Worlds War One

lv [Treyvon]

Sacrifice.

Trey remembered studying the crucifix, staring up at the body of Christ nailed to the cross. The image had been so commonplace that he had never paused to consider the horror of it—a virtuous nonviolent man mounted to timber by iron spikes driven through wrists and ankles. Such a terrible fate for the savior of mankind. His sacrifice had been great. He'd died for our sins. He had died to save us all.

Sacrifice.

Drill had died to save Lieutenant Robinson. He should have never been here. He hadn't understood the Wider World. The Way Things Really Were hadn't made sense to the big guy. He had wandered through these worlds scared and confused. Now he was dead. To save Badia.

Trey, Quest, and Penina stood over Drill's body, staring across the corpse to face the undead Ji. Down the lane between the haunting homes made of Golem carcasses stood Johnny Rotten and his hostage, Saanvi. Mot appeared disinterested in their Human drama. Everything was playing out the way he knew it would.

Lieutenant Robinson knelt by the corpse of Drill Sergeant Camilo Cabello. There were traces of the thinnest tears upon her cheeks. Unlike Penina, she wasn't made of stone after all. Another casualty. Callie. Ji. Now Drill. Things were looking dire for the rest of them. An undead nephilim would make short work of three Humans and a frightened Golem.

Ji-Mot stepped toward the remaining Misfits. Time to finish it. Lieutenant Robinson rose, defiant to the death.

"No big propaganda speech before the public execution, Rotten?" the lieutenant called out. "Nothing to energize the troops? Even Hitler had rallies to inspire his army to carry out his genocide."

But Badia didn't understand. These were not soldiers. They weren't loyal fighters dedicated to a cause or misguided youth intoxicated with the thirst for battle. These were the children of Mot. All of them. They were a family. They were fighting for their father.

Ji aimed his enchanted handgun right between Lieutenant Robinson's eyes. He was close enough that the barrel pressed against her forehead. Before the nephilim could pull the trigger, the lieutenant punched him once in the face, square in the nose, making the Frankensteined half-Angel stagger. Lieutenant Robinson would keep swinging until she was dead—until the last punch was her very last punch.

"Wait," Saanvi Laghari called out as the undead Ji readied again to blow Badia Robinson's brains right out the back of her head.

Rotten held up a hand. Everyone paused. Did Saanvi have one last trick up her sleeve? Did she want to give Lieutenant Robinson last rites before being slain by a zombie Angel-spawn? Did she think the remaining Misfits had some grand plan, and she was trying to buy them a few moments?

No.

There was nothing else to bargain.

"I have a deal, Rotten," Saanvi said. "I know what you want."

Johnny Rotten exhibited neither interest nor boredom. His emotions were impossible to read. After existing for uncountable millennia, perhaps he had no expressions left. Maybe after all that time, everything was equally mundane.

Maybe that was it...

"This is a lonely place," Saanvi said, nodding toward the empty lanes of She'ol. The nothingness stretched on along that flat plain for as far as the eye could see. It was endlessly uninteresting. "I think I understand."

"You're falling for his twisted vision," Lieutenant Robinson seethed, lunging forward.

Trey took her gently, but firmly, by the arm and held the lieutenant back. Ji-Mot would end her without mercy. "Hear her out," Trey said. It was not a request. It was a command.

Trey expected Lieutenant Robinson to knock him down or knock him out. Instead, the superior officer stood down.

"These things you call children are copies of yourself, like distorted clones of Mot without any difference in personality or personal experience," Saanvi said. "Duplicate images repeated and unremarkable. That isn't the same as having a child. Your existence is like being alone in a room with walls made of mirrors. You might see a hundred reflections of yourself, but you are still all alone."

"These are my children," Mot insisted. "They will make for me a great nation."

"If you seek to have a people because you are lonely, you will never find family in these 'offspring,'" Saanvi promised.

Rotten examined the Angels restraining Saanvi. Ji was ready to execute the enemy, and the dozens of undead soldiers lining the lane prepared to fight. They would do anything for Mot because they were Mot. This collective wasn't ever going to be a nation of many, but simply a legion of one.

"Something is better than nothing," Johnny Rotten said.

"But there might be something better than this," Saanvi suggested.

Rotten had a new look on his face, something other than the expressionless mask of boredom he had featured since they'd first seen him in Arcadia. He exhibited curiosity.

"I can see how this place was very lonely," Saanvi said. "I understand how you would want to fill it with something else other than...this. How could anyone survive eternity all alone? Of course, you would want company. Family. Your own people. Children."

"Of course," Rotten agreed.

"But your children shouldn't be carbon copies of yourself. Real children aren't distorted doppelgängers of their progenitors. They're not duplicated souls wearing different masks," Saanvi argued. "They should be something original. Something new."

"But I'm the only one of my kind," Rotten replied. "There is no one else to make a family with."

"There is." Saanvi glanced at the soldiers who were listening to every word she said. There was great sadness in her eyes. A princess who realized her royal duty. "I will stay here with you."

"But I can't have...children," Rotten said.

"There are other ways," Saanvi suggested. "We can find you a real family. Together. Starting with me. Your queen."

"No," Lieutenant Robinson shouted. "He's the enemy!"

Saanvi didn't take orders from the United States military. She wasn't even American.

"Let them go and release these hostage vessels. Then I will be your consort," the princess promised. "I will stay here in She'ol."

Sacrifice. Saanvi gave up her future to save the rest of the Misfits. To stave off war. To make the many worlds that Trey had seen as well as countless ones he hadn't even imagined all avoid the horrors of battle. Arranged marriages had served to prevent conflict for millennia. Now the Wider World wasn't so different from the way Trey had previously understood history. Saanvi chose to enter a partnership with Johnny Rotten to ensure peace.

"I will accept your terms," Mot replied. "But first, we must make it official. Binding. You must marry me. We need a person of faith to perform the rite of marriage."

"Treyvon," Saanvi requested, "will you marry us?"

Lieutenant Robinson glared from his peripheral. Quest and Penina joined hands in an expression of hope. The undead Ji stared stupidly, the soul of the soldier Trey had known long gone.

Trey had no other choice. He stepped forward.