The Creators: Epilogue

Diamond kinged her final piece. "You might find you feel the same about Mom if you give her a chance."

"Will you stop reading my fucking thoughts?!" I snapped. "You're not even supposed to be able to do that here. This is my realm!"

She smiled impishly. "I'm the devil. Reading people's deepest thoughts is kind of my thing. No matter what rules you make, we're all just astral bodies, and you are so expressive."

I looked down at the gameboard, then back up at her, and narrowed my eyes. "Wait... have you been cheating this whole time?"

Her smile turned woefully guilty.

I turned the board around. "King me," I growled.

She examined the lay of the board. "No."

"So you concede."

"I'm just not moving."

"That's called 'conceding.' I win."

She shook her head with a giggle, and her delightful jumble of curls sprayed the board with blood. "I'm not saying that I won't move; I'm just saying that I won't do it now. We have an eternity."

I just glared at her.

She stretched dramatically and brandished a knife from her belt. "Welp, Chaos sure was fun, Willowbud. Thank you for the experience!"

"You're leaving?"

"Yep," she said as she casually slit her wrist. "I've got business to attend to back in Hell, then I'm off to visit Mom and Aunt Lucilla." She gave me a pointed look. "You are, of course, always invited to join us."

DIAMOND

It was good to be back home. I had technically never left, as I was partitioned a million different ways to personally service all my lovers, but being back in the soul was different. The great philosophical question of who we are--mind or soul--would likely never be answered in truth, but at least in this plane of existence, I always felt more "present" where my soul was. Currently, that was in a dark place. There was no dimension to this darkness. It was a void that surrounded me, and the only discontinuity was the single red flame. The torch was bolted into an obsidian pylon that extended upward and downward to infinity, and the stone floor only materialized where I walked. Before me, was a single woman. She was suspended in the air with chains that pulled her limbs into a spread-eagle, displaying her magnificent body to the abyss. The abyss was all she'd known for nearly a thousand years. The abyss, and me. Needless to say, the Dark Queen and I had become quite close.

"You're back," she whispered.

I smiled as I examined every curve and bow of her body. "I never left you, Leveria."

"I can always tell when you're not wholly present," she said, her orange eyes tracking me as I circled her. "There's not a secret you and I can keep from each other."

"I suppose not," I muttered, and moved behind her. She shuddered when she could no longer see me, and I watched the muscles on her magnificent back tense, the exquisite bronze shoulders molded by so many years of holding her in this position, the wings of her latissimus dorsi shaped like bronze, the supple domes of her glutes rounded and quivering atop her toned thighs.

"A fresh canvas," she hissed huskily, her body trembling with anticipation. "How many times have you reconstructed me?"

"I've lost count," I replied softly, and ever-so-gently caressed her along the shadowed crease of her spine. Oh, how she quaked beneath my touch, her flesh trained to perfect responsiveness by my hand; my hand mastered by the training of her flesh. What I did to her, she did to me. What she gave to me, I gave to her, but neither of us took anything from the other. It was impossible to define the depth of our relationship. It had surpassed description so long ago. I stroked the flesh that I knew better than my own and watched it prickle in readiness as she moaned for me to continue. No words needed to be said between us.

She had been the first person to come to Hell. I was insecure and inexperienced with Corruption to aid me, but Leveria saw my potential even if I did not. She became my master, and I, her apprentice. When my training first started, she had to instruct me exactingly. There were so many things I was naturally gifted at, but my virginal understanding of this kind of darkness was clumsy and painful. Much more painful for me than it was for her, even though I was the one wielding the knife. There were times when I broke down and wept, and she berated me terribly, but she never gave up on me. She held her steadfast faith in what I could become, and slowly but surely, she helped me realize my potential and purpose. The blade, the flame, the needle, the whip; these instruments became my paintbrushes, and her flesh became my canvas. Any boor could create pain, but only an artist could understand that the canvas was not blank at all; it was a unique masterpiece that had not yet been realized. I knew I had become an artist when Leveria no longer needed to instruct me, I knew I had become a master when I could shape her to my will, but I didn't become the devil until I learned that the true transcendence was something we created together. Every brushstroke of pleasure, every dash of agony, every note of ecstasy and suffering all transitioned fluidly and naturally in a collaboration of the deepest empathy. There were times when I orchestrated and times when I improvised, but the mastery was to listen, understand, and feel with flawless clarity when and how to exact the right sensations and emotions to reach nirvana. It was not about power. We were equals in this. When we reached perfection, we were one entity entirely.

Ever-so-gently, I slid my hands along the curves of her back, sensing the path I would take by the replies of her nerves. It always started with pleasure. Pleasure was the whisperer of the flesh, and it would reveal what kind of art we would create. For weeks I would caress her, massage her, sate her every sexual need until I saw the outline of her masterpiece. Was she garnering more delight from her lower back than usual? Oh, how sensitive she'd become along her spine. Her shoulders were electric with nerves, but the nape of her neck wasn't as responsive as last time. I raked my fingers through her hair and listened to the drawling moan that slid so easily from her. The scalp would be a priority. I pathed my fingertips gently across her face, rounding her ocular bones, caressing her closed eyes as I stroked her nose, savoring the way she shuddered when I outlined her jaw and tested the pliancy of her wanting lips. Along her throat I went, enjoying the symphony of whimpers that came from her until I reached her breasts. Kneading them softly, I circled her areolas, produced a moan from the rolling of her nipples, then ventured down her tummy, across her ribs, and along her hips. My hands came together behind her, cupped each of her pliant cheeks, and squeezed in all the places she enjoyed until I understood where I would need to attend. Satisfied with my assessment, I spread her open and began my gentle invasion.

Massaging and kneading tenderly, I explored her insides with deft and practiced motions, gaging her every sensation and emotion, gleaning the outline of the painting we would make together. My other hand came around her front, dipped below her erect masculine organ, and touched fingertips with my molesting digits. Once there, I forked my fingers and tenderly slithered them along the pillowy outline of her netherlips. I explored her ribbons and petals, grazed her entrance, then came upon her hooded pearl. It was concealed just below her cock, and throbbed with the same desire. I ran a single finger up the curved length of her, then came back down to tease the nub beneath it. Back and forth, back and forth; I performed this tortuous repetition until her breath caught with an edge of desperation when my fingers reached the crease of her pulsating head.

I paused and smiled against her throat. "Feeling more masculine than last time?"

Her entire body shuddered with tension. That simple question was a proverbial tip of the iceberg where beneath the water's surface, the immense blackness of what was to come would take shape. Deconstructing a man was quite different than deconstructing a woman, but taking apart a hermaphrodite was an intricate dance of understanding which pieces she most identified with. So when I ever-so-tenderly stroked her masculine organ, and I sensed the chorus of terror and desire singing beneath her flesh, I understood what paths we would take on this journey together. And what a journey it would be.

I smiled against Leveria's throat, then placed a kiss on the nape of her neck, and withdrew. She needed some time alone to process what was to come, and I had a pending engagement.

BRANDON

Justina and Petranumen were very different people, but they never acted independently. I assumed they personally disagreed on quite a bit, but if one of them ever confided in me about their relationship, I knew what was actually happening was a coordinated operation. So when Justina came to my realm and began divulging that she and Petranumen were arguing about Julia, I knew what this conversation was really about. All I had to do was replace, "Petra is worried that Julia is being too isolated," with: "I'm worried that you're being too isolated," and then get to the root of it all with: "Petra and I are currently manipulating you into doing what we think is best for you."

Justina wrinkled her nose at me. "I guess I'm just not the user Petra is."

I snorted and took a hit from my joint. "Uh-huh."

"Brandon, please."

"I spent the formative days of my mortal life being used by manipulative women. Some of them used my kindness against me, some of them used my cock against me, but none of them--not your mother, Gloria, Willowbud, Diamond, Julia, Astrid, or even Angela--could hold a candle to you." I raised my burning joint in a toast. "I managed to survive all of those ambitious cunts by playing the fool, but who ultimately ended up killing me in that cave? Why, the wee little master of the universe playing the fool."

She rolled her eyes. "I wasn't playing, Brandon."

"Neither was I. Turns out, the greatest weapon of all is complete ignorance." I gave her a wry look. "You came here as the old harmless friend. We were going to have a banal talk about how Julia has never left her realm without either of us ever mentioning that I have never left my realm. But it wouldn't bear mentioning, because Julia was once a genocidal psychopath, so clearly her isolationism is borne from some mental deficiency, while my isolationism comes from... oh, my easy-going attitude, I guess." I held up my joint. "Because everyone knows that pot-smoking hippies are sage mystics who have reached a higher understanding of the universe, and are not actually just complacent cowards masking their depression."

"I was never going to say you're a coward," she mumbled.

"So I guess I'm just projecting then?"

"If you say so."

I chuckled and flicked my ash. "Every word of this conversation has been mapped out by you and Petra. Even this part."

"I think you give us too much credit," she plucked the joint from my hand. "And I think you're spending too much time smoking this shit. Your paranoia has paranoia."

"Tell me I'm wrong then."

She opened her mouth, closed it, then took a hit from the joint.

"I thought so. Petra's in Heaven right now, isn't she? And I bet you've recruited Diamond to your cause as well since she apparently is just more mature than the rest of us."

Justina sighed and let out some smoke. "Should I just skip to the part where I get tired of your bullshit, or do you want to go through the motions?"

"Do one of those motions involve you sucking my dick?"

"Of course."

I weighed the options for a moment. "If I skip that, do you leave this conversation in an angry huff for me to stew over your words, or is there forgiveness-sex afterward?"

"There's pity-sex where I make it very clear that I'm doing you a favor and not really getting any enjoyment out of it."

I smirked at her. "I fucking love that shit."

She tucked her chin in guiltily. "I do too."

"You may proceed past the bullshit."

"Ok," she took a steeling breath. "Here's the thing; when you all died, all of you ceased to grow--all except Diamond."

"She was practically a baby when she died. Makes sense."

"You're right that she wasn't a fully-developed person when she arrived here, but it's been a thousand years and she hasn't stopped pushing herself. The rest of you haven't taken one step out of your comfort zones."

"Willowbud comes here all the time."

"Willowbud faced and conquered her demons when she was alive. Her entire existence was spent in discomfort, so this place..." she waved irreverently at my realm, "...hardly challenges her perception. She and Angela buried the hatchet before they died, and you and she were always on good terms, so there's nothing here to perpetuate her growth."

"Why do we need to change?"

"Petra told me a story about when I was Vitanimus. Many years ago, I donned the guise of Power, and she donned the guise of Corruption as a foil to it. When we wore those disguises, we became frozen in those perceptions. After Joy and I died, Petra became dependent on that perception. If she hadn't killed me, I likely would've done the same. Apparently, Power was very seductive to Vitanimus." She gave me a pointed look. "You can see how that self-perception would be disastrous to me, can't you?"

"What's your point?"

"Power doesn't change people; it just makes them more of what they are. You have a self-perception that you perpetuate because nobody is forcing you to change. If you don't change, then this realm doesn't change."

"You made me the angel of this place because of who I am."

"If you doggedly stick to a 'theme' then this place will become nothing but a theme park."

"The people make of it what they want; that's the whole point. This isn't Heaven where Julia provides everything, and it's not Chaos where you can just chop off someone's arm because you don't like them."

"I noticed you didn't mention Hell."

"This place is literally the exact opposite of Hell."

Justina nodded. "There were two million people on the bridge when the planes reformed. Two million people who are effectively as old as the afterlife. Do you know where most of them are right now?"

"Yeah," I muttered.

"Why do you think they go to her?"

"Boredom, I guess."

"That's precisely it. Boredom, Brandon. Not boredom out of a lack of stimulus--even torture gets boring. Boredom because they've grown and changed since they arrived here, and the only angel who has grown and changed with them has been Diamond. They want to experience a new understanding of paradise when they go to Heaven, but Julia can't provide it. They want to experience a new understanding of expression when they come to Freedom, but they just find the same sophomoric interpretations of it. They want to experience a new understanding of humanity when they go to Chaos, but they find no challenge in the inexperience of those younger than themselves. So they go to Hell, and Diamond shows them something new. They come out after a few decades, and realize the rest of the afterlife hasn't changed with them."

"Fine then," I shrugged. "Take my power away and give it to one of them."

"I would never do that."

"You just said that there are millions of people out there more mature than me. One of them is bound to be better at my job."

She smiled and put her hand on my knee. "There are thousands of people who would do a better job than you, but none of them are you. God is obliged to love everybody, but that's only true for Petra. I am much more selective."

"I know you, Justina. Love's not the reason you stick with me."

"It is, actually. I love you, so I can delude myself into believing that you can change and be the man I need you to be. If I didn't love you, I wouldn't bother with this conversation. I would take your power away and give it to someone else. But if I do that, then that power is just something I lease out. It's my power, and it will corrupt me. So yes, Brandon, I am here in the guise of a friend to manipulate you, but I'm also just coming as your friend in your time of need."

"My time of need?"

"Angela left you."

I took a deep hit from the joint and watched the thick smoke plume out before me. "She'll come back."

"And you'll be here as an old memory that she can relish for a bit of nostalgia before she's gone again."

"Are you trying to hurt my feelings?"

She gave me a sympathetic look. "Yes, Brandon, but I can't. It seems that nobody can."

I glared at her. "Is this the part where we have pity-sex?"

"No, this is the part where you point out my hypocrisy."

"Then skip to the part where you explain it."

She worked her jaw nervously. "I've already told you. Petra goes to the realms and gains all the experience. I observe and gain all the perspective."

"Perspective? You're not even here right now."

"There needs to be a constant. Everyone else can change, but I cannot."

"Forever, Justina?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it. I could practically see the gears of her mind trying to churn out a reasonable response, but the thought gummed up the teeth. Yes, Justina and Petranumen never divulged their disagreements to us, but I knew them both too well. They could find commonality in everything no matter how different they were, but there was one question of the universe that they could not yet find the answers to, and for that, they would always be at odds. They would never say it out loud--they wouldn't even hint at it, but it was the reason for this conversation. It was the reason for everything.

There wasn't any pity-sex after that. God just stood up and vanished into the air.

JUSTINA

"You're not even here right now," I mimicked Brandon's words with a sneer, then felt wholly foolish.

I was in my office at the end of the bridge. The window gave me a grand view of the great wheel of the afterlife, all spinning slowly about the spoke. Just below me, the newly dead walked through the threshold from the physical plane, and my astral projections excitedly greeted them all.

"Hello, and welcome to the afterlife, Susana! Tough break being eaten alive by a pack of wolves in front of your children. Don't worry, they'll be here soon; they're not very fast runners. Oh hush, we all have a very macabre sense of humor here. You'll find that all your troubles and worries are as meaningless as life itself, but if you think that's horrifying, just wait until you find out that the afterlife suffers from even greater existentialism!"

Of course, I didn't actually say any of that. My spiel was always personable and heartfelt, and I was always oh-so understanding and welcoming on the surface. But after a thousand years of this, I was beginning to feel the cracks in my armor.

"You know what I'm going to say," Petra sighed from her lounging position on the bed.

"And you know how I'm going to respond," I muttered.

She rolled over, tossing her magnificent white hair with the casualness of great contentment. "Should I describe what I'm doing in Heaven right now?"

"No need. I can see it."

"Doesn't it look like fun?"

I scowled at her over my shoulder. "I have fun."

"Only here. Only with me." She propped her chin up with her hands. "Everywhere else you have 'fun' you do so with your astral projection. That's like receiving a blowjob with a condom on."

"Are we going to keep having this fucking argument?!" I growled.

She tittered musically. "I'm not arguing with you, my love. I'm in Heaven holding up my end of the deal. I see you've failed to bring Brandon along."

"He'll get around to it. He's slow."

"Yes, and I believe you just had a rather pointed discussion about hypocrisy," she drawled. "I'm waiting... any second now..."