(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

time. Maybe when you end up settling things... maybe we'll know a bit of
peace, too. Maybe."
I looked over my companions: Morte, who'd hidden his guilt with wit.
Dak'kon, his spirit dry as ash when the fires of faith had burned away.
Nordom, struggling to see a spectrum of colors where once there'd been
only white and black. Grace, who held her secrets in her heart. Annah, who
grew up harder than she ever had to be.
"Maybe so. Then... are you with me, Morte?"
"Why not, chief?" Morte shook his head. "I mean, we've gone to every
OTHER horrible plane in the multiverse I can think of. Why not take that
extra step over the cliff?" He gave a rattling sigh. "Are YOU ready? Because if
you're not..."
"I'm ready, Morte. There's nothing more I can do to prepare myself; are you
with me?"
"Well, I..." Morte glanced at the shimmering blue curtain. "Sure. Let's go. I
mean, any place else has got to be better than rattling our bone-box in the
Mortuary, right?"
I took another breath and stepped through the portal.
Interlude
The gates of paradise sing as they clink shut. The bells and golden lights of
gilded towers resonate their last, and the warmth of Ileron fades as he
buttons his shirt. The portal has closed, the swirling visions of the Nameless
One and his entourage are gone. There is only the silence, the chill, and the
coy smile of Ileron of Sen-Tau as he steps down from the podium.
"That is all I have to say."
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