Pete stared into the toilet bowl, breathing hard with his head resting on the cool porcelain of the seat. Cleanliness, the furthest thing from his mind.

  From the moment he heard Natalie call out to him, he’d been (inexplicably) back in control. Violent images still present, but no desire to act upon them. An improvement, to be sure, though, one that brought little relief.

  His traitorous mind had continued racing through miseries, trying to find a more effective kind of torture. Like some twisted librarian, searching a catalogue of madness, his burning brain looked for the perfect selection to end him.

  And doubled over, breathing erratic, clinging to both the toilet seat and his fraying ego, it started.

  Thoughts came. Terrible, disturbing revelations, pouring over the safeguards of his sanity as high tide washes out a sandcastle. Overwhelming all logical footholds.

  The librarian had made a selection.

  Mental images flashed in his head, of life after death. Of Heaven. Of Hell. Of himself as a ghost lingering in a dull gray world. And in each scene, Pete faced the realization that the entirety of life’s anxiety would only continue endlessly, in all types of existence, on all dimensional planes. Void of reprieve, even beyond the finale of mortal decay.

  “You’re trapped forever.”

  “Pete, are you sure you’re alright?” It was Natalie again, from outside the closed door. Her instincts telling her to check in. Her kindness holding her back from pressing him.

  “Yeah, sorry, Nat. My stomach is messed up.” He was shocked he could even form the words, much less get them out in anything resembling his own voice. The sound of that voice which continued to fall wrong upon his ears. Like static through an old television set.

  “If I could just pass out,” he thought. “If I could just be snapped into a coma, right now. Somebody needs to turn me off! Please, God, where are you?”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Death won’t save you.”

  There it was, again. Constant. Blasting through all attempts to compartmentalize. It was the middle of a hurricane, with no evacuation route. The door that had already been kicked open. “How is this even remotely possible?” Pete wept, covering his face with his hands.

  And while Natalie looked through the pantry in the kitchen, there was no way to know what was happening to her husband, only a room away. No awareness that hearing her voice alone, had saved Pete from a gruesome fate.

  What’s more, Natalie Bishop could have never anticipated the conflict she herself would soon be at the center of, or the critical role she would play in its outcome.

  “Hmmm,” she said. “Fend for myself night …”

  6E+24

  “His connection is gone now,” Gabriel said quietly. “The Mind-breaker has done his work, God help us.”

  He watched Pete in his existential panic in the bathroom, Natalie preparing her dinner in the kitchen. It was difficult for Gabriel. He was so engrossed in the scene in fact, that he barely registered the golden spear manifesting in his hand. But almost as quickly as it had appeared, Gabriel sighed, relented, and disappeared his weapon back into the ether. A forced unconscious reminder that no matter his own empathy or even anger he was powerless to change what had already occurred.

  Raphael spoke. “Do you ever wonder why we can see them?” (He gestured toward Pete and Natalie) “Why we see them through the Kaleidoscope but never the Fallen? I’ve never understood that. We can see the man’s Light. We can see when the Light is destroyed. We know that only one individual is ever assigned the task of Mind-Breaking, so he must be somewhere nearby, yet we can’t see him. We could literally be looking right through him at this moment and wouldn’t know!”

  “It’s no ‘task’ for him,” Gabriel replied with disdain. “For him, it’s always been a pleasure. He hates them all. More than anything.”

  “And yes,” he went on, “I’ve also pondered the ‘whys’ of the Kaleidoscope. It’s smart to question. After all, we know who built it. Let’s just be thankful that, likewise, the Fallen cannot see us either. I would not want Azazel, or Baal, or Lucifer watching me.” Gabriel shifted his gaze from the scene in the fractal lens, resting his chin on his hand in a thoughtful pose. “Do we know what his ‘door’ was? His great weakness?”

  “No,” Raphael answered. “I came to you shortly after I realized what was happening. Obviously, I use that term loosely. I still haven’t fully grasped what even is happening.” Raphael looked at Gabriel with genuine confusion. “How is the man still alive?” he asked. “How does his Wreath still hold?”

  “How long did you say it’s been now?” Gabriel inquired.

  “What you are seeing occurred two months ago,” Raphael replied. “As unbelievable as that sounds. And even now, he holds. Although, I can’t see how even the strongest could maintain a Wreath forever without a Light. It’s not possible.”

  “I’m not entirely sure he is ‘the strength’,” Gabriel responded. “There’s something about the wife, Natalie, is it? Hearing her voice saved him in that first chaotic moment. She means… something.”

  “Agreed. However, first, let us return to the breaking,” Raphael suggested. “We may not be able to see everything, but we know who is there. I want to witness it one more time, as best I can.”

  6E+24