Chapter 768 - A Happy Coward

Zeke lay on the bed, his hands behind his head as he mentally toyed with the local threads.  He didn’t make any changes.  That would be far too dangerous, and it would risk destabilizing the entire world.  He and Talia would doubtless survive such an event, but none of the people she’d given succor would make it through that sort of calamity. 

Instead, he did the equivalent of twisting them between his fingers – almost like a nervous tick.  Not surprising, considering that he had spent millennia focused entirely on manipulating those threads of reality.  It would have been odder if he was capable of moving on without thinking about them.

“You don’t have to be ashamed,” Talia said, her pale hand resting on his bare chest. 

“I know.”

“Do you?” she asked.  “Being happy isn’t some grand sin.  It’s okay to embrace it.”

“I am.  I have,” Zeke said.  “But you know this can’t last.”

Already, he’d spent far longer with Talia than he’d intended.  Months had passed, and to the point where he half expected all of reality to unravel before he ever made it back to the Creator.  It hadn’t, and there were no further signs of degradation.  Just the normal state, which he’d noticed so long ago.

It would only take one broken thread to start a cascade of failures that would bring everything crashing down.  And that could happen at any moment.  Every second he spent wallowing in his own contentment was a risk to every single universe that comprised their shared reality. 

But he couldn’t leave.

He’d tried multiple times.  On a few occasions, he’d made it all the way to the gate before turning back.  But he’d always returned to Talia’s side. 

It wasn’t just happiness that kept him coming back, though that was what he focused on.  Rather, it was the natural desire to put off the inevitable.  He rationalized by telling himself that he’d never committed to returning to the Creator immediately.  He would go back, but on his own time.

“I am aware,” she said, pulling away.  She rose from the bed in all her naked, languid glory.  Zeke had difficulty not staring and little reason to avoid it.  He remembered when Talia spent most of her time trying to pretend she wasn’t there.  She’d hidden in the shadows, desperate to conceal her own presence from those who considered her a monster. 

That girl was long gone. 

And in her place was a literal undead goddess who drew attention everywhere she went.  Simply by existing, she was the most interesting thing on any world.  And in most universes. 

After all, with the dissolution of the old pantheon, Talia had taken her place as one of the oldest greater gods in existence.  Pudge was up there too, but he kept mostly to himself.  Meanwhile, Talia acted as an emissary for her people, clashing with the bigoted people who hated the very notion of undead walking among them. 

Mostly, she had been unsuccessful in gaining acceptance, but she had still made a little headway.  Zeke hoped that she would find more success in the future, though he knew he wouldn’t be around to see it. 

She crossed her arms and stood over him.  “I don’t accept this,” she announced.

“You don’t accept what?”

“This!” she said, gesturing at nothing in particular.  “The situation.  Your insistence that you’re the only person in the entire universe who can save us from being consumed by some unknowable monster.”

“It’s not technically a monster,” Zeke pointed out.  “The Abyss isn’t even a thing, really.  It’s just all-consuming nothingness.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

Zeke sat up and shrugged. “I don’t know what else to tell you.  It doesn’t make sense because the Abyss is so far outside of our comprehension that it literally can’t make sense,” he explained. 

“And yet, the Creator tells you that you’re the key to everything.”

“My death, actually,” Zeke revealed.  “I’m meant to sacrifice myself so that he can use my power to repair the Framework.”

“Do you know how insane that sounds?”

Zeke shrugged again.  “No more insane than anything else I’ve seen,” he answered.  “All of reality is made of infinite threads that somehow also forms the basis for the Framework that assigns us stats and gives us skills.  Oh, and it’s also a cage that keeps out the Abyss.  But not by stopping it.  It’s more of a maze that slows it down through infinite twists and turns.  None of it makes sense, but I think that’s because that’s the only way it can work.”

“And you trust the Creator?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why are you doing this?!” she demanded.

Zeke sighed.  He’d already made peace with his own mortality.  He was prepared to die, so he’d begun to look at it all with fatalistic inevitability.  But Talia hadn’t had enough time to reach that point, and instead, she was stuck in the denial phase.  Or maybe it was anger.  Either way, she still believed he could find another way. 

He couldn’t.

“Because this is my only option.  I’ve tried so many other avenues,” Zeke stated.  “I just don’t have the power or the expertise to fix the Framework.”

“And you’re convinced that we need to?”

“I felt it, Talia.  I know it’s hard to understand, but that…that force was so far beyond me that, even if I gained power at the same rate I have so far, it would be millions of years before I could even think to challenge it.  If it’s even possible.”

“But the Creator manages it.”

“Barely.”

“How did he get so powerful, then?”

Zeke shrugged.  “I don’t know.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“Of course it bothers me.  There’s just no way I can answer that question, so I’ve chosen to move past it.”

“What was there before, though?”

“What?”

“Before the Framework, which the Creator built to stop the advancement of the Abyss, there had to be something, right?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“And if there was something, then why can’t we go back to that?  It spawned the Creator.  Presumably, the Waymaster, too,” she reasoned.  “Maybe things aren’t as dire as the Creator wants you to believe.”

“If you could see the threads, you would understand.”

Talia sighed, then turned away.  For a few moments, she paced back and forth, obviously considering the situation.  Or rather, trying to think of solutions.  But there were none, save for the one the Creator had offered.  It just required Zeke to sacrifice himself so everyone else could live.

At first, he’d considered it an honor.  There couldn’t be a nobler death than to give one’s life to save multiple universes.  Uncountable lives would be saved.  Society would live on.  And countless others would have a chance to be born, to live, and to find happiness.

The sheer scale of it all was unfathomable. 

And yet, it hadn’t been long before doubts began to set in.  What good was it to save everyone else when he wasn’t around to enjoy it?  He didn’t owe them anything, and if he couldn’t survive, then there was no reason to save everyone else.

They were a coward’s thoughts, and Zeke was ashamed that they’d crossed his mind, that they’d gotten their hooks into his mind and refused to let go.

Even so, he’d vowed to do his part.  He’d made his arrangements.  He’d said his goodbyes.  He was prepared to see it through.  But always, in the back of his mind, those insidious thoughts remained, ready to gnaw away at his resolve and bring it all crashing down around him.

It had all come to a head when Talia had greeted him not with disdain and disappointment, but instead had embraced him.  She’d begged him to stay.  She’d fanned the flames of his cowardice, and now they’d begun to burn out of control.

It was disgusting.

And he refused to let them burn away the heroism he held at the core of his existence. 

He had always thought of himself as a hero.  As the sort of man who’d throw himself into danger just to rescue an innocent.  He’d gotten away from that as he’d let the lines of morality blur.  He had killed so many people.  He’d destroyed whole planets, and for little more than convenience or, in the worst case, negligence. 

But in this instance, when it mattered the most, he would play the role he was fated to play.  He would, for once, live up to his own idea of himself.

Talia would just have to accept that.

He pushed himself to his feet and reached out, grabbing Talia’s shoulder to stop her pacing.  He pulled her close and hugged her tight.  “I’m sorry.  I wish it was different, but it’s not.”

“There has to be another way,” she said.  He could hear the tears in her voice.

“There isn’t.  Believe me, I wish there was.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“It does.”

“It’s not fair!” she breathed, burying her face in his chest. 

“That’s life,” he replied with a stoicism he didn’t feel. 

For a long time, they remained like that, and she wept.  No longer did she cry tears of blood; apparently, that had fallen by the wayside when she’d ascended.  Even so, it was a rare occasion to see her weeping, and Zeke wasn’t entirely certain how to comfort her. 

Finally, he managed to say, “I don’t want to be a coward.”

She pulled away. “What?”

“A coward.  My whole life, that’s been one of my greatest fears.  That I would be the kind of person who ran from difficult situation.  I don’t retreat, Talia.  Even when I want to.  Maybe because I want to.  I don’t know.  I just can’t turn away from this,” he stated with more conviction than he truly felt. 

At present, he wanted nothing more than to stay with Talia.  Perhaps they could run away together.  They could leave all of their responsibilities behind and settle down in some version of paradise where no one would bother them.  They would both live for quite a while longer, and so long as reality remained intact, they could be happy together.

But just as Talia would never abandon her people, Zeke couldn’t abandon the reality that he was the only person who could save everyone else.  He had a chance to be a true hero, and even after everything he’d done, he couldn’t turn away from it. 

“You aren’t a coward.”

“Maybe.  Maybe not.  But no matter what I’ve done in the past, if I don’t do this, that’s what I would become.  You have to understand that I couldn’t live with that version of myself.”

She sighed.  “I know you’re right.  I just don’t want to accept it.”

“If it makes any difference, I don’t want to either.  I just…I just wish things had turned out differently, that we didn’t waste all the time we could have been together.”

“We had to part ways to become the people who could appreciate one another,” she stated. 

“Do you really believe that?”

Talia shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I want to.”

“Because the alternative is that we remained apart when we didn’t really need to.”

“Something like that.”

Zeke was about to respond when his mind wandered back to one of Talia’s points.  Only a few minutes ago, she’d asked what had come before the Creator had created the Framework to guard against the Abyss.  It was no immediate process, and in fact, Zeke had seen the evidence of the first iteration of the Framework.  That suggested that it had taken the Creator quite some time to build the cage that protected them.

“What are you thinking?” asked Talia.

Zeke shrugged.  “Just trying to make sense of it all.”  He explained what was on his mind, then asked, “I don’t know if it’s just me, but I find myself wondering something pretty important.  What if the Framework isn’t meant to keep the Abyss out, but rather, that it’s there to keep us inside?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then you need to answer that question before you can go any further.”

“There isn’t time.”

“Make time.  Or failing that, ask the Creator.”

“He will lie.”

“Of course he will, but every lie gives us a little bit of truth.  If you really want to get to the bottom of a mystery, putting those pieces together is the only way.”

Zeke went silent, but already, he found himself trying to figure everything out.  He was no great investigator.  He wasn’t even that smart.  But if he epitomized any characteristic, it was a stubborn refusal to quit.  He intended to channel that into his current task, and in doing so, maybe he could find a way to survive what was coming.