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She is humming, softly, and swaying, slightly, as she scribbles in her notebook, just aimless brainstorming that circles back to the same points oftener than not. Either way, she isn't paying much attention to her surroundings, even as the door closes behind her, and almost bumps into a table that wasn't supposed to be there before she looks up.
Christina Theodora and warlock Bruce
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"It's not my fault but it is--if someone looked at this and then looked at me and went, 'ugh, you're a Christ?' then they wouldn't be out of line, you know? --It's not my fault but it is my responsibility."
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"That's--really reasonable of you? Not that it matters whether I think you're being reasonable or not. Obviously."
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Bruce keeps getting these statements he doesn't know what to do with, and every time he tries to do something with them he gets another one. Maybe instead he can just stare at his own feet for a bit.
"What else do you need to know before you can--do what you're planning to do?"
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She bites her lip. "I think I'm going to spend a little more time seeing if I can get anything useful from your world's literature just in case, and then I'm going to go into your world, teleport to your world's God, and conjure a little bit of antimatter."
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Sigh. "That's always the hope."
Flip flip flip no last-minute revelations?
Not especially. It's maybe slightly more lucidly written, but the events of the prophesied End of Days are the same.
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Well, there's not going to be an End of Days if she has anything to say about it.
"I'm ready," she tells Bruce.
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Bruce is aware that however this turns out it will be an important moment in history. Hopefully if someone writes a book about it they'll leave him out of it. Hopefully enough people will live to remember this that that's a concern.
He says solemnly, "Good luck," and opens the door.
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She steps through
and teleports to where God is
and conjures several grams of antimatter.
As soon as God realizes there's an intruder in Heaven, he throws a massive amount of lightning. But the matter-antimatter explosion is already flooding the area with energy.
God can handle energy. The spacetime of Heaven, already under strain, cannot. Reality starts to tear and fold into isolated islands like a pot of soapy water getting stirred into foam.
Christina might want to find somewhere else to be before the place she's standing stops being a place.
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She jumps back to earth and re-corporealizes herself and decides to wait a minute before doing anything else in case something makes itself known to her in that time.
There's nothing immediately noticeable in her vicinity, but there's a lot of telepathic yelling getting broadcast to whoever can hear it.
Hello? !?!?!
What?
Help? We are so alone
Holy holy holy is the Lord of Hosts
Where is everyone?!
Praised be the One to Whom our praise is due?
Where are we? Where . . . am I?
What??? We're scared? We're scared
Who are we?
What happened?
We are the choirs
Holy holy holy is the Lord of Hosts
There are humans here!
Who are you? Where did the light go?
It's so quiet
Lonely. Alone.
Holy holy holy holy holy holy holy
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Are there not normally humans where you are? she asks the one who said, "There are humans here!"
My name is Christina, she tells the one who asked, "Who are you?"
What was the light like? she asks the one who asked, "Where did the light go?"
How is it quiet? Everyone's talking, she asks the one who said, "It's so quiet."
Can I help? she asks the one who said, "Lonely. Alone."
Gradually the chaos of voices resolves into a few, coming from very different directions, each more coherent and somehow larger than before.
We are not where we were. We were in Heaven, and then everything was coming apart, and now we're here, and the humans who were with us in Heaven are here too, but they aren't singing.
We are the Archangels. We used to be the Host.
The light was Heaven. The light was the LORD. The light was everything.
The Song has stopped. We hear the other Choirs but we are not one with them. We are the Thrones only.
We don't know.
A brilliant streak of light shoots across the sky and vanishes into the distance. People are staring off after it in awe.
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Christina considers this for a fraction of a second, then teleports back to the door, steps through, and gestures for Bruce to close it.
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He closes it almost before she's done gesturing, and looks at her like he really wants to ask for updates but also doesn't want to interrupt anything.
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"I can't really blame them." No, useful, say something useful. "Anything I can do to help or should I just wait until you want the door again?"