Till Forever Falls Apart

“I’m tired,” the Blood God grumbled, reaching his arm up to wipe the sweat away from his forehead with the back of his grimy hand.

He stared up above and sighed heavily.

The sky had since turned void and dark. The stars that once littered the black abyss like tiny little daggers were now shifting and bouncing about, falling and crashing at lightning speed. The sky was collapsing. The universe was collapsing.

For now, it was just the distant stars and far away floating debris, soon it would be the sun.

The Angel of Death, in his shiny, raven-winged glory and matted black hair, glanced at his comrade with amusement. They had been walking for the past three hours, basking in the warmth and scowling at the humidity. The skies that were once orange and rosy were now black and empty, and yet they still felt the heat on their flesh.

There was no warmth, the planet was cold and empty, yet they were burning.

In all honesty, they didn't really know what they were doing. There was no reason for them to be walking through this town, trampling through the aftermath of their obliteration, but still they stumbled onwards.

The planet had started decaying a little under a year ago, and in just a few short hours, it would be destroyed entirely and a new one would grow in its wake.

Again.

This universe, like thousands before it, would be ripped apart, torn to pieces, only to be re-written with a different twist, a new ending. The same people, just in different places and different times. A new version of what currently exists.

The two gods have done this thousands of times that it was almost futile to keep track of how many universes had come and gone before this one, how many times civilization had to start over from scratch, how many times the symphony had to be repeated with a new melody.

A blank page.

An unblemished canvas.

A clean slate.

It was interesting, the Blood God noted, how even as the ground beneath their feet was starting to split and swallow every artificial structure and ugly brick building whole, even as amber fires burned away any evidence of delicate nature, even as black holes opened up and engulfed just about anything and everything, that it would all return in just a few centuries. For better or for worse.

These same humans who have fallen would rise up from the ashes of the deceased and sculpt a whole new world to their liking. They would build it up with pride, blood, and sweat, just for the gods to set it aflame in front of their faces and watch their triumphs and mistakes wash away like sand during a rising tide.

In all destruction, there were new beginnings.

Most gods enjoyed the reckoning, bathed in the screams, soaked up the smog and dust, cackled at the bloodshed. They cheered as the ground beneath their feet decayed and crumbled.

Normally, the Blood God and Angel of Death would join in the celebrations, albeit quietly, but instead they had chosen to walk for hours and hours, disguised as mere mortals in their ratty coats and chunky boots.

“It was your idea to walk to the cliff,” the Angel of Death retorted with a grin.

“It’ll be a nice lookout point,” the tall man replied. “You can see the whole city from up there.”

The Angel of Death laughed. “The others are throwing a party and you’ve dragged me across the city to sit on top of a cliff?”

“Parties are overrated,” he mumbled.

“Right,” the Angel of Death mused, locking eyes with his friend for just a moment.

A year ago when they arrived, the earth was beautiful. There was definitely far too much noise and distastefulness, but it was alive. Now the soil had turned to ash, the trees had turned to stubs, and the people had turned to memories. There was hardly anything or anyone that remained.

Some humans tried to fight it, tried to stay alive and outlast a planet that was destined for doom, but their bravery was fruitless.

Even the strongest of heroes die at the end of the story.

“Any particular reason you’re so quiet tonight?” the Angel of Death asked after only a few more minutes of silence.“I know you’re not usually one for celebrating the End, but even for you this behaviour is a little unsettling.”

The Blood God shrugged. “I’m always quiet,” he replied.

“Not this quiet,” his friend responded quickly.

The answer to his question was hanging in the air, just out of reach for the Angel of Death to comprehend. Just as he was about to heckle his companion further, a sudden noise from between two of the fallen buildings interrupted him.

The two gods turned to each other swiftly, adjusting their coats closer to their bodies as they prepared to investigate.

Everything should be gone. Everyone should be dead.

They diverged from the road they were currently following and cut down the narrow alleyway where they heard the noise. A few months ago it wouldn’t have been that surprising to hear living entities. Back then, the remaining humans who survived the initial disasters had formed factions and compounds, grouped together like tiny rodents in a cage.

Humans had a natural tendency to find companionship and belonging. The Blood God never truly understood it.

The debris from the fallen roof of the building on the left side littered the walkway, making it difficult to navigate. The gods debated turning around and continuing on their last aimless walk before the End, but decided to keep going when they heard the noise again.

The Blood God felt the Angel of Death elbow his side. He followed his friend’s gaze until his eyes landed on an open door on the side of the building on the right. They peaked inside and spotted a figure sitting on the floor, back pressed against one of the walls of the small room lined with empty shelves. As they stepped closer they realized it wasn't just one person, it was two. The second figure was sprawled out on the ground, their bloody head laid gently in the other’s lap.

“Hello?” the figure called out as two gods entered. His voice sounded young. He was young.

The boy who sat with his legs outstretched on the ground was just that: a boy.

His cheeks were sunken in and his frame was so thin that it was difficult to tell just how old he was. He had curly brown hair and wide almond eyes shadowed with dark circles.

The other boy was definitely younger. He had blonde wavy hair and terribly pale skin. He was not as thin, but still lacked any sort of meat on his bones, and most importantly, he was dying.

The boy’s eyes widened. “Please help,” he pleaded to the gods, disguised as mere mortals. “Please help my brother. I don’t know what to do,” he cried.

The Blood God could tell by the shift in the Angel of Death’s stance that he showed great disinterest in the pitiful sight before him, probably preparing to leave as soon as he had the chance.

The Blood God, however, was far too tired.

“What’s your name, kid?” he asked, receiving a harsh glare from the Angel of Death, with an expression that screamed what are you doing?

“Simon,” the boy replied shakily. “My brother’s name is Ben.”

The Blood God nodded and knelt down to the boy’s level. “Okay, Simon,” he said. “My friend here is going to do all he can to help your brother, alright?” he added, nodding to the Angel of Death who stood stiffly off to the side. “But I’ll need you to step away from him, okay?”

Simon nodded slowly, showing slight reluctance, but in the end he complied. He carefully laid his brother’s head down and let the Angel of Death approach him.

Their efforts would be futile. The blonde boy’s pulse was already dwindling. He would be dead within minutes.

“There was supposed to be a sanctuary here,” Simon whispered, almost to himself. “A place where we could be safe. There were supposed to be people here, but now…” The brunette stared at the Angel of Death as he dressed his brother’s wounds around his head.

“A sanctuary?” the Blood God questioned.

“We heard about it a few towns over,” the boy explained. “There was supposed to be a safe haven here. Food, clean water.” He paused. “We got here just after the earthquakes started. Nothing survived. We were going to leave and book it back to our last commune when we got trapped under the rubble,” he whispered, looking towards his brother guiltily. “Ben got the worst of it.”

He noticed that as Simon spoke, he fiddled with something around his neck.

“What’s that?” the Blood God asked. Simon glanced at him and unclasped the chain around his neck, revealing a small golden heart-shaped locket. It was old and terribly grimy, but it still shimmered in the darkness.

Simon smiled. “Ben gave it to me for my seventeenth birthday a few months before… everything happened,” he explained with a sigh. He handed the locket to the Blood God who opened it carefully, peering inside to see two images of both Simon and Ben, smiling goofily.

“We were foster kids,” Simon started. “We didn't have any money of our own. It was probably the best present I’ve ever received.” He smiled softly, eyes glistening. “It’s always been just me and him. I don’t know how I’ll get through this without him,” he whispered, voice wavering.

“Well good news then,” the Angel of Death spoke up from the other side of the room, standing up and wiping his hands on his coat. “Ben’s injuries aren’t as severe as they look. He’ll be fine with a little bit of rest,” he lied.

The Blood God stared at the Angel of Death glumly, and he stared back.

Ben was dead. His heart stopped beating two minutes ago. They both felt it.

But the world was already ending, why let Simon’s world end even sooner?

The brunette stood up and rushed to the man, hugging him tightly. “Thank you so much,” he cried. The man smiled back at him, but it didn't reach his eyes.

When they pulled away, the Angel of Death placed a steady hand on his shoulder. “You should get some rest, too. We’ll keep look-out and wake you up if anything’s wrong.”

Simon looked conflicted at the idea. It seemed like it had been so long since the boy had a moment to rest peacefully that he had forgotten what it felt like to feel safe. In the end, he nodded and laid down next to his brother, wrapping an arm around him.

Within minutes, he was asleep, and the two gods left in silence.

They managed to make their way to the cliff at the city’s edge just before sunrise, sitting side by side as the black sky turned into a delicate pink. The stars were still falling, the sun was still exploding, but it was less obvious when the sky wasn't as dark.

The building Simon had been sleeping in had since been destroyed, turned into a pile of rock and ash. The Blood God only hoped his death was quick.

Maybe in another universe, the boy would live past the age of eighteen. Maybe, in some other lifetime, he would travel the whole world with his little brother right by his side.

Perhaps in another universe, Simon and the Blood God would have been friends. Maybe they would have been allies, neighbours, mortal enemies, strangers passing by.

Maybe if he wasn't a god, their paths would have crossed in a better way.

The Blood God glared at the little heart-shaped locket in his palm, narrowing his eyes at the images of the two boys and scowling at how no one would remember this version of them. No one but him.

“I’m tired,” the Blood God mumbled as the world crashed and burned around him, only minutes away from being re-written entirely. His friend draped one of his dark wings over his shoulders as he caught a glance at the locket.

His shoulders sank.

Finally, the Angel of Death understood what the Blood God meant.