It was one thing to drive through the ruins of Elpeck. It was quite another to stroll through it and experience for myself the apocalypse it had become.

Everything that should have been there was missing, and everything that was there was just plain wrong. There was emptiness and stillness, a feeling of eyes, lurking somewhere, watching in ceaseless vigilance. It was a community of the damned, living in the Hell our world had become.

Songs of sorrow and death were my constant companions. Wyrms bellowed far in the distance. Explosions percussed like weapons of war. Looking up was painful. So many buildings were burning. The spore clouds towering up from the pumping sporestacks grew more and more visible as the sky brightened.

Even as a child, I'd known the feeling that the city was alive. That same feeling had survived the end of the world, but not in the way any of us would have liked. In death, it had found a new kind of life, and, inwardly, I shuddered at the thought of what it would look like when all was said and done.

Many of the wyrm coiled atop high rises or sprawled on rooftops were big. Really big. For the most part, they remained statuesque, occasionally lifting their heads to below their surreal polyphony. Were they trying to speak, or was it just a threnody for the lives and worlds they'd lost?

Though I couldn't tell, I suspected it was both.

Certainly, it was what I would have done.

What was going on inside their heads, I wonder?

I slithered down the boulevard, toward the Civic Center. Crossing the street was no trouble, and I quickly made it to Elpeck Square. The lingering clumps of crowds stared at me with empty faces. Everything they did reminded me of the horrors of the Quiet Ward: the endless muttering, aimless and meaningless; the twitching, the moaning, the weeping.

Their minds were gone.

I just hoped Andalon had been the one to take them. The alternative…

—I shuddered.

I didn't want to think about the alternative.

Turning my head, when I looked across short, shallow steps leading up to the Basilica, I could see the fullness of the crowd. Transformees in various states of change intermingled with the infected here and there. And not all of them were there alone. More than once, I saw hands clasped to claws, or a frail, phantom existence lovingly carried in a wyrm's arms. There were stares of fear and disbelief, but not like before. There was too much to be afraid of; too much to be concerned for. Horror had already drowned us. Acceptance and desensitization was almost unavoidable. The survivors were tired, running on hope alone, or maybe something even more primal.

"Genneth!"

I turned toward the sound of Heggy's voice, and then slithered over to meet her. Ani, Heggy, and the other members of our convoy had gathered at the Basilica's entrance. I couldn't see where Brand was, but Merritt had coiled herself around the Verdiger fountain, where she lay, as still as the fountain's statues of the Triun, or unmoving, fetid waters around them.

Ani had attracted a small crowd of her own. She was making her case to them point by point, speaking and gesticulating as passionately as her dying body allowed.

"Please," she said, "you have to get away from here. It isn't safe! Verune and his wyrms are going to eat us all. They'll steal our souls! You'll be trapped in their twisted minds forever and ever. This isn't myth anymore, it's real! Please, you have to listen to me!" She pointed across the Square, toward the convoy. "We brought buses and cars. Come with us! We'll take you to the hospital! It's safer there!"

Not safe; safer.

What a world.

Unfortunately, the people of Elpeck just didn't see things the way Ani did. Most of them turned away from her in indifference. It wasn't like she was the only person in earshot preaching to the end-times.

Some people, though… some rebuffed her.

"What if I want to die?" one replied.

Ani's face paled behind her F-99 mask.

"The Lost Lassedite has returned," someone else said. "If that isn't a sign from God, I don't know what is."

It was hard for us to watch. Ani was just… devastated. She cried. She clasped her hands together and begged.

"Please, you have to listen to me! You're in terrible danger!" She patted her chest. The hems of her white medical coat fluttered around her, riddled with black stains and holes eaten through by spores.

"Do what you want," one told Ani. "We're here because God is here. You're a foreigner. You wouldn't understand."

Ani glowered with rage. She gritted her teeth.

The others tried to back her up.

Dr. Holden walked up beside her. "She's not making this up," he said. "We came here because it's serious."

"This isn't just life," another one of ours said, "it's beyond that."

Someone in the crowd spoke up and jeered. "Why should we listen to you? You're just as fucked as we are."

"Please!" Ani yelled, shaking her fists.

It was like watching a baby bird waddle up to the edge of its nest and leap to fly, only to fall to the ground like a thrown stone.

She cried and cried.

I fumbled forward. "Ani!"

Hearing my voice, she whipped her head in my direction. Her eyes lit up as she caught sight of me. "G-Genneth!" She beckoned me with a wave. "Come here, tell them what you told me!" She turned back to the crowd. "Tell them about Andalon!"

But I didn't need to even open my mouth to draw a reaction from the crowd. Heck, they acted before I could even get a word in edgewise.

They made the Bond-Sign in near-unison, despite their trembling limbs. Many of them got down onto their knees.

"Blessèd One!"

"Divine Beast!"

"Save us! Save us!"

An old woman on her knees waddled forward across the pavement. "Please, Lord, save my daughter!" she begged. "My Henrietta! She lived a pious life, she was kind and humble. Save her from the darkness!"

Her eyes were wide with need. All of theirs were. Following the old woman's lead, many others flocked to me. They reached to touch me.

I started to panic.

Fortunately, Heggy inserted herself in between them and me before anyone got too close. Also, it helped that she was packing heat.

She cocked her rifle. "Alrighty, get back, the lot of ya!" She waved her gun at me. "Stop houndin' him!"

My devotees scattered with looks of fear written on their faces. They did not go away, however, they merely stepped back, hanging on to their hopes from a distance.

A man with rotting, ulcerated skin walked up to us. Heggy glowered at him, mustering her rifle, but then, with a twitching arm, the man yelled: "What the fuck are you doing here?" His voice was hoarse and harsh. He coughed, spitting ooze onto the pavement. "Leave us alone!"

"It's not safe!" Ani said. "Verune—"

"—the Church keeps us safe!" he said. He pointed at the ruined city. "They kill the zombies and the monsters."

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"The Last Church claims to have a cure," I said.

"Yeah," Heggy chimed, "and, whatever these guys are sellin' you, it ain't real, I promise you. It's all wishes and spit!" She shook her head.

"Yeah, well, who are you to judge?" the man said.

"I'm a doctor at WeElMed." I gestured at my colleagues. "All of us are."

The man shook his head. "I don't know if it's a cure or not, but… I don't care. It makes me feel good. It makes the pain go away. That's more than anything you deadbeats have done for us."

"Are they just handing out the cure?" Dr. Holden asked.

The man wretched, and then bent over and coughed again. "It's the fog." He pointed to the Melted Palace's entrance. "The Last Church actually cares," he said. "They don't charge us. They don't expect anything from us. The cure is free for all. You just breathe it in, that's all."

And then he staggered away, disappearing into the fog, like so many others.

Ani was despondent.

"It makes them feel good?" Heggy muttered.

"Oh Hell…" Dr. Holden said. His expression curled into a scowl.

"What is it?" Heggy asked.

Dr. Holden looked over at the billowing fog. "Those clouds might contain aerosolized narcotics." Then he looked me in the eyes. "It's what I would do if I were trying to keep a large group of people calm and pliant."

Ani staggered back, shaking her head. "No! No!" she yelled.

Then, turning—her hip twitching—she trudged up the shallow steps to the Basilica. "How can you let them do this to you?!" she yelled. "They're leading you like lambs to the slaughter! This isn't the Angel's will. It isn't! It…" she stammered. Her voice suddenly plummeted. "It can't be."

I slithered over to her.

The colonnaded gallerias on either side of the Basilica curved around the central space in a welcoming embrace, seemingly emerging from the fog. The place was chock full of people, both living and dead. I had to use my wyrmsight just to distinguish flesh-and-blood from wandering spirits.

Though I attracted worshipful stares, it wasn't as bad as out on the Square. Many of the Last Church's transformees stood on guard at the edges of the crowd. People prostrated before them, begging for salvation.

Once more, I had to stop myself from reaching out to touch Ani. Coiling around her, a little, to give her some modicum of privacy, I looked her in the eyes.

"Ani… this isn't working." I shook my head and swallowed hard. I'm sorry, but that's the truth. It's not your fault. It's—"

She shook her arms. "So, so what?" She stammered loudly. "What am I supposed to do?" She slapped her chest. "What do you expect me to do?"

"I…—"

"—Do you want me to give up, is that it?" She wept. "Jonan didn't give up, he—"

—But she couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.

"It should have been me," she said, "not him."

She put her hand on her mask, above her mouth. A moment later, she turned away and ran into the fog.

"Ani!" I reached for her as she fled from my grasp.

I slithered after her, crossing the Basilica.

The clamor from the crowds grew louder the closer I got to the Melted Palace. People ambled about in astonishment and ecstasy. They held their arms up high, declaiming their salvation.

"I'm saved! I'm cured!"

They streamed through the fog.

Anyone who saw me raised their arms in reverence.

"Ani!" I called. I looked left and right. "Ani!"

My ear-eyes could see deeper into the fog than my old eyes ever could have. Through them, I saw a phantom, monochrome world; figures moved through the acoustics in coughs, and footsteps, and voids. It was a chaotic sight in every sense of the word.

Yet I couldn't see her. I couldn't even tell if she'd gone inside the Melted Palace or not!

It was funny: despite how far I'd come, even with all the capabilities my wyrm mind had to offer, I couldn't find her. It was like she'd disappeared. Even with my ear-eyes and wyrmsight, I couldn't track her. I'd followed her aura up to the Melted Palace's entrance, but the auras simply got too thick. The churning sound waves, meanwhile, were too numerous to be of any use.

I'd lost her.

"No!"

Angry now, I summoned my power. I swept forcefields across the Basilica with a swing of my arm, scattering the fog to either side. Having thickened my wyrmsight, I noticed a weave covering the Melted Palace like a second, psychic wall in front of the façade. Their forces' vectors pointed toward the building, inwardly oriented.

That meant that objects—and people—could go inside, but not come out.

The Melted Palace's sculpted bronze doors emerged as the fog dissipated. It was only when I realized the doors were wide open that I understood the plexus-wall had been made with a second purpose in mind: to trap sound. I saw and heard sound bouncing all around the Basilica, except for the Melted Palace's frontal façade, which was a sonic dead zone. The sounds that passed into it never came back out.

The clearing fog revealed a transformee gorging himself on two fresh corpses right next to the Melted Palace's entrance. We couldn't hear the victims' screams, but we could certainly see them.

Shouts broke out behind me.

I turned around.

With the fog scattered, the Melted Palace's wide-open doors gave everyone in the Basilica an unobstructed view of what was going on inside the faith's holiest house of worship.

The numberless terrors of the reactions were a sight to behold.

Some people just stood in place, transfixed by shock and disbelief. A lot of people ran. Many tried to run, only to stagger and stumble, either because their legs gave out on them, or because a coughing fit knifed them in the chest, or because they crashed into someone else that had.

Bones broke. Limbs snapped.

I wanted it to stop, but I didn't know what to do.

"Darn it!"

Gritting my teeth, I slid forward, pushing my way through the crowd. Confused, drug-addled, plague-ridden people stepped over me and my tail; I kept myself coated in pataphysics to repel their touch. In my stress, I felt the bones in my jaw crunch like waffle cone under the pressure I'd been putting on them.

I didn't dare touch it.

I slithered through the bronze doors. A torrent of screams slammed into me as soon as I crossed the forcefield wall.

The onslaught made me shiver.

The Melted Palace's Grand Hall was a square room of astonishing size. Columns of stone filled the room, seemingly grown in place, branching in a forest of arches. The ceiling was their only canopy. Large, angular plates of polished metal covered the fluid masonry in irregular intervals, suspended from the stone at distance, like patchwork remnants of a suit of armor. The metal's polish was lambent in the weak from the cylindrical that dangled from the canopy.

The air was sugary and moist, just like the early morning outside, though the thick heat that greased it made it even more difficult to bear.

An archway departed the Hall from the Grand Nave beyond. I slithered through it, entering the Nave. The Grand Nave was twice the size of the Hall, and rectangular instead of square. The glossy, red-hued columns were like giant redwoods, petrified. The ceiling seemed as far distant as the sky.

Looking around, I couldn't help but guess that the cult must have repurposed the incense vents to deliver the aerosol. The fog was even thicker here, but the improved acoustics almost made up for it.

The scene before me had the hazy, golden sheen of a bonfire rite. The people in the Nave were dancers and totems, draped in shadows. Without the strange monochrome of my sound-sight, I wondered if I'd have been able to make any sense of it at all. Deformed bodies moved about with barely any purpose among the great, echoing walls.

In the middle of it all, the wyrms held their feast.

It was horrifying.

People ran, desperate to escape.

It was a scene stolen from Hell itself. The sheer human carnage proved beyond a doubt that the Holy Angel was dead.

Azon, where art thou?

I saw Norms—true Norms—gathered in darkness, feasting on the dead. People screamed and ran to no avail. The wyrms plucked them off the floor with their psychokinesis and greedily reeled them in. Bodies in part or in whole got levitated up to the Nave's upper floors, to be eaten by eager transformees. Some even flew up to where the old nobility used to sit in rows of seats that jutted out from the walls, way up high. During the Second Empire, when all this grandeur had been built, the thick oriels beneath the seats and walkways were meant to obscure the aristocrats from the view of the rabble down below, so that the masses wouldn't turn their "unworthy gaze" on their "gentle-blooded superiors".

The first elevators in the world were built to ferry Trenton nobility up to those lofty heights.

Beast's teeth, it was worse than I feared!

The Melted Palace was a den of wyrms. There were dozens of them, and they were big, and were getting bigger with each passing moment.

Up on the first floor balcony, a stone's throw from the Door of the Moon, Lassedite Verune coiled in wait, overlooking the altar at the heart of the Nave. His transformation had progressed since he'd announced his presence to the world. Up close, he would have towered over me. He had to be twice my size, if not larger. His face and the patches of human skin that clung to it and parts of his arms and what had once been his chest were the only reminders that he'd ever had a human body at all. Any traces of shoulders or his torso had melted into his thick, serpent body. Inhuman musculature braided his arms. Below, his tail and underbelly formed a solid wall of fungal flesh that seethed with barely contained might that its motionlessness was powerless to obscure. He wrapped around a column, like a creature out of myth. Rotting legs jutted out far down from either side of his yellow-scaled flanks. Fungal horns sprouted around his golden skullcap atop his head and distended neck.

Seeing him wearing the Hummingbird Robe, I didn't know whether to scream or cry. The sacred vestments were strung awkwardly along the middle of his body, tattered and stained, draping over his central section like a costume three sizes too small.

How many bodies had he consumed to become like this?

With a wave of my arms, I scattered the fog to the high reaches.

Verune looked at me with his eyes' golden orb. He saw the panic playing out behind me, in the cathedral, and in the Basilica.

Slithering forward, away from the column, he reached out with an arm. "You…" He pointed at me with his claw. "You're the Sorcerer. The Heretic."

All the wyrms gazed up at their leader.

I glowered at him. "Actually, I'm agnostic." I scowled.

Clawing an arm through the air, Verune shot out a polyphonic roar. He reared up on his defunct legs, his tail writhing behind him.

"What have you done?" he yelled. "What sick bargains have you made with the forces of darkness? You abused your connection to steal God's power! Give it back! Give it back!"

My eyes widened.

Did Verune somehow know about Andalon?

Verune gesticulated. "Have you no shame? No fear? You'd give the Angel a reason to destroy our world, just as we are about to save it! Look at what you've done!"

He gestured at the fleeing crowds. They gathered at the bronze doors, amassed against the open entryway, unable to leave.

It was pandemonium.

I quivered with wrath.

Look at what I've done?

"How dare you! How dare you! You don't know what I've been through! You don't know all the loss I've seen!"

"Sorcerer: for all the damage you have caused," Verune said, "at least you have brought yourself to us. We will not let you continue. Your reign of terror ends here." Verune raised his arms. "Brothers, sisters," he cried, "don't let the guilty escape their punishment." He lifted his head up to the ceiling. "Kill them all. Do not fear for the righteous. The Angel will know His own."

And then time slowed against my will.

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