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Otto should have been used to feeling small. He wasn't. He never got used to it. He let it roll off his shoulders now and then, but it always bothered him. Made him angry, made him helpless. Watching Medea destroy that which should not be destroyed, was one such thing. All fight and hope left him. Nothing felt real, yet it all felt so absolute it was grounding.

Medea won. They had lost. It was out of his hands, and so miserably out of his power.

A dinner table, by himself with an empty seat. Clerise, Sam, his grandfather. Nevada. People he loved and lost washed over, but the more he tried to latch on to each and every person? The less he could truly grasp their lives with him. Death wasn't a concept he seemed to grasp anymore. People he knew, that were no longer there. Gone forever? Or not. So, why?

It baffled more than answered. Otto slowly blinked away the vision he was seeing. Nothing made sense. He was so lost.

The sudden crack of the tower that struck like thunder woke him, and immediately after, sent him into darkness.

Like snapping to from a moment lost in thought, Kiwi found himself back in the restaurant at the table. When he glanced up, the seat opposite him was empty.

But, he clearly recalled-

...
...
......
Someone there. He recalled someone having taken the seat, yet there was no one in sight. Was it really only his imagination getting the best of him??

And the more he thought, he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Mara, or his parents either. He had been dispatched to an outpost shortly before some students were to take a tour of the islands. He'd said goodbye to his parents, and Mara, who was waist deep in scrolls, studying for a test to be given by her mentor the next day. And then ...

Nothing.

He could remember a figure speaking before the clans, about taking it upon themselves to lead, to face the Insanity head-on. Medea had been there as well, in the background, a scowl on her face. But for the FEAR of him, he couldn't place a name or face to the speaker, just as he couldn't to his non-existent dinner guest now.

A cold chill passed down the horseman's spine. What ... was this??

Evan found himself alone at a table made for two and he couldn't, for the life of him, remember who the second chair was for. The more he tried, the further the answer slipped away, and so he stopped trying and simply accepted that he was there by himself. It was a nice place, from the looks of it--it felt a little empty, though, like he had come too early or too late and missed the rush entirely. There didn't seem to be any staff members around either, though, and it was eerily quiet: no soft, ambient background music, no white noise of chatter, no sounds of cooking from what would undoubtedly be an unoccupied kitchen, in and of itself a crime.

That was okay, though, he could use the time alone, after...he couldn't quite remember what had happened that he needed a respite in a deserted restaurant. He felt a little empty, a little drained, as if whatever had happened had worn him out. It was perfectly natural to need a break, everyone told him at one point or another, or he would work himself to...work himself to what? Maybe work himself to whatever mild craziness led to him sitting alone in a restaurant.

He felt empty in different ways, too, like he was forgetting something important and couldn't begin to imagine what. That was closer to the surface, right on the tip of his tongue in a way that he knew would make him feel completely stupid once he could finally spit it out. Whatever it was remained stubbornly on the precipice, refusing to fall into his awareness. The harder he thought about it, the less relevant it became until the curious thought flattened out completely and became just another idle fragment.

Evan was bored, though, sitting here by himself. Why was he there? Who was he waiting for? Was he early, or were they running late? He drummed his fingers impatiently on the tabletop and it sounded like--he couldn't remember what it sounded like, but it the noise put him on edge, so he stopped. Maybe he would just leave. He wasn't sure why he was here, and he didn't feel hungry. Why was he there? Why did it matter? Making him drive (or walk, or fly, or swim, for all he knew) all the way out there only to wait had the makings of some terrible prank. He knew for certain who he could thank for that.

Huh. Now that Evan thought about it, he hadn't seen Runt for a while, since...since when? He remembered half of a random patrol and then nothing after that. His end of service date had been near, at that point, that much he remembered. Runt had probably married his girlfriend and gone to college, just like he'd planned to. Probably even had a couple of kids by now. Runt had loved kids. He would have loved this restaurant, too, with its--well, Evan didn't really know what it had, which was about par for the course at this point. He would have been good company, though. Saunders and Trujillo would have, too--as long as they could keep Saunders sober. This was too nice a place to get thrown out of because Saunders couldn't remember what an inside voice was after he had had a few. Evan would have to find out what this place was called, maybe round up the guys and bring them along with him next time.

Thoughts of a next time faded along with the restaurant, the table, and all of the memories Evan tried on a regular basis to simultaneously suppress and honor.

shikoba

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It was better than sex.

His vision swam in nothing but red hues (beautiful colors, this shade the scarlet of a wrathful enemy, this one the crimson of a prey on the run, another the vibrant pulses of blood pumping), and as hands formed in dizzying colors the horseman too longed to reach out, to join in the effort to unmake what many hadn't thought possible. But Shik was a mere bystander, a warrior lost in the tide of battle--no.

No, he was more than that. He and Shaheen had helped Medea directly: he could no longer participate, but he felt it was as much his work as it was his reward, his entertainment.

And now that he was there, sitting at a blank table, he could enjoy that violent pleasure in peace.

Shik wondered who to tell first. There were some he had not seen for a while but they were away for the moment, which was not uncommon. His sister Mei could never sit still, his parents had all but isolated themselves in their little hut I the she of civilization, and The Crone, well...he might have thought she had moved away but she was too stubborn and bitter to do so. Even Shaheen sometimes left for this or that--the longest because a hunt had taken her away; damn woman didn't even take him on her greatest one yet.

But the more he thought about it, the less he believed he needed to share at all. Shik could still feel that warmth like fire in his chest spreading, the feeling of complete satisfaction filling him more than any meal could. They were not there, yes, but it did not matter. He was supposed to meet someone, but it did not matter. Nothing did.

He did not need dessert; he was already satisfied.

stormy

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For a moment she had been so sure of herself--not the artificial kind, not the dream of another kingdom that had paraded around in her body and caused her great distress, but genuine confidence of her own volition. And then the tidal wave of blood and chaos swallowed her up before the idea could grow to be more than a passing fancy.

She sits at a table now. She doesn't remember at all why she would be there, but dessert was coming and the seat before her was empty.

The pool water is hard to cough out, but eventually she does. She remembers her sister complaining loudly at all the noise, but the idea of swimming is only mildly frightening now instead of a complete unknown. She will remember not to laugh so much while splashing about.

She is hungry, but the choices on the menu blur together until everything is one indescribable meal she's unsure she can palate at the moment.

Mami has been away for a while, but that is common; she worked multiple jobs to help support them after all, and she took turns with Papi raising them until her oldest sister could join the circle of caretakers. She's away now because she's tired and needed a vacation, and that's understandable. Lina doesn't feel bitter, but relieved; her mami is the best and deserves the best in return.

Maybe if she called out, someone would come--

Nevada is angry at her, but as much as it hurts, as much as she wishes her Mist sister wouldn't move out, she understands. (Of course she does.) Sometimes best friends need more space than one trainee room can afford, and while their beliefs are fundamentally different at their core, Stormy knows in her heart that it isn't enough to pull them completely apart. Nevada's mission will take her away, but not for too long--just enough for a breather. They will come back together and talk things out, and things will be okay. But the longer she waits

--the seat was empty, and she couldn't help but wonder who it was she was supposed to meet, she had always been bad about names before--

the longer she waits for them all, the less she remembers why or what for, because they are gone to some place much better and it isn't right to want to hold them back on her account because that is selfish and she is not like that at all (she tells herself). The longing turns into something softer, changing them from people to ghosts, from ghosts to mere memory, and then from memory to something even less.

She blinked and forgot why she was there at all. The ignorance was so blissful that she didn't question it for a moment; true, complete contentment wasa state so hard to find that she would rather treasure it for what it was than ask why.

Then she found herself at a table.

She felt like this was just one strange event after another strange event. It was like an avalanche, once the strange started it was as if it was just never sending. You can't just stop an avalanche you could stand back and watch it happen. She tried to keep up with these odd things the best she could.

But now, some how, she found herself sitting instead. It had felt strange enough to feel like an avalanche had stopped. In it's tracks. She didn't know where she was. She sat up and lifted her head, her brows furrowed as she did. She was completely unsure of where she was or what was going on. She blinked, once... twice... three times and then glanced around. It was generally dark, she knew she was at a table for a reason... at some point. Why was she still here though? She didn't understand, she just couldn't figure it out. She looked down at her hands and then in front of her. She could see what looked like a set up for two, why was there two plates? Oh... They were gone.

She then felt emotions and memories race through her mind, the emotions faded quickly though to nothing. She didn't understand, but she didn't really care that she didn't understand. Her brows furrowed as she attempted her best to remember why exactly she was there. But it felt like the further she dug the further it escaped from her contagiousness. That should bother her, she knew it should but she couldn't figure it out at all. She crossed her arms in front of her in a final? Attempt to figure it out. There was less and less in her mind. Suddenly she couldn't hear, she couldn't smell or taste. Everything was going blank. Her thoughts, the memories, everything just blank. Then the table was gone, her chair, there was just nothing.


She felt a voice tugging at her.

Something changed in the atmosphere around them, an influx of power that made this suddenly worth her attention. Even from where they sat, past the range of Medea's barriers and attacks, she could see the distant figure that had finally come to stop her tantrum. Just as she said he would, Death stood tall and unaffected by the frenzied horsewoman's presence - then he righted the balance of everything in what appeared as an instant to them, and Medea was no longer present at all.

Mimsy smiled.

"See?" She boastfully sat up straight, basking in what being right meant this time, and clutched Robert's hand as her fingers tingled with excitement. Death was here! "The shift will be undeniably positive, as long as he is involved in our new world for--"

An earsplitting sound filled the air as the sky above them shattered, exposing a sea of red upon red upon red, pierced by dozens of arms that twisted downward towards the Ancient. It seemed as if the hands that curled around him were unmatched, disintegrating as soon as they came into contact with him, but they regenerated as quickly as they were destroyed. They clawed at him with a relentless hunger, and she watched in silent horror as the hands of Destruction dismantled him, layer by layer, piece by piece, crushing each and every part of him within its endless reach.

There was a familiarity in this image that she did not want to acknowledge.



"The dessert," the voice repeats, at the table. He looks impatient, staring at his pocketwatch. It is not ticking. "Did you decide what you wanted for dessert?" His lips stretch to a thin smile. "I really wouldn't want to miss my favorite part of dinner."

Dazed within many failed attempts to recall where she is, she could only shake her head, eyes fixed on the stopped pocketwatch. Oh. Why has his stopped ticking too?

"I regretfully do not have much of an affinity for sweets, but I will follow your suggestion," she politely replies - or thought she had. As soon as she finishes speaking, she isn't sure that she had ever spoken those words aloud.



There was something glinting on the ground in front of Medea, and she couldn't quite make out what it was. She leaned forward with a sense of urgency, her breath catching in her throat at the sight, or lack thereof, of the empty space where Death once was.

A distant sound of something breaking traveled on the chaotic wind. In the wake of the noise, a desolate silence washed over them.

Mimsy vaguely thought that she might throw up.



"It was a good meal, but the lack of dessert makes it lackluster." He smiles wryly. The waiter comes with his check, and he pays it in full by placing a broken golden watch on the table. "Some things take time, perfection unfortunately cannot be rushed. Please, do enjoy dessert for me. I hope our meal together has at least been entertaining. It has been a while since I've invited guests over, for the first and last time."

He is fading now, and his words become muffled. "---- remember----- and-------- will-----"

She sits at a table, staring at a dessert menu. She feels a strong sense of obligation to enjoy a dessert that she can't manage to pick, all for someone that she can't remember. She sits there, long after the table itself is gone, and tries to make a selection that is properly meaningful, but nothing seems right.

She thinks that she might have been crying, but doesn't understand why.



The harder she thought about a dessert selection that would be worthy of someone like him, the less she thought about desserts as a whole.

Following a young Mimsy's attempt to save her pet's life, Teslarachnid was gone. It seemed a lot like it was her fault, like she deserved the hour of scolding and ban on any more pets that came from her father, but that was illogical. Making something disappear was not within her power. She was just a child.

There was red on the grass, and on the walkway to the backyard, and all over her pale little hands, and nothing on the ground in front of her. She giggled and squirmed as she took nothing apart with her stubby, clumsy fingers. Daddy was mad for no reason again.

'I hate you,' she told her, small hands balled up into fists that shook at her sides. 'I hope you...no, I'm gonna...some day!' The threat fell short, even though she felt certain that she had something in mind. Her cousin laughed and laughed.

A supernova was visible from a telescope atop the roof of the physics department. It was significant, because it was the first supernova to be viewed in the process of something inexplicable, which caused a star to fade into nothing.

In the Sahara, she met no one. She found nothing admirable there. When she arrived back on the island, she added another tally to the count of times that nothing happened.

The ground was half-covered in something red and warm, and she was the one who laughed and laughed this time. It felt incredible and satisfying on her hands, whatever it was, and tasted a lot like freedom on her tongue.

It was wrong, and she knew it was wrong, but she was not afflicted by remorse. It felt nothing but good when she told Otto all about nothing.

Robert was crying for no reason. He held her for hours in the hallway like a comfort blanket, for no reason. She fed him cake while they talked about nothing.

There was a statue of her image that she kept in the old room, created from nothing. It served as a safety, a method of knowing that she would be all right. If nothing happened, she could always start over again.

The desire to outlast nothing for an eternity by way of making her name something memorable was not there.

Nothing drove her to achieve excellence.

Everything was happening much too fast.
The sky shook, torn apart by streaks of red.
There was fear; destruction; everything was breaking apart; distorted; twisted. He remembered staring, unable to move as his gaze was transfixed on the warped goddess. Was this what they were fighting? This... was what they were trying to win against? They, fragile weak humans only given somewhat of a fighting chance due to the ability to wield runic and weaponized halloween creatures, which only meant that they might be able to HURT such creatures, but not kill. But this... this was... a slaughter. Even those who attacked were converted, and it was as if instead of dwindling their numbers, it only grew.

He began to question why they and HOW they were even still alive when everything came to a halt. A figure appeared, and then...

------------

Jake blinked, wondering what he was doing sitting at an empty table. Had someone been sitting there? And if so... who?
He began to sift through his memories, to see if he could remember.
He remembered her, but... where did she go? He remembered her lying on the ground, staring up at him, pleading something and then... she was gone. The same was with others. He remembered chasing them, remembered being really angry and then... they were gone too. Perhaps he had lost them and they ran away.

And then more recent memories. He remembered lying in the sand, something having pierced his side, and he was staring up at faces. Someone was holding him, crying, as blood flowed from the wound. But it was just a flesh wound. All he needed was a nap. So why were they making such a big fuss?

He remembered going to Dark Cove and seeing ashes. Other hunters came by, and he remembered one of them quarreling with the death lead, and then... she was gone. Just... disappeared. It didn't make sense.

Then another, when he remembered Sherry had gone missing, and when he found her...
Wait. Why was he so agitated when he found her? It was just a wound, nothing more. It wasn't like those horsemen could scare him just by making them bleed a little.

That's all it was. Wounds were just wounds. And eventually... at some point, just disappear. That was just how life worked. Eventually... everyone disappeared.