Adam's Ale Is Hard To Drink

*****************************

Johnny 'Iron Consul' Caldwell

I nearly trip over my own feet as both the sky and earth tremble. The vibrant city of Gravecross, still joyful due to the protections of Canyon and the millennia-old Graves, descends into chaos as the earth convulses beneath our feet. Once stalwart constructs of brick and mortar, buildings crack and splinter like things of paper, their structural integrity hanging by a thread. Panic ripples through the street like wildfire, and people scatter in all directions.

Desperate cries shift my attention every which way as Canyon, beside me, stands tall. He remains strangely composed amidst the tumult as I dash to the side, yanking a child from under a falling lamp. Holding the child with one hand, I flex Fate Sealer from its holster, unleashing all six rounds at the falling stones that threaten the child's mother. The shaking earth does little to hamper my aim.

The rocks turn from dozens of head-sized brick boulders to simple dust, and I wave the mother over, shouting for people to gather in the middle of the broad street. We need to keep people away from the buildings.

I turn to Canyon to get him to do something to aid me, but he's already on it. In fact, I quickly discover he is a much better guardian than I.

With a simple clench of his fist, Ether screams into a rampant river of import from him, splitting into a thousand strands that sink into the earth all over. Stone rises from the ground, weaving around imperiled structures like a protective cocoon. The buildings, once on the brink of collapse, find renewed stability. I gape at the meticulous nature of his Ether and how intricately he can weave it in so many different directions. He might not have risen in Sigil in decades, but that doesn't mean he hasn't found any improvement in that long time.

Flowing rock even grows from the ground, creating umbrella-like shields for the panicking citizens of his city as not a single person is injured. In fact, seeing Canyon's actions, they grow calm, or at least far more relaxed than I would imagine. I breathe a sigh of relief as the cascade of debris that threatened the lives of hundreds of civilians is thwarted.

Canyon's calm demeanor becomes a source of reassurance for those around us as I see all the people turn to him, relying on him for protection and guidance. It reminds me of the way people looked at Marshall, only far more dependent.

Those that stood with Marshall were powerhouses on their own. Even the weakest of his soldiers would be an elite amongst any troop of Hunters. Their independence kept them from this weak dependence, and it feels odd to see after traveling with Sigiled for so long.

Sometimes, I forget just how fragile Unsigiled are. It's like we are a whole different race. Still, though, a well-placed bullet can end most Sigiled. Only the greatest are immune to conventional weapons. Even I... I could die to lead that enters me before I could Glitch it.

Nevertheless, Canyon's unwavering presence makes him a beacon of hope for the people. I step aside as shouts reach his ears, but he addresses the concerns with a calm and steady voice, assuring the people that they are shielded from the impending danger.

"Calm down. Every stay quiet. It is not yet over, but I will keep you safe. Just don't panic."

The many around us nod, having complete faith in the old man who has guarded over them for many decades.

But then, as if the tumultuous earthquake is not enough, a shadow falls from the sky. The sky transforms into a wave of pitch black, blotting out the once radiant sunlight in a quick swell of darkness that even I, with my twice-Metamorphosized eyes, can barely catch.

My heart skips a beat as I loathe to think what this might mean. Earthquakes happen, especially on a plateau like this with the Arca that reigns below. It's not that suspicious, but this?

Squinting my eyes with Deadeye's Gaze amplifying my vision beyond that of any other creature, I spot something far in the abyss above. Whimpers and panicked screams fill the air, though they do not see what I see. Canyon, however, does gaze upward with me.

A colossal silhouette of a multi-winged bird materializes above, its presence casting a haunting shadow on the trembling city. The silhouette, however, does not come from light. The creature... is so dark that it is visible through the abyss.

My hand tightens around my gun as I worry about what is about to happen.

Thunder booms across the world, devoid of the usual accompanying flashes of lightning. The lack of light is worrisome. Some others are trying to ignite torches, but their radiance is snuffed out by some unknown force.

Canyon's voice breaks the ominous silence with a whisper laden with shock, loud enough only for me to hear.

"P'mola, the Shrouded Curtain, the Ending Day."

The weight of those words settles upon me—an unsettling realization that another god has met its end. P'mola, better known as the Goddess of Night, or Night, thought to be long dead, is finally put to rest. That figure above is the shadow left behind by her demise, just as Haashch did with putting out all the fires on the surface upon his death.

I didn't even know her name was P'mola. I wonder what other God's names have been lost to time. Death is one. So is the Devil. Why were those forgotten? How does Canyon—he's a historian. That's how he knows.

The earthquakes, the reverberations of a divine demise, abruptly cease, leaving behind an eerie stillness. I shuffle side to side as the air feels odd. I turn to Canyon as he rubs his forehead, sighing.

"Another down. He sure is making quick work of them, huh?"

I nod to the old man, but his tone is odd. Shouldn't we be happy that Gods are dying?

"What is the issue here? Why do you seem so... remorseful?"

Canyon waves to the many people waiting on him before responding to me, and I holster my gun as he seems to relax. I'll trust his instincts that things are over for now.

"Go back to your homes! It is not dangerous, but the sun will be down for an indeterminable amount of time! Just to be safe, I want to have guards and patrol to ensure nothing unwanted comes from the darkness! Slow! Don't rush! We have plenty of time! I'm right here!"

The streams of people disperse gradually as Canyon leads me through the crowd. I walk past many people I know, waving at soldiers and sharing a glance with Lennon as he sits atop a building. After looking at me, his head returns to staring at the darkness in the sky.

What an abnormal man.

After several minutes, Canyon and I end up at a small building with a sign in front of it titled "Sydney's Slices" with listings of food and prices below the name of the restaurant. I follow him into the building, full of curiosity.

The restaurant is still running, with a cook moving inside of it, though there are no patrons. Canyon, however, receives an immediate welcome from the cook.

"Great grandfather! I'll get you in just a moment! Tyrone is on the roof checking for any demons. He thinks a Skinwalker is going to use the opportunity to strike."

Canyon laughs, sliding a chair out from a table with a creak before motioning me to sit across from him. The old man folds his hands together while falling back in his seat.

"No worries, dear. This is the restaurant of my late wife's family, Johnny. I try to stay out of all their affairs for their own safety, but some, like Laura, want to be in this brutal world of ours."

I get where he's coming from immediately. He probably has so many family members from his age that he can't possibly protect them all to any reasonable degree without lording over them. Lording over them like I did to... A...

Breathing in deeply, I push the past away.

"I understand. So... what's the problem with Vincent killing those Gods?"

Canyon leans back, his eyes scraping every inch of the building like that of a hawk searching for prey. His chest fills deeply with air before he answers.

"First off... we should say his name far less. Gods can recognize when their names are called and, eventually, their titles if they are powerful enough, like Her. The God of Desolation might be human, but it's best if we don't disrupt him or draw his attention in any way. Who knows how becoming a God changes the mind."

I bob my head along with Canyon's thoughts as worry rises within me. I've said that man's name a whole bunch of times since he ascended. I'll have to spread that information out. No more referring to him as Vincent Harvey. He is now the God of Desolation or Desolation. And even simply becoming an Angel pulls on the fabric of one's mind. The older and more experienced they are, the less the pull affects the mind, but even I get urges. A God? Born from man? Vincent is far from a mere man, but still... he is only human. I wonder how he is faring.

Canyon, however, is not done speaking. He leans in closer, arranging his elbows on the table.

"The Gods dying is, on the surface, an outstanding thing for us. It lessens the threat of Her when she comes. But... it also comes with risks. Each time a God dies or rises, a change becomes permanent in the world. Their remnant Ether or Divinity, the artifacts that can be left after their death, leave lingering effects."

I furrow my brows before glancing out the windows of the restaurant. The darkness remains in the sky, making it hard to see anything, even for me. The only saving grace for the Unsigiled is the many lights throughout the city that bring a semblance of light. As I'm distracted, a pair of hands slides two plates onto our table. On each plate are long sandwiches with dripping cheese.

Turning back, I find Canyon's distant relative sliding back into the darkness of the building. They must also be a Sigiled to see in this gloaming. Probably some form of Priest based on the warm food with no smell of fire.

Before I take a bite of the food that snakes its way into my nose with a mouth-watering scent, I prompt the Furious Mountain as he's already shoveling food into his mouth.

"What kind of lingering effects?"

Canyon nods heavily while wiping his mouth and setting down his food.

"Ah, I love this place so much. Hmm... Records hint at the idea that Gluskab was able to manipulate his Divinity to leave behind the Lighthouses. I believe that the fall of them marks the point where She has completely taken over his artifact. As for other Gods... When Hutash died, you probably know her as the Goddess of Mud or the Eternal Grasses, the seas rushed in, consuming much of the land. Since then, more water has covered the world than land. Now, the Goddess Of Mud was one of the three strongest Gods in the ancient world, tied with Death and Apisirahts, so her remains did more than the usual Godfall."

Damn. That's... that's pretty bad. But...

"It can't be better to let them live, though? And what will happen with these two dead Gods? Will it stay night forever? What about Haashch? What will his death bring as an aftereffect beyond the extinguished lights? And... who is Ahpi-sir-rahts? I've never heard that name before. I thought the Eternal Grasses and the Biting Embrace were alone in their grand power beyond the other Gods."

Canyon can only shrug despite all his knowledge of the past. I curse under my breath as he throws out some guesses.

"Haashch's death will probably bring wildfires or bitter cold. I bet winter will be many times worse in the near future, if not forever. As for P'mola, I think... night will either be longer, or there will be periods without day. Like what happens up in the north of the Nahullo's lands. As for Apisirahts... he is who killed Hutash. The Morning Star is a terrible foe, a God that I worry to see my old rival face."

Fuck. And there are going to be many more Gods that will die. Closing my eyes, I bite into the sandwich, feeling the pleasant mix of ingredients. It's far better than anything I've had in a long time, and I quickly devour it, doing the same as Canyon.

Eating jerky and rations for years has dulled my taste, but I can certainly tell when something is extraordinary.

I can't help but shift my attention to the sky outside as I finish my meal.

There is always a silver lining.

The God of Night's death will mean more darkness for Virgil to hide in.

***********************

Wyatt 'Wendigo' Graves

The wooden raft, tied with what little rope we had left and the driftwood we found, creaks and groans beneath us as we sit in the middle of the vast sea. Virgil, with his Ether pushed down to his lower half, lies sprawled beside me. He should have woken up by now, but he's not. The thought that he might not ever dangles darkly in my mind. There is a chance I ruined his mind with what I did to save him.

I don't know all that much about Ether saturation, after all. I'm no doctor. I'm just someone who has survived it.

On the other side of the raft, Abraham holds his knees together as he gazes uneasily at the expanse of water surrounding our dinky vessel. It was a struggle to make this raft, but it was far less of one compared to scraping together seconds of life within that wasteland.

I breathe in slowly as I enjoy the peace of the sea. No monsters have bothered us. Nothing is chasing us. Sure, the beating sun is annoying, but that's just it. Water is easy to gather, but we must let Blodwyn purify it first with my blood since Lawless Lake is actually a sea. I hate that Maddox changed its name just to show his power.

Such a stupid thing.

The sky undergoes a startling transformation as I stare at it. My heart thunders as I feel Blodwyn groan in discomfort. Sitting up, I watch as day turns to night, shrouding us in an unnatural darkness. It's a thousand times worse than Blightraven's Power. The night reaches unto the horizon, as far as I can see.

"Uhh... Abraham? Is this normal? I've never been on the sea before."

I call out to Abraham as it's a disconcerting sight, but I have indeed never been on a large body of water in my life. We exchange glances, and I realize that it's not normal as I see the fear in his blue eyes.

"No. Not at all. Be on your toes. It could be an Angel? Maybe?"

His voice is concerned and high-pitched as we spin, moving our Ether in preparation. I crouch beside Virgil, holding onto him as we strain our eyes to make sense of our surroundings. A distant shape begins to rise on the horizon. I lean forward, trying to see what it is as it bears no fetter or chains of a Sigiled.

What is it?

Confusion etches itself on my face until Abraham, panic gripping his voice, squeezes my hand with a scream.

"It's a wave!"

The realization hits me like a thunderclap, and the gravity of our situation becomes chillingly clear. The wave is massive. From here, what can only be hundreds or thousands of feet away appears to be the size of a building.

In a desperate attempt to escape the impending onslaught, I plunge my hands into the water, makeshift oars in the absence of proper equipment. Blodwyn, feeling the danger, contorts my flesh to better move water. Abraham follows shortly after while using his mind to conjure three Nightmares, all being the most physically powerful ones.

Together, we row with all our might, their spectral forms lending ethereal strength to our feeble attempts. We move fast, far faster than any other time in the sea, the raft creaking from the water displaced and the motion it's under.

But it's not enough.

The sound of crashing waves intensifies a relentless march that draws closer with each passing moment. The darkened sky looms overhead, and every time I glance at it seems to shroud itself even further, a silhouette of something hidden in the gloaming. The wave, an unstoppable force of nature, approaches inexorably no matter how much effort or Ether I put into my arms.

Fingers claw into the wooden raft as I stop, locking eyes with Abraham. A silent acknowledgment of our peril passes between us as the water nears. With no other recourse, we grab onto each other, forming a human chain. This is what they did to climb down the plateau.

I shout at him as the water rises around us, swallowing us whole as we brace for the inevitable plunge into the abyss beneath the monstrous wave.

"Hold onto Virgil! He needs help more than I do!"

Abraham nods at me as the world becomes nothing but swirling currents, a disorienting dance of shadows and liquid chaos. I tighten my muscles and hold direly onto the two beside me as I see Abraham create a bubble of air around his head and Virgil's face, pushing out the water with Force. Clever usage. I wish I had something like that.

But I only have a fraction of a second to think before all other mental faculties are brought to bear about survival.

Our intertwined bodies are tossed like ragdolls in the relentless grip of the surging sea. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to shut out the disorienting sights as we are jostled and thrown in every direction. The pressure of the water crushes against my chest, cracking my bones as I feel something impact my back.

I pull the two closer, shielding them with my frame as Blodwyn extends to help cover the bits I can't.

"Thank you."

I thank the artifact, meaning it wholly, and it replies with genuine care. I can't help but show my surprise, even as the raft breaks against me.

"They are friend. Of course."

Beneath the surface, time becomes a muddled concept. Seconds stretch into eternity as we navigate the tumultuous waters. I hold my breath the best I can, but the pain rapidly grows in my chest. I don't use Painsforge, however, as that will only burn through more air with a more rapid heartbeat. I don't know much about how the human body works, but Earl has taught me to be calm underwater or while suffocated. It helps extend the time you have left.

With each passing moment, the struggle intensifies. The turbulent currents seem insurmountable, threatening to tear us apart as I watch Abraham's bubble shrink moment by moment. I kick against the water, propelling myself towards the surface with every ounce of strength left in my body. The need for air gnaws at my lungs. The relentless mark of time is slipping away.

But, as I push us to the top, I feel my vision darken further. The fetters of my friends, the little light that exists in my world, dampen as my muscles weaken.

The darkness closes in as I see a pair of eyes open at the last moment when nothing else remains.

Virgil wakes up when there has never been a darker time.