Twelve weeks, a day, and a Disturbing discovery after the fall.

  I only heard the end of Sparky’s explanation, but apparently this light-based energy was the same power that enabled humans to march across the galaxy in unending conquest for a thousand years. It kept them alive, strengthened them, and gave them abilities far beyond the realm of mortals.

  Silently, I wondered if it contained the secret that would finally let me die. If it could, that was only further proof of a twisted god’s sense of humor. I finally embraced humanity and was actively helping them rise from the ashes of their broken world. Now, I stumbled upon something that could potentially give me what I’ve been searching for.

  I swear, if I ever see that glowing bastard again, I’m punching him in the face. Some would say I should’ve learned, but I say the asshole has it coming.

  “Ok, these extensions connect the converter down here to the panels on the roof. I hope the attack didn't cause significant damage to the panels, or the converter won't be able to pull enough light down here to start the process,” Sparky said, throwing a breaker while we held our breath in anticipation.

  The light coalesced in the capacitor, building and replicating like a living organism. Once the capacitor hit a predetermined point, the power flowed into a bank of turbines. Quickly reaching their maximum speed, light emanated from inside the rings and struck the receptors on the outside shielding. On a nearby wall, a screen lit up and displayed the generated power, load, and battery status. With the contraption working as expected, it didn’t take long for the liquified light to fill the batteries inside the containment chamber. In fact, it took less than ten minutes for the readout to display a ten percent charge. We’d created power in the middle of an apocalypse.

  “This turbine isn’t enough to power the city, but it’ll handle a few buildings with relative ease.” She continued pushing in the massive fuse that would provide power to our building. “Now we need someone with a little experience on radios. We can work with the kid versions for now, but there’s no reason not to build a communications network.”

  “Do you know how to do that?” I asked, genuinely curious. The number of times this woman had surprised me already was not insignificant and I didn’t want to insult her again.

  “What do I look like, a Swiss Army Knife?”

  Swing and a miss. Oh well, it was worth a shot.

  “You know,” another said, “building a radio relay isn’t too hard. I used to build them for my science classes all the time. We could direct newcomers away from Times Square and keep them out of the hands of our friends down at the WalStore.”

  The light from the batteries kept drawing my gaze. Logically, I knew I’d chosen to stay with these people and rebuild a better society free from people that wanted to hurt others. It was my choice, and I wouldn’t betray that.

  But…

  It called to me. Grab me! it said, begging me to touch the glass contacts and see if it would finally let me die.

  My heart sped up, pounding in my chest with nervous anticipation. Would I do it? Would my life finally end tonight?

  “FUCK!” I screamed, punching the wall, my three fingers crunching under the force of the blow.

  That’s good. Pain keeps the mind sharp. And a sharp mind is a rational mind.

  I stumbled out and away from the containment chamber.

  “Hey!” Daryll called, trying to keep up as I practically ran from the room, “Are you ok? We just got good news. We have power! We can take showers, we can make actual food, shit man… we can save humanity. What’s not to be happy for?”

  “Everything. All of this. The pain, the suffering, the endless death,” I mumbled, looking up at the man and seeing true concern carved into his features. “It all started with fucking bone marrow. Did you know that? I killed my brother because he ate more than his share, and I’ve paid the price for over a hundred thousand years. I left my siblings behind, watching from a distance as they died of old age while I remained, forever unchanging. Do you know how many times I’ve fallen in love, had children, grandchildren? None of them are left. Entropy has taken them all from me. This world you’ve built, it’s all temporary. But me, I’m not, I’m eternal. You could stab me in the heart right now, and before you went back to the compound, I would be healed and ready to walk home with you. Injuries aren’t permanent, merely an inconvenience, forgotten before anyone knew it was there.”

  I told him everything. I even told him about that one time on Mount Vesuvius. I still say that volcano would’ve blown on its own. There was no way that my minor disturbance caused Pompeii to erupt. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

  When I finally finished telling my story and looked up at the man, I saw something that terrified me to my core. Daryll was in awe. Pure, unfiltered, grade A, awe.

  God dammit, I was extra screwed this time. There’s no way my secret wasn’t getting out.

  ~~**~~

  “‘Climb to the top’, they said, ‘it’ll answer all your questions.’” I grumbled, picking my way through the thick forest. After nearly six hours of walking, the last thing I wanted to do at the top of this mountain was ask questions. But how often do you get to confront a god?

  I’d played at being a god several times in my life and fully expected whoever lived up here to be a charlatan. But, on the off chance it really was a god; perhaps this person could help me. Maybe, just maybe, this person could bring my brothers and sister back.

  I leaned against one of the many trees and took a moment to really think about what I was doing. On the off chance this person could bring them back, would they even want it? This world was nothing like the one they knew. Hell, nearly everything short of fire would be new to them… would it be too much?

  A glowing stone around my neck constantly reminded me of my sin and the finger bones beside it were a constant reminder of my loss. The only place where that world of ice and snow still survived is in my memory. Part of me thought my family should remain at rest, but another part—a much more selfish part—didn’t care. If they returned, at least I wouldn’t be alone.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  With a sigh, I began picking my way through the trees once more, continuing on the path until the forest broke to reveal a large, flat mountaintop.

  Honestly, I was unimpressed. Instead of the large temple to the gods, there was a simple stone house with a forge and anvil outside the door. Strangely, the forge wasn’t stoked by a bellows like so many other smiths. Instead, a large clay pipe led down into the heart of the mountain and allowed the liquid fire of Hephaestus himself to bubble up and heat the metal. Standing at the anvil was a man in a dark smock, pounding an ingot into a shape only he knew. After a few hits, he grabbed the metal with a pair of tongs and submerged it into the fire. A few seconds later, he removed the metal to continue working it into the piece of art it would one day become.

  “Are you the man that would call himself a god?” I said, stepping up to the strange forge and staring into the flames.

  “I am a man. I forge works of art from the very blood of Gaia herself. Whether you see me as a god is entirely your decision, though… some would say that I am.”

  Great, not only did he believe he was a god, but he knew others thought so as well.

  “Well then, god of the mountain, I was told you could answer the question burning in my heart.”

  “I’ve answered many questions. Ask away, wanderer. But know this: the answers you seek are often not the answer you desire.”

  Reaching a hand to my throat, I touched the stone that hung there as a perpetual memory. I’d intended to ask if he could bring my family back from the dead or craft a blade capable of killing a god, but now… now I wasn’t sure. I’d walked for nearly six hours, contemplating what I would ask. Now that I was here, the plans I’d laid were coming apart at the seams, and questions I’d hidden in my heart since before language could express them

  “Why me? Why was I chosen to bear the weight of so much time? Must I continue to fight while so many rest?”

  “The answer to that is simple,” he said, lifting the now thin piece of metal and moving back to his anvil. “It's because you were the only one strong enough to bear it. No other person in your history had held the strength you need just to wake up every day. You’re haunted by things you’ve seen, and things you’ve done. Sorrow flows from you in waves while you cling to a single thread of hope.”

  "My family is gone, and these bones are the only thing that remains!" I exclaimed as I ripped the leather necklace from my neck and presented it to the false god. “The only thing I want in this world is for them to return to my side. I’m tired of being alone.”

  “The issue isn’t that you’re alone. The issue is that you’ve convinced yourself that you are. If no one cared for you, then who told you about this place? We are not solitary creatures. People care about others in need. Once you let go of the past and embrace the world for what it is, the sooner you’ll realize that.”

  The smith motioned with his hammer towards the fiery liquid and made sure that I understood before continuing his work.

  I stared at the ancient necklace in my hand. It was something I’d carried for so long that it was strange to consider not having it. The smith was right, and I knew it. If I didn’t give up the past and move on, the only thing I could ever find would be sorrow.

  According to the reports, a new leader was rising to power. If ever there was a time to forget the past, it was while a new future was being formed from the ashes of the old.

  According to the history books, the mountain top—and by extension the smithery of the gods—was destroyed less than a century later.

  ~~**~~

  I wish I could’ve been there; I wish I could’ve witnessed what happened when the accountants came for the survivors. Sadly, I was busy reliving the worst memories of my life in the service tunnels of New York instead of standing beside my people. I didn’t witness these events, but gathered the stories from the others and assembled them so the record can remain unbroken, and it went a little something like this:

  “Hey Throat-punch! I think we found those tax-dodgers!” an accountant dressed in leathers said from the passenger seat of his hover car. On the street below, a building they hadn’t cleared yet was glowing like the days before the collapse. The bright lights — while an asset in most situations — glowed with such intensity that it was impossible to miss. “That whole fuckin’ building just lit up like a Christmas tree.”

  “I hear ya, Razor-lips. Let’s get the others and come back,” Throat-Punch said, adjusting the mouth hole in his gimp mask before turning the air-car back toward their base. The Accountants had looked for the rebellious survivors for weeks. Now, they’d finally made a mistake. It was time to collect taxes.

  ~~**~~

  Two hours later, six air-cars descended outside the survivor’s front door. Throat-punch chuckled, imagining the reaction of the civilians inside when they saw his fleet coming in for the kill. It would be like facing a politician after uncovering a trail of embezzled funds. First, they would panic and struggle. Then, they would submit in defeat.

  Like the first time he’d encountered the survivors, Razor-lips jumped out of the car before it landed. It was a stupid move, but it looked cool to him and that’s what counts. Over the past twelve weeks, the accountant had learned just how useful intimidation tactics could be.

  It was a tool commonly used by conquerors throughout all human history. The fear of death—or worse—was too great for most to consider, and those who did often found themselves in a place of darkness worse than the danger before them. Throat-punch was just glad they’d found enough leather jackets and masks to make their efforts meaningful. Without them, their visage wouldn’t command the respect needed for survival.

  “Go! Go! Go!” Throat-punch yelled at the goons as they charged into the buildings with weapons drawn.

  He really hoped the attack caught their prey, terrified and off guard. He respected his fellow accountants, but most of the gang had never even held a weapon before the fall. Despite all their pent-up frustration and rage over a missing penny, they really were shit fighters.

  In the end, goons only dragged a few people out of the building. Four wasn’t enough considering the number of people that needed to eat, but it was better than nothing. The longer his men stayed in there, the more likely it was the survivors would find out what they really were. Paper tigers dressed in scary clothing.

  Flipping on the external speaker, Throat-punch addressed anyone that was listening. “Hey losers! It’s cool that you got the power on, but you need to get some weapons… and maybe a few defenses. I mean, really, we got four of yours with no effort! I like it when my prey resists, and you’re taking the fun out of my hunt!”

  The speaker went quiet as Razor-lips tied his catch—an older man that Throat-punch just knew would taste stringy—to the hood of the car and climbed inside.

  “I like you guys. You taste like fear and determination all rolled into one, but you don’t give us the thrill we crave. If we get bored with you, what’s stopping us from patrolling the city? You know there’s nobody at the walls to hold the Mutated back anymore, right? Without us, they would find your little building in a matter of days. Actually, that would be like dinner and a movie, wouldn’t it?” His laughter only stopped when a flaming bottle flew out of a fourth-story window.

  It shattered, soaking one of their cars and its riders in burning liquid.

  Trying to ignore the screams, Throat-punch hit the throttle and sent the car into the air. They were supposed to be harmless; they were supposed to be weak. They were supposed to run and maybe throw a rock or two. All his taunting was to demoralize them, not bring them together into a fighting unit. How dare they defy him. How dare they strike their betters.

  Two more bottles hurtled toward another car. The first landed in the passenger seat, blasting the driver with flames before he could take off. The second bottle smashed into the driver's crotch, adding to the fire that already encompassed him.

  This was not the plan! This was not how it was supposed to go! Now, they’d lost two air-cars and only gotten four sacks of meat in return. The lost cars would sting, especially since their power was directly related to how well they could move around the city. At least now there were fewer mouths to feed.

  When the last air car flew into the air, Throat-punch gave the signal to leave, determined to return and punish the survivors.