The Unbearable Mirror
By Donraj
The lone figure pulled the
dark blue plastic slicker he had donned tightly around himself as he ran
through the rain. A short man, he moved a rapid pace across the muddy ground.
As he made his way towards his destination, hoping to be inside before the
storm broke in full, Billy Lee Black thought about the events that had brought
him here.
Things had moved quickly
after the fall of Deus. The refugees, the handful of survivors that had not
been mutated into Reapers (he still thought of them by the Ethos's term)
or been slaughtered in the following purge by the lethal Seraphs had hailed
him and the rest of the Yggdrasil's crew as heroes. The remnant, a rag-tag
assortment from Aveh, Kislev, Nisan, Shevat, even Solaris, had come together
for the first time in peace. After the horror that was Deus, their once bitter
hatreds towards one another had seemed meaningless. Ironically, the schemes
of the Ethos and their Solarian masters, which had intended nothing less
then the extermination of every human being on the planet, had in the end
actually brought about true peace.
Deep down, Billy was both
comforted and disgusted by that knowledge.
That peace, that unprecedented
sense of brotherhood and cooperation had promised the dawn of a new age,
free from the conflicts and errors of the past. It seemed that the ancient
cycle of war and violence had finally come to an end. Billy had actually
begun to believe that he would never have to lift his revolvers in battle
again.
Of course, it didn't work
out that way.
Fortunately for him and a
great many other people, Billy had put off the urge to beat his guns into
plowshares. What had not occurred to him, had not occurred to anyone at first,
was soon brutally revealed. The Reapers, Krelian's bastard children, were
still alive and hungry for blood.
It was not as bad as it might
have been. Most of the people who had been transformed when Gasper's nanomachines
had removed the limiters of the long manipulated populace of the world had
either been successfully treated or had rejoined with Deus, dying along with
him. The Seraph angels, nightmares even to an army of Gears, had been annihilated
along with their master. Only the smaller ones remained, the ones that had
not been able to act as parts for Deus's rebirth. And there were many of
them.
The survivors had scattered.
They were few enough as it was; they did not dare allow the Wels to trap
them in one group. The Titans, as Fei, Billy, Bart, and all the rest had
come to be known, were pressed into service once more, acting as leaders,
planners, fighters. Citan and Maria had hurled themselves into rebuilding
whatever they could of the old technology. Between Citan's brilliance and
Maria's engineering skills, they had been able to begin a technological
Renaissance, gradually building the framework for a world without Ether
power.
And that was why Billy was
here, running through the mud, trying to outrace a storm. A particularly
dangerous group of Reapers had been reported in the area, raiding the settlement
that was being raised nearby. Nearly two dozen had been slain by the ravening
creatures thus far, and the raids had shown no sign of slowing. They had
all but thrown themselves at his feet when they had learned that he, the
famous Reaper slayer, the great Etone, had come to the region.
Billy had felt like throwing
up.
Finally, the building he
was looking for appeared up ahead. Putting on a last burst of speed, Billy
reached the doors of the abandoned ruin and forced the heavy double doors
open. Throwing off the rain cloak and revealing the Etone robes beneath,
he walked in and looked around the old Ethos church where the pack was believed
to be hiding.
He immediately recognized
the familiar layout of an Ethos chapel. The confessional stall would be to
the side, the living and office area to the back. He saw no bodies; either
the Brothers who had watched over this place had escaped the Solarian and
Deusian purges or they had been killed elsewhere. The sight of the chapel,
the same layout as in every Etone church, brought memories back to the
surface.
He remembered the day he
had first entered one of them, remembered how awed he had been at the sight
of the stained glass windows and high, painted ceiling. He remembered the
sight of the ranks of the clergy, all dressed in identical robes, the entire
congregation echoing the presiding Bishop Stone's words in perfect unison.
It had seemed the most holy place in the entire world to young Billy, the
home of the people that served the will of God.
How bitter that thought seemed
now!
He remembered the day he
completed his training, when he had taken on the garments and vows of an
Etone, to defend the lambs of God against the Reaper wolves, to save precious
lives and more precious souls. He remembered the smile on Stone's face as
he personally anointed him with the holy oils, sealing him as one of God's
Chosen. He remembered, most bitterly of all, how proud he was to have pleased
Bishop Stone, the old man whom he secretly thought of as his true father.
And then he remembered the
rest. The meeting with Elly and the others, the revelations, the discovery
of the true nature of the Ethos, the massacre of the unsuspecting brethren
by Solarian assassins, and the horrifying truth of the Reapers he had butchered
so zealously.
"Humans," Stone had said.
"Just like you!"
In a selfish part of himself,
Billy wished he had never agreed to accompany her, never agreed to help them
save the injured Fei.
He remembered the shock of
Stone's betrayal most keenly of all, the manipulations, the lies, and the
truth of his mother's death. Those Reapers that had ripped her apart before
the tender young eyes of him and his sister, the Reapers Stone had shot to
death seconds too late, they.
And so he had left, his faith
in the Ethos destroyed. And with the others, he had embarked on a new quest,
to slay the God he had once loved so dearly.
He was amazed at times that
he had been able to go on, to keep fighting.
To think that the Sisters
of Nisan, Nisan of all places, had been right in the end! His mind flashed
back to the Ethos' teaching on the rival religion, the dogmatic apologetics
manuals that had been part of his education. He remembered the Etones that
had lectured on them, remembered their strident, fervent words. "They are
idolaters!" his teachers had cried, always insisting that they said these
things only for the good of the Sister's souls. "They pray to themselves,
seeking to be as gods themselves, as all heretical groups have done in one
way or another, as Satan, the Father of Heresies spoke to our first parents!"
How was it that one of those writers had put it? Ah yes, "Throughout history,
the same heresy has been arisen, like noxious smoke out of Hell, the idea
that humans can be gods!"
Billy's mind, even after
the truth of the Ethos had been made plain, had still clung to those teachings,
closing his ears to the Sisters' words. He felt ashamed as he thought back
to the suspicion he had viewed Margie with then.
The sisters of Nisan did
not think themselves gods; far from it. Every time they knelt in prayer,
every time they spoke to their innermost feelings, they looked into a mirror
of themselves, a perfect reflection that forced them to see themselves for
what they were, to face their flaws each and every day. Who could think
themselves a god after that ordeal? Billy wished he had their courage, wished
he had the strength to face that unbearable mirror that was his soul.
The flash of lightning outside
cast the only real illumination in the ruined chapel. Under its wild, furious
light, he saw them. The Reapers. They came from every possible shadow and
entrance; from behind the altar, dropping from the rafters, from the rooms
in back, and even one stumbling out of the confessional stall (did some part
of it still hunger for redemption?). As they formed a semi-circle around
him, a brief lull came over the storm. The chapel was almost pitch-black,
but that posed no real impediment to Billy. Their eyes, glowing red with
a light of insane rage, of creatures tortured until only blood could comfort
them, marked them clearly, even in the darkness.
Calmly, without a hint of
anger, he met their feral gazes one by one. "I'm sorry," he said quietly,
his voice almost a whisper. "I'm sorry you had to endure this nightmare,
I'm sorry you lost your lives, and I'm sorry we weren't able to save you."
Slowly, Billy reached to the holsters in his robes and drew two revolvers.
"And I'm sorry that this is the only thing I can do to help you."
A particularly loud clap
of thunder broke the silence. The elemental flash of electricity lit the
entire room, revealing the scene. That apparently broke the Wels out of their
inactivity. Snarling with rage, they leapt at Billy, twisted appendages raking
for his flesh.
Billy stood like a statue,
guns still by his side. At the last moment before they had him, he snapped
into action. He whirled, guns firing. They hesitated for a moment, and Billy
took full advantage of it. He charged straight at one of them, firing two
quick shots into its midsection and placing the final one right between its
eyes. He threw himself into a forward somersault, right past the still standing
corpse. He spun and began firing shot after shot, each bullet killing or
wounding a Reaper.
Something, a tongue, a tail,
a tentacle, Billy couldn't say, whipped across his legs, knocking him to
the ground. In an instant, a bipedal creature stood over him, blood covering
its face, claws and fangs bared. He slammed the revolvers into its belly
and fired, over and over, nearly lifting the massive thing off the ground.
He rolled to the side as it collapsed towards him, barely avoiding being
trapped.
The storm built, lightning
flashing every few seconds. The familiar stench of gunpowder filled the air,
assaulting his lungs. He moved like a whirlwind, years of intensive training
and fighting experience eliminating the need for conscious thought. He simply
moved and reacted by instinct. And he killed.
Finally, it was done. Billy,
his clothes soaked with gore, gasped, staggering as he tried to stay on his
feet. He looked at the roomful of bodies.
Once, he would have been
proud of this.
He fell to one knee, gasping
from exhaustion and raw emotions. Eyes blurring with sweat and blood (he
tried to convince himself they weren't tears) he raised his head and gazed
at the altar.
Another Reaper stood there.
It was a horrific thing, easily seven feet tall and hunched over, eyes wild
with an unholy rage. Its body seemed stripped of its skin, laying bare thick
cords of muscles across the creature's huge form. Massive claws protruded
from its bloated right arm, while the almost human left appendage hung useless
at its side. It opened its jaw, revealing row upon row of razor-sharp teeth,
bits of flesh from its last meal still clinging to them. But the most horrible
thing of all, to Billy's eyes, was the pendant that encircled its bulky neck
like a noose.
It was an Ethos ankh. This
creature, this nightmare, had once been an Etone.
Trembling, Billy forced his
right arm up, taking aim at the creature. He fired, striking it dead-on in
the forehead. The creature, made of pain and muscle and bone, jerked back,
then straightened, apparently unharmed.
Billy fired again, and again,
both revolvers firing a fusillade of bullets. Finally, he heard a dry
click.
They were empty.
Billy threw the now useless
weapons to the ground, and walked forward. Standing mere feet away from the
monstrous creature, he craned his neck, looking up into its pain-filled
eyes.
"Is it blood?" he asked quietly.
"Is it my blood you want, my blood that can end your pain?"
The creature seemed to listen
to his words, to calm a bit as if some part of its forgotten humanity was
touched by Billy's words. Billy spread his arms wide.
"Come," he said.
The Etone-turned-Reaper almost
seemed to smile at that. For just a moment, it almost seemed human.
Then the pain flashed through
its mind once more, and it knew only the desire for blood. It lashed out,
seizing the helpless Billy by the neck. Raising him up, it lifted him towards
its salivating mouth like a mouse to a cat's jaws.
Billy reached beneath his
robes, producing a small combat shotgun, perfectly crafted to his slight
frame. In one quick movement, he shoved it into the creature's mouth.
"Forgive me!" he cried as
he slowly pulled the trigger.
A lightning bolt struck not
twenty feet from the church, shaking the earth beneath their feet.
They fell to the ground,
the Reaper in a crumpled ball, Billy into a cat-like crouch. Falling to his
knees beside the dying creature, he reached out and gently grasped its left
arm, the one un-mutated part of its body. Forcing his voice into a peaceful
tone, he spoke to it.
"Rest in peace, child of
the Lord."
The creature grew still as
he spoke, seeming to take comfort in his words. The hand tightened in Billy's
grasp, whether in a last reflex or in a message of thanks, Billy could not
say. The hand fell limp, all tension leaving the Reaper's muscles.
A tear began to fall from
Billy's eye as he looked tenderly at the flaccid hand. For a moment, he closed
his eyes, then threw his head back.
"Damn you Krelian, and all
of you works! Damn you Stone, and your promises of salvation!" he screamed
at the top of his lungs. He dropped his head back down, his voice falling
to a whisper. "And damn me for being a part of it all," he finished
quietly.
A bolt of lightning hit somewhere
far off, eerily silent. As it did, Billy saw a face on the ground before
him. It was gone in an instant, leaving a confused Billy in the dark. Rising
to his feet, he stumbled towards the altar. Grabbing one of the candles that
remained there, he reached into his robes, fishing for a certain device.
Pulling the small electric fire-starter out, he held it to the end of the
blessed candle and lit it. It cast little light, barely a flicker, but it
was enough. He returned to the spot where he had seen the reflection and
knelt down, holding the candle above him.
It was blood. A puddle had
formed from the gaping wound in the head of the last Reaper. In it, he saw
a reflection, a tear-filled, despairing face that could only be his own.
He drew back, afraid of the sight, then forced himself to look back. Setting
the candle by the puddle, he looked at it, an expression of mingled fear
and hope fighting across his features. Bringing his hands together, he began
to pray, never closing his eyes, never turning his face away from that
mirror.
The doors swung open, and
Billy walked through, his body cleaned and his garments washed. The storm
had broken during the night, and the birds were beginning to sing. He looked
up at the sun, beginning to rise above the horizon. Smiling, he began to
walk back to the settlement, back to the children of God.
The End