Greg gave Francis a shove. The older man stumbled over the minion, but rather than fall flat on his back he flipped over, landing on his feet. Eyes wide, he laughed.
“Marvelous!”
Francis performed a few tentative jumps. With each bounce he sprang a few more feet in the air until he was nearly reaching the ceiling. Then he ran forward, grabbed one of the large banquet tables, and hoisted it over his head.
“Absolutely marvelous!”
His body shook with laughter as he jogged around the room, still carrying the table.
“Yes,” agreed Greg, addressing his audience. “Marvelous is exactly the right word. Not miraculous. Because this isn’t a miracle. Miracles are capricious. Miracles pick and choose without rhyme or reason by forces on high, but I am offering each and all of you a chance to be part of the new age.”
At this point Calvin usually thought about the conglomeration of decaying flesh and bones that was the human species, and how they’d learned to live with that, given no other choice. They might comfort themselves with magical thinking, pretending that the universe was made just for them, or at the very least convincing themselves that they were an important and vital part of a vast cosmos. But most of them didn’t honestly believe this, even with the benefit of miserably short lives and wholly ineffective perceptions of a universe more complicated and fantastic than they could ever comprehend.
He’d usually follow this by contemplating his lot. From a cosmological perspective he was a far greater being than anything born in this humble nook of reality. He was immortal and privy to truths the human race would probably never be ready for. But he was still just as much a prisoner as anyone in this room, on this world, in this universe. And after all of them were dead and gone, he’d still be here, tangled in a reality that held him in its unbreakable embrace. That this universe was no happier with the situation than he only made it more annoying. It seemed no one, not the humans, Calvin, Fenris, not the smallest grain of sand nor the universe itself had any control over its fate.
The realization, one that Calvin had had countless times before, never ceased to annoy him.
This time that chain of thought was derailed by Francis’s boisterous, increasingly frenzied laughter. It walked on the edge of madness as he dashed around the room like a man possessed. Greg was too deep into his routine to notice, and it wasn’t unusual for the sudden influx of power to fill the recipient with glee. This was different. Francis was losing control.
He flipped a table over, sending its contents flying in every direction. He seized a woman and pulled her roughly to him and planted a kiss on her worthy of a lusty pirate from a romance novel.
“Now see here,” said the woman’s husband, rising to defend his wife’s honor.
Francis punched him in the face, breaking his jaw. He threw aside the woman like a forgotten prize and eyed the room like a caged animal let loose on the world. In his primitive perception everything boiled down to fight or flight, and the rage in his contorted face told everyone which option he’d chosen.
He ripped out of his skin, changing into a hulking, four-armed beast with a caricature of a head that was nothing but a set of massive jaws and flesh-ripping teeth.
Like a whirling typhoon of destruction Francis charged through the banquet hall, smashing and clawing at anything and everything within reach. There were screams. Screams and blood. And brutal, merciless savagery that was thankfully cut short when sing of the established temple members burst into their own savage forms and pounced upon the mad Francis.
Calvin just watched, transfixed by the sight. The primal order Greg had preached was here, and the humans found themselves in the unwilling role of prey. At least six or seven were dead or nearly dead, having been attacked in the few moments Francis had run amok. Others cowered in absolute terror or ran, shrieking, out of the building.
This was the future of humanity.
The cult members dragged Francis before Calvin. Though they were every bit as strong as Francis, he was the more primitive, more furious soul, and they were having a hell of a time keeping him under control. He flailed and snapped, growled and hissed. It was mesmerizing. Calvin wondered if this was all because of what he’d put into the human, or if the human had had this inside all along and Calvin had only given it permission to arise. Was civilization humanity’s creation? Or humanity’s lie? He had no way of knowing.
“Well don’t just stand there,” said Greg. “Do something.”
Calvin stepped toward the snarling Francis. Calvin was invulnerable and immortal, but he found himself put off by Francis’s savage frenzy. He put his hand on Francis’s muzzle and felt the jump of power. Except it was going the wrong way. Francis doubled in size and cast off the beasts constraining him. He grabbed one of the cultists in a hand and bit her in half.
The other beasts jumped back. Everyone but Calvin. The giant creature that had been Francis leaned forward and snorted. It screeched at Calvin, who let its rancid breath wash over him. Bits of blood, fur, and gore splattered his face.
Calvin had nothing to fear, and without fear to feed it the creature was confused. It sniffed curiously at him. He put a hand on its nose and smiled.
“Sit.”
The monster did as commanded.
“Good boy.”
He gave it one more reassuring pat on the muzzle. For now the creature was dominated, but there was only one way to get it out of Francis. It had to be scared out, reminded of its place in the cosmic order.
“Sorry about this.”
Calvin laid an uppercut across Francis’s face. Several giant teeth were knocked loose, and the creature tumbled over with a stifled whimper. It shrank into its human form.
“What the hell was that?” asked Greg.
“I don’t know,” said Calvin. “Something went wrong.” Greg kept his voice calm and steady, as always, but an edge danced around his enunciations. “Brilliant. Something went wrong. That’s your explanation, is it? Something went wrong. Do you know how hard this will be to clean up? And this isn’t going away on its own.”
Calvin’s destructive influence on reality was rarely permanent. Sometimes a few small things slipped through, but for the most part, as a foreign element, his corrosivepower was quickly countered by the universe’s innate dislike of his unnatural presence. But occasionally the universe was fooled into accepting the damage. Usually by a secondary agent slipping under the radar. Francis must have qualified as that agent.
And now people were dead.
Calvin didn’t know how to handle that. He’d been walking on this planet for a long, long time, but he’d rarely been responsible for the death of anyone. And in most of those cases the death and destruction had been impermanent, shadows edited out of existence.
But these people were staying dead, and in the very near future they’d be the lucky ones.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“I don’t see what kind of future you can have with this guy,” said Vom.
Diana paused in the application of her eyeliner. She couldn’t talk and put on makeup at the same time. She didn’t wear makeup enough to have gotten to that level of skill.
“Who said anything about a future together? I’ll be lucky if one of you doesn’t eat me by the end of the month.”
“I resent that.”
“I didn’t mention you specifically. I could’ve been talking about Zap.”
“But you weren’t talking about Zap,” said Vom. “You were talking about me.”
“You’re right. I was. And I’ll apologize right now if you look me in the eye and say that you weren’t thinking about eating me then or right now.”
“I don’t have eyes,” he said.
