35.5

 

She shakes her head as the collapse spreads outwards; a cascade of dominoes falling in all directions with her as the epicentre of destruction; a shockwave that permeates like nuclear fallout through all the planes of existence, collapsing them all, compressing them like a zip file into one distinct plane where everything that ever was of ever will be has equal validity and merit for existence. It spreads through metaphor and meaning; perception and architecture, Heaven and Hell and all those states of being that people believed so hard they became real.

Everywhere Revelation touches unravels lies and lays bare the truths of the world; illusions vanish like parlour tricks under studio lighting and the fractures in people, in objects, in beliefs and become visible even to the limited vision of the human eye.

The neighbours scream as they see their own shadows, as living and animate as any horror film might imagine. Paul gasps as he sees the sickness inside him, curling outward like tendrils, through the flat and out through the gaps where the floors and walls used to be. Steve staggers as he sees the terror he would not dare to utter

Pestilence smiles, flexing his thin wrists under tattered robes of russet and green. In the mortal plane he is impossibly tall, impossibly thin, and impossibly neutral-gendered. He laughs as he looks down at the now-visible skeins of toxic miasma that curl and dart like individual, living organisms.

Astaroth braces himself, his wings stretching halfway to forever as the architectures begins to collapse all the planes outward from their position at what seems to be the centre of every universe imaginable; a universe where everything exists upon one single plane with an upstairs flat in Dunstall Road, Wolverhampton at the epicentre of all reality.

Hasmed staggers backward, glitching wildly. His wings flicker between void and stone and fire. The void around them spasms as his outline slips seamlessly between forms: human, angel, plasma, and a furious, gaseous cloud of wings and eyes and teeth. He shrieks, his voice echoing through Roisin, through all of space: “No. No. No. This is not permitted. This is not written. This is not allowed…” He looks at Roisin, who is once more centred next to Pestilence, War and Death, each of whom have solid, human-like forms. “You did this. You have destroyed Creation.”

And for the first time in all of Time, he screams as he is faced with a world without obfuscation; without scaffolding; without architecture.

Roisin steps forward, her voice as steady as the certainty of a woman who can cite her sources of information. “No. I’ve revealed it.”

As the remainder of the architecture trembles, and the void begins to draw in upon itself, in upon Hasmed, the seals Roisin and the others begin to hum; each one a perfect tone in the heptatonic scale: Do, re, me, fa, so, la…

The Seventh Seal stirs.

Astaroth shouts above the tremendous din: “Roisin… I don’t know what happens next… I just know that there’s no going back.”

Roisin smiles at him, tears running freely down her cheeks as the void rushes toward Hasmed like the collision of a extinction level meteor filmed in reverse. She nods and speaks, though she has no idea if he can hear her or not. “I know.”

At eye level to her, are all the creatures described by those who wrote the religious texts. Saints, angels, demon, devils, djinns, spectres, and many species she cannot put a name to, because she has no knowledge of them. Above them are the large, crystalline souls of gods. Not just the Christian one and the Jewish one, but those she recognises as Hindu, Native American, Pagan, Viking, Egyptian, Roman and Greek, and a host of others she can’t name. Several of them are smaller in statue than the others, and these she recognises as mortals risen to godhood: Pharaohs, Emperors, and some obscure Americans from minor religious cults.

She looks down, and where in the flat there was a floor of ragged, tattered carpet, there now lies almost all of creation, spread out around her like a spreading matrix of possibility. Around her, and on an infinitely flat plane, meaning see can see everyone who was, or is currently alive, over a hundred, billion people in all, though disappointingly, there is not a single soul who is yet to be born. [RG1] At this very attosecond[RG2]  of time, they are all equally alive, equally valid, and equally unaware of each other.

At least she hopes they’re unaware of each other. Things will get very awkward, otherwise.

Then the Seventh Seal cracks open.

 [RG1]Thus my stance on pro-abortion

 [RG2]1/250th  plank

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