Destroyer of Worlds

2

Time passed, though Ruth was no longer aware of it. Her eyes rolled back so that only the whites were visible. Behind her, Mictlantecuhtli extended a skeletal hand to draw the misty tendril that would play with her memories of grief and loss, corrupting her thoughts with their toxic load.

The Libertarian watched with a faint, mocking smile, as bogus as everything else about him. Inside, he was in turmoil. The peaceful equilibrium he had achieved since he had accepted his transformation was gone. Apart from the odd stray memory, he had thought that every part of his old life had been wiped away, but ever since he had been compelled to kiss what he thought was a just-dead Ruth in Greece, he had felt incomprehensible stirrings. Apparently, love crossed more barriers than he'd thought. He didn't want to believe that was true, for it would set up a disturbing sequence of self-analysis that could destroy his reassuring sense of what he had become: better. It meant he was still grounded in all that had gone before. It meant he was still corrupted by the foul stuff that eventually destroyed humans.

Yet now he could see a certain symmetry. Niamh and Ruth, the opposing faces of his former romantic life. One had come and gone, and now he could have the other, finally. By transforming her to become like him, they could be together, and the past could once again be eradicated.

And, as he had long believed, it would be the final act in his becoming. If Church could not have Ruth as a human, and could only gain her as the Libertarian, it was a choice he would always take. The future was sealed. All hope was gone.