Twilight of the Gods

“We’re at crossroads,” Tristan said, taking another drag of his pipe. “You’ve come here to do a terrible thing to me.”

Daeva shook her head. “You assume wrong. The thing I’m about to do will only hurt me.”

He lets out a dry, humorless laugh. “In all versions of the future after meeting you, I am left with the shorter end of the bargain. But I guess I deserve that after what I have done to you.”

She remains silent, watching Tristan shape the smoke with his lips. A smoky clock leaves his mouth, its vaporous hand ticking with every second that passes.

“You will do a terrible thing to me,” he said. “That is inevitable. You will also do something awful to Ezra after me, a well-deserved punishment for his crimes. But I must pass on a message to you, God of Chaos. I’ve seen something in my visions that frightens me, something that I must show you.”

“I don’t trust you,” she said. “You’ve imprisoned me in your visions before. Who’s to say that you won’t trap me again?”

She feels the fibers of the hanging rope press against her neck and the edge of a sharp blade whisper by her wrists. A thousand hands pressed against her back, threatening to shove her into the past. She shakes them off, pushing them to the back of her mind.

“You have my word,” Tristan said. “This is a serious matter.”

She narrowed her eyes in distrust. They both knew that meant nothing to her.

“You’ve only ever hurt me. Break the chains of my imprisonment and I will open my mind to you.”

Tristan nodded in understanding. He rises from his cushions, effortlessly weaving through the curling smoke hanging heavily in the air. He stands before her, a tall slender man reeking of incense. The smell overpowers her nostrils so much that she unconsciously brings her hands to her face. Realizing the rudeness of the gesture, she starts to lower her hands. Tristan grabs her wrist, stopping the movement.

“Don’t,” he said, drawing closer with the smell intensifying. “The others can’t stand it either.”

A mixture of disgust and pity rises to her throat. If he hadn’t tormented her, she might have genuinely felt sympathy for him. Unlike Ezra, who was the hated de facto leader of the group, Tristan was the black sheep. His fellow Elysians tended to avoid him, with the exception of Vivian who had an unexplained closeness to him. And despite having a brilliance rumored to rival Ezra’s, he was perpetually left in a drug-induced slumber, made dull by his vices. He kept his addiction around like a spoiled pet, overfed by the smoke in his pipe and the pleasurable dizzy spells that came with it.

Daeva clamped her hand down around her nose and mouth, unable to keep out the sweet smoke. Tristan closes the distance between them, sinking his fist into her throat.

“This will hurt,” he said, closing his fist around his link.

I sincerely doubt it, she thought. It never hurts with the others.

But as his scaly hands shattered the metal of the chain, pain ruptured from her neck. She claws at her skin, fighting the poisonous sensation spreading to her chest.

“I warned you,” he said, holding a bloody, rusted chain in his hands. She marveled at the way her ichor stained his palms like fresh ink. Was she finally free, ready to escape this torturous game? Could she walk away, at last, from all that tormented her subconscious?

Her questions must have shown on her face because a grim expression dampened Tristan’s demeanor. “There is still one more link inside you. Ezra will need to remove it to release you.”

She groaned inwardly. It was unlikely that he would be the one to free her. After all, he was the one that originally imprisoned her, subjecting her to her first round of torture all those years ago.

“He can be persuaded,” Tristan added. “He won’t refuse a good bargain.”

I doubt that, she thought. Besides, he was the only Elysian to voice that possibility.

“Thank you,” she said, rubbing the lingering ache in her chest.

“Now for your part of the bargain.”

The lens of his glasses shone ominously. Her double reflection stared back at her worriedly, showing a glimpse of the anxiety she felt having Tristan enter her mind again.

She tenses up, fighting the urge to run. But why shouldn’t she leave? She could do just as the Board told her to do, shatter Tristan’s glasses, and run out the door. It would be so easy. She’d move faster than his addled mind could track her. He was too drugged to give her a proper chase anyway. But just as she was warming up to the idea, she started to feel herself fall, plummeting from the cliff of reality into the unknown depths of the subconscious.

He was already inside her head.

They stood at the edge of a sea, gazing at the pseudo-world he constructed. They were barefoot, with their toes enmeshed in the gritty sand. He turned toward her, taking her in with his snake eyes. She meets his gaze, ignoring the uncontrollable shivers running down her back. She forgot how unnerving his naked eyes could be. Those glasses of his were truly more for the benefit of others than himself.

“Time is like water,” he said. The waves crash onto the shore, dissolving into the foam a few inches away from their feet. He dips his fingers into the sea before bringing them to his lips.

“There are moments where every second feels the same. The sea, after all, tastes just as salty an hour ago as it does now. It may even seem just as cold. But even if I keep my hand in the ocean for a millisecond, it is no longer the same body of water. Such is the nature of time.”

The waves pull back, brewing in the dark, soupy sea. “Time changes everyone,” he continued. “Neither of us is unscathed by the slow erosion of Father Kronos passing through us. We may be immortal and live our eternal lives, but we do not come out unchanged. You know this better than anyone.”

Daeva’s back straightened, suddenly aware that they were alone together in her mind. Anhel’s comforting dark presence was nowhere to be found.

“How could you know anything about what I once was? I’ve only ever been what I am now, immortal and powerful.” She knew what she said wasn’t true, but her statement still rang out with a clear candor. After all, aside from the murder that killed the earlier version of her, she knew nothing about her past.

“That’s not important,” he said, dismissing her question. An objection rose to her throat. “I’ll explain it to you later,” he added in a softer tone. “Right now, I need you to listen. Please.”

Noting her silence, he cleared his throat and started again.

“Time is like water,” he repeated. The waves crash onto the shore once more. “It constantly moves, showing me miracles and calamities.”

To demonstrate, the waves grow larger, approaching them menacingly. As they climbed higher and higher, Daeva became more sure that the water would eat them alive. Tristan stood calmly beside her, his face impassive.

“I’ve seen worse things,” he said, as the water descended upon them. She tried to run away, but the waves crashed into her, knocking her into the sand. For a moment, she remained suspended in the liquid. Unable to move or breathe, she was more helpless than a baby.

It’s all in your head, she thought, fighting the growing panic in her chest. None of this is real.

The sea releases her, leaving her a salty, coughing mess on the shore. Tristan stood beside her, still dry and untouched. She glared at him, ignoring the way the sand scraped against her skin as she gathered herself together.

“You didn’t need to do that.” You’ve already made me suffer enough.

“But I did,” he countered. “So I can show you this. I used to think that the wars and genocides I saw in the future were the worst things I was forced to encounter. Such was the humble price of my gift. It was worth being destroyed by every wave if I could still see the sea. I have my smoke and I have my visions. Few can say the same.”

“However, most recently, I saw something impossible. I thought my gift had stopped working. Maybe I smoked too much and ate too little. It happens. But that damned vision stayed even when I laid off the pipe.”

“What was it?”

“Nothing. A grand old vision of nothing. I saw the void. The end of all time.” He paused, directing his attention to her again. “I haven’t told anyone else this because of how unbelievable that is. The end of time. It sounds like a child’s nightmare. Do you think I’m telling you the truth?”

Yes, she thought. His desperation was too genuine to be fake. He may not have noticed it, but his hands were clenched as if he were still holding his pipe, ready to take a drag to soothe his nerves. Even in his subconscious, he felt the urge to smoke.

“The end of all time must look better than war and genocide,” she said. “Maybe there is peace in the void, an end to all suffering.”

“No, no, no,” he said, shaking his head with every word. “This isn’t a joke. Time will end after you come for Ezra. I don’t know what will trigger it, but I know it will happen then.”

And why is that such a bad thing? Time had been cruel to her, forcing her to suffer under the hands of all the Elysians. In fact, she was still suffering under them, haunted by their presence in her dreams. Heck, there was one in her mind at this very moment, telling her what to do.

“The end of time is not my problem,” she said. “It is an unpreventable catastrophe. Maybe we need to sit back and accept it.”

“Except you can prevent it.” He seized her arm eagerly, pulling her toward him. “There is a small path in the future, no wider than a strand of hair, that could be our way out. You just need to make the right decision when the opportunity comes.”

“And what decision is that?” She couldn’t keep the annoyance out of her voice.

“A selfless one,” he said, cryptically.

“No.”

“Pardon?”

“Are you deaf? I said no. When the time comes, I will make the decision that I want to make. And that decision will be the right one.”

“You’re not taking this seriously,” he said, incredulous. “You think this is all a joke. Daeva, it doesn’t matter what you assume. The end of time is a problem that goes beyond you. I know we all hurt you and traumatized you in ways that you may never recover from. I acknowledge my role and I’m sorry I ever took part in your torture. But everyone that ever mattered to you needs you for this. Look,” he said, touching her forehead.

Instantly, she was transported to the vision he described. There, she finally witnessed the great void. The darkness enveloped her, smothering her senses. Somehow, this was worse than drowning in the water. At least in the water, she knew she was suffocating. Here, in the absolute nothingness, she sensed that if she dozed off, she would unravel and forget herself. Everything about her would be erased — past, present, and future.

For some reason, that terrified her.

She never questioned her own existence. She had power that scarred the earth and ended lives. Everywhere she walked, she saw evidence of the monster that she was, the monster that the Elysians created. There was never a doubt that she was someone who hurt others.

It almost offended her that something could destroy her like that.

She groped around in the endless darkness, searching for something resembling her body. When she couldn’t sense her own form, she turned her attention to finding another person. Surely, she shared this void with someone. Somewhere in this never-ending expanse, there had to be someone who could make all of this stop.

So when the tips of her fingers grazed soft skin, she was overjoyed. She felt the landscape of a face, marveling at the presence of a set of eyes, nose, and lips. She lingers around the eyes, pressing down out of curiosity.

Gooey liquid leaks out and the person who possessed that pair of eyes struggles beneath her hands, trying to move away from her grasp. She presses harder, wetting her hands in their fluid. The knowledge that someone in this nothingness felt her power was exciting. She did exist despite the oppressiveness of the void.

Then, all at once, the darkness vanished. She returned to reality, finding Tristan beneath her, with the shards of his broken spectacles lodged in the delicate skin of her fingers.

She yelps, registering the pain. She jumped away from him, horrified at the sight of their blood mingling on the floor. Her dark ichor juxtaposed harshly against his glittering celestial blood.

“What are you?” She had seen that blood before, but she couldn’t place where.

Tristan writhed in pain. The blood trickles down his forehead, dripping over his lips. It was the same blood that came out of Vivian when she ate her heart. To her horror, she realized that it was also the same blood that came out of Uriel on the rare occasions he bled.

“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no. It can’t be.”

This was just another one of Tristan’s illusions. But what benefit did he gain from having her think that he was an angel?

“You and Vivian,” she said. “You’re –”

“Whatever you’re going to say, it’s not what you think,” he interrupted, cutting her off.

“You’re both angels,” she spat out, ignoring his intrusion. “You should be dead.”

“Fallen angels,” he corrected. “We don’t have wings, thanks to Odi. But we were spared from the fire that killed the rest of us.”

“It must’ve hurt, having your wings taken from you. Doesn’t it feel …” She struggles to find the right word for a minute. “Doesn’t it feel unnatural?”

He laughs, wiping the blood from his face. “Unnatural,” he said, playing around with the word. He repeats it a few times, letting it become meaningless. “I am in my most natural state. I serve no one but myself. No God is here to order me around or use me for my gift.”

“But you were created to serve,” she said, not quite believing what she said.

“We were trained to serve,” he argued. “Domesticated like cattle so that we would bend more freely to your will. At our core, we’re not the good, obedient angels you shaped us to be. We have a greater impulse for pleasure and chaos, the infernal things in life. That is what’s natural.”

He takes a drag of his pipe, not seeming to mind the glass shards embedded in his face.

Anhel was right, she thought. Without the Gods, the world would descend into chaos. The angels, even her angel, were more dangerous than she thought.

“It’s all in the past. I don’t blame you for how the Gods shaped us. You didn’t make those decisions. Vivian said you were dragged into this as a mortal. Maybe it was for the better. Your past is not that much better than your present,” he mused.

“And what past was that? Most of it is lost to me,” she confessed.

He paused. “It’s not an easy story to tell. I don’t know that much more than you. But there is someone who knows more than the both of us.”

“Who?” She lets her eagerness creep into her voice.

“Ezra.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed. He can be persuaded, remember that.”

Ezra, the Elysian who started all of her sufferings, was the one who knew the most about her past. Why did he have to be the one to hold the key to her memories?

“Could you at least show me the face of my murderer? I want to know who killed me and turned me into this,” she pleaded.

“I can’t,” Tristan said. “You’ve built strong walls around that memory. It’s impenetrable, even with my talents.”

“Break down the walls. You’ve done worse before,” she countered.

“Don’t ask me to hurt you again. Even if I wanted to do that, it wouldn’t work. You’re still afraid of him, that mysterious man who murdered you.” He pulls out a shard of glass from his face, wincing as he did so.

“I’m not.” But even as she said so, she knew that what Tristan had told her was true. A part of her was still terrified of the faceless man who destroyed her.

He sighed. “Sure. You’re not afraid of him and I’m not addicted to my pipe. That’s the complete and utter truth.”

She frowned at his sarcasm. Choosing not to dignify his words with a response, she leaves the room, feeling an ache in her chest. She undoes the top buttons of her dress, exposing an ugly scar on her chest. This was the wound that took away her mortality. It was this mark, made with that man’s sharp blade, that took away any chance of a normal life from her.

She wanted to kill him. There was the revenge she wanted against the Elysians and then there was the revenge she wanted against him.

The sheer hatred she felt for that man was indescribable. It was like a poison that was permanently stuck in her veins, sucking her life force. She felt it more than ever with his identity so maddeningly out of reach.

Her exhaustion must have been obvious. Upon entering her living quarters, Uriel immediately gave her a look of concern.

Use him, Anhel said. He’s here to serve you.

I can’t, she thought. But then she remembered all that Vivian and Tristan had gotten away with doing to her. They manipulated her, turning her own mind against her. Because of them, she wasn’t safe in her own head. Her scar throbs again, sending a wave of pain through her body.

I can use him. She kneels to the cushions, bringing herself closer to Uriel.

Good. You’re finally becoming a real God.