Part I: The beginning of the end

This was bad. This was very very bad. Discord stood in a dark, empty space, the only light coming from the kneeling figure before him, its skin glowing a dim orange. Chains held the figure, disappearing into infinity, jingling and creaking as they slowly swayed. The figure looked up, its face smooth and featureless, but still somehow smug.

“It has been a long time, drifter.” The words were far away, impossibly old, unknowable and familiar. “I wondered when you would seek me out.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Discord shook his head, letting out an exasperated breath. “I can't believe you're still at it after all these years. Don't you ever give up?”

The figure moved impossibly fast and stood face to face with him now, the chains rippling behind him like waves. “I do not. I am the end of all. No mere threat, but an inevitability. You could have let your world burn, allowed it to be rendered into oblivion, but your insolence has only fueled my hatred.” It glowed brighter, impossibly bright, its shackles burning red hot as Discord felt his skin burn. “I would have simply consumed them, but now I will ensnare the soul of every creature to this plane. I will keep them trapped on the world you pushed me to ruin.” It ignited, flames shooting into the endless oblivion behind it, growing and growing, and Discord finally knew where he was.

The heat of the Suns’ surface scorched his skin, his healing only just keeping up as he was pulled closer, plummeting through the burning layers of gas until he reached the core. It was hollow inside, containing the same figure, but impossibly large, even curled into a ball, suspended inside. It looked at Discord, its smooth face alone thousands of miles tall, coming closer. Closer. Closer. Discord felt his skin char and blacken, vaporizing in the heat, focusing everything on keeping his eyes and tongue intact.

“You will burn, drifter.” The words rumbled like a declaration from God, ringing just as loud if not louder. “You will burn, and Ragnarok will finally come to pass.”

There was a sound like splitting stone, and Discord was suddenly falling, his body reduced to little more than scorched bones, breaking into several pieces as he came crashing down onto the barn floor. Strands of muscle and blood vessels spread across his desiccated form, pulling the bones back into shape as his body regrew, his coat reappearing thread by thread, covering him from the neck down. When he was fully reformed, he slipped on a shirt, jeans, and his backup boots before springing to his feet, stretching his fresh muscles. They always needed to be broken in after reforming like that, far too stiff. At least he’d managed to keep his tongue intact, it was always a week minimum for anything to taste right after a new tongue.

He realized the barn was littered with corpses. Corpses in very rough condition. Weird, I don't remember doing this. He looked around dumbly and found Derrek leaning against a pole near the altar, breathing hard and bleeding from his shoulder, soaked to the wrists and splattered everywhere else with blood. It seemed he had been hit with a shovel, a split on his forehead trickling blood down the side of his face as he glared at Discord.

“Where the fuck were you?” He didn't shout it, he didn't even say it loudly; it was clear he didn't have the energy for it. Discords’ eyes slid to the altar and went wide at the sight of the scythe stuck through it, splitting the whole thing in twain, carved skull included. He looked at the corpses anew, and saw how the fight had gone, the carnage telling a story that only he and Derrek could understand. He took in a long breath and let it out slow.

“I was on the sun, but you look like you've been through Hell.” He stepped forward, reaching for Derreks’ wounded shoulder, only for him to jerk away, stumbling, almost falling over before Discord caught him. “Come on, Havok, I know you're pissed, but at least let me patch you up.” Derrek grimaced, but he stopped fighting, leaning against the pole and dropping down to sitting as Discord tore at his shirt, revealing the damage to his right shoulder. There were several stab wounds on the front and a single slash on the back, none deep enough to do any real damage. “You're lucky you've got strong bones, any one of these could've gotten your lung if you were still human. Might have a nick or two on the ribs, but they look like they're intact.”

Derrek weakly raised a hand and patted at his ribs on the opposite side. “I broke at least one, I took care of it though.”

Discords’ eyes went wide, though there was no pride in Derreks’ voice. “No kidding?” Derrek shook his head, not saying anything else. “Damn man, that's probably the most impressive thing I've seen from you yet. I didn't even teach that to you.” Derrek didn't respond, so Discord kept talking as he laid his glowing hands on the wounds. “You've really been on the ball today, excellent subterfuge, exceptional combat work, and you really beat the shit out of me! I’d give you a solid A-plus if I gave grades on these things. I’d even say-”

“Shut up.”

Discord was silent for a moment, then slid his eyes up to Derreks’. “Look, I didn't have much control over what went down. I was on the fucking sun! Don't you want to know what that was about?”

Derrek glared at Discord, not showing any sign of relief as his wounds closed over. “I had to kill twenty-nine people, I don't give a shit where you were.”

Discord winced, feeling the closest thing he’d felt to guilt in years. He pulled his hands away as the wounds faded into scars, looking at Derrek with a serious expression. “I'm sorry. I fucked up.”

Derrek scoffed, rubbing at his fresh scars. “That's putting it lightly. You said your blood would desecrate the altar and throw them into a murder frenzy. Why didn't that happen?”

Discord sucked in air through his teeth. He was getting too good at asking the right questions. A tense moment passed before he let the air out in a long sigh. “Because they weren't a blood cult. Or they were a month ago, but not anymore. It turns out they were something else, something worse.” He pressed his hand against the back of Derreks’ shoulder, channeling more of his spiritual energy to spare Derrek the strain. Discord winced as he felt the air pressure change a fraction of a degree, knowing they were out of time. “I really wish I could say more now, but we have bigger fish to fry.”

Derreks’ glare deepened, his white eyebrows furrowing. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. How much more crazy bullshit do you have to pull today?”

Discord pulled his hand away from the healed shoulder, brushing dust from his pants as he stood. “I promise, I’m not pulling anything. But she is.” He nodded toward the black robed figure crouching over Adams’ body, her hand laid flat on its back. Derrek startled and scrambled to his feet, staring dumbly as she slowly turned round, her thin face above her mouth obscured by the shadow of her hood. She silently stood, gliding across the floor without even a ripple of cloth, coming to rest a few strides distant from the men. “Hey, Grim.”

She glanced at him, feeling her appraising eyes behind that hood, her voice creeping out cold words tinged with a light British accent. “Hello, Discord.” She betrayed no emotion in her slow speech, and likely didn't feel any either. Her head swiveled to Derrek, who looked as if he’d rather be back out with Brutus. “Hello, Derrek Snowe. I am the Grim Reaper, a name that comes with the title.” The corner of her mouth twitched upward a barely-perceivable fraction. “I’m sorry I couldn't attend your function last night, unfortunately I can only cross into this plane when and where souls are separated from their forms.” She sighed, her cold breath steaming in the stale air. “Meanwhile the other Reapers have free passage. You know how it is, being in charge; being held to different standards than your subordinates. Different rules to follow.”

Derrek closed his eyes and shook his head, rubbing at his temples. “I'm sorry,” he said after a moment, “I seem to be in shock. Or concussed. Or both” He rubbed his eyes then opened them, glancing from Grim to the scythe. “Is this about Boyd? Did I accidentally summon his scythe?”

Grims’ head tilted back slightly, the very tip of her nose peeking from the shadow. “That… is an incredibly astute guess, but no.” She faced the altar, holding out her hand. The scythe trembled, rattling in the stone as it vibrated itself free, flying across the space, almost meeting her hand. She lowered her hand and the weapon remained levitating upright. “This is not Boyds’ scythe. It's yours.” Derrek stared at the scythe, confusion written across his face. “When you devoured Boyd, he became part of you, his strength added to your strength, his form aligned with your form. Nature follows form, and when you took that scythe up to fight, it became part of your form as well.”

Derrek gulped, a sheen of sweat forming on his face as he stared at the scythe. Discord was pretty sure all the ‘form’ talk went over his head, but it was clear he understood the implication. “I don't want it.”

“Too bad.” Her monotone gave no sign of mockery, or anything else for that matter. “Fate has dropped it in your lap, and it is now part of you.” She flicked her wrist, and a green flame erupted from the base of the staff, engulfing the weapon and flickering away, no trace left behind. “It will always be there when you call. It's an imposition, I know, but there is no denying it.” Her hooded face pivoted toward Discord. “Do you think he will be long? Twenty-nine only gives me so much time.”

Discord sighed again, “You know how it goes; speak of the Devil-”

“And he shall appear?”

There was no herald to the newcomers’ arrival; he was simply there as if he always had been. He stood in his gray pinstripe suit, hands clasped behind his back as he glared at Derrek with his solid black eyes, no sign of white. Derrek took a step back, his discomfort quickly turning to fear. Discord stepped between them. “Check yourself, Desk guy. You're out of your jurisdiction.” The newcomer stared for a further moment, then those tarpit eyes shrunk to a more natural size, if still uncanny.

“You're right, of course. It is simply… frustrating, to face my biggest failure in an epoch.” His speech was odd, not the content or the accent or even the pronunciation, but his spacing. The syllables came staggered, some too far apart, some too close, as if he were reading a script one letter at a time, forming the words as he figured them out. He bent slightly to the side so he could look at Derrek around Discord. “I wish you were dead.”

“Hey!” Discord snapped his fingers in Desk guys’ face, those unblinking black marbles shifting across their seas of white to point at him. “Play nice. I can make your life hell and there's nothing you can do about it. Not to mention we’re on a time crunch.” He rolled up his sleeve and checked the six watches on his wrist, none of which showed the right time. “What do you think, Grim? Six minutes?”

She nodded. “At most.”

Discord grunted and tugged his sleeve back down, “Good, we can work it.” He stepped aside so everyone faced inward and nodded at the gray man. “Havok, this is Desk guy, closest thing to God with a capital ‘G.’ If you'll recall from book one, he’s the one who hired me to kill the Devourer over and over again.” He gave Desk guy the side-eye. “A work agreement that was recently terminated. He’s kinda like an accountant, just here to make sure things add up, except he’s not allowed to directly influence mortal affairs.” He pulled a flask from his coat out of habit, but now wasn't the time so he put it back. “He won't tell me why, and I don't really care. The important thing is the loophole to that rule is to employ immortals. So when he says rude shit like earlier, just think of him like a chihuahua barking from behind a fence.” He glanced the gray man up and down and pursed his lips. “Or a goldfish with chronic stank-eye.” Those black eyes rippled, stretching out and contracting. Discord smirked and looked back over to Derrek. “Anyway, he’s here because of what happened on the Sun. Any questions?”

Stolen novel; please report.

Derrek stared at him blankly for a moment, then his eyes shifted to the gray man. “Desk guy? That's your name?”

Those eyes shrunk to pinpricks and Desk guy let out a sigh. “I do not have a name. ‘Desk guy’ is a nickname, you know how Discord likes those. He calls me that because-”

“You're a guy who sits behind a desk.” Derrek finished for him.

The pinpricks exploded into symmetrical patterns, each eye a unique Rorschach test. “Yes. You get the joke.”

“Alright.” Discord clapped his hands, commanding everyones’ attention. “Let's cut to the chase.” He shifted his focus to Desk guy. “The chains are weakening, aren't they?”

The Rorschachs collapsed inward and black marbles met Discords’ gaze. “Yes, they are.”

Discord sucked in air through his teeth. “Shit, it's worse than I thought. If blood cults are being overwritten, that can only mean it's too far gone to nip in the bud.” He stroked that little patch of hair on his lower lip thoughtfully. “Is there any chance we can cut out all its connections? I can take out every cult on the planet if it'll work.”

Desk guy closed his eyes and shook his head. “If you have a broom, you can also sweep the desert. Ragnarok is far closer than the other ancients, and all it needs is discontent to sow its seed.”

“I'm sorry.” Derrek held up one hand and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other. “I am completely lost and in quite a bit of pain.” He opened his eyes and glared at Discord. “Could you please just explain what you're talking about? I’ll even take the Cliffs notes if it helps me understand any of what the fuck is going on.”

Discord met his gaze for a moment, then checked his watches again, nodding and tugging back down his sleeve. “Fair enough, but I’ll need you to save the questions for later.” Derrek nodded in understanding, and Discord gestured to the cleft altar. “Like I said, a month ago these guys followed the blood god, but some time since then their connection to it was forced out. Not cut, but unplugged, so to speak, leaving a port for something else to connect to. The name of the thing that stole their worship is Ragnarok, a major asshole I threw into the sun fifteen hundred years ago and locked away with unbreakable chains.” Derrek opened his mouth, but Discord held up a finger. “Save it. I thought it was a permanent solution, but apparently permanent is relative. As you just heard, the chains are weakening. I don't know if that's what's letting it spawn these cults or if it's the other way around, but we’re at a point where it doesn't really matter.” He took out a flask and took a slug; he needed it for this one. “To put it bluntly, Ragnarok is going to destroy Earth and everything on it.”

Derrek blinked and his jaw opened and closed several times, shaking his head gently in denial. “Destroyed? No. No. There has to be something we can do!” He looked around frantically, grabbing at nothing as if he could conjure a solution out of thin air. “Can't you… I don't know, can't you just go kill it?”

Discord snorted. It would've been funny under any other circumstances. “What, do you want me to shoot the Sun? Ragnarok can't just be killed, why do you think I trapped him there? The only real way we could take it out is if you went and ate it, but unless you've got a thousand gallons of SPF ten trillion I’d put it out of your mind. The fact is this is happening and we need to figure out what we’re going to do about it.”

Derrek stared at him for a moment. “Well, what are we going to do about it?”

“You see,” Discord said as he scratched the back of his head, “That's the tricky part. This is beyond unprecedented, I don't exactly have a quick-fix for this one. The good news is we have time to figure something out.” He took another slug and eyed Desk guy. “How long have we got? You have a better sense than I do.”

Each black marble flattened out into a straight line, fluctuating up and down rapidly like an audio recording sound wave, stabilizing and connecting at the ends to form empty circles once he’d finished whatever calculations he was running. “Fifteen years, maybe sixteen.” A silence hung over the group, though Derrek was the only one to show any reaction over the revelation, holding his head in his hands, looking down at the floorboards. Desk guy rolled up his sleeve and checked his singular watch, those circles filling with black like a fill function on a computer paint program. “Apologies, but I have a prior commitment, and I've shared all I can at any rate.” He tugged down his sleeve and looked Discord in the eye. “Let me know if you need anything… specific. My hands are tied, but I may still have information that would be of use.”

Discord nodded. “Will do. Let me know if you grow a conscience and want to hand us a solution.”

Desk guy smirked ever so slightly, those marbles growing a fraction of an inch. “Will do.” And with just as little fanfare as his arrival, he was gone.

Discord let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding and took another sip from his flask. “So yeah, we've got about fifteen years to figure something out before the world ends.” Derrek had been staring off into the distance, his mouth slightly open, but he blinked a few times and focused on Discord.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Yep.” Discord offered his flask, but pulled it back at the last second, tucking it into his coat and producing a different flask which Derrek eyed warily. “This one’s Steel Barrel, figured you wouldn't want a Bad Thanksgiving.” Derrek took the flask and turned it up, drinking at least half of the whisky before coming up for air. He fell into a coughing fit and didn't realize until it subsided that Grim had her hand outstretched toward him.

“May I?” she asked. Derrek looked at her dumbly for a moment, coughed once more, then handed her the flask. Frost spread from her fingers across the metal, the entire flask covered in a thin layer by the time it reached her lips. Her head tilted back slightly as she took a long sip, her gaunt cheekbones visible in the low light. She sighed contentedly as she finished her indulgence and wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her robe, offering the flask back to Derrek. “Thank you. It's a rare treat to be able to partake in mortal intoxicants.”

Derrek took the flask and gawped at it for a moment, his tired eyes then shifting to Grim. “I don't mean to be rude, but why are you here? You didn't offer anything while Desk guy was here and you said it wasn't about the scythe, so it has to be something else.”

Unseen by the other two, Discord smirked, and a moment later Grim did as well. “Because I wanted to meet you. The fact that you consumed Boyd means you are part Reaper, and that insists a certain degree of responsibility for you and your actions upon me.” She tilted her head back, her nose peeking out from the shadows, bright green eyes shining from behind the darkness, the same shade as Derreks’ left eye. “I wanted to ensure the power was in good hands.” She looked Derrek up and down then nodded. “I am satisfied that it is.”

Derrek blinked. He scanned the room, looking at each and every corpse he had made before shifting his eyes to Grim. “I killed twenty-nine people.”

“Yes.” Grims’ voice betrayed no emotion, it was a simple acknowledgement of a fact.

Derrek blinked again. “Doesn't that… matter to you?”

Her hooded head tilted to the side quizzically. “It was their time. You have done nothing so far that I take issue with.” She assessed the carnage herself, showing neither admiration nor disgust in her appraisal. “In fact, you were very swift, very minimal in their suffering.” She nodded. “Yes, I am satisfied.”

Derrek stared at her for a moment, then finished off the frosted flash in his hand, taking in a gasping breath once it was empty. He shook his head, staring at the floor for a moment before looking back up at Grim. “I had no idea what to expect when you showed up. Part of me was afraid you were here to collect my soul or something.”

Grims’ eyes glowed slightly brighter and a pit of dread opened in Discords’ stomach. “No,” she said, even more monotone than usual, “your soul is not mine to collect.”

Oh shit.

Derreks’ brow furrowed. “What do you mean by that?”

Shit shit shit.

Grim tilted her head again, her glowing eyes narrowing to green slits. “Did Discord not tell you?”

Shit! Fucking shit!

Derreks’ face scrunched up in annoyance and his eyes shifted to Discord, who was avoiding his gaze like the plague. “What didn't Discord tell me this time?”

No no no, fuck, no!

Grim was silent for a moment, and Derrek saw something in her bright eyes that worried him. Fuck! “Your soul has been claimed by the Devourer. When your form parishes, it will absorb your soul into itself.”

No!

Derrek shook his head, confused. “Wait… does this mean I don't get an afterlife?”

FUCK!

Grim nodded grimly. “That's correct. When your form dies, your soul will as well.”

Discord closed his eyes and took in a breath, trying to will time to stop so the fallout could be avoided, but there was no unbreaking the seal. Even with his eyes closed, he could sense the devastation on Derreks’ face, a deafening silence hanging over them. He sensed Derreks’ eyes on him, and felt a dagger in his heart at the tone of Derreks’ words. “Why did you keep this from me?”

Discord scratched the back of his head, hemming and hawing until he finally met Derreks’ cold eyes. “It hadn't come up.”

Derrek took two furious steps toward him, his face a picture of rage and his words cold as ice. “You should have brought it up. Maybe around the time you told me there was an afterlife at all. Or rather, the dozens of afterlives, none of which I'll ever see.” He began pacing back and forth, grabbing a handful of his own white hair. “Unbelievable. You are unbelievable!” He spun to face Discord again, stabbing an accusatory finger at him. “Is it fun? Fucking with my life like this? Was it fun having me make friends with these people when you knew goddamn well your plan would go tits-up like always? Why even bring me here?” He stepped forth, that finger jabbing into Discords’ chest. “You didn't need me, and I don't need this.”

A tense silence hung between them, neither of them blinking as they stared the other down, their focus only diverted when Grim coughed. “I see you have much to discuss, my time is almost up anyway. It was a pleasure to meet you, Snowe. I'm sure our paths will cross again.” She gave Discord nothing but a nod, and she was gone, that minute pressure change registering in his ears while Derrek simply stared at the empty space she used to occupy.

Discord sighed. “Sorry about that, they're both terrible at farewells.”

Derrek rounded on him, his anger unquelled. “I don't give a damn about their farewells, or anything else you have to say for that matter.” He paced again, covering his face with his hands, shaking his head. “I need a break.”

Discord blinked. “What, from Saturdays?”

“From you!” Derrek rounded on him again and came so close Discord felt droplets of spit from his screamed words. “I don't want to see you again.” He stabbed that finger into his chest with each word. “I don't want you to show up out of nowhere, I don't want you to drag me across the fucking globe, I don't want to even hear your name again.” He turned around and threw his hands up, exasperated. “Not unless you're either ready to stop lying to me, or you have a goddamn solution to the world ending.” Discord was about to defend himself on the lying part, but Derreks’ green eye stopped the words in his throat. “Don't even fucking say it. Lies by omission are still lies.” He shook his head again, then glanced at the top half of Adams’ head, that gold tooth shining obscenely in the blood-stained half-smile. “Just… god damn it.”

Discord stepped forward, trying to put his hand on Derreks’ shoulder, “Havok, I’m sorry-” But Derrek jerked away, glaring at Discord anew.

“I don't want to hear it. Send me home.” He glanced around at the carnage one more time, the anger in his eyes giving way to a dread Discord knew well, and Derreks’ words were little more than a whisper “Just send me home.”

There were thousands of things Discord wanted to say, but he knew none of it would help. Some wounds can only heal with time, and some never get there, but the only way to know is to try. He blew air out through his nose and nodded. “Sure. Get some rest.” Those mismatched eyes narrowed a degree more, but Derrek didn't say anything more as Discord put his hand on his shoulder. For a fraction of a fraction of a moment, they were both back in New York, standing in Derreks tiled kitchen. He released his hand, and a fraction of a fraction later, Discord was back in the barn, alone with the corpses. He let the silence fester in his ears, allowed the smell of the blood to finally meet his nose, and he breathed in deep, letting it out in a guttural roar that rocked the very structure. Nails vibrated from their slots in the rafters, clattering down to the wood boards, the livestock outside panicking, every bird for miles fleeing their roosts as he released his frustration in the empty air.

When his well of emotion had run dry, he took in an equally large breath, and let it out as a simple sigh. “Fuck,” he whispered. He had pushed Derrek too hard. He should’ve run this one alone, or at the very least run a more recent recon. He slapped himself hard, driving that line of thought from his mind. He couldn't change what was already written, that had always been about the only thing he couldn't do. Derrek was angry, but he would cool down quick, he always had. Their bridge was on fire, but not burned, all there was to do was wait until it was safe to cross once again. Besides, how long could it take for him to find something good enough for Derrek to forgive him? That weirdo with the beanie had some promise, and who knew what else destiny would drop in his lap?

He sighed again. All of that thinking could wait, he had two-and-a-half-dozen corpses to deal with, and most of them in the wrong condition to explain it as a mutual brawl. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Maybe I could make it look like some other group came after them? Some local vigilante militia that found out what they got up to? He glanced at the clean-cut limbs and heads. He would have to rough those up, make them look like they came from something duller, machetes or axes and whatnot. Pull out the knives Derrek left behind, shoot the wounds to hide the true cause. Hunting rifles would be best, maybe 30-06, lot of hunters in these parts.

Discord nodded, smirking as he stroked that patch of hair under his lip. Today had been a fiasco, but at least he could enjoy a little cover up. It's all about the little things.