The Final Question

[Gamzee Makara]

I...Do not know how best to process this exchange of events. My mind is still reeling from the mere presence of this ancient being.

This is Omni.

I want so very hard to believe that there is some science at work here, like that of the observatory I explored, but alas... My mind could not comprehend this reality, cannot comprehend that there may actually be a supernatural explanation for all of this. Up until now, I have been simply trying to ignore anything that my own thought process could not derive a logical explanation for. But this, the reality of standing in this room with this god and his omnipotence is almost as maddening as my own tormentors.

From this standpoint, the goblin is almost as insane as I am. I would not be surprised to hear him babbling to nonexistent voices.

Grobdum.

That was this creature's name. Goblins and Orcs are driven by a tribal warlike society, and that is all this beast has ever known. But what happens when an animal acts beyond his instincts? What happens when a mindless monster decides to think for himself? I step lightly, eyes always on the blank canvas of Omni. I cannot tell if he is looking back at me or not. Eventually, I find myself standing in front of Grobdum. I do not know why I was drawn to him, and I do not know why I felt compelled to have words with him.

Perhaps it is because I see a soldier in him. A German soldier boy, drafted into the Nazi army at the age of eighteen, forced to learn how to fight, how to kill. Forced to enjoy it and to revel in the pain of others. And this boy continued to enjoy it when his scientific knowledge was discovered by his superiors, and as he was sent to study as a Doctor and a Scientist. He continued to enjoy his experimentations, his tests, the pain he inflicted on others in the name of science. But what if that boy didn't want to be a monster, a deranged man with no morals, no hope for redemption or mercy or remorse or-

Perhaps I see a different path for him. Perhaps I see him learning more than his life of murder and sadism. Or perhaps not. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Perhaps this creature is doomed to his life of violence.

Up until now, Blitz has been completely silent. But at this exact moment, he pipes in with his usual call.

"Pikachu!"

Silly little creature. The sound startles the goblin. He looks up from his sitting position.

"You do not have to go back to war, Grobdum. You will become a Prime. You could do whatever you wanted. You could study magic for the benefit of others. Or yourself, if you would rather. Do you like war, Grobdum? Do you like fighting and killing and being hurt?

My tone is level and even, with no hint of anything. I try to speak simply, as I truly do not know the extent of his intelligence. I did not have many dealings with him in our expedition. Perhaps nothing I say will reach his ears. Perhaps his knowledge is too limited to understand what I am going to offer him.

[Thaal Sinestro]

The strange man stood before Grobdum, his words slow, smooth and calm. And yet, there was a madness at the center of his stillness, he had been push so hard and so far that he had reached a pinnacle of sorts, like driving so far into the hurricane that you have reached the eye of the storm. It was from there, from that point where they were pulled in so many directions that they stood motionless, that they would decide which wind would carry them.

“Does I like war?” Grobdum asked the man. “Choppin’ is all dat I is, all dat I do.” He held up his claw, without even a flash of magic sputtering forth. “Dat’s wot magic is. Wiffout a good WAAAGH!, dere ain’t no magic.”

His expression changed from a despondence to one of fury, “Dat’s wot everythin’ is! You fight, you fight against you, you fight against dem; you fight! Everyting is da fight.” Staring up to the scientist, he shrugged, “Wot else dere?”

[Guu]

Raw Onion approached Grobdum.

"That's not true." She stated calmly before the distraught green man. "We accepted you into our lives, you've lived with us for months. You're not just some follower to us, you've become part of this family. You can't write yourself off as some sort of product of war, I made that mistake myself."

She trotted a bit closer, resting a hoof on his shoulder.

"I don't know what it was like for the War chiefs before, but you mean something more to us right now! I mean you're Grobdum!"

She trotted in front of him and looked him in the eyes, giving him a smile.

"You've certainly won me over. Considering my history, that's one hell of an accomplishment! Not something a mere war machine could do!"

[Proto Man]

Top Man, somewhat morose at the back of the group, wove his way forward toward the white god-creature.

"Hey," he said, lifting a hand to get the attention of Omni from all the other people sharing their feelings with one another. "You're going to make that lady a prime? Can I have some of that juju too?"

[Omni]

"You've all earned the right."

[Zack Fair]

Abner stood near the back of the group, taking in the unreal sight of being before the creator of this realm. God, for all that it mattered to him. Sitting right there and just talking to them. It was hard to believe he was awake. Sure, he credited himself for not being overwhelmed by much anymore, but certainly this was a rare exception. As much as he was studying Omni, though, he was unable to prevent himself from watching his allies just as intently. His curiosity about their reactions to this place and their company was just as overpowering.

The offer to be a Prime was on the table, and it was a lot to process. Before he could deal with that, though, he had a question of his own. There was one simple, yet very important thing he needed to know, and he couldn't wait any longer to ask the deity.

"Hey, is it alright to smoke in here?"

He didn't wait for a response, and went ahead and lit a cigarette.

[Roger Smith]

Well this was it. They'd made it. They'd survived and made it all the way here to meet the great white faceless ol' bastard himself.

Just bleedin' fantastic.

Everyone was reacting in their own peculiar ways to standing before the very literal God of the Omniverse, and for a moment Crow found himself caught up in wondering how the members of their group who hadn't managed to make it all this way would have reacted. It was a somewhat unpleasant thought that he pushed out of his mind with all the quickness he could muster. Running one hand over the silvery growth of haggard beard that had developed over their months-long trip, Crow squinted his eyes at Omni, as if in deep thought about something or other.

He takes his time to listen to what the others have to ask Omni, and nods his head in thought. Until finally he speaks up himself, just as Abner is busy lighting his cigarette. "Ahoy there, mister creator o' what all we see." He swept his hat back out of his eyes, giving him a clear line of sight to the deity. "Not that the idea of comin' back from this lovely little journey as a Prime wouldn't be proof enough for the folks that knows about who I am and all, but what about them scallywags what don't know me from Adam?" There was a gleam in his eye as he scratched his head.

"Don't wanna look like I'm jus' loaded to the gunwhales and blowin' smoke, savvy? Any chance o' gettin' some kind of proof I made it here, me bucko?"

[Omni]

Omni grinned. "Got a camera? We can take a selfie."

[Strazio Rockwell]

　　The Bloodlance listened to Omni speak to his companions. It seemed almost to easy, they all could become primes. They could resurrect their loved ones, they could control the precious lifeblood of the Omniverse, omnilium. With omnilium anything would be possible. But could it turn back time? Could it erase an old man’s mistakes? Isaac looked down at his bloodstained hand, how many had people had he killed? He looked at Christa and smiled weakly. Is this truly what he wanted? To become a prime, another gear in the twisted machinations of the Omniverse?
　　
　　No.
　　
　　The old man stepped forward, his tattered red cloak was nothing more than a sick memory of the past.
　　
　　“Omni, My name is Isaac Carter, I do not wish to become a prime” his voice was weary with the weight of a burdened life “ I have made countless mistakes in my life, I have slain many innocent people and I have killed almost everyone I’ve ever loved. I do not deserve your favor.”
　　
　　Isaac looked over at Christa and then back at the rest of the group. His weathered face hoped for some kind of approval, but found nothing but silent stares. The Bloodlance turned back to Omni “My wife, Melanie Carter was slain as a direct consequence of my damnable actions. She was a beautiful women with a truly kind soul, if anyone deserves your favor it is her. All that I ask is that you take mercy on her and give her the life that she deserves! Bring her back, bring her back and allow her to live a wonderful life!”

[Gildarts]

Christa’s eyes flickered to the space in front of her. Then, they found their way tracing along the lines of everyone who had made it. The ground-breaking news that Omni himself would grant her to be a prime caused her heart to skip a beat. Her eyes hung on Abner as she already knew the response she would give Omni.

Christa looked down at her hands. They were small, tattered, and within the lines of her palms were the edges of dirt. Her hands she had fought with to get here. They always held a gun, it was now holstered. Her hands were empty, like the goal she had clung to was now washed from them. For Katia. Not for herself. Becoming a Prime would make all she had retaliated against, the injustice of secondaries and Primes unequal existences. It would make her a sell out. “It would all... Be a lie.”

[Omni]

Omni tittered, working his shapeless chin with the crook of his thumb. "Interesting. I love seeing these choices."

He looked at the weathered old man who had dragged himself here to refuse immortality. "You want me to bring Melanie Carter here? Are you sure of that? Make sure you don't regret it."

[Gildarts]

Christa knew the answer for herself, but she wanted to hear Omni say it, "What's the difference between Secondaries and Primes? And I mean, the real difference." Christa wasn't about to make an uneducated assumption just because of her own stubborn pride.

[Proto Man]

"Someone say selfie?" Top Man said, stepping passed the others and holding up his cell phone as he approached Omni.

[Omni]

Omni held up a hand to the machine, keeping his eyes trained on Christa. "One at a time please folks!" he said, still grinning.

"The difference between secondaries and primes is that secondaries are summoned by primes, and primes are summoned by me. As for the real difference ... well, naturally you can say that those summoned by me have a fairly greater share of ..." A tiny, short giggle escaped from his lips between words, "Abilities. It's not my fault secondaries are weaker. I didn't make you that way ..." He scratched the side of his head.

[Gildarts]

"I didn't make you that way ..."

"No, you didn't make us at all." Christa's eyes narrowed. "Why are you so generous to someone who merely exists here? You'll have to excuse my skepticism, but Omni, who are you?"

[Omni]

"I'm Omni! And you interest me, so I want to make you a prime." He grinned.

[Gamzee Makara]

I am, to say the least, distraught. Conflicted, torn, confused, and völlig zum scheitern verurteilt. Almost painfully quickly to me I realize that there is no happy ending here. What are my options, eh?

I can become a prime and be sent back to the nexus, left to my own devices. But what would they be? What would I even seek out? Yes, there is technology and science and so much knowledge and intricacies that this Universe has to offer but-

Is it real? Is any of it actually here? Is it not all byproducts of this being, this Omni and his machinations? Omnilium. Omnilium is what courses through the veins of this world. It is what Primes have used to create, quite literally, EVERYTHING. While it is true that Omni has pulled beings from their home worlds or universes or dimensions, he did not do the same for all things that came after. The Primes created everything in their verses with Omnilium, using their imagination to sculpt out and try to bring pieces of their world into this one.

However…

None of it is the real object or thing or concept or person from the world it was pulled from. It is a copy, an elaborate veil. Even we secondaries are not the actual person we appear to be. I am not Edward Richtofen. That is not Captain Crow. This pony is not Raw Onion. We are lumps of clay that were molded by Primes to be an exact copy of the thing they so desperately seek: a piece of home.

Eine Erinnerung.

This is why I look at Heerführer Klaud and feel twinges of sadness and remorse at her situation. The dream she has of being a Prime and resurrecting her loved ones as secondaries is so tempting, so inviting, but alas…

She would not be resurrecting them. She would be building shrines to their actual deaths. A small consolation we are allowed for coming this far and deciding to pledge our lives as entertainment for Omni.

And furthermore, the irony of this entire desire to recreate one’s loved ones is exactly what ruined Christa’s existence in the first place. She could not bring her sister back. There was no right way to do it, especially not for a secondary.

I’m beginning to think that there is no right way for anyone, prime or Omni, to bring back what we have lost.

I want so very badly to have answers, but I do not know where to begin with my inquisition.

I could ask to go home, to my universe. Yet, this all cycles around to the cold hard fact that none of us are the real us.

My gott, my English is not perfect, but I know for a fact my grammar there was terrible.

Still, the truth hits home: we have no homes. We were born of Omnilium.

Not even to mention that if Omni were to send us to our original Universes to be essentially the real version, would that not have some sort of fallout, some lasting detrimental effect on our sanity? Would this not happen if we became Primes? Even if I were to go back to France on that fateful day when the hordes were unleashed, sanity intact, everything as it should be, it would be a miserable existence. As I have already discovered in the murk of the Swamp, my (or Richtofen’s, rather) life is one big game, a huge cycle that starts, stops, and begins again from the beginning at the will of some unknown force.

It does not matter. Keine dieser Fragen! Alles dies ist ohne Bedeutung.

I resist the urge to fall to my knees at the weight of this knowledge and hypothetic realization. Blitz, still atop my head, voices his worry. It is most likely about my mental state.

I simply cannot comprehend, logic or no, the intricate web that this white, perpetually smiling bastard has woven.

And that angers me.

But there is nothing I can do about it.

I clench my tired, beaten, worn fists.

And then I let it go, the pressure leaving my body.

One thought at a time. One after the other.

And then another thought hits me.

A possible out, a way to gain more insight on this eternal dilemma.

I take several steps forth, making my presence known.

“What was the first question or request ever asked of you?”

Translations:
völlig zum scheitern verurteilt. = utterly doomed
Eine Erinnerung. = A memory
Keine dieser Fragen! Alles dies ist ohne Bedeutung. = None of this matters! All of this is irrelevant.

[Omni]

"That would be a personal question."

[Strazio Rockwell]

Isaac frowned, his dry lips carving deep ruts into his wrinkled face. He could have her back, he could have Melanie back. The past three years of blood, sweat, and tears would finally pay off and he would be able to see his betrothed again.

This was wonderful!

It was fantastic!

But then why did this feel so wrong?

“Forgive me, but your Omniverse is a monstrosity of violence,” Isaac spoke “I don't want you to bring Melanie here, but rather somewhere else outside of this machination of hatred and brutality where she can live a peaceful happy life without the constant threat of violence looming over her head.”

The old man clenched his bloodstained hand, forcing small flecks of dried blood to float harmlessly to the bright white floor. He spoke carefully, but he did not speak without conviction “I do not care if I'm allowed to follow her, I just want to know that she is safe and happy. Are you able to do that Omni? Can you fix an old man's mistake?”

[Omni]

Isaac knew the answer before Omni even spread his lips.

"No."