Part IV: Whom Gods Destroy

The thing to understand about Godsend is that, unlike virtually any other hero you could think of, he doesn’t know his secret origin. It is, in fact, what defines his relationship with his archnemesis, Ulysses Kincaid, an industrialist of some international repute. Kincaid has this knowledge, and has been exploiting it for as long as he has been attempting to rid the world of the so-called Alabama Lamb. What Godsend knows, as does the whole world, as Kincaid certainly does, is the act that heralded his entrance onto the stage. It has been permanently impressed into the popular consciousness, because of its immediate and profound nature.

The tallest building in the nation was coming down. The loss of nearly every life inside was assured, the structure unable to sustain the rescue efforts of emergency responders desperate to fulfill their public contract. Godsend planted himself in the support position, and held that building on his shoulders, while everything buckled around him. Dust was everywhere, fire, the fallen from among those already claimed by the disaster. Men and women trained for this, who had already discovered how useless they were for something of this magnitude, fought back the urge to stare in awe. They carried on their duties again; they were given a fresh start, a second chance. They climbed stairwells that would have collapsed, would have entombed. They searched floors that would have collapsed upon each other. They reached upward to levels they had moments ago resigned themselves to the fact that they could only pray for. They had found their faith again, before Godsend came. Godsend, who was like nothing they had ever seen. Godsend, whom they had never seen before but was, in an instant, the most recognizable man there, the one everyone knew, everyone trusted, believed in. No, they knew he wasn’t a god, but in that moment, he was divine.

Those who would have been lost came down the levels, came down the floors, came down the stairwells. They were accompanied by those who had resigned themselves to a gloomy realization that they could not do what they had been meant to do. And yet they were now doing it. A man stood at the center of this building, held it on his shoulders, and allowed these people to live. Those who dared catch a glimpse swore that he didn’t sweat, didn’t shake. He held the building up like a man lifting a heavy bucket above his head, both hands planted, keeping the water intact, having navigated it upward when all it wanted to do was stay down. The building, which wanted to return to the earth from which it had come, stayed where man had put it, because a man was keeping it that way. For hours he stood there, until every last person had been evacuated, and he never betrayed a single torment from this ideal. When the last group walked by him, Godsend smiled. When they were clear, the dust consumed him. The building fell, all around him.

In just the amount of time it had taken to clear everyone from the disaster, the world waited to see what had become of this man. He finally emerged, no longer a gleaming savior, but a man who had seen the end of the earth. He flew away before anyone could bring themselves to thank him. In a week, he introduced himself. The effect this had for him was to engender an unquenchable good will, a debt. Godsend is the hero of heroes, there has never been a question about it.

His Latter-day Allies, like the Terrific Tandem, are a thing of the past. When he at last came to Traverse, Godsend came alone, but as the war progressed, he convinced old friends to join him. Brother Jack and the Staged Man answered his call without question, and they sit around a table with him now, discussing the future of this conflict. While it cannot be said they always agree with him, they rarely rebuff him, and this, too, is an example of his status. There are other heroes they would qualify as superior to him in many capacities, but they always defer to the Alabama Lamb, certainly to his face.

“I want to thank you for coming, firstly,” Godsend says. “This is a grave hour, and we cannot let it pass without our noticing, and leaving our remark. We have lost allies already in this war, brave young men such as Xenon, and old warriors like my former companion, the Eidolon.”

“I think it strange that you include the latter in your tally,” Brother Jack says. “Has his death been confirmed already?”

“By all accounts, yes,” Godsend says. “He was targeted by Barracuda, and those marked rarely escape alive.”

“Barracuda…” the Staged Man says. “We’ve heard what happened with Viper, Barracuda’s collaborator.”

“That was a necessary action,” Godsend says.

“We are not disputing this,” Brother Jack says. “His death was a considerable gain for us. Who do they have left, beyond Barracuda? Their forces are weak, negligible.”

“I wouldn’t celebrate yet, friends,” Godsend says. “I have only just called you. Would I do this to deliver a final blow? I respect you both far too much to serve you scraps. There are greater forces in their ranks, Jack. Are you aware of the clans within them? The Solomons, who have plagued this city for over a century, are still active. They are still a threat. Barracuda is being targeted from within, by the one calling himself Unity, whom I believe to be a greater threat. And greater still is Malcolm Bidd. He is the mayor of this city, the spawn of its greatest menace, now an old man, withered and feeble. But Bidd is dangerous because he is noble. He is a worthy challenge because he is cunning. We do not know what he is capable of, and yet we know he is unquestioned. He affects great change. This nobility is dangerous. I want to eliminate him personally.”

“For ten years this war has been raging,” the Staged Man says. “In its tenth year, we have come to offer our services, and we arrive to hear new names, new threats, unknown factors. I have heard of Cockeye, who fights for us, but who is unstable. Cockeye is Barracuda’s next target. What do you presume this conflict, this confrontation will result in? And why do you find it so easy to assume the Eidolon is dead? He rivaled you, Godsend.”

“I agree,” Brother Jack says. “Matters here are more unstable than you would lead us to believe. You tell us that there is war yet, and yet as you outline what remains, you leave it in a bow, something tidy. I believe, too, that the Eidolon lives. His survival, if you will pardon me, will determine the outcome of this war.”

The council, already turning on Godsend, in this moment witnesses the entrance of another, Dust. He doesn’t speak, at first, but instead delivers his words with his eyes, which are directed at Godsend. His message is clear, and then he begins to speak: “I have watched you for a long time. I have watched as you commanded the world’s attention by your very presence, as you allowed your reputation to outshine your deeds. You do not know who you are, and yet you expect the world to worship you, to bow down to your herodom. These words alone should tell you what I think.”

“The wisdom of age,” Godsend says. “Worthy of your station.”

The Staged Man and Brother Jack don’t know what to think. Before them stands a man no longer contained in an earthly form. He is a vision, composed of the literal element of his name. His words suggest their reaction for them.

“I think I understand now,” the Staged Man says. “We are meant for this moment. This will define our age. We haven’t been concerned with these events because they have been clouded; by their very nature they were a play for whom we were all manipulated. Our parts were written for us, and we did not disappoint. How did Traverse become the stage? What importance did it ever have? None, and because of that, it was where everything formed into being. Agreements were made here, decisions brought to fruition. The ground was fertile, and the harvesters were hungry. The first shot rang out, and we did not hear it. How could we? Was it a war then? Unity, as Godsend reminds us, struck, and his behavior sparked this war. He rescued a girl, in his mind, and crossed a line. That was what happened here. A line was crossed. Everything that had stood for a century crashed down in this city. We remember Rancor, the Blue Beacon, we even remember the Eidolon. Are all three dead? Viper is. We have his murderer before us. He is the man who seeks to end this war, and his chosen method is death. He is our champion. We have come here for our agreement, to make our decision. What is to be won, and what can be lost? Who benefits?”

“I will answer that,” Brother Jack says. “Dust, I apologize to you. We had the same doubts you have expressed here today. And yet we trust in Godsend. Is the Eidolon dead or does he live? In the end this really makes no difference. What can be lost? The city of Traverse. What can be gained? The city of Traverse. We have let it slip through our fingers. Why is it important? Because a line has been crossed. We mourn our dead, and our mistakes, but we have come here, the Staged Man and I, to begin to say what we should have before: we will take notice. That is all we have ever done. We have taken notice, and we have acted. We don’t welcome war, but we will embrace it. What else could we do?”

“There are other things to be done, besides,” the Staged Man says. “Godsend has said he claims Bidd. So be it. I will not argue this point. There are plans to be made. Our enemy, despite their losses, both in fact and in projection, still do not change the fact that they already hold the city. We call this a siege for a reason. We have come to crush this city, because that is all we can do at this point. We will crush it, and then rebuild it again.”

Godsend listens to all this with pleasure in his heart. He expects the victory to be inevitable, because he cannot envision any other outcome. The war has gone on now for ten years, and now is the moment for its conclusion. He held a planet in his hands once. Maybe it was not in the literal sense then, but he has been granted all but this since then, and this power, even beyond his own, trembles. He has it within his will to accomplish anything, because the world is his. He has only ever done the right thing, because that is all he is capable of. He is a hero. Anyone knows that. Those who don’t tolerate others of his kind, worship him. No, he is not a god, but he has been all but since that day. He didn’t christen himself Godsend. They gave him that, and he did not deny it, he embraced it. It is because he is grateful, and his every action is to repay this sentiment. He is not perfect, but he is trying, and he uses his power most of all because he sees so many who don’t try, who believe they are and don’t try, because theirs is an ego that has gone unchecked. Godsend is humble. He is the greatest of heroes, the most pure. He accomplishes great things because that is all he knows. He is the personification of altruism. He has nothing else to turn to, how could he be anything but?

He will bring destruction to the enemy.