Not a single strand of his hair stirs in the swirling wind.
Not a drop of the searing, acid-like rain dares to mar his skin.
And his skin—is it glowing?
He is. Every freckle is a point of light, his eyes a brilliant white as he raises his hands and whispers, “Stop.”
The single word echoes in the space, cutting through the cacophony.
It’s enough that Withers actually stops. He drops his arms as the swirling black vortex is sucked up, dissipating with a pop, leaving only a look of stupefaction on Withers’s face.
“Aleksander,” Nix says, voice layered and vibrating along Jay’s nerve endings, as if it’s not just one voice but many—all the voices, all at once, and like nothing Jay could ever imagine.
“It is time for you to return to The Plain.”
Withers shakes his head, like he’s shaking off a buzzing insect. “Listen, you little bi—”
Nix holds a hand up.
“We have heard enough. Seen enough. We regret Our decision to allow you to continue to tip the balance of Life in this time, as you have done every time, throughout time.”
Jay gasps as thousands of images fly by in front of them with a wave of Nix’s hand, and when they stop, some are burned into his mind.
Casualties of war, famine, death, disease…unimaginable suffering; and always Withers’s face—different but the same, and always at the scene of every crime.
Withers looks surprised, but not shocked. Instead, he looks proud.
“I changed history. I am important,” he crows, making it sound like a twisted list of personal affirmations. “I made things happen. That was greatness. Where is the good without the evil?”
Nix glides closer, shaking his head and appearing remorseful, even if Withers has done nothing in his life—lives—but cause pain and suffering.
“Your soul is corrupt, and We cannot permit it to continue. We regret that We have given you so many chances to atone, but now you will be returned to The Plain.”
“What the fuck does that mean? The Plain is already my bitch. I am the master of this universe, and if your slide show is anything to go by, I will be again.”
Nix frowns and raises a single finger, laying it gently on the burnt flesh of Withers’s forehead.
Jay is shocked that Withers lets him, but he seems mesmerized by Nix’s glowing white eyes.
Drawing out a single oily black thread, he stretches it, pulling until it’s free, releasing it and watching it float away.
In no time at all, Withers’s remaining eye goes wide.
“No, that’s mine. I earned it. It’s mine!”
He’s held immobile by an unseen force as Nix pulls thread after thread from Withers’s soul.
Jay follows them up as they leave a trail of twisting black strands, rising until they fade from black to gray to white, until they are every color of the rainbow.
“We unravel your corrupted soul, Aleksander Withers. You are Unmade.”
Withers begins to scream as the many threads join to become ropes, and then streams, and then the streams become rivers.
He’s still standing, but his body is breaking down into its smallest pieces, his remaining flesh disintegrating in front of their eyes until finally he’s gone, nothing remaining but his clothes, size ten Vans, and the echo of his screams in the wind.
There’s a pause, as if the world is heaving a sigh of relief, as Nix turns toward him and smiles.
The layered voice echoes in Jay’s head, but Nix’s lips aren’t moving.
