6.4) Reversal ~ Who Will Know?

It’s already been a week.

A week is a long time. I should have made my decision by now; I should have chosen immortality. But this is just too horrible for me to simply look away and move on.

In this plane of existence, I can see the universes that are clustered around my universe.

A world where Victor Truman never met Abigail Kovacs. Alice Truman is killed. Victor Truman becomes a social recluse, drowning himself in alcohol and dying from liver failure. Abigail Kovacs’s heart is never saved and ends up being shot and rotting in a nameless alleyway.

A world where Victor Truman never existed. Abigail Kovacs is still orphaned. But in this world, Abigail Kovacs develops an obsession for justice on her own. She becomes not a Leviathan, but a warmonger who ends up killing millions in the name of peace. Paradise is temporarily reached, then falls apart. Abigail Kovacs is hung by a mob. People cheer.

Further beyond, I see other worlds, where the universe never began collapsing to begin with, and never will. Worlds that were created to be paradise itself. The rules of these universes were fundamentally designed for peace. Suffering is non-existent. I don’t understand how or why they exist, but they do. Perhaps had I ascended by now, I could understand. But I can’t bring myself to do that. Not yet.

I’ve met him here. My parallel self. A version of me who went through the same process as I. A while ago, he chose to return to his world after realizing that he wanted to spend his life with Abigail Kovacs. We never talked–it was as if we understood each other immediately after comparing the worlds we each came from. He looked at me with pity, as if seeing my world made him realize how lucky his own world was.

Because this world doesn’t stand a chance. My world never stood a chance.

There is something I see here. Something that was not originally meant to be here. Something that I can’t understand, even with this “infinite” power. It’s actively trying to crush our world. And it is not the universe itself. It’s something worse, something greater.

I don’t understand what it is. Is it simply a force? Is it a sentient being? I cannot understand–I am still human.

But with my human comprehension, I can say that this is what humanity refers to as a god. And this god wants us dead. The force of creation wants this world to end. No matter what. Abigail was wrong. Atlas was wrong. This world could never be saved.

Things are different from those thirty-two years ago. There is something here that is actively trying to kill us. As if it has become tired of its creation and wants to destroy and begin anew. But how can the god become tired of humanity? It’s impossible–time does not matter to them. In that sense, I feel no malice from the god’s catastrophic action.

For whatever reason I do not comprehend, the universe must end now. I cannot understand without transcending my human nature.

Yet, as a being that has not given up his humanity, I realize now how horrible my universe is. Even if I return this power to Atlas and convince him to lift the world, he would only last a few days before he is crushed. It is not a matter of power or will. The sky will be too heavy. The god of this universe is pushing down on the universe with its “finger”. And if that does not work, it will use two. Then three. Then four. As many as it takes to finally bring this universe to an end.

And nobody knows. I am the sole bearer of this cursed knowledge.

I am the sole witness to a premeditated murder.

I see them. I see her still watching from the rooftops, from the windows, patiently waiting for my return. Still thinking that if I simply return, the universe could continue as it always had. But it won’t. In the end, I was right. The only way to be saved from this universe is by escaping it before the god crushes everything to zero.

I am right. Yet I am still here. Why? Because what I hold now is no longer a symbol of power or a symbol of protection. It’s a pure symbol of salvation. And in a twist of irony, this symbol of salvation is now in the hands of humanity’s greatest sinner.

The other me returned to his world out of love. And his world was saved, after the power was returned to Atlas. Atlas holds up the sky for his loved ones, while his friends continue living, thanking him for giving him the opportunity to live on. Victor Truman and Abigail Kovacs live on. Perhaps they will one day reconcile.

But my world will die even if I return. There is no logical sense in returning to my world. Everything will end, whether or not I am saved. Atlas will die. Abigail Kovacs will die. Victor Truman will die.

No, wait, not quite–I suppose there is one thing I could do differently if I were to return to Earth now. I could save someone. One person. One soul. Let them escape in my place.

At the edge of human existence, I waver. I am still human. And because of my human irrationality, I think to myself that I do not deserve to be saved. I believe it should have been someone more righteous, someone who wanted to save the world in its entirety and would never have abandoned it.

And to me, only one name comes to mind.

But wait. This means forsaking immortality. This means accepting death over life. Is this so terribly important to me that I would die for it?

… I know what is the logical choice. But I am a fool. 

I have already looked back upon Sodom and Gomorrah.

God, why did I ever look back?