The Devil at the End

The devil sat on his porch, reclining in a harsh rocking chair. Around him lay several instruments, all wood and gold, all silent. The world around the master of hell was silent too: no ringing laughter, no breezing wind, no hum of life. The crops in the fields looked to have breathed their last, grey and fruitless.

The devil set down the drink he'd been nursing, and began walking. It was a damn lonely place, here at the end. It always was. The first few times it'd happened, he'd chuckle at the greatest minds who had abandoned god and preached their reason to the masses. They never quite figured it out, despite figuring out everything else. It always took a different route to get here too, but this was always the end.

His path took him to a small house that looked like the earth had risen to cocoon whomever took shelter there. When it was made, it would have been in vogue, both futuristic and rustic. Like everything else that existed now, it had existed for too long to be remembered. But the devil remebered. Technology had created gods of man, who shaped the world around them, creating anything to their whim. Those gods were dead, as most things.

Before opening the door, he gazed up at once was the sun. He missed the short time before all this, when the sun was a staple of life, a flaming eye who judged man as equal and shone on the good and wicked. In the sky now rested something terrible yet impotent: a hole with a blue corona, shining down a light that was neither comforting nor warm, but sterile.

He pressed his hand against the door, its mechanisms giving way to seamlessly remove itself from his presence, like a butler who had fulfilled their duty. In the center of the home's only room lay a bed, inhabited by a human shape obscured by the technology keeping it alive. Beside the bed sat an automaton, whose head jerked up to look at the devil. The automaton possessed beauty that could scarcely be defined: the pinnacle of human art in the shape of man. It acted as the body for someone whose faculties could no longer sustain itself.

"Have you come for me?" A voice echoed in the room. No matter how advanced the humans became, they could never make a voice that could please the devil's ears.

The devil sighed, "I'm not here to come for you, or take you, or do anything of the sort, and you know that." The devil made a small show of dusting off his rocking chair, which hadn't been there a moment ago, before he sat heavily in it. "I'm here because I feel like it. I don't like playing music while I'm by myself."

The automaton expressed distrust with every fiber of its being, as it always did when the devil dropped by. Even still, the devil pulled out his guitar, tuned it up, and began to play. The automaton's distrust only rose as the devil crooned in a voice that could only be described as beautiful. He sang in an ancient language that hadn't been spoken in longer than it had existed, but he remembered all the words, every painstaking rule and nuance: it was his favorite. The deep tones of the guitar threw themselves out into the cold, breathing some life into the deadness of the world.

As the song finished, the automaton uncrossed its legs and leaned forward a bit. "Don't you think it's about time something happened?" Its eyebrows furrowed a bit, seemingly daring the devil to do something terrible, just so it could shout "I told you so."

The devil set his guitar aside. "Maybe. But that's not up to me. Never has been."

"What is up to you then? Why are you here? You've been old since before I was born. Are you an old god?"

The devil leaned back in his chair a bit, letting out another sigh. These were not new questions, asked for the first time by the first lips. "All your old gods are dead. The ones who made these places were never gods, and neither was I."

The devil would've left it there, but he wanted to keep going. He had a willing audience, for the last time in a long time. "At one point, I wanted to be God. Thought I could do a better job. Thought I deserved it. That's not in me any more."

The silence crept inbetween the two. The automaton, still mistrustful, was at least listening. The devil decided to go on.

"Used to be there was nobody that didn't know me. It was nice, in a lot of ways. A lot of what you have there, you have me to thank for, in some part. I've had my hand in every little thing keeping you alive right now. I've had my hand in everything that's led us here. It's been my job to lead humanity to a very specific place, which I've done, and I'm enjoying my retirement."

The automaton's face twisted in disgust. "And where is that? To death? Your job has been to doom humanity, and for what? So you can enjoy the universe all by yourself?" The automaton re-crossed its legs. Humans never really did get out of showing their emotions with their bodies. Having a machine translate your mental state into its being probably didn't help either.

The devil leaned forward a bit, steepling his fingers. This wasn't a new conversation. "Well, let me try to explain a little something. There was once a time when there were a few futures for the universe. In every future, everything dies. It's inevitable. it's the way the universe was designed. No matter what I do, you and I will come to this point. But there's something important that comes after everything dies. If everything goes back into its box, everybody gets to try again. God makes a new universe."

Understanding dawned on the automaton's face. They waved their hand, the ceiling responding to their will by ceasing to exist, revealing the dead star in the sky. Almost as soon as the full comprehension had flashed across their face, the automaton's mistrust came back, possibly even stronger than before. They stood, pointing an accusing finger at the devil.

"Then you are here to kill me! I'm the last to breathe, and the only thing in the way of your new universe! Until I die, you cannot fulfill your duty! The old gods' relics will keep me alive forever!" A triumphant grin broke out over the automaton's face.

The devil grinned a little. "I don't mind at all how long you live. That's not my job."

The accusing finger dropped a little as their eyebrows re-furrowed. "Then why are you here?"

The devil did a bit of a shrug. "Because I feel like it."

The automaton sat back down, somewhat defeated. The silence of the dead world crept back in, the automaton lost in thought and the devil in no rush to break the quiet.

The automaton looked up at the devil, a new, worried look on its face. "What happens after a person dies?"

The devil's face showed real regret as he heard that question. He'd been asked it too many countless times. "I don't know. God didn't tell me, and he won't let me die."

The automaton looked down at their hands, wringing them a bit. "I don't want to die, but I don't want to keep going, either. There's nothing here for me."

They looked up at the devil. If they were human, there would have been tears in their eyes, but the beauty of the device didn't have that function. In its despair, there was no way to communicate. But the devil knew.

"I don't want to die."