32.14

 

“I’m sorry.” That assistant turns to her. “You seem nice. It was unpleasant to deceive you, and unfitting for one such as I”

“Why, though?” Roisin looks from her and then to Pestilence. “Was this all a set-up from the beginning?”

“We all have our parts to play.” Pestilence barely glances at Astaroth but it is enough that Roisin can spot the collusion between them.

“You, too?” She turns to Astaroth and strikes him, open palmed, in the chest. “I trusted you. All that about genetic engineering to make sure I could take the mantle was just hyperbole and bullshit?”

“No.” Astaroth has the decency to look shocked. “I wouldn’t lie to you. You are the greatest achievement we have made with mortals. I, personally, consider you the greatest achievement I have participated in since Necator americanus. You are the pinnacle of human achievement, the ultimate fusion of mortal and Elohim, capable of taking back the mantle of Famine and becoming more than you ever were before, which you have proved admirably. Did we do a little prompting to get you to the right destination? Undoubtedly, but get there you did, and we are left to wonder if you hadn’t just got there anyway if we’d never even interfered. Look at you! You’re a marvel. You’re the first demi-mortal ever to have made a portal to release Nephilim and precipitate the end of the world as we know it.”

“But I thought you were against the angels destroying the world?”

“Oh, we are, we are.” Astaroth put his arm around her shoulders like a conspiratorial brother. “We want the world to end as we know it, whereas Heaven wants it to end completely so that they can gather up all the souls and fractals of souls and become the Creator again.”

“But I thought the Creator was an angel with the mantle of Creation.”

“It is. He is, I should say.” Astaroth turns to Pestilence, brushing away a fly circling his head. “Am I not being clear and forthright?”

“You are, brother, but be fair to her, she is still half-mortal.” He makes a twirling motion with his finger pointing at his head. “Roisin, darling, it’s like this. We need the current architecture – the one Hasmed is currently repairing – pulled down and rebuilt but not from scratch, no. The foundations of Creation are all there… well, most of them… it’s just the whole bit about self-extinction we’re concerned with. We were a little worried with the invention of the combustion engine so early on and, I’ll admit, we should have quashed that idea from the very start, but we were curious to see how far it would go. You’re almost there, but you’re about three farthings away from heating the world you live in until all the oxygen bubbles away through the atmosphere and you get another Mercury.”

“Isn’t Mercury dead because it’s too close to the sun?”

“It is, now, yes. Nice that you named it Mercury, though. It was always Earth when we were your age.”

“Anyway.” Astaroth steers her away from Pestilence and the assistant. “You’re here now, and that’s what matters. Now that you’re Famine again—”

“I’m not Famine. You said I didn’t have to be Famine. I’m something new.”

“Yes, of course you are. Just a figure of speech, I assure you. It’s been called ‘Famine’ for ten millennia, so you’ll have to forgive me from using it’s deadname the first few times. It’s not a They/Them, is it?”

“It hasn’t expressed a preference. Just gives me pointers as I blunder along, trying to do my best.”

“And you’re doing so well!” He gave her shoulders a squeeze. “So very, very well. The sixth seal is already stirring.”

Roisin’s breath catches. “What is the Sixth Seal? Why is it so important that you went to so much trouble for it?”

Astaroth answers before Pestilence can, his voice low and almost reverent. “The Sixth Seal is Architecture.”

Roisin frowns. “I thought you already had that and wanted it gone. Hasmed’s repairing it as we speak.”

Astaroth meets her eyes. “But the Sixth Seal will tear it all down and then all will see what the world really when the architecture is removed.”

Pestilence smiles. “And what people really are without it.”

Roisin feels the mantle pulse behind her ribs. “What does that mean?”

Astaroth inhales. “It means truth. Raw. Unfiltered. Unprotected.” He gestures to the walls, which flicker faintly. “When the Sixth Seal breaks, the world stops hiding its fractures.”

Pestilence adds: “And people will stop hiding theirs.”

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