Brent Stinebaker
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37-4 End-Times Arms Race (IV) (Godclads)
🕑 Added 2025-07-21 03:23:31 +0000 UTCThe way I look at revenge is the same way I look at replacing a lost limb. You lost the arm. Yeah, that happened. It's never coming back. The same arm is not coming back. You're going to need to accept that. Now, different people have different grieving processes. Also, some people don't need to grieve altogether. Some people shoot all the way to kill the bastards that took my arm, murder their families, and they're A-OK afterward. That's fine. If you're one of those people, this talk isn't for you. However, if you're more of the feely type who needs to process and go to a mender, well, I got a bit of a survival guide for you.
I talked about revenge before. I talked about how I'm not going to tell you if it's right or wrong, if it's pointless or purposeful. I'm going to tell you this instead. When you lose something, you want to think about gaining something. It's never going to make up for what you lost, but you get to fill yourself again. It's like replacing the limb with a better cybernetic transplant or having one regrown. Hell, getting a new sheath altogether, because you know what? That limb wasn't that great. It's time for an upgrade.
You can't make up for being hurt, especially not on a deep level. So your goal should change to filling yourself, to satisfying yourself. You want to be happy. You want to enjoy your life. You want to enjoy your every moment. That is how you combat loss and revenge and all that other garbage.
Lost something before? Add something new. Make something of it. Give yourself a reason to keep living. Hell, have something to keep you busy. The mind doesn't exist in a vacuum. Some people talk about processing, processing. No, no, you process on your own time. You're aware what fights you can win or what you can't. At least I hope you're aware, because if you aren't, this is the wrong line of work for you, I'm saying.
You have to be in charge of yourself, and you have to arrange your own destiny, fate, whatever you call it. Chart your own path. Get active, because reactive grief, that'll eat you alive. Active grief, active rebuilding, active revenge—that might make you find a new direction in the end.
I guess what I'm trying to say here is sometimes loss makes you less than who you were. So the goal should be to be more than who you are right now. To go past that loss. It's not the same. It's not exactly arithmetic, but still, it makes up for something. And it gives you an approaching future to make up for a ruined past.
-Quail Tavers, School of the Warrens
37-4
End-Times Arms Race (IV)
The silence that followed Avo's statement was drowning. Cas drowned in his own mind. With every passing second, he didn't know how to respond. He didn't know what to do. He'd been a cult leader for years. He'd fought the Guilds for years, had planned so many operations for the Ninth Column, had done so many things to further the faith, to bring down the unrighteous, to bring ruin to the vile. But now, at this point, near the end of all things, the closest thing he knew to an absolute being—a being of unfettered power, one that shaped a mind as if it was clay and compelled the faith of people as if it was nothing but the air he breathed and the impulses of his own desires—and now, that being, that Overheaven, the Godclad above all Godclads when it came to Conceptualization and the shape of thought, looked to Cas for guidance.
He never thought he would have an angel or the devil ascended to be part of his flock. But the Lord tested the faithful and his most loyal in the strangest, most heartbreaking of ways.
"Whatever your words, I will accept. I will do all I can to see it delivered onto this sinful place, this blackest Eden, this Gomorrah or Sodom resurrected." The Sanctian's head touched the ground as he bowed, as he prostrated himself before Cas.
And just seeing that broke something in the Columner. The murderers of his family gathered here, but not as demons or monsters. They weren't even particularly greater sinners than most of the people he had to face. They were just… just Guilders in most cases, trigger-pullers. And the others in the room, most of them seemed so confused, so lost. And they didn't seem all that guilty either, at most. Cas would call them resigned. It was enough to make him mad again, but also, it was almost enough to break him as well. But it didn't break him. It centered him. It made him zero in on this very moment. And then he no longer felt so alone. Just then, it seemed like his family was back with him, on their instruments, beside him, guiding him.
"What are you waiting for, half-strand?" his brother whispered beside his ear. "Start playing. You're not gonna have a crowd if you wait anymore."
Then, his father took over from just beyond his sight. "If you're not sure what to say, then let the music speak for you. Let it give you some time. And when you're ready, you'll know you're ready. That's when you speak. Don't waste any words beforehand. Find yourself first. But people, they always want to believe. Remember that. People want to believe. They want to be something more than themselves. And that is what we can give them. We're not the hope. We are not the dream. The dream is the Lord. And we are simply here to spread the good word for the flock. It doesn't matter if our word isn't perfect. It doesn't matter about a lot of things. It matters that we try. It matters that we do what we can. Whatever way we can. Fail, Cas. Be human, but try."
And finally, there was his mother. He heard nothing, but he felt her warmth. He felt her embrace him for a final time.
Cas swallowed.
He had no desire to cry in front of all these people, to show how vulnerable he was before Avo. But it came close. Instead, he plucked his strings for a few moments. A series of notes twanged across the room, and everyone started looking at him. Cas played. He played slowly at first, trying to regain the feeling he had for his instrument, for the very life he led. For the first time, he played to a Guilder audience. To the murderers of his family. To the traitors that brought them their final ends.
But more than that, he played for himself. To find himself. Because before he could deliver his sermon, he needed to hear the notes of the Lord. And that's what it was. He was letting his faith guide him. He was letting his sensation guide his hands. And he was letting the music shape his mind.
And that was just it. His mind. He looked at Avo once more, but the ghoul simply shook his head. His conflagration flickered. It reached out to several people, but it never touched Cas. Of the many in the room who burned, the Columner remained spared, remained clean, remained untouched by Avo's divine flame.
"I do not guide you now," Avo said. "You guide me. I seek answers. I will not delve into your mind to shape you to find them. Show me your faith. Show me. For right now, I am nigh to you for revelation as well."
And that was just a revelation. The right thing to do. After everything Cas had suffered, after the life he'd led, and all he'd done, what was the thing he was supposed to do now? Was it vengeance? He could strike them all down in an instant. He could do it. Avo would likely allow it. Avo wouldn't judge him.
He might even appreciate it. And he could make it hurt. Cas could make it hurt in ways these people couldn't imagine. He could make them taste his pain, his misery. He could make them feel every single thing they'd done to him. Everything they took from him.
His notes began to shred. It grew louder, more discordant. The fury he felt echoed from every string he plucked, every sound he played. But still, he didn't say anything. No words came. The feeling still wasn't there. The spirit hadn't taken hold of his hands and mind yet. So he played on for a while more, the sounds becoming deafening.
Some of the people were staggering back. The Sanctian pressed his head harder into the ground. The Scaarthian's eyes were wide, but she regarded him now with an expression she didn't have earlier. She was lost, confused, but there was a grim acceptance to her features. An understanding. Something was coming. She could feel it. Everyone else in the room started feeling it as well.
Cas began to play a singular note. Over and over and over. The note built. It grew louder. The pitch grew shriller. And he twisted the sound. He used his Heaven for the first time, and he flicked it across everyone in the room. It hit a point that it lashed at their very bones. Several ears burst and bled, but then the pulse of gold and the flow of the Woundmother's blood restored them. They were banished from permanent damage and made to listen to the entirety of his song.
Then, as it climbed to a crescendo, Cas called out for the first time.
"It's not enough!" His voice echoed. There was a hint of rage, but it became something more by the time he finished speaking. "It's not enough to kill you! It's not enough to break this world! It's not enough that the Guilds fall! It's not enough! It'll never be enough! It'll never be enough for me! And it shouldn't be enough for you either!"
His voice rose to a roar, and everyone present took a few steps back. Faces went pale. Breaths were hitched. The rag-wearing Guilder stumbled back as if he had been struck across the jaw, and for the first time, emotion—genuine, true, bone-hard emotion—slipped through on his expression. His eyes were wide, and even with his organic eyes replaced by those glowing optics, Cas could taste their anxiety.
"All of you, all of you have done terrible things, unforgivable things, or so I would say. All of us have done terrible things, things that place us beyond the pale, that condemn us to the pitch of hellish fire for eternity, or so I would have said. But this, this is not the past. This isn't what we were. We aren't who we were a mere few seconds ago. I stand before you now, and I am going to be your shepherd, even if I hate you. So here it is. Here's my sermon, and here's my song. It's not going to be enough. Your deaths won't be enough. Your deaths will not bring them back, and even if they are brought back, it would not be enough. It has been an eternity of sin, an eternity of depravity, an eternity of wrongness over and over again. An eternity of us turning away from His grace, His light, His general fucking decency. An eternity. Well, that eternity has ended."
"And because you've taken my worlds away from me, my worlds…" Cas spun around, looking at the empty spots. For a moment, though, in the corner of his eyes, he could have sworn there was someone there, someone looking at him, someone smiling upon him. He could have sworn….
"My worlds," he said again. His fingers were blurred now. He played faster, more than that. As he played the guitar, his transplanted arm began to pluck his own strings, and a duet played on between Cas and himself. He was an instrument as well. He had a voice. He had his fingers, and he had his arm. And at once, the onslaught became unbearable for several.
They fell to their knees, mimicking the posture of the Sanctian as Cas played on. "So, since you've taken worlds from me, I demand a world back. I don't demand just any world. I demand we strive to reclaim Eden, to reclaim lost Earth, to reclaim everything that we have lost. Everything that we gave to the wind, worlds that have fallen. Everything that has been taken from us. We will take it back, and we, we, we!"
Cas repeated the words over and over again as he pointed a finger out at them, marking them specifically. Every single person he pointed at heard a loud shrieking noise, a sound of a guitar screaming, howling, sobbing. Cas did not weep, but his instrument shrieked instead. "All of you are now mine! You're going to do the right thing, you're going to seek the right way, and we are going to live justly, rightfully, and we are going to do things virtuously for the people that cannot. For the people that have been left behind, for the people who have suffered endlessly for all our actions, for the people, for the people, for the people!"
He repeated it three more times, and as he swept through the crowds, they were entranced. Some bled openly from eyes and ears, but they listened on. They didn't look away. And Avo, Avo's flame crackled higher. His burning halo grew brighter and brighter with every passing second. "We're going to do everything we can, and we're still gonna fall short. Because we're flawed, we're flawed creatures, we're sinners, we're goddamn bastards!"
And then, and then the feeling finally came. The feeling took him, and Cas, Cas couldn't help it. A tear fell from his left eye and then another followed from his right. "But still, even if I can't forgive you, even if I still hate you, He loves you. Even after everything we've done to ourselves, He loves you. And I believe that, down to the fiber of my being, deeper than the soul we have, deeper than this thing that we made to mock His divinity. Deeper, deeper, deeper. So I'm telling you right now, let this moment, let this moment stand. Let this moment burn eternal.
“Let these sounds sear you to the bone, to the spirit. You're mine now. The Guilds are all mine. For what they've taken, I take them onto me. I take them onto me and I cleanse the tools of my enemy. And I shape them into the relics of our deliverance. You are going to live up to your promises. You are going to live up to your ideals. You are going to live up to who you can be, to everything you should have been. You are going to chase the dream. And you're going to genuinely try this time. You're going to try, even if you fail, even if it hurts you. Give it all, give it all, give it all!" Cas called out three times.
"I will give all," the Sanctian held up his hands. "I hear you. I hear you, my shepherd. I will give all."
"And the rest of you, heed me now," Cas continued, the fervor in him growing to a feverish pitch. "I'll give you a chance. You can turn away. Turn away, and I'll strike you down. Turn away, and I'll dash your blood against the edge of my instrument. You can fight it, and you can try to take my life from me. Turn away and betray the both of us. Turn away and do what you've always done. 'It's just orders.' 'It's just the way things are.' But that has ended. The time is done. Everything is done.
“So in this time of times, in this end of ends, in this new epoch or final Armageddon or Second Eden, I'm asking you now, without consequence, without any possibility of a future or every possible future available before you, what do you want to do? Who do you want to be? Look at me now. Beyond being a murderer, beyond being a butcher, beyond being the weapon of your Guilds, who do you want to be? What do you dream about? What does Heaven look like to you? Because I can tell you what Heaven looks like to me."
And as Cas's rage ran its course, he plucked his guitar slowly. The notes were clear now, crisp as a clarity took hold. He felt like a man possessed, he felt like… he felt like his family was back with him. His brother by his side, his father looking at him, his mother holding him.
He didn't feel so alone anymore, not in this room, not before these people, not in front of Avo, no. His family was still here. They were here with him. "Thank you, God," Cas said to himself. "Thank you, great shepherd, for granting me this visitation."
"What? What does Heaven look like?" Cas asked.
"Heaven…" the Scaarthian replied. "Heaven… heaven is trying. Heaven is…" she looked at her hands, "heaven is trying. I… I don't know. I don't know what you want to hear from me. But if… if you want an apology…"
"I don't want a fucking apology!" Cas roared. "I want you to tell me what would make this all worth it. What kind of paradise were you fighting for? That demanded you give your very soul. Was it worth it? What was it for? Where was the end? What hope? What dream? What paradise?”
The Scarthian fell silent. "Maybe… maybe not my paradise at all. Maybe never my paradise." Her voice trailed off to a whisper. "I don't know. Is it truly…" she looked at Avo. "Is it truly happening? Is an end truly coming? Is the Ladder going to fall?”
"An end," Avo said, "or perhaps a beginning. Would you like to follow us?" And finally, the ghoul's intention took shape. Maybe it was manipulation in the end.
But Cas thought not. Cas was now properly forged, properly prepared to lead the Guilds in the image of a virtuous god, for the ones who can't, toward a future finally worth fighting for.
A second chance at Eden.
