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PLAYING GOD

Part 7: No Matter The Cost

Grey. Concrete grey. Pain.

The gritty surface warped before his eyes, slipping in and out of focus. Slowly, he dragged his gaze down slightly, towards his body. It hurt. Of course it did. Everything hurt.

And as his eyes got closer to his stocky, broken frame, the dull concrete splashed suddenly, flashing into a blindingly slick crimson: dazzlingly colourful against the stony ground - but it was drying, darkening, congealing before his eyes. Time was passing.

There was a lot of the scarlet fluid, realised Brutus Redstone dully. He stared for a moment at it.

His head felt numb. Blood loss, of course. He narrowed his eyes, and felt ragged synapses start to sputter weakly inside his brain. Some of the fog of pain lifted.

The rat's thin lips twitched with pleasure as he felt himself start to think properly again. A creature of lesser willpower would have passed out long ago. But he was in control. Oh, by the Catalyst, he was.

Forcing his eyes lower, he saw his own body at last. Most of it, at any rate. Ah. So that, Brutus mused grimly, was where the blood was coming from. For a few seconds, the throbbing blurriness returned, and he simply stared at the gaping hole where half of his abdomen had been. Trying to count the organs, see all the places where blades of thought had torn through muscle and sinew and flesh like water... but no. He couldn't get distracted. He estimated he had about ten minutes or so before even one as ferociously strong-willed as he fell into the dark depths of unconsciousness. At which point he would promptly bleed to death.

"What a... wonderful... bloody... world..."

Every breath hurt, but pain was just an inconvenience, Brutus told himself. It took effort - far more than it should have, he was weakening, he knew it - but the torn agony shifted, slowly, awkwardly to the back of his mind.

Tensely, ignoring the sharp stabs, he raised his head and looked around, taking in the devastation of Research Hall One. Bodies were littered everywhere (ah, but only unconscious: he felt a growl of derision build in his throat at that. So inefficient, leaving all those potentially dangerous loose ends to run around...) scattered and broken scientific equipment(with a glance, he read each intricacy of technology, remembering it's original purpose, it's intent for progress, and dismissed them one by one: unhelpful, therefore unimportant) all over the concrete floor. A light was flashing urgently by the door: a single massive, steel bulkhead that was the only way in or out. They were trying to break through. Brutus uttered a short, half-choked bark of laughter. He'd seen the specifications: that door was a number by Ironscale Security Ltd. The best in the world. Hell, they'd originally been designed for the vaults at the Golden Castle, the Authority's global bullion storage facility. Even with the right equipment, it'd take almost a day to get through.

He cast the thought away, and kept turning his head, dragging his bleary gaze around the scorched and debris-strewn hall... and he saw the Rift. Roiling as it blazed in the air, untouched by the chaos, the hole of howling violet flame seemed to glow brighter as he watched. Laughing at physics, laughing at the world...

Laughing...

...he'd called it Void. Not the void. Just Void.

He...?

His tattered memory managed to summon up a broken string of flashing images: a lone figure, tall and grey-furred. Swallowed whole by the Rift, vanishing. Smashing into the floor. Lolling dully around twin flames of pure purple that consumed its eyes, and then screaming, writhing on the cold ground, tearing ragged gashes in the solid concrete. And he had watched, a thin smile twisting his muzzle. He had watched every scream.

The thoughts sparked a small throb of cruel pleasure in Brutus' slowly failing brain, but then...

...then... the lithe figure in his mind stopped its screaming. It stood up, shakily but gracefully. It smiled at him.

That smile. Cocky and cheerful, friendly, jokey. A smile you could fall in love with.

Brutus felt a sudden explosion of bitter, red-hot hatred rise sickeningly in his throat.

Finn. He'd done this. He'd ruined everything. He'd won. A gargled snarl of pure fury choked its way from the rat's throat, accompanied by a retching sensation as Brutus vomited up a dark clot of blood. Oh, the bastard lupine would burn for this.

Despite all his facades of false emotion and identity, Brutus was at heart a very simple creature. He decided what he wanted, and then he did everything he deemed necessary to ensure that it happened. No thoughts of ethics, or common sense: they were mere irritants, facile constructs of lesser minds. He simply did whatever was required. No matter the losses, no matter the pain it caused: to others, or to himself.

Slowly, Brutus got to his knees and raised his head. He looked at the Rift, his gaze steady.

And it looked back at him. The wailing inferno quieted, smoothing and spreading apart to reveal a pool of liquid fire that defied gravity as it hung vertically in the air. The black-hearted, violet-edged flames seemed to burn low and he watched. An invitation.

Wiping a thin trickle of blood from his mouth, the rodent started to laugh. Ignoring the growing agony of his half-dismembered body at the convulsions, ignoring the thin spray of sanguine fluid that spat from his mouth at every breath, he tore his ravaged throat with the bellows of mad humour. Oh, did you think you've beaten me? The problem with us, Finn, is that we don't give up.

You will scream for this.

Slowly, excruciatingly, he subsided, and started to crawl forwards. One inch at a time, his heartbeat loud in his ears, thumping fit to burst but still wavering, he crawled.

The seconds passed. By now, the rat had stopped laughing. Every staggered step was a mountainous effort. Every movement sent a grunt from his taut lips that barely hinted at the white-hot blade of agony twisting in his gut. A few metres back, he'd felt a soft plop as something was shaken free from the hole in his abdomen -a kidney, perhaps? He didn't waste energy looking, but kept crawling. The Rift waited, ever-patient.

More seconds passed, and by now Brutus had spots clustering hungrily at the edge of his vision. He took a final, shuddering step, and slumped forwards onto his cracked chest, lying half-dead while the screaming tear in the universe blaze a mere foot before him.

So close, the thin wailing seemed to whisper, burning gently at him.

No.

Clenching his jaw so hard that his teeth creaked, the rodent forced himself up to one knee. He raised his head, tendons standing out beneath the brown fur like steel cables, and looked up at it.

"Whatever... is... necessary..."

His tongue mangled the words to the point of total unintelligibility, but Brutus knew that the Rift understood. He made to stand up, and then the scream that he'd been clamping down on for every second of these cruel last moments exploded out in a howl of torture and futile rage, as his legs buckled. Sprawled a mere inches from his insane salvation, the rat felt the inevitable drag of unconsciousness and death's cold embrace start to consume him.

He couldn't fail now, but... he was going to. He closed his eyes. The darkness was fiery and blazed with fury.

And then it formed. A slender muzzle, furred with soft, sleek silver. Two eyes which were gentle, and kind, and a total lie beyond imagination, twinkled softly at him. Laughing...

In times of need, a person may find strength in hope for the future, or in loyalties to friends and family, or in their love for another. But this time, Brutus Redstone found strength in hatred.

Hatred so strong that it was given voice in his scream of rage. Hatred so burning that it overpowered the agony of his broken body. Hatred so all consuming that it took control of his shaking, exhausted muscles, and propelled Brutus first to his knees, then to his feet, then threw in straight into the blazing heart of the Rift.

It coiled and convulsed around him, and swallowed him whole.