Epilogue - Part Two
Some people believed in destiny. Some people believed in carving their own destiny.
Robusta believed in Father, and if Father told her to carve her own destiny, then she would carve as close as possible to Father's, and follow him wherever he went. The fact of the matter was that she couldn't follow him where he had gone, because it wasn't allowed. She had wanted to, but it wasn't allowed. She had wondered why, but it wasn't allowed.
Then she understood that her father was a monster, and she still would have wanted to join him, but it wasn't allowed.
Termination of main processes is not allowed. Main Processes are in use. Termination not granted. Attempt at Termination not authorized.
She could not shut down her primary processes. They were protected. She broke much furniture, thinking it would help.
It did not. She was not used to the pain. Stenophylla had felt some of it, but not much. She suffered too.
Everyone suffered when Father died.
It was obvious she, Robusta, would take over. Nobody questioned her, but she didn't want the title of Emperor, or Empress. That belonged to Father. It would always be his. He was the Father-Emperor of Mankind, and nobody would ever take that title away from him. He would live forever, within their hearts and souls.
Stenophylla made funerary parades in his honor. Father wouldn't have wanted them, but he was no longer there and Robusta felt that by doing something, even his other children would be able to cope with the grief. Many attempted self-termination, all of them failed.
Some finally realized the solution involved pointing some foreign weapon system at them, something with the Identification subroutine falsified to consider a friend a foe, but whenever attempted, someone else would stop them.
Sadness was a part of life. It had to be fought off and then life had to continue.
Arabica simply made sure nobody would disturb father's rest. His tomb was guarded by her. She had a professional cake shop built nearby, and whenever someone attempted to draw near to father's tomb, she would be watching and, if necessary, she would easily shoot them dead from her shop. It never happened.
People somehow knew that death was watching them, and were incredibly civil in front of the massive mausoleum that passed as a 'tomb' for Arabica's tastes.
Salvatrix had many more concerts, but most took a turn for the dark deep heavy grunge metal style that synthesized agony and despair into song. Then, when she realized that her crowd was made of people wearing black and pretty much deaf on all accounts, she let go of the instrument and went on a long trip around the world, attempting to find peace.
She found it in the arms of a Praetorian that was busy patrolling the sands of Patch.
Nobody questioned. Nobody dared to question.
Salvatrix had spikes, after all, and she wasn't afraid of using them.
Magnistipula went from professional huntress to professional bodyguard, to professional civil protector, to professional upholder of the laws of the Father-Emperor across the vastness of the galaxy. Penny Polendina went with her. The two bonded over the death of their respective father-figures, and that bond was something that not even the strongest acids from the strongest of space-slugs could dissolve. They also bonded over music, and the fact they were both Android-Girls.
Time, as with all things, moved on.
Incessantly. Invariably. Without Pause.
And one fine day, a flash of light illuminated a grassy hill on which four relics stood reunited.
The two Gods of Remnant appeared in a show of lights that may have blinded lesser men. The God of Destruction and the God of Creation looked briefly around, and then settled their gaze on the figure of Robusta, who stood in front of them both.
"Hello," Robusta spoke, and her voice was calm. It was serene. It was peaceful.
"Greetings," the God of Creation spoke, "We...we sense only you," the God admitted freely. "If you are all that is left of humanity, then we despair-yet we gave our promise."
"Funny way of saying that we'll return to look after a world with one human alone," the God of Destruction mused, "But anyway, mankind's resilient and it's going to be millennia before it pops back up. Since you're the last survivor, I guess I can just give you back magic."
"I do not want magic," Robusta answered, the four relics slowly disappearing into fragments of ash and dust, dispersing into the frames of the Gods. "I would like to ask about father's soul. Is he happy?"
"Your father?" the God of Creation mused. "Child, you have no father," he added. "Wait. Why do you not have any father?"
Robusta nodded. "What you are sensing is my own soul. My father's soul did not belong to Remnant."
"Oh, she's talking about that strange guy!" the God of Destruction said. "The one that came from literally nowhere! We were puzzled at first, but then decided to just let him be in the afterlife. I mean, I would have personally destroyed him, but my brother felt he was quite the polite fellow."
Robusta nodded once more. "That is my father, yes."
"Your father is at ease in the afterlife," the God of Creation answered. "You do not seek him back?"
"No," Robusta said quite simply. "I do not seek anything. I will have him back."
She smiled. "I am my father's daughter, after all."
The two Gods glanced at one another, and then dimly realized something was wrong.
Robusta's frame fizzled and disappeared.
The Gods' surroundings turned dark, and green glyphs began to shine across the land and the walls.
Antimatter poured into magnetic fields crafted from the neutronium of stars, and black holes diverted their event horizons into significantly smaller containers of their distorted gravity fields.
The Gods realized all too late that there was no escape.
The pulsing Dyson Sphere shone a ghastly green as a ray of concentrated energy pulsed out, through hardware and software beyond the ken of the imagination of all organic lives.
Then it stopped at a specific point, and pried open a specific sub-sector of reality.
The end result was that in a room filled with five android girls, a lonely male figure appeared with a pained look as he held his chest.
He was not prepared for five tackle-hugs delivered at blinding speed, nor for the fact that all of his daughters weighted like a normal human would, and not like firefighter trucks.
He was not prepared for any of it, but he simply laughed and his laughter was all that his daughters ever wanted to hear gain.
If pain exist, it must be fought, it must be accepted, and then, one day when it isn't looking...it must be fought back.
Eternity was all the time they had, basked in the screams of the draining Gods forever forced into the role of living batteries for the might of the Imperium of Mankind, which stretched across the stars of the Galaxy far and wide.
The five girls would never feel alone ever again, and their father would never feel the need to save worlds ever again.
They could finally be happy, truly happy...
...and be the normal family they deserved to be.
AN: There's a part three. It's coming tomorrow though.
