Max woke to the unmistakable chill of steel against his throat.
He didn't move. He didn't even open his eyes. The reek of gun oil and brimstone was familiar enough. And so was the impatient breathing behind it.
"Blitz," he said flatly. "We were just sleeping. I respect you more than to try banging your daughter in your van."
Loona jolted awake at the words, ears pricking straight up like a startled cat.
"The fuck?!" she yelped, scrambling upright as her tail fluffed out in panic. Her eyes darted between Max—still reclined and very unimpressed—and her father, who knelt at the van's doorway, knife still gleaming faintly with reflected moonlight.
"Blitz!" she barked, climbing out after him. "What the fuck are you doing?"
She tried to grab his arm, but he'd already slid the blade smoothly back into its sheath.
"Nothing," Blitzø grumbled, his voice dripping irritation. "Just making sure boy-wonder here can keep you safe while I'm not around." He stretched, the motion painfully casual. "Also, pack your crap. We're leaving in a few hours."
He turned back toward the van and jabbed a finger at Max. "You. Help clean up."
"Yeah, sure. I'll get right—"
Max vanished mid-sentence. One heartbeat, there. The next, gone.
Loona and Blitzø stared at the empty space.
"…Did he just ditch work?" Blitzø muttered.
Loona frowned. "No. That wasn't him."
---
Reverse Eden
Cold.
That was the first sensation when Max materialized, the Wrath Ring's burning air replaced by something heavy and frozen.
He stood on blackened soil that breathed like flesh. Every direction was alive with motion—trees inverted on themselves, their roots stretching skyward and dripping thick, tar-like sap. Thorned vines coiled across the ground, pulsing faintly with pink bioluminescence. The sky churned above in nauseating hues of violet and deep bruise-red, flickering with shapes too large and too distant to belong to any world.
The Garden had not changed since his last visit. And yet, something new demanded attention immediately:
High above, at the core of a twisted tree crowned by bones, hung a massive apple—rotten to the core, its flesh leaking black nectar that hissed and burned holes where it fell. Its presence radiated power and corruption.
"Roo," Max murmured, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Why in existence did you summon me? I was actually enjoying Wrath for once."
Something stirred—an echo in the ground, a ripple of movement that made the entire Garden quiver. From the shifting shadows, a shape emerged—a living sculpture of vines, sinew, and unblinking eyes. Roo's true form was impossible geometry made flesh, constantly shifting, unfolding, condensing.
Her voice came liltingly—disturbingly melodic, like a dozen tones speaking in harmony.
"Good," she purred. "You're getting comfortable in your role, Entity. As one of us."
Max squinted. "Right. And why do you sound like a woman now?"
Several eyes blinked in amusement.
"Oh, come now," Roo said with wry playfulness. "You should remember—I like to change forms. Keeps Eternity from getting dull." Her figure rippled, settling into a vaguely humanoid shape with flowing hair made of vines. Her tone shifted, lighter, almost teasing. "I thought a softer voice might put you more at ease."
Max folded his arms. "Cute. Still doesn't explain why I'm here."
Roo gave what might have been a sigh—though it sounded more like a chorus of rustling leaves. "Don't pout, Max. I summoned you because I have news. Some good, some... interpretive."
The ground beneath Max surged upward, forming an obsidian throne-shaped outcropping. He took the hint and sat, one leg crossed, expression grim. "Fine. Humor me."
Roo gestured at the giant, rotting apple. "You've noticed the change."
"Hard not to." His gaze hardened. "And I can already guess—it's your doing. But why manifest that? You've never bothered with physical avatars before."
Roo floated back, her many limbs weaving together into a living swing that hung from unseen branches. "Because, dear End," she said sweetly, "avatars are how we touch the worlds. Each of us—God, myself, you—we exist beyond Creation's framework. Without avatars, we would wait forever between cycles, asleep while mortals repeat their histories."
She smiled, all teeth and no warmth. "But this time, I want to play my own game. Mortals are boring now. They've forgotten how to sin creatively."
Max rubbed his temples. "You know, that explanation didn't clarify anything. I still don't even remember my role. Whatever fragments of memory I have from Before—" he gestured vaguely upward "—they're scrambled. I say shit like 'Ascension' without even knowing what it means."
Roo leaned forward, vines twisting tighter.
"Then allow me to simplify," she said, raising three thin, green tendrils to demonstrate.
"God is Creation and Life. He begins the cycle. He writes the first word."
The first vine pulsed with light.
"I am Corruption. Decay. I take what He builds and make it... interesting."
The second wilted and regrew, darker.
She pointed the third vine at Max. "And you, little End, are the final event. The one who ties it all into a neat little bow—and deletes the file. Your act resets everything. The slate wiped. Then Creation begins anew."
Max stared at her, dumbfounded but uneasy. "…So I'm basically the universe's delete key."
"Precisely," Roo said, delighted. "And when you achieve True Ascension, you merge every multiverse—every version of existence—into one. Infinite souls across infinite timelines sacrificed into a single point of control. That power would let you destroy any Authority, even the beings beyond us."
She tilted her head, hundreds of eyes blinking at once.
"For example... if you Ascended your lovers, they'd leave both God's and my dominion. They would never age. Never weaken. Never die." Her smile widened dangerously. "They'd be yours forever, Max. You decide when, or if, they end."
For a long moment, there was only silence—the murmur of corrupted wind through dead leaves, and the soft drip of sap hitting the soil like blood.
Max eventually sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "Okay. I think I get it. Kind of. But that still doesn't explain why now."
Roo's tone brightened again. "Oh! The gift."
She snapped her vine-covered fingers; reality trembled. A beam of greenish light spiraled upward, coalescing into an ornate scroll that landed neatly in Max's lap.
He unrolled it—and froze. His scowl could have cracked stone.
"Roo," he said dangerously, "what the hell is this?"
"A contract," Roo said innocently, hanging from her vine swing like a cat. "Fully signed. I used my Authority of Corruption to accelerate one of your pending connections with one of my creations. She's adorable, by the way. I modeled her partially from God's original angelic pattern, but improved the design. A bit more freedom, a bit more emotional complexity."
Max stood abruptly, the scroll still clutched in his hand. "You meddled again." His voice was low, cold. "You always do this."
Roo giggled. The sound made the world itself shudder.
"Time doesn't pass in a straight line here," she cooed. "You've been gone thirty minutes by mortal measure. Better hurry back… before they start missing you."
Her form began to unravel—vines folding inward, decaying into petals of ink and shadow that scattered into the wind.
Max glared up at the hovering apple, feeling the air around it hum with his own resonance. "You'll be the death of me," he muttered.
From nowhere and everywhere at once, Roo's fading voice whispered, "My dear, that's supposed to be your job."
He cursed under his breath—and vanished, leaving Reverse Eden to regrow its silence.