The Rising: Selected Scenes from the End of the World

“This is a dream,” Bob replied, “so it’s okay if I don’t understand a thing you just said, right?”

“It matters not.” The creature led him down a long staircase, which led to another door.

“We now enter the Labyrinth,” the mime-thing said.Bob followed his companion through a confusing, maze-like series of hallways with closed doors on all sides. They seemed to walk for a long time.

“Where are we going?”

“You are going to a different Earth. Your father played in a musical duo. Lewis and Walker, correct?”

“Yeah, but how—?”

“That is what this incarnation of Kevin Jensen is listening to right now. He has just buried his friend. Tomorrow, he will attempt to rescue other friends from a cult. It has gone disastrously wrong infinite times before. We are sending you in to tip the balance.”

“Can I wake up now?”

The thing ignored him. “You must obtain the cult’s copy of the Daemonolateria. Use it to stop Leviathan and Behemoth, and to halt the rains.”

Bob stopped in the middle of the hallway. “Look. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what this is about. You’re not making any fucking sense!”

The creature whirled around, and its voice boomed inside his head.

“THE THIRTEEN HAVE BEEN LOOSED

ACROSS TIME AND SPACE. ALL EARTHS, ALL

PLANETS, INDEED—THE VERY FABRIC OF EXISTENCE IS THREATENED. REALITIES ARE COLLAPSING IN ON ONE ANOTHER. DEATH IS LIFE

AND LIFE IS DEATH. ALL ARE IN DANGER OF

BECOMING NOTHING. YOU WILL DO THIS, OR

YOU WILL BE LEFT HERE TO WANDER FOR ALL

ETERNITY!”

Bob fell to his knees and clutched the sides of his head. It hurt. The voice physically and mentally hurt.

“Please,” he sobbed, curling into a ball. “I don’t understand. I just want my old life back.”

The creature hovered over him. When it spoke again, its voice was softer.

“Your old life is gone, devoured by the Siqqusim, Elilum, and Teraphim.”

“The zombies?”

“Indeed. The first group is led by Ob. He, along with his brothers, is one of thirteen beings that existed long before the Morningstar’s fall. Your kind named them demons without truly understanding what they were. There are thirteen total. Meeble and Kat and Shtar, Behemoth and Leviathan and Kandara, Nodens and Purturabo…”

Bob interrupted the litany of names. “What does this have to do with me?”

“There are other worlds than the one you came from…other planets and other Earths. The Thirteen were scattered across the realities and planes of existence. The Siqqusim have been released from one such dimension, a place called the Void. Ob intends to gather the other Thirteen, building an army, and declare war on Heaven itself.”

“So there really is a God?”

“Yes, but humanity has always misunderstood His existence. Perhaps, if you succeed, you will stand in His presence and understand for yourself.”

Bob stood up. “What do I have to do?”

“Go through this door.” The creature opened one of the countless doors. Bob heard the soft hiss of rain. “Seek out a young man named Kevin Jensen. Accompany him when he goes to rescue his friends. There is a book called the Daemonolateria. Do not let it be destroyed this time. Use it to undo what has been done in that reality.”

“How do I get back here?”

“The Labyrinth has many doors. You will find one when you are ready.”

Swallowing hard, Bob stepped through the doorway. He found himself standing on the roof of a hotel, surrounded on all sides by water. When he turned around, the doorway closed behind him, vanishing into thin air.

AFTERWORD:

STORY NOTES FROM

THE END OF THE

WORLD

And so, once again, we close the curtain on the world of The Rising. This is the fourth excursion into that nightmare: The Rising, The Rising: Necrophobia, City of the Dead, and now the volume you’ve just read. Will there be another? I’m not telling—yet. Suffice it to say, the Labyrinth has many doors, and you never know what’s waiting behind the next one. Like Ob said in The Rising and Reverend Martin repeated in City of the Dead; there are other worlds than these.

I do know this; when I started this project, I was worried that I’d burn out. Like I said in the introduction, this wasn’t a book that I wanted to write. I wasn’t as enthusiastic about it as I’ve been past books. Figured I’d said all I had to say about the Siqqusim, and wondered where I’d find the inspiration to revisit them again. But I’m very happy to report that never happened—the inspiration was still there. As I prepared for each story, and spoke with the individual it was being written for, I found more and more things to write about. And even when I finished the last story, I still had more ideas. I got excited again.