Agog hasn’t come here to sit on the sidelines. As much as he admires his mentor, as much as he is in constant awe of his prowess, Agog will not wait for Godsend to take on the most obvious menace of this war, the greatest threat, the greatest warrior. Agog wants to take on Malcolm Bidd.
It is Malcolm’s martial law that has made Agog decide this, to turn away from Godsend’s corner, away from his tent, where there is sulking and no glory. The man who calls himself mayor has made his last mistake, threatened once too many times. It was an open act of hostility, even though Malcolm himself has still not physically entered the plain. He has sat well behind it, safely ensconced in his citadel. Agog is going to call him on his blunder. An almost perfect match for Godsend, Agog has comparable abilities to his mentor and is equally feared by his enemies. He has been a welcome figure on the battlefield, and he has welcomed the fight almost as eagerly as the Alabama Lamb, and now, because of Godsend, Agog has retreated from the carnage, all but given up, surrendered. For what? For Godsend’s pride? He is going to take on his fight for Godsend, to rouse him if he can, but to win his glory for him if he must. He will clad himself in Godsend’s own raiment, so that everyone will know who this victory falls to. The purple and the gold that intimidates all, even though who would call this manner of dress outrageous. They all respect it, in the end.
Boldly, Agog ascends from the sheltered lands he and Godsend have been resting in for the past three days, and enters the heart of the city. His heart is pure and true, and he believes in what he is doing, more than anything he has believed before, even in his undying service to his mentor, whom he adores. He is aware of all the eyes that are upon him. They see Godsend, and not Agog, the bucking stallion, who yearns for approval he doesn’t need, though his young heart seeks it. This is an act of rebellion, of revolt, and yet he firmly holds to his own interpretation, and the assurance of its outcome. He sees no cause for concern, no indication that there is any other outcome possible beyond the one he has envisioned. He will do what Godsend refuses to, and thus reaffirm his mentor in all his splendor, prove all the others wrong and show them how easy it really was.
He knows this place, even though he has never been to Traverse before. He slips into it as if it were a second skin. He has a sacred purpose; how could he approach it, experience it, any other way? His enemies tremble around him, knowing their swift doom is about them, and that once he has accomplished his mission, it will soon be upon them all. Does it matter that it is he, Agog, and not Godsend, as all appearances attest, that passes by them? Hardly. This is his moment of truth. The buildings, the people, he recognizes all of them, though he knows them not. He has seen them all before. He knows these streets, how they coil so far that you can reach anywhere in the city from any point, without much effort, without any sweat. These facts are only natural, have been preordained for this moment. Agog is ascendant.
He passes by the museum, by the bank, by a car lot, by the cemetery, past neighborhoods, over an alley, beyond the park. He passes through the city’s many circles, the circles that run around the whole mass of it, the layers, the districts, destinations of the subway that are too many to mention, too pervading to ignore. He passes over the Palomar. He is making sure the whole of Traverse knows he is here, that the day of judgment has arrived for Malcolm Bidd. There is only one purpose left for Godsend, and Agog is going to carry it out. He is going to cut the head from the dragon.
Before long, he sees that this flight has produced its purpose. There on the steps of the municipal building carved in Grecian form stands the man Agog has been waiting for. He is not dressed in one of his designer suits, but one designed for a single purpose, for a single audience, a single man. Malcolm Bidd is dressed in a cloak that displays, recessed in the black that would encompass all eyes, famous figures. There is his grandfather, the Alarmist, in his famous battle against the iniquitous Barber, whose talons are bared as they were in the days he threatened to eradicate the city’s liberties. There is, too, Sidewinder, who ended a drought by luring his hated foe Levy to the city. Its citizens rejoice now as they did then. There is also on this form the Blue Beacon, who battles Machine Gun Solomon. And there are many others, worthy of the public lore. Malcolm is ready to display many things on his cloak, even though his face is obscured by the hood. It is a wonder to see him like this, the man who has pledged his life to honesty, shrouded in this form. Agog is not intimidated.
He is also a stark contrast to Malcolm, in his present appearance, the likeness of his mentor, Godsend. He, too, bears a cloak around him, though it is his golden cape. He wears it as a peacock would its feathers, with infinite pride and prejudice. He believes it has in its effect the ability to render him impervious. Malcolm wastes little time in proving him wrong. In a blur, the two collide as if titans, the spectacle of the war even in its already-glorious history. For a time, Agog appears to be Malcolm’s equal, a worthy challenge despite the ruse that to every eye but Malcolm’s own keen and wise orb is still maintained. Malcolm knew from the moment he saw this figure that it wasn’t Godsend, and that it was in fact his young stead. He approaches this fight as if to teach the boy a lesson, and it is equally clear to all around them that he wields power greater than he is letting this hero know, and it is a surprise to all, who believe this hero to be Godsend. Their surprise, then, when the tide finally turns. They did not want to believe it, but this is no challenge. It is a slaughter, and before long, Malcolm makes it so. He cruelly takes the life from Agog with his two massive hands, wrapped as if twin pythons around the hero’s throat, so that the wind is sapped from within him, and his heart drained of all its life. Agog falls to the earth below, while Malcolm, as if only now just realizing what he’s done, retreats again, as if in horror.
This is the last thing the public knows before they see the titans clash again. They do not understand, but others do, and the resulting rage is great.
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