God's Gone AWOL

[9] Apocalypse

Content Warning: intense and emotional violence. We don't want to spoil what happens, but you must proceed with caution. If you need a hug, we are here.

"Please just let it end. Let it all end..."

Bentley's voice was so low that she was barely even mumbling, but Atticus still caught her words as they drifted across the winds of the hellfire. Those dreadful words marked the final sentence in the longest chapter of Atticus' life.

"It already has ended," Atticus replied.

He was standing just a few paces behind her. Ash, blood, and soot coated his white clothing and tanned skin. Not a single trace was left of that upright and impeccably clean angel he always pretended to be. Now, amidst the smoke and fiery devastation, he was nothing more than a damaged soldier embracing his final moments on the battlefield.

"It's over, Bentley," he told her.

It's over. It's all over. If we run away now, nobody will try to stop us.

The situation was hopeless, and yet he just kept repeating such words over and over in his mind, hoping that somehow he would manage to salvage something. Maybe. Just maybe.

After the scene in the tornado of fire, she had taken off on her own. Of course, there was no way Atticus was just going to let her run loose in such a state. So once he had placed Damaris' body somewhere safe, he had to follow after her. There was no other option. She wasn't running away, he knew that much. But he couldn't tell if she was moving to put some distance between herself and the crime scene, or whether she was just moving for the sake of moving. Either way, he remained hot on her heels, incapable of letting her out of his sight even for half of a second —for fear that he would never lay eyes on her again.

Together, they made their way through the streets of London, out of the bombing range. Their destination somehow became the Tower Bridge, standing high and mighty above the River Thames. Down below, the murky waters had been rushed with the blood-red reflection of the hazy sky. And the dark turrets and metal beams cast ominous shadows across the walkway. Atop the gothic architecture, the whole structure felt like one big omen of evil.

By the time they reached the bridge, Bentley physically could not continue to move any further. She made it halfway across, just far enough so that she was standing directly in the center. For a moment or two, Atticus stood behind and watched as she stopped to look out over the burning city. That terrible, irregular rhythm of explosions had finally stopped for the night, and the bombers had disappeared off into the foggy gloom from whence they came. But the wake of the destruction remained, all held in Bentley's eyes as she took one final look at this wretched world she had lived to serve for so long.

A couple of seconds passed. Her eyes remained on the horizon, unable to focus on any one thing in particular. Then she collapsed directly onto the ground.

Judging by the way she muttered and behaved, she had no idea that Atticus had followed her up until this point. It was only when he spoke in response to her miserable mumblings that she realized he was there. As she glanced up, the reflection from the burning world around them flickered like a dying candle in the rapidly fading light of her eyes. Atticus sucked in a tight breath.

There was no soul left in her body. She was still able to move and breathe, to feel the searing heat of the flames around her and the chill of the empty night, but she was already dead.

Bentley Hellbourne was dead.

"You're here to kill me," she said softly.

"No," Atticus replied.

Even though he said this, his grip on his golden blade tightened.

"That wasn't a question. It was a command,"