Apocalypse Tamer

The universe collapsed on itself.

The cosmos itself unraveled before the Maleking’s severed head could hit the ground. The earth turned to red particles swirling aimlessly around Kalki’s Neurotower throne. Now that the tournament had reached its conclusion, the arena no longer served its purpose.

The void swallowed the land and sky alike in its hunger. All-consuming darkness devoured the remaining scraps of Earth and the distant stars, until only steel towers grasping into other worlds remained.

Basil plummeted into the void like Plato and the others. He heard Vasi call out his name, but his confused brain struggled to make sense out of her voice. The darkness encroached upon not only his eyes, but his very mind. His body had grown numb, his limbs no longer responding to his commands.

He only had enough strength left to count numbers.

Thirty seconds, Basil thought as the countdown to his death approached ever so closer. Need to expel… team… before it’s too late…

The screen opened as per his last wish, but the message was unlike what he expected.

Your party has earned 153,000,000 EXP and 220,000,000 Bonus Quest EXP (93,250,000 for you). You have gained six new levels (total 96).

As Basil’s hourglass of life reached its last few grains, a mad idea crossed his mind. A desperate plan driven by his survival instinct and his desire to stand by his friends, no matter what awaited them.

Duty Beyond Death said that… I cannot regain HP. But what about getting new ones?

It was too late anyway. Too little time remained. Basil put his team’s safety first.

You have expelled: Vasi Yaga, Bugsy Alphonse Venture, and Plato from your party.

Live on, everyone… Basil thought as he plummeted into the dark. This… all I wish…

A pair of warm hands caught him by the waist.

“Don’t die on me!” Vasi shouted into her boyfriend’s ear. She held onto him with all her might. “Not you too, Basil!”

Basil didn’t know whether it was adrenaline, Wyrm Spirit’s power boost on death’s door, or something as silly as love, that gave him the strength to look over his shoulder. What he saw would have broken his heart, if he still had one in his chest.

Tears of fear and sorrow rained down Vasi’s cheeks as she hugged him from behind. Bugsy had caught Plato in his pincers above her, and now dived down towards his former Tamer with all his speed and haste. The panicked expression on the feline’s face could have melted even the coldest ice.

The warm flame of resolve surged through Basil’s body.

He couldn’t die on them.

He wouldn’t leave them alone.

With less than five seconds remaining before his final death, Basil assigned his new levels. He didn’t check the number nor consider them. His mind acted in a haste, without thought nor case.

He simply, truly wanted to live.

Chronomancer Level 15 to 20 Stat Gains: +5 STR, +12 AGI, +2 VIT, +3 SKI, +6 MAG, +4 INT, +3 CHA, +6 LCK. You have gained 220 HP and 95 SP!

Forewarned (Passive): You instantly know whether an incoming attack will inflict a supereffective or critical hit. Additionally, you are immune to hostile Time-related effects, such as [Slow] or Time-Stopping attacks.

Chronomancy III (Passive): You can learn and cast [Chronomancy] spells up to Tier III. This is raised to Tier V by [Divine Auspices II].

Slow-Mo (Active): Technique, [Support], [Ailment], 10 SP per minute. You inflict the [Slow] status on all enemies within thirty meters of you, halving their Agility.

Save Scum (Passive): Capstone. Whenever you would suffer a fatal blow, you immediately revert to the state you were in before receiving that same blow; this includes status effects, ailments, and HP. The only exception is your SP count, which is instead diminished by an amount equal to your total level. If you cannot pay this cost when you suffer a fatal blow, [Save Scum] will fail to activate.

Two hundred twenty health points were a pitiful amount, but enough to regrow the heart in his chest. Flesh regenerated as the countdown came to an end. Basil Bohen braced himself for the death that might still seize him.

Your [Invincibility] has run out.

The countdown reached zero.

A flood of steel came to a screeching halt across the infinite worlds.

A great beast’s roots had burrowed into the firewalls of a hundred Systems, piercing through their defenses, invading their reality, hungering for their souls and knowledge. Neither gods nor mortals could halt the infection. How could one fight a force as pervasive as gravity? Such powers were to be endured and suffered, but never fully conquered.

From a world drowned in water to one ruled by the dead, from a crossroad of planes led by dragons to a hundred forgotten places, all watched on as the great progress of Dis stopped dead in its tracks.

The world-machine’s gears had stopped.

Waiting for an order.

Waiting for a conclusion.

Death did not claim Basil Bohen

But life hurt like hell all the same.

“Argh!” Basil grunted into the infinity and spat blood into the gaping void. Flesh and bones had filled the hole in his chest, but his new heart felt as if it was pumping lava through his veins. “Argh!”

“You’re alive…” Vasi held onto him so tightly that it hurt. Her mighty wings stopped their fall, and her head buried into his shoulder. “Thank the gods, you’re alive…”

Warning: Critical health! Critical health!

Never before had Basil been so happy to read this message.

For it meant death would not claim him yet.

You still have three levels to assign.

Three? Oh right, he had begun with eighty-seven levels and ended up at ninety-six. Where did the other three come from? He couldn’t remember.

“I’m… I’m here Vasi… I’m not going anywhere…” Basil struggled to catch his breath. The air tasted of steel and oil. “That hurts….”

“Coming back from the dead isn’t fun, am I right?” Bugsy carried Plato next to the flying Vasi, with the feline looking utterly exhausted. “Well, shoulder on. I’ve got seven more under my belt, you can take it.”

“I’m so happy, Boss…” A rain of tears flooded down Bugsy’s eyes. “So happy…”

Basil smiled the best he could, only for a terrible noise to interrupt the reunion.

The Neurotower holding Kalki and Padma stood before them, a limitless monolith shining brightly in a sea of darkness. Its circuits shone with a golden light and flooded the Bohens’ sight with messages.

Warning: Experience insufficient for Overgod! A single winner cannot be determined!

New Main Quest: Destroy Your Allies.

Recommended Level: 96.

You have waged a great battle and won it, but only one can sit atop the throne of Overgod. Kill your allies and–

A feeling of deep, visceral disgust surged inside Basil’s heart. His answer was arrow-swift. “Fuck you.”

His insult echoed into the void, and the great tower of Dis dimmed slightly.

“After everything… after everything we’ve endured… all the friends we’ve lost…” The quest notification caused Bugsy’s tail to burn with scarlet fury. Steam rose from his body, fueled by his bottomless anger. “You dare ask that of us?”

Plato glared at the Neurotower with pure, undiluted hatred. He did not bother answering the notification. His cold, silent hate spoke for him.

“You would like us to feed you more souls, would you not?” Vasi wiped tears off her face, her gaze harsh and determined. Basil could feel the depth of her resentment in her trembling hands. “No more. The bloodbath ends here and now.”

Warning: Experience insufficient for Overgod! A single winner cannot be determined!

“No more,” Vasi repeated, her eyes squinted in disgust. “No more blood will grease your gears.”

“It’s over, Dis,” Basil added angrily. “This tournament ends here and now.”

Dis turned red.

Its golden circuits blazed with a crimson glow. The countless Neurotowers surging through the sea of darkness burned like candles, their reach touching scars in the very fabric of reality. The screen messages turned from blue to red.

ERROR DETECTED!

ERROR! Unresolved query! ERROR!

“As the Maleking said,” Vasi whispered. “Without Maxwell, it’s just a mindless animal. It doesn’t know what to do without a guiding hand.”

Maxwell had never imagined someone reaching the final stage of the tournament would turn down unlimited power; no doubt he had failed to take his own demise into account either. Dis was bugging out like a computer unable to resolve its conflicting algorithms.

Basil only saw one way to end this madness once and for all. “Vasi, carry me closer. I need to touch it.”

His girlfriend sent him a strange look, until she guessed what he planned to do. “Are you sure it will work?”

“Can’t know until I’ve tried.” And as grim as it sounded, their Party had a few empty spots left in it. “It can’t be more stubborn than Plato.”

“I heard that,” his best friend said.

Vasi carried Basil within arm’s reach of Dis’ core Neurotower. He extended a hand at it, his frail finger caressing the abomination’s metal skin. It felt both warm and cold to the touch, neither alive nor dead.

For all of its power, Dis was still a level 0 Monster.

Basil couldn’t undo the apocalypse, or destroy it.

Do you wish to add: [Dis, the System Apocalypse], to your party?

But he could tame it.

“Release Kalki and Padma,” Basil ordered, his voice as sharp as a knife. “It’s time for you to sleep.”

Had there been anyone else capable of giving it commands, Dis would have probably shrugged it off. Maxwell, the Maleking, and Wyrde could have all disputed his supremacy. But since everyone on Earth had already perished except for the Bohens, Basil won by default.

And like an office drone desperate for a manager’s praise, Dis answered his command.

The great Neurotower shuddered, as did its siblings across the void that used to be Earth. The light coursing through their circuits weakened alongside the power coursing through them. The scars and rifts connecting this horrible machine to countless worlds closed one after the other, severing Dis’ metal tentacles from the rest of its being.

As for the petrified Avatars, holy light started breaking out of their stoneskin. Dis’ hold on them was weakening.

What a pathetic creature, Basil thought. It has limitless power, but neither the intelligence nor the wisdom to use it. This disease’s only instinct is to spread and grow.

“What an unforeseen ending…”

The familiar voice echoed out of the darkness. A shiver ran down Basil’s skin, as he and his allies looked at its source; all of them expecting yet another fight.

But the four-eyed shadow staring back at them was in no condition to wage a final bout. It was a paltry thing, a cloud of hellfire smoke slowly dissipating into the ether with each new word spoken; the last embers of a dying fire.

“So… this was my last stand. I am to fade away, kindling for the pyre.” The Maleking sounded neither bitter nor angry. In his warped mind, he must have considered such an outcome natural. Failure meant death in the game of gods. “Congratulations, mighty warriors. The throne of might is yours by right. You’ve earned it. I wish you luck, however you deem fit to rule.”

Kings found their dignity where they could, even in defeat.

“Of all the blasphemous abominations we’ve faced on our journey, I should hate you the most,” Basil said with contempt. “You’ve killed a dear friend and countless innocents. All the pain and destruction your Horsemen spread lies squarely on your shoulders.”

Of the eight billion people who once called Earth their home, only four Bohens remained. The Maleking, the Unity, and Maxwell had killed everyone else. They had piled up a mountain of corpses and then became the mortar required to build the final step.

“But at the end of the day, I just feel pity for you,” Basil confessed. “You could have been so much more than what you ended up being. All this power and wisdom, wasted on what? One more level? A self-destructive search for strength? It’s just so pointless.”

“Is that how you feel, Basil?” The Maleking answered his killer’s sympathy with a grim chuckle. “Remorse is not in a demon’s nature. I have lived by my creed and died by it. I carry no regrets with me into the abyss.”

He would remain unrepentant to the end.

“But tell me, Basil…” The Maleking’s eyes met Basil’s own, flickering in and out of sight. This question was his last request. “What do you think is the source of your strength?”

“Do you even need to ask?” Basil waved a hand at his allies, his friends. “You’re looking at them.”

The Maleking shook his head. “An interesting answer… but not the correct one.”

“Even now, you understand nothing,” Vasi said calmly.

“Oh, I do, great queen of witches.” The Maleking eyed Basil with what could pass for respect. “You have gathered strong allies, that is true. But the bonds you have forged are the consequence of your true strength, not its source.”

His true strength? Basil frowned in confusion, unable to figure out the Maleking’s riddle. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Those who don’t understand themselves are doomed to falter,” the demon replied wisely. “For wherever you go, Basil… there you will be. Friends come and go, as do successes, but one can never escape themselves.”

“As far as Zen advice goes, Lao Tsu, I’ve heard better,” Plato rasped.

“The simplest truths are the most important ones.” The Maleking’s body disintegrated until only his eyes remained. His voice echoed into the voice one last time. “Remember this, defenders of Earth. The Maleking is not a name; it is a title worn by all those who worship power above all else. I was not the first, and I will not be the last. As long as one being desires to climb the mountain of strength… they shall be my heir in spirit.”

“And we’ll cast your successors down to Hell,” Basil replied with determination. “As many times as it takes.”

The Maleking let out a final laugh as he faded away for good, another ghost filling the grave. His eyes closed, and then even his shadow was gone.

The holy light finally escaped the Avatars’ statue and illuminated the darkness.

From the Bohens’ point of view, it was akin to witnessing the birth of a sun. The prison of stone holding the gods captive exploded into a flood of starlight that grew, and grew, and grew, as far as the naked eye could see. A warmth filled the void where there was once cold alone; it was neither the searing heat of the Maleking’s hellfire nor the gentle caress of true sunlight, but something otherworldly. Something divine. A gentle warmth that soothed not only the pain in Basil’s flesh and soul alike.

This new sun’s radiance should have blinded all onlookers, but Basil’s eyes did not hurt when he looked at it. The new white star had become so large that the Neurotower beneath it appeared no larger than a needle pointing at a soccer ball. The Bohens looked at each other in their dread, crushed by the weight of their insignificance.

More lights appeared in the endless void that had once been Earth. A swarm of eight stars approached in the shape of a mighty, crescent-shaped constellation. Each was a different color, from vivid red to a strange indigo.

A new set of suns followed in. There were three, two bright yellow stars and an eclipsed one floating above the others; a black moon obscured the third sun, as if to protect the universe from its destructive radiance.

The memory of a video flashed back in Basil’s mind: that of a great hand holding the Earth and moon in its palm, all under the gaze of a sentient sun.

Eyes, Basil guessed. Those are eyes.

Men had tried to represent the gods of the Trimurti in human terms, with human faces and human hands, because mortals struggled to conceive infinity. Vishnu’s avatar had been a mortal of flesh and blood, a gentle mask meant to reassure ants infinitely smaller than the deity’s true self.

But the Lords of the Trimurti were not ascended humans. They were the cycle of creation and entropy incarnate. They were concepts as pervasive as magnetism and as inescapable as gravity. One could not fit a black hole into a human skull. Neither could Basil’s human mind possibly comprehend the sheer scale of what his eyes observed. His brain identified the Trimurti as stars because those were the next best comparison. Yet those suns were naught but a tiny sample of impossibly larger entities.

Their voices echoed across the infinity and into the Bohens’ minds.

“I am Brahma, the Creator,” said the constellation, each word a song. “From my dreams the cosmos arose, and from my thoughts the soul of all things.”

“I am Vishnu, the Preserver,” said the sun atop the Neurotower. Its voice reminded Basil of Kalki and Padma speaking at once, their tone perfectly synchronized. “I am the protector, the guardian, the defender of the spirit.”

“I am Shiva, the Destroyer,” said the three suns, their voices a quiet storm. “I weave worlds and I unmake them.”

None of the Bohens dared to speak up. Even these survivors of a hundred battles felt small and awed before these three titans. Apollyon and the Maleking alike were no more than bugs in comparison.

“We are the Trimurti,” the divine trio spoke as one. “The three faces of the universe.”

They put Vainqueur the Dragon, one of the few creatures Basil considered a god, to shame in their size and power. Or perhaps the ancient wyrm’s true self rivaled them, and the Bohens had only ever encountered a small avatar.

“This voice…” Bugsy cleared his throat, his eyes squinting at the central sun. The cowardly centipede who had begged Basil to spare his life had grown into a great warrior unafraid of the gods themselves. “Is that you, Mr. Kalki? Are you… in there?”

“Kalki was a part of me, but I am greater.” The central sun’s comforting, musical voice soothed all of Basil’s worries with a balm’s smoothness. “He was a drop in the ocean that is my soul. I remember our nights around the campfire, and the great kindness you have shown me. Whether god or mortal, our friendship will endure forevermore.”

“You have done the universe a great service in destroying that fiend Mammon and shackling Dis,” Shiva added. “We can now wipe away the filth that has infected this reality for the good of all.”

At this moment, after a hard-fought battle and a hard-won battle, Basil finally realized one thing.

The long war was over.

The competition for Overgod had well and truly ended. The triad of Maxwell, Wyrde, and the Maleking had been crushed. The Trimurti were back in control of the System. The Bohens had prevailed against all odds.

And half the team perished to make it happen.

The crushing weight of Rosemarine’s absence, of Shellgirl’s demise, fell upon Basil’s shoulders. He quickly noticed another absence, who he had missed in his desperate rush to stop Dis once and for all.

“Where’s Steve?” Basil asked, though he already knew the answer.

Vasi looked away from him, her silence an answer in itself.

Basil looked down into the infinite abyss below them. His thoughts were as dark as its depths.

Vishnu whispered into the void, his voice full of concern. “Basil…”

“Why?” Basil’s voice broke in his throat. “Why?”

He was so, so very tired of watching people die.

René, Kuikui, Orcine, Benjamin, Neria, Leblanc, Simeon, Rosemarine, Shellgirl, Steve… his mother. Those came to mind, but they were but a few names on a very long list. Basil had outlived so many friends and loved ones.

“Why did you let this happen?” Basil asked the Trimurti. The words flowed out of his mouth and heart alike. “You’re gods. You are so powerful that you create worlds and unmake them. So why did you fill so many with death and sorrow? What point is there to all this suffering?”

Basil just didn’t understand.

“What else would you need from us that you don’t already possess?” Brahma asked calmly. “Are you not gifted with a sun to banish the cold night? A flourishing land that nurtures your body? A thousand wonders to help the mind flourish and fill it with wisdom? What answers do you expect from us, that you cannot find yourselves?”

“Mortals have all the tools required to build themselves a heaven,” Shiva added. “Yet too often do they dig a Hell of their own instead. They are the architects of their own suffering.”

“Humanity needs neither gods nor eternal life to conquer pain and sorrow, Basil,” Vishnu finished. “All that men need to make a paradise of their own… is compassion.”

Basil looked up at this wise old sun. “Compassion?”

“It takes greater strength to answer pain with understanding, to repay a wound with an open hand,” Vishnu replied. “With sufficient knowledge and cooperation, mortals can conquer even death. Peace is only found in an unyielding spirit.”

Vasi frowned in skepticism, no more convinced than Basil was. “Why not show us the proper way then?”

“We offer guidance to those who ask,” Shiva replied. “However, what we want for you is not necessarily what you need, let alone desire. No one is infallible; not even the gods. There is always more room to grow. The quest for perfection is an endless journey.”

Such humility was refreshing for a would-be deity, but it didn’t help Basil feel better.

“Walter was right,” he whispered bitterly. The necromancer, who had guided Basil until the final battle, had always been vocal in his distrust of the gods. Though Basil still believed in the Lord, hearing these three titanic entities admit their ignorance left him deeply unsatisfied. “Even gods don’t have the answers.”

“We have answers to provide,” Shiva pointed out. “But we do not strike you down when you fail to listen. This is the nature of free-will.”

“Is that what you would want from us, Basil? To subsume your will with our own?” Vishnu’s sun flickered like a blinking eye. “We could force you into the proper path, Basil, but you have seen for yourself where that kind of thinking leads.”

The smell of Shumen burning came back to Basil’s mind. “It leads to the Unity.”

“Yes, it does.” A great wind blew out of nowhere into the void; so did the god Vishnu sigh. “We have long ago decided to offer guidance rather than orders.”

“To help mortals grow is our untainted purpose,” Brahma added. “Maxwell’s lies were built upon a truthful foundation. Deities create Systems to help mortals ascend to a greater state of existence. They gain experience, knowledge, power, and wisdom.”

“But most mistake godhood for the end in a journey, rather than the next step towards greater understanding.” Shiva’s three eyes gazed upon Dis’ central Neurotower. “It allows this foul creature and its kind to lure fools into their embrace, to corrupt our work and taint it with evil.”

“The weak of heart crave the strength of the body, thinking it will grant them protection from their innermost fear, but they are mistaken.” The constellation of Brahma let out a bright flash into the void, each of the stars unleashing a solar pulse. “Many virtues lead to greatness, but evil only grows from pain, pride and greed.”

“So I was right.” Vasi sighed. “Without Dis, the Trimurti System would have been similar to Outremonde’s.”

“Yes,” Vishnu confirmed. “Mortals have summoned us to the material plane for many eons, and each time we delivered a System unto them. One that rewards work and benevolence as much as the strength of arms. But the greatest lights cast the greatest shadows. Our gifts attracted parasites such as Mammon and his ilk, who sought to pervert them.”

“Dis corrupted our System into one that worshiped strength and fed it the souls of the dead,” Brahma continued. “Now that you have shackled this parasite and freed our brethren Vishnu, we can finally take back control. We can finally recreate the world rather than watch helplessly.”

“We shall purge this abomination from the Multiverse for good.” Shiva’s eclipsed eye brightened, as if the obscured sun prepared to go supernova any instant. “Without Mammon to let this cancer grow back, this incarnation of Dis shall be the last. Your world will finally be free of its corruption.”

Plato, who had listened in silence so far, finally opened his mouth again. “Then can you bring them back?” he asked wisely. “Our friends? Can you bring them back?”

“We can,” Brahma said.

Basil’s heart quickened with hope–

“But not as you imagine it,” Shiva added.

–it was quashed just as quickly.

“Their souls have already passed into the bowels of Dis and lost their identity,” Brahma explained. “We can bring their spirits back when we recreate the world, but they won’t be as you know them. They will be echoes. New incarnations.”

“Their feelings might endure the transition,” Vishnu said with a hint of sadness. “But they won’t remember you.”

“They’re gone then?” Bugsy sighed in disappointment, a sorrow Basil shared. “It won’t be them.”

Shiva’s mighty voice became softer. “Mortals, your error is to think death is the end of all things. As new creation requires destruction, so is death both an end and a beginning. Their souls will endure and be reborn, purified of their sins and sorrow.”

“Reincarnation is a second chance at life,” Brahma added. “A new chance to find happiness and ascension, free from the sorrows of the past.”

A second chance at life? It sounded good on paper, but Basil couldn’t remove the bitter aftertaste in his mouth. Sounds like a shitty consolation prize to me.

Vishnu’s light shone upon him. Basil could feel the gaze of Kalki behind it, the warmth of a friend’s concern.

“Basil, you have lost so much before the world ended. When Dis arrived, you lost a home and family. Yet in spite of all the pain and sorrow, you carried on.”

The great god of preservation marked a short pause, his final question echoing Basil’s own.

“Why?”

Did he even need to ask?

“Because I had them.” Basil glanced at his team, who all smiled back at him. “Because I hoped to share a better tomorrow.”

Because no matter the hardships and ordeals it threw at Basil, life was worth living when shared with loved ones.

“Then carry on, and find the dawn you’re looking for,” Vishnu said wisely. “If not for the living, then for the dead who made it possible.”

To… carry on?

“Basil.” Basil glanced at Plato. The feline locked eyes with him, his gaze as somber as it was hopeful. “Do you remember what René asked us to put on his tomb before he died?”

How could Basil forget? He had engraved the words himself. “‘In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.’”

René had always been a bit too fond of Camus.

“When René died… it hurt.” Plato’s voice broke in his throat. “The two of you… were more than my owners. You were my world. Losing half of it was… it was hard.”

Basil nodded slowly. He understood this pain because he had shared it.

“But we bounced back, did we not? We preserved and we found happiness. Because that’s what he wanted for us.” Plato sighed. “Shellgirl… she was always full of ideas. You need a heart full of hope and determination to become an entrepreneur. Rosemarine too was always cheerful. A bit too much. Steve carried our asses across half of Europe without complaining.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Even if they’re gone, I’m gonna live, Basil. I’ve died eight times already, and I’ll enjoy my last life to the fullest.” Plato’s lips pursed into a bittersweet smile. “Because that’s what I would have wanted for them in their place.”

Basil did not answer immediately. He mulled over his former cat’s insightful words, seeing the wisdom in them.

“Boss… so many are gone, but we’re still here.” Bugsy—gentle, humble Bugsy, who found joy even in the smallest things—flapped his wings of fire. His heart burned as bright as the star that made up his tail. “No matter what happens, we’ll be here. We still have a new house to build.”

“There’s so much I have to show you, Basil.” Vasi tightened her grip on her boyfriend and kissed him on the neck. “You still haven’t seen my homeland. You would love it.”

Her homeland, with a father and mother to go back to. A world where other friends, like Ronald, had fled to safety.

Much had been lost in the fighting, but Vishnu was correct. No matter how dark the night, one could always look forward to seeing the dawn rise beyond the horizon.

His heart strengthened, Basil reached a decision.

“Oh Lords of the Trimurti,” he said, addressing the masters of the System. “Hear my wish.”

The stars gazed upon him.

“I plead with you, not to recreate the world as it was, or as I want it to be.” Paradise belonged to everyone. “I ask that you recreate Earth as its people need it! A world where all these restless souls, men, and monsters, can coexist as our troupe did! A world where the Trimurti System does not reward pointless strength, but wisdom and peace!”

A world his dead friends would have wanted to live in.

And the three lords of the Trimurti answered his wish with a single voice, full of warmth and gentle care.

“Let there be light.”

Their radiance filled the endless void without a sound, disintegrating Dis. The great machine collapsed into nothingness, its brittle steel born of sin crushed before the power of true deities. The rift closed and the disease they spread was forever eradicated.

The souls of Dis’ victims erupted from the broken Neurotowers in a fearsome tide. The wicked would become the mortals for a new Earth; the just would be granted a second chance at happiness.

Basil held onto Vasi as the big bang swallowed them. Bugsy and Plato joined them, the Bohens standing together before the dawn.

“It’s beautiful,” Vasi whispered.

“Yes,” her boyfriend replied softly. “It is.”

The world had ended and began anew.