him begins to stir. His mind begins to fill with questions.
When has he last felt this? When will he ever feel it again?
A deep, carnal yearning begins to manifest. More… more—! What joy, what thrill, what delightful delirium!
His head is spinning from the ecstasy and euphoria of it all. He wants to delve into this depravity further. It made no sense, but perhaps that's what made it feel so right! He's losing his body—he's losing himself.
Just as he was about to allow himself to slip into that place, he feels something. At first, it goes unnoticed. But as the sensation lingers, it becomes evermore evident. It's the feeling of a small hand, gently caressing the side of his face. So soft, so soothing, he's felt this before. Yes, this warmth, this gentle embrace—this pacifying peace that passed through him, pulling him back to reality. He had felt it before he had set foot into the city of stars. My, how it reeked of child-like naivety.
Thank you, Ysabelle.
With that, he sews the final thread, weaving the universe alive and whole once again. This sparks a chain reaction. The newly formed energy particles condensed at such a dense point, no larger than a subatomic particle, begin to grow extremely hot. Unable to contain themselves, they burst within a fraction of a section, dispersing energy and matter in all directions and dimensions in one loud, deafening instance.
Bang!
The universe begins anew.
.
.
.
What happened? Where is he? Is he dead? No, but it wouldn't be hard to kill him in the state he's in.
Abel is lying on his back, all he can feel is his heart weakly beating in his chest. He did it. He was back. Having completed his duties, he was returned to the deadened star where he had culminated before. Though he was grateful for the convenience, he certainly wouldn't have minded having some way to soothe the pain he was in.
His body aches, broken and beaten for the bout. He may not have felt this way if he hadn't gotten so… enraptured at the end. Oh well, it was his nature. And he was paying for it.
With his uncracked eye, he looks up at the sky. There are white specks sprinkling the dark canvas of space once again. Some are soaring across the darkness, leaving a faint white trail of light behind themselves, while others simply remain where they are, brightening and dimming as they please. He feels oddly at peace as he continues to stare, unwilling to move a muscle, not in the mood for masochism.
"Well done, Mythic," someone calls to him, applauding as they do so.
Strained, Abel pulls himself up to see Elijah.
"You did it. You have saved the universe. Though, I cannot say I remember you doing so myself."
He gave Abel the prophecy, knowing full well what was to occur. But the outcome was entirely in Abel's control.
"It wasn't just me…" Abel spoke softly.
"Yes. But you pulled through regardless. Despite having some difficulty in the end, I imagine."
Sitting upright, Abel gently massaged over his right eye. The damage was permanent, but the eye itself was not. It was merely a part of him, one that could be replaced if necessary. Lucky him.
"I had faith in your wits and talents, but your nature did have me troubled. You have the strength, that much was certain. But the self-control? That, I was worried about."
That's what made it the hardest part—not allowing his own selfishness to be not only his, but everything's undoing.
"...someone pulled me back to reality before I went into that place."
"Yes, the child."
"Ysabelle," Abel stated firmly. "Her name was Ysabelle."
Abel's fierce gaze burrowed into Elijah.
"I won't forget it," Abel affirmed.
"But you will. As we both know, the universe is cruel and petty. She had a hand in saving the universe, but the universe does not wish to even acknowledge it had died. It wishes to forget it entirely, and will remove anything that could remind it and jeopardize its security. You, however, are a facete and far more vital to its functions. But she was not."
The words felt cold but they were all true. Yet even still, he would not give in.
"I won't forget her name."
Elijah let out a sigh of sympathy.
"Then I hope that she will give you strength again. Especially when you need it most."
Picking himself back up, Abel brushed past Elijah. He looked up at the sky once more, basking in that last bit of peace he had felt earlier.
"What will you do now, Mythic?"
Abel mused to himself for a moment before turning around.
"There is still some unfinished business in Orario I have to tend to. Don't you know around this time of year? It's the Elergia and I should attend."
Abel turned around and readied himself for the journey.
"Someone ought to mourn for the universe."
With that, he begins to feel himself standing over a ledge. He leans forward and allows himself to fall. Swept away in the current of the cosmos, soaring through solar systems, he makes his way back to the city of adventure. In his mind he hears voices. It is of the other Mythics—his family. They cheer for him and congratulate him.
"Good job!"
"You did it!"
"We're proud of you!"
But it was all only in his head.