Chapter 48: We Killed God

The sky-high ceiling ripples as Scab Cy and I are buffeted by winds. I stare at that horrid light in the distance as I hear that fell voice punch its way into my head once more.

“You supercilious lobotomite!”

My eye instantaneously scans for a way out, a place to hide, a weapon— I fall short on escape routes but this place is a labyrinth of bookcases, displays, and even in the distance I see what looks to be a mansion ripped wholesale from where it was built and deposited here. I can hide if I need to, but Scab Cy just grins.

The rippling ceiling disappears in a flash towards that growing light, revealing a vivid skyscape of constellations and galaxies behind it.

“I sense two of you, entering! That evinces at least four! Do you delude my adytum to be your personal playground?!”

Despite the hostile tone and… oddly archaic language— Scab Cy holds tight to his bookcase with a goofy smile parting his damaged lips. He shouts over the dying winds.

“Be glad she isn't breaking the sound barrier!”

“Who is she?!” I shout back, feeling like that is the most pertinent information to prepare myself for what's coming.

Scab Cy laughs, loudly and unashamed.

“She's the library's founder!”

“...That explains nothing!” I shout back.

My head whips to the growing light, taking on a piercing shade of green, as though all the other cones in my eye have died and I see only green.

“It should!” Scab Cy shouts back.

“I am at a focal point in one of your paltry rituals. Whichever temporal counterpart you’ve dragged along had better be an outlier of singular curiosity! The toad can at least hold a conversation.”

The voice grows closer, yet not louder. Any louder and my ears would likely be damaged. That terrifying light begins to dim, and the significance of who Scab Cy said this was begins to dawn like a bloody sun.

This is the founder of the great library.

The same library which, I've been told, is thousands of years old.

This is either some insanely ancient being or… another time traveler. Either of which sets my mind aflame with wonder, curiosity, and trepidation.

Scab Cy’s smile is beaming at my agog face as ‘Alex’ finally approaches.

The first and most apparent aspect to mention, the one that kicks down the door of my eye, shattering the window to my soul with an elbow and climbing through the frame unscathed by the broken glass, is: Green.

A green so deep and absolute that it takes offense to being referred to as simply ‘green.’ Like calling a human a primate. Technically true, but reductive.

The shade, and it is one I would only learn the word of far later, is Dark Smaragdine. But even that falls short. As if this shade is the progenitor of that color.

The second aspect, and probably the more important one if we're going off the priorities of survival, is the size.

High above me, distorting perspective and distance from the skyscrapers of bookshelves and the false sky behind them, is a… long… tube.

A serpentine tube of dark smaragdine winding its way from deep within the halls of this athenaeum, twisting off down some turn in the distance, and yet returning as the tube of this body tails itself back into the hall I stare down. The far end tapers to an end hundreds, maybe thousands of feet away. The closer end however, is far more striking.

Before me, yet still above me enough that I must crane my neck, is a draconic visage of terrible majesty. Scaled, intimidating, intelligent. Its eyes are a jade of such size and depth that an emperor would bankrupt all of ancient China just to obtain one. They hold the memories of millenia, and an understanding of the universe’s workings far more complete than any great scientist— though may fall short of the simple conclusions of philosophers. A face whose humbling features are undermined by the way it looks at Scab Cy and me like an English teacher that caught their favorite students farting onto a lighter in a parking lot. Or the fact that, when I lean to the side to re-examine the tube of its body, I notice a distinct lack of wings. Which makes this being a… giant— snake?

Its eyes are discerning as it condescendingly glances at me, and I feel a buzz of magic on me just from its gaze. The colossal creature's car-swallowable mouth is both fanged and toothed when it speaks.

“So. Pray, what freshly ill-conceived impulse brings you skittering into my lair, again?” ‘Alex’ says. Her tone drips with venomous derision.

Scab Cy flashes me an obnoxiously knowing grin, then turns back to address her.

“Hey Alex! How was your day? I just wanted to introduce you to someone. And pick up the list.” He mutters that last part under his breath, putting his half-grown arm over my shoulder and pulling me close.

Her baleful gaze lands on me, and I shudder behind the sarcastic wave of my hand that I default to in moments like these.

Alex draws up, somehow managing to seem even more affronted and offended than before. As if my very presence is beneath her.

“You interrupt the ritual you requested my aid in, for introductions to… what? Some quandom self?” She says, tilting her head to gesture to the barely restrained roiling mass of brilliant magic floating next to her. Strings of light writhe and snake within a bubble seemingly made up entirely of symbols.

Scab Cy backs up with a manipulative smirk.

“Oh, sorry, if you need to focus we can come back later. But this Cy is—”

“Nothing you could conceive of could truly tax my focus. Lest it be so asinine and shoddy I must look away in repulsion— like your ‘blackout juice.’ Yet save your explanations, I can ascertain who he is myself. Hold still.”

The floor suddenly ducks away from my feet as I begin to dangle in the air. I let out a ‘whup’ as I'm magically lifted from the ground and slowly rotated around.

“Ey! Ya coulda asked first!” I shout.

“Yes, yes, let us see; Cicatrix denotes this as early days, let's see what's within the bag.”

My fanny pack of holding unbuckles and I snatch it as it begins to float away.

“Hey! That's my stuff! You can't just take things or… float people! I'm a human god-damned being! I have autonomy!”

“I haven't the abundant patience nor crayons to trade quips with you and gain your acquiescence. I've done enough for you that you should indulge me. Besides, not only am I capable of doing as I please, I have a right to it. And it is rather xenophobic of you, dear, to attribute your autonomy to your status as a human.”

This snooty condescending snake is really starting to piss me off as I feel my inner ear twist and grow nauseous, before my nausea is magically removed by a spell the snake twisting me around in mid-air casually casts. I snatch my fanny pack back as things begin to drift out from inside of it. I can feel my face growing hot.

“Ya know I've been real patient this last day! Between the slavers and the murder and that asshole!—” I say pointing at Scab Cy, who lets out a “hey!”

“—I’ve been tryna go with the flow. But this is too far! I mean, several things were too far— the murder for one— but you're taking my shit! I rightfully stole that!”

“Ugh, look at the state of this.” The creature says, examining my floating items and paying me little mind.

“Silver fulminate? Really? I suppose I should expect nothing less— some of these ingredients are more esoteric though. Meldwin’s Magery? You could do better.”

The floating items drift back into the bag I clutch tightly to my chest as I list before the muttering reptilian maw of the ancient magical being before me.

“Do not think me so low as to take anything from you. You have nothing I’d want.”

Scab Cy coughs, and mutters.

“‘Cuz Sticky still has the bottle.”

The snake tilts a spiny eye ridge at the comment and I continue berating, not only to cover for my future self but also because I still have plenty of indignance in the chamber.

“That doesn't mean you can go digging through my shit— and be all judgy about it! I don't even know you! What gives you the right to ‘do as you please’?!”

She gives me a look on a face that is somehow just as expressive as a human’s.

“The abysmal lack of introspection confirms this as an early divergence— though that only marginally improves— yet the tutorial-synthesized viking burial weave implies primary timeline. You do realize who or what you speak to? Don't you?”

She turns away from her examination and addresses me directly at the end.

“A dick?”

Scab Cy snorts.

The spell floating and writhing behind her begins to glow bright once more, the stars above us begin to burn, and an ancient and subconscious fear tries to exhume itself from some buried place in my subconscious— and fails to break through the scar tissue cement in my brain-damaged topsoil.

“You truly don't understand, do you? How many times must the truth knock before you deign to answer? Or are you truly that impetuous?”

She draws herself up, and my listing free-float snaps to attention, my body rigid in a magical grip as I'm held up to stare this creature directly in the eyes. Eyes that have seen millenia.

“I have every right. The right of kin. The right to this world we birthed before your planet was even dust. The right of the first, before the primordial Gods even beheld the endless sky. I am a superior being—”

“Now That's xenophobic!”

“That is a fact!”

The walls shudder as she raises her voice, and then they disappear. The endless depths of jade in her eyes pull me in, and I feel the ages fall away like chipping paint. The dreams, fears, and memories of eras are chewed and digested until information itself coalesces and assimilates into the ever expanding cells of a living, impossible being.

“Tremble and rejoice, for you behold a mythical being. One of the storied creatures whose existence is so foundational to this world that it has bled into the cultural subconscious of every mortal being capable of dreaming of something more. Magic and memory itself comprises my being and— oh, there it is. You're wearing a greater ring of anti-appraisal, that’s why it eluded me.”

The world unceremoniously snaps back into place and a pressure behind my eye eases as she twists me mid-air to see the ring on my hand.

“Rudimentary enough to compensate for. Let's see just who you are…”

I feel a burst of magic pass over me like a prickling on my skin and a sunburn on my insides that lasts only a moment. I wince, and when I look back at those immortal eyes before me I see them staring off into the middle-distance at something only they can see. After a moment they widen, then soften.

“Oh…” Is all she says, at first.

Those massive, endless eyes look into mine, and she fails to be that mythical creature of memory and magic. She looks me in the eye like a person.

“You're so… young.” Her voice catches on the word.

I slowly drift to the floor, and the great being flying above me gently descends until she's closer to the floor, so I don't have to crane my neck so high. She looks sheepish, as I buckle my fanny-pack back on.

“I… am sorry. I hadn't realized…” She trails off. The words unsaid could fill this library.

Scab Cy gasps. “An apology!”

She shoots him a glare before turning back to me.

“So, this is it, then?”

“This is what?” I ask, curtly.

She looks hurt by my tone, which strikes me as I didn't expect to be able to hurt a ‘mythical creature’s’ feelings.

“The first time we've met, I mean.”

“Oh… yeah. Not a great first impression, gotta say.”

Her eyes close, and she takes a deep breath that causes the stars above us to glow brighter. She looks almost hesitant or— afraid— to open them again, but she takes a breath and does so, looking back at me again.

“Yes, I've… rather made an ass of myself, haven't I?”

Scab Cy solemnly chuckles. “Yeah, you definitely did.”

Her head snaps back to him and her tone is once more superior and biting.

“Yes, yes, revel in this moment. Lavish in my mistake. I thought I was dealing with the entitled brat that you are or one of your woe-begotten doppelgangers not…” She trails off again, looking back at me, unsure of what to say.

“Yeah, listen,” I begin. “I appreciate you setting me down and all, but I'm honestly getting sick of being treated like ‘The Chosen One' every time somebody learns who I am.”

She snickers, and the sound is like acid eroding away a mountain of emotional walls over eons.

“Chosen One? No, despite all the names and titles bequeathed to you over the breadth of time— ‘The Time Walker,’ ‘Legion,’ ‘The Madman Eternal,’ ugh, the ‘Time-clops’... ‘The Lonely Road’… The only prophecies deifying you are from when you made a joke about your sexual prowess in front of the wrong cultists.”

“No, you are no ‘Chosen One’, just…”

She looks up and away, then around at the books and artifacts around us, as if she's searching for something that she can't remember where she'd left.

“...a very old friend.”

Her eyes are remorseful and her voice is soft as she looks at me.

“I can commiserate on being treated differently because of what you will be.” The ancient creature of myth admits.

She sniffs, haughtily, then draws herself up to stand like a rattlesnake. She seems to set herself into a schooled expression of noble condescension, and speaks once more.

Scab Cy rolls his eye as he flips through a book to the side.

“Allow me the courtesy of proper introduction, then.”

Her eye alights as she enters into a practiced self-herald.

“I am Alekssandrya Zissoprechtl Akash, Founder and Curator of the Library of Alexandria, Great Sage of—”

“She's a really old bookwyrm.” Scab Cy interjects with, cutting off the undoubtedly long list of titles.

She seems to sputter as her introductions are interrupted, and I turn to Scab Cy, shocked.

“That's what those little library terrorists turn into? Holy— Wait! Didn't we tame one! God damnit now I wish I kept Ted Kaszynski!”

The Bookwyrm slowly reminds us of her presence as the air itself seems to grow prickly. My breathing grows painful, and I feel sick as I turn back to her at the end of my sentence and notice her boiling eyes, wide with insult, and intent breathing as she maintains composure— though her angry breath seems to poison the very air. She subtly winces at the mention of Ted Kaszynski.

She directs her gaze at Scab Cy.

“I am more than reasonably patient with you, you resilient pest, but you traipse on the sacrosanct. Begone, wretch.”

Scab Cy disappears from where he stood with no fanfare, no sight or sound to accompany his sudden departure.

“Now—”

Scab Cy reappears.

“Yeah, you keyed me into your teleportation network, remember? Nice of you to teleport me to the mansion though. Ya big softie.”

Her face twists in growing rage, then suddenly relaxes in dreaded acceptance.

“One of my greatest follies. I suppose proper introductions were an impossibility with you. I apologize, young Cy, for your first impression of me to be so tainted. I hope you will grow to think better of this Greatwyrm.”

“He does, I promise.” Scab Cy says, closing his book and putting it away.

“Uh… apology accepted, I guess.” I say, kinda confused at this wyrm’s vibe.

“But, ya know, don't go just grabbing people and rifling through their personal belongings; That's so shitty. Even if you are some… ancient being of magic and memory or whatever, yeah?” I say, the confidence to upbraid a literal Greatwyrm sapping out of me as I look up and remember who I'm talking to.

She sniffs again.

“I don't make a habit of it. I assure you I am quite respectful.”

Scab Cy subtly shakes his head.

“You are an exception.”

Scab Cy waves her off. “It's cuz you love me. Alright! Cy, meet Alex. Alex, meet Cy. You're gonna see a lot of each other I'm sure. But, with introductions out of the way, we gotta get our hands on that list and empty out the traps that Alex forgot about.”

“What list?” I ask.

“And what traps could… oh dear.”

Alex looks suddenly very nervous, her body writhing more tightly and frantically as her face clenches.

“If by list you mean the trials, and today is when we first meet, then… hark! The snares!”

Space suddenly warps around me, in that feeling of teleportation that is growing troublingly familiar. Though my stomach doesn't explode this time, the spell is far gentler and controlled, merely giving me a terrible migraine behind the eye.

In the brief second that my eye is winced shut, I hear the quiet halls of the library change to my new surroundings. I hear the hiss of steam, the low thrum of magic, and a distinct wobbly drumming of someone pounding on thick glass.

When my eye re-opens, my surroundings have changed to more humble and homely brick and hardwood. Shorter, though still tall ceilings. Scab Cy stands to my left as all around us are neatly organized shelves covered in plants and substances practically alight with magic. Tables and workbenches have multiple books, schematics, and pieces of equipment made of glass or odd metals.

I hear Alex’s enunciated and snooty voice from behind me, but far quieter and without that immortal resonance behind it.

“Cumbersome arms. With any good fortune they haven't been overencumbered.”

I look back and jump when I see a serpentine Naga woman with familiar Dark Smaragdine scales slithering quickly behind me.

“Oh, ease yourself.” She says. “This is but a simulacrum.”

Alex clumsily gestures to her fake body with two arms, while the other two awkwardly and uncoordinatedly smooth the specially tailored copper robes she wears.

She slithers towards a beautifully carved circular wooden door, and it opens with just a thought. As it does, I am suddenly assaulted with noise.

“—ake a mockery of something sacred! You sully everything you touch, you reckless, selfish—”

Inside the white stone room beyond are 3 things of note; 2 giant glass balls mounted on the floor with intricate and humming machinery feeding them motes of odd light, like a swarm of hueless fireflies, from a runic net above them. There's a third glass bottle, unfinished. Inside the 2 massive round bottles are 3 people. 2 are cramped into the one on the left, while 1 sits cross-legged on the floor of the other, just staring at us as we enter. I get a horrible sense of de ja vu when I look at them.

In the one on the left, are two of the same exact person. He's a large man. Tall, wide. Easily described as ‘a brick shithouse.’ He's clad in a full suit of silvery blue plate armor, which the light glints off of as if afraid to touch it. A purple cloth tabard drapes over the front and back of the armor, pinned in place by the large round pauldrons. On the front is a simple symbol, sewn in gold, of an hourglass on its side. The tabard’s longer skirt ends abruptly at the waist, jagged edges and wisps of thread show how it was torn. This is where the two men divert, however.

One stands, and one lays on his back in the basin on the bottle. It is too tight quarters for them both to stand at the same time, and it seems the one on the floor drew the short straw. The one who is standing’s armor is enclosed, near completely, and has a few modern touches to the traditional plate armor. Namely, a place to insert and feed compressed and stored air. His helmet is enclosed; a great helm with a flat top, with reinforced tubing down the sides leading to the space where an air canister is attached.

The helmet ignores me, and instead stares dead ahead at the 3rd noteworthy thing in the room, which we'll get to. He focuses hard on his work where he hammers the pommel of his executioner’s sword against the glass repeatedly. The sword isn't the same as I remember, without that terrible sense of it beheading my memories as they formed, but it still leaves odd streaks as he swings it, as if cutting apart the space between it and its target. Perhaps a skill.

The man on the floor, conversely, has far more traditional plate armor. Still that silvery blue metal, but not completely sealed. In fact, his flat helmet has been removed, and lays on the floor next to him, as he half-sits up and yells a string of insults and accusations in a thick Italian accent. He has olive skin, and short black hair. His eyebrows are thick and furrowed above his deep brown eyes, blazing with fury. He flaps his wide jaw, with a bit of extra meat on it from a healthy layer of fat.

The man on the right is the same man, but terribly different. His armor is that enclosed suit, though a bit more dinged up. His tubed helmet has been carefully removed and set to his side where he sits, calmly. His face is much the same, but older. Far older. Not necessarily through age, but time. More scars, more lines, a weary and dark calm, like the ocean far from land, and ine eye. The other is sealed by an angry web of scar tissue. That eye meets mine with a painfully familiar weight, similar to when I first saw him, but without that same killing intent. He doesn't look angry. I'd describe it as…

Patient.

Finally, the 3rd thing of note;

Another version of me sits on a folding chair he clearly brought himself, eating cereal with his left hand as his right arm lies in a sling. The right side of his face is loosely bandaged, earlier in the stages of healing than Scab Cy.

Healing Cy notices us and goes to wave with his free hand, forgetting it's in a sling, and spills his bowl of cereal across the marble floor.

He sputters and flails trying to catch it.

“Ah, shit.” He says, and looks guiltily towards Alex, who ignores him.

Floor Aurelius continues to yell.

“Look’it you! Do you not feel shame? What would it take—”

Sword Aurelius, standing widely above him, speaks sharply, his voice coming through the sealed helmet by some enchantment, I'm sure.

“Hush. Such yelling doesn't work on him, regardless. But look, there is the first one.” He points at me.

The two on the left begin to whisper among themselves, the sound is deadened by the glass, but I think I pick out the words “plan,” “coordinate,” and “be sure it's not an illusion.”

The one on the right continues to sit silently.

Alex slithers purposefully towards a control panel to the side, one of her four arms landing against a panel and channeling complicated magic into it.

“Pharaohs preserve me, I was worried we'd have 10 of them compressed in there. That would have been… grisly.”

“You capture a champion of eternity! I have sworn an oath to slay that man for his crimes! Do you know what evil you harbor?!” Floor Aurelius yells as he carefully extricates himself from beneath Sword Aurelius, coming to kneeling.

“She knows, I assure you.” Sword Aurelius says to his younger self, then turns to glare at the back of Alex’s head.

“For I know what you are, wyrm.”

Alex pauses her work for a single second. Then continues, speaking over her shoulder. Her voice is calm and measured. Ominous.

“I don't take kindly to threats, Ser Aurelius.”

Scab Cy saunters over to Healing Cy and helps him clean up the spill with a spell, handing him the bowl as he pulls his own folding chair from his fanny pack of holding.

“Hey kid. How ya doing?”

“Fuckin'... Tired. I'm not so sure about a few of these entries and I'm certain I could've done more that I just… can't think of.” Healing Cy responds, wearily and frustrated. Scab Cy pats him on the shoulder.

I begin to walk towards my other selves when Alex shouts.

“The ritual!”

She turns, her head darting between various things before she just points at my various selves with 3 arms.

“You reckon with your own chaos! I cannot let this ritual destabilize.”

She seems to hesitate.

“Just empty the snares, the controls are very straightforward.”

The future Cys give her thumbs ups of varying sizes.

She disappears.

The two Aurelius' in the bottle on the left begin coordinating, the younger one kneeling in prayer as the older one looks around, backs up, and extends his arms to each side, splaying his fingers against the glass of the bottle.

Scab and Healing Cy chat, unconcerned.

“—yeah the goblin thing was hard to pin down.”

“Well it was either that, or dragon slaying, and it's pretty damn hard to find any info about still living dragons in this time period. I think Alex was hiding that from me. So, kinda feel like we’ve limited ourselves here.”

“I wouldn't worry about it. Ya gotta—”

“Hello, Cy.” A familiar voice speaks from beside me.

I turn to see the 3rd [Paladin], sitting calmly nearby. There's a faint smile on his lips. Not malicious— peaceful.

“I bet this is all rather overwhelming, isn't it?” He asks. His eye is still intent on my own.

I look back towards my future selves, and his past selves, wondering if I should even be talking to him, but they're just happily chatting and aggressively chanting, respectively. Though I swear I catch Scab Cy stealing glances.

“Yeah, bit of an understatement there.” I admit, with a nervous chuckle.

“Who are you, anyways? Or, what did I do? Will do.”

His faint smile deepens, until it's wistful. He picks up his helmet, and sets it in his lap, futzing with it.

“I am a [Paladin] in service to the Church of Forever, though I belong to the Eternal Temple. Our faith revolves around time, and our patron God is one of the primordials; the God of Time.”

He stops messing with his helmet to look at me very seriously, though not hostile.

“You are going to steal something. The first of which is the sand of time, which, if I have my timeline correct, you already know about, so I can mention without prognostication.”

His gaze darkens.

“Any other deeds are not yet set in stone. Which is why I am here.”

I flinch back, ready to yell for Scab Cy.

“Don't worry, I'm not here to kill you. Don't misunderstand, they are, but I am just here to talk.” He says nodding towards the other two, who have begun to glow a hueless light. Scab Cy and Healing Cy both notice and yell at them to knock it off.

I turn back to Aurelius.

“So, what? Are you the ‘soft-hearted art teacher' in the Baby Hitler analogy?”

He draws back, surprised.

“What? No, I— wait.” He laughs heartily.

“Ahaha-ha! I suppose I am.”

His smile is wan, when he sighs.

“Cy, I won't say much, to avoid any foreknowledge and predestination, but please, would you reconsider? You don't realize what you disturb, what dreams of a better world you crush. But, If we cannot prevent your actions, then, at least the philosophies behind them?”

“Uh… yeah I really don't realize cuz— man, I haven't even done it yet. And I'm not even sure what philosophy that would be.” I say, backing up slightly as he stands.

“Be kind. And if not kind, then considerate. Merciful. Think of those you leave behind and the consequences. Try to create more than you destroy.”

He's standing now, blocking the flaring lights above him and casting his shadow over me.

I stammer.

“I— wh— what kind of monster do you think I am?”

He isn't frenzied, but he still looks desperate. The desperation of the hopeful.

“Not a monster. A man. A man who tries his best to be those things— I know that by now— but still a mortal man. A scared and hurt kid that makes mistakes like anyone else.”

I feel myself drawn into his eye and words. The world slowly narrowing to a pinprick around him with every word he speaks.

“One who steals the power of Gods. Whose simple human mistakes could have terrible consequences. So I have to ask, you see, I—”

“Heeeeeey buddy!”

A hand clasps me over the shoulder, and I nearly deck Scab Cy in the face on instinct as he interrupts.

“Ya know, kid, this is the exact scenario that the Virgin Ears method was made for. C'mon, I'll sing it with ya. Fingers in the ears. ~Buh na-nuh na-nuh In-spec-tor Gad-get!~”

Healing Cy flanks me on the other side, doing the same even with his stubby and raw regrowing fingers. He elbows me, hard, until I tenuously put my fingers in my ears and start awkwardly singing along.

I take my fingers out when I see Scab Cy’s mouth form the word “good!” that I can tell is in a condescending tone.

He turns to the man behind the glass, whose shoulders slump.

“Hey Aurelius, long time no see. I'll be nice and letcha know that we do take your words to heart, I am sorry about the theivery, but you should know that's not how this goes. Neither of us can change history. And it's not nearly as bad as you think it is.”

“And you're a massive hypocrite.” Healing Cy adds in.

“That too.”

Healing Cy leans over and whispers to me.

“This version of Aurelius is not representative of the guy we usually have tryna kill us. He's usually more like Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber over there.” He slyly points at the two intensely singing hymns as they push on the glossy, foggy glass.

The Aurelius before us squares his shoulders with a sigh, and his face is serious again. His sad smile is gone.

“And you should know, more than most, that I had to try, regardless. That if I didn't, far worse may have come to pass. Such are the effects of belief on predestination, yes?”

He wears a sly smile at the end, then reaches down and begins to re-affix his helmet.

“Besides,” he begins, and the helmet clicks in with a hiss. His voice is slightly altered by the enchantment when it comes out.

“I had to buy them time.”

The 3 of us pale, and turn to the other bottle, where the glass has grown glossy and fogged. I can see the silhouette of Sword Aurelius drawing his sword as their hymn grows to a fever pitch.

“Shit, they're un-making it!” Healing Cy yells and runs to the control panel.

We jog behind him, Scab Cy unhurried, as he stops and looks around at the various dials, buttons, and readouts written in some ancient script.

“Okay, I remember which button I pushed but now that I'm the guy who has to push it, I'm not so confident.” Healing Cy says as I watch a holy glow build across Aurelius' sword.

“Well, there's a big red button in the middle. So, either that will empty the traps, or open them.” Scab Cy casually interjects.

“Wait, wait, this isn't gonna kill them is it?” I ask.

The other me’s look between themselves.

“No.”

“God no. You've literally seen when he dies, he doesn't die here.”

“I'm pretty sure he just gets teleported somewhere.”

“Oh, right, okay, so—”

Sword Aurelius strikes the glass with a horrendous crack that sends spiderwebs of jagged cracks across the glass being unmade.

“Red button, red button!” I yell.

Healing Cy flicks two switches over the rightmost two symbols that resemble the glass containers. They light up, and he hits the big red button. With a shoomp of sucking air, the 3 Aurelius’ disappear, and I find myself staring in the empty container where the older Aurelius had been standing.

We let out a breath of relief.

“Wow, Alex really makes these things idiot-proof. Think it's cuz of us?” Healing Cy asks.

“Most definitely.” Scab Cy responds.

“So, list?” Healing Cy asks, shoving his one usable arm into his bag of holding.

“Nah, hold on a sec, first thing’s fuckin’ first you're gonna explain what that was!” I shout, asserting myself before they can just blow right by me.

They look between each other, and I am flabbergasted at the ridiculous silent interplay between my future selves.

They turn back to me.

“That was Aurelius.” They say in unison, desperately trying to stifle their smirks after using [Sense of Timing] to pull off their bit.

“You know damn well I wanna know more than that! You've literally lived through this from my perspective, of course you know that! You know how this whole interaction is going to go— which means you're fucking with me.”

They snicker to themselves, and I almost cast a [Firebolt] on them.

“Yeah, we are, fucking with past selves is a bit of a guilty pleasure.” Scab Cy admits.

“But for the sake of paradox stuff you are gonna have to actually ask the question.” Healing Cy clarifies.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, and take a deep breath to calm down since they're at least being somewhat cooperative.

“What, exactly, did we do to piss that guy off, and make him think we're some heartless monster?” I ask.

“Well, you heard him, we stole some stuff. We really shouldn't tell you any more cuz that'd make the timeline too rigid.” Scab Cy says.

“If you don’t tell me more, I’m gonna lose it.” I say through gritted teeth.

Healing Cy sighs.

“Maybe this is the point where it gets predestined.”

“It certainly will be once you tell him.” Scab Cy remarks.

“Alright then. Last chance to change fate!” Healing Cy yells out to the world around us.

We all go silent, looking around for any signs of movement, sudden time travelers, or someone teleporting in with a .357 magnum.

Some sound deeper in the library nearly has me jump out of my skin, until we hear Alex yelling something about a ritual in the distance.

“Well, nothing for it.” Healing Cy says.

My mouth goes dry as he speaks.

“We stole time travel. What else could it have been?”

“And he hates us cuz he thinks we killed God.” Scab Cy clarifies.

“I never really understood that.” Healing Cy admits as I just stare at the two of them incredulously. “The God of Time exists, it will continue to exist— I mean it was one of the primordial Gods, literally one of the first to ever exist— how could we have killed them?”

“My thinking is that he believes we’ve stolen the God of Time’s destiny or some shit, and by doing so have shunted all of reality into a worse ‘Bad Timeline’ where we run amok and the God of Time never gets created, but the God of Time still exists cuz it’s a God and they can survive that kinda stuff.” Scab Cy theorizes.

“I could see that.” Healing Cy says, nodding along.

My jaw and eyebrows hurt from the angrily stupified face I’m holding, so I relax my face and massage my temples. I can wrap my head around the concept easily enough, but it just seems so ridiculous and overblown. I decide to go the practical route.

“Alright, can’t I just… not?” I ask.

“Nah, all that’d do would branch you into the timeline where ya didn’t, while the primary timeline where ya did keeps chugging along.” Healing Cy says.

“In fact, I think you’re making branches right now.” Scab Cy says, and snaps his fingers in my face.

“Focus up, quit damning our alternates to time-hell.”

“Well, if we wind up with a guy hunting us throughout all time, there's gotta be a way to piss him off less!” I shout.

“Yep. Keep that mentality. Effects of belief and all that. But us stealing the ability to time travel is now set in stone, and I genuinely think us being able to is for the best, so… just do your best.”

“Seriously, there’s gonna be a lot you can’t stop, or that you fuck up, but…”

Healing Cy grabs one shoulder as Scab Cy awkwardly leans against the control panel, his face is resolute when he meets my eye. Their gazes are determined.

“Just do your best.” Healing Cy says, shaking me gently by the shoulder.

It’s an odd feeling, like being swept away in the current, with all this destiny and predetermination going about. I can’t quite wrap my head around it, but future me has assured myself that that’s the safest thing, so that doesn’t bother me too much. I just close my eye and think for a while, digesting, taking deep breaths like my juvie therapist Dr. Mahayshweren taught me.

Just do your best.

“Okay. Now what’s this list?” I ask.

Healing Cy beams and rips a sheet of paper from inside his bag of holding.

“A list of some impossible feats you’ll have to do if you want to not turn into paste the first time you time travel!”