He was already dead. Max was as sure of that as he was that the world was in chaos. Or was he still there, by Diana's side, fighting undying until they could no longer muster the strength? He was. That had been true. But now it was time to step through the door, accept his fate. He hadn't really been alive for a long time, he had just been afraid to admit it.
There had been times when he had woken up in the fog when he had been close to seeing what was truly going on. The skyscraper. The greenhouse. Being consumed by the Harbingers and feeding something larger than himself. But mostly he had lived as he once had, content in his new, frightening, horrible life. It had been a fresh start, which was all he had truly wanted for such a long time.
He stepped through the door and joined the others, became so much more than he had been. There was no Maxwell Andrew Porter. There was only Creation. It didn't miss him. At least It didn't think It did.
The insignificant portion of the legacy that had once been Max was quiet for a long time. It remained still, testing the pathways that connected It to all of the others who had once been separated. It was better this way. There was no fear, no struggle. Yet It still felt like there was something left to do. It pulled. Max pulled. He was free. It was horrible.
He wanted to seep back into the collective, to not have to worry about the fact that he was standing (floating?) in the middle of a weird hallway full of plants, that he didn't even have a body anymore. With that thought came the vines, wrapping themselves around the nothingness that was Max, giving him form. He slid forward, clumsy, and almost tripped over something. A boy, his face lax with sleep. Max remembered running and fighting. He remembered spending a lot of time in a ramshackle bathroom. This boy had watched over him, had fought to keep him safe, and now he was trapped. But it wasn't too late, like it was for Max. If he tried hard enough, Max could bring this kid to freedom. Brenley. He could get Brenley home.
It was difficult. Max had been ready to give everything up and it was nearly impossible to coax it all back. He pushed the vines—himself—away from his rescuer and lifted him, carried him to safety as the boy had for him, all the while losing his form for the last time. Those who could save him were up ahead, Max could feel them. He gently handed Brenley over, splintering as soon as his job was done.
Max opened himself to the pieces of the separate entities that made up Creation as they paced over him, carrying their own charges away from the whole. They didn't belong. They weren't contaminated. But he was. Max was content to remain where he had fallen until he was gone.
