Dibbuk floated downwards through the sea for what felt like an eternity, though the feeling was no longer new to her. She’d thought the wait above the surface had been long, but it didn’t compare in any way to this. She could see the ancient Tar-Khal swimming in and out of her sight, but they never stopped moving. Its tail wove in and out of the gloom in a never ending pattern.

Dibbuk looked down at her hands. There was beginning to be a persistent itch in her fingers, accompanied by an infuriating burning in between her eyes. This was all turning out so frustratingly tedious. And above all else she was still tired.

“Hey big face! How much further do we have to go? There is a bottom, right?” Dibbuk yelled, her scream garbled by the surrounding liquid. Pulses of vibration moved through the water in a familiar pattern.

“Bottom? Bottom? No, no bottom. Only the bottom of you left to find. Rahg kukal.” The ancient Tar-Khal answered in between powerful bursts of cynical laughter.

“I can too find my own ass, thank you, and that’s a very rude way to use Khalish. What would your mother think?” Dibbuk barked, continuing to sink deeper. Another bout of vibrations flowed past her.

“Nothing. Didn’t know Khalish.” The Tar-Khal answered, its eye passing directly in front of Dibbuks face.

“How? If you’re as old as you should be, there wouldn’t have been any other languages around.” Dibbuk asked, correctly assuming that the Tar-Khal could be nearly a hundred thousand years old at its size.

“Time is not a line. Watch feet.” The Tar-Khal answered, whipping up sediment as it swam away.

As if it had been waiting underneath her for the opportune moment, the diatomaceous ooze at the bottom of the sea seeped its way up and between Dibbuks claws. She sank about three inches into the thick organic byproduct and squinted through the cloud of freshly disturbed sediment. Particles whirled in and out of her vision like a billowing sheet made of stars.

“Then why don’t you tell me what it damn well is then?” Dibbuk muttered to herself. She was tired. Tired of only being able to see three inches in front of her face. Tired of all these damn riddles, and above all, just tired. She hadn’t slept in what felt like months.

“Can’t, could ruin the story.” The Tar-Khal bellowed from an unknown distance ahead of her. As its shout faded into the distance, Dibbuk heard the faint sounds of music carried across the flat, featureless sea floor. She could barely make out a few of the words, as distorted as they were.

“I’m just a– l- way from ho-... Stuck in the fo- just can’t s- arou-. Feet grow wea-, miles on the roa-. I’ve got my broth- to hel- me carr- the load.”

The words were soft, soulful, and filled with longing. Dibbuk could relate. She had a brother to help her carry the load, or maybe she didn’t anymore. She didn’t know if Harvel was still alive.

Mahone had told her he needed to get it together, and it had been a rough few days. Even if he was dead she would still have Yiddek and their parents, right? She hoped this dance with the devil wasn’t close enough to destroy her entire family. A thought came to her.

“Hey, do you have any siblings?” She called out into the void. She knew the Tar-Khal would hear, the real question was whether it would respond.

“I did. Two.” It answered, the words moving through the water like a gentle wind. It hovered just outside of Dibbuks limited sight.

“Are they alive, still? Like you?” Dibbuk asked, taking her first few steps forward through the sludge. It was a familiar feeling. Like another day on patrol.

“No. All dead. Left me behind.” The Tar-Khal answered, kicking up waves of sediment again. Dibbuk paused mid step. The answer had been delivered like a joke.

“You don’t sound very sad about it.” Dibbuk stated, letting her foot come back down into the ooze.

“Not as sad as you are, I think.” The Tar-Khal said, pulling just into Dibbuk's line of sight. Her heart faltered a bit. She’d been putting it off, but somewhere in her mind she knew that Harvel was either dead, or would be soon. He wasn’t the only one either. There was nothing for it.

“Well, what do you expect from me?! I’m allowed to be sad, okay! I’ve probably lost my brother, there’s some sort of evil monster of a billionaire after me, and I’m… I guess I might be dead soon too.” Dibbuk shouted, taking a few forceful steps forwards through the cloud of sediment.

“You can stop it. Your death.” The Tar-Khal said, thickening the cloud of whirling sediment and ooze. Dibbuk froze.

“How?” She asked, sensing that the Tar-Khals snout was right in front of her. It was like standing in front of a cliff face that she couldn’t see.

“Do you hear it? The music?” The Tar-Khal asked, creating a wave of pressure in Dibbuks ears. She listened for the faint tune floating through the space around them.

“Yes, I like it.” Dibbuk answered. The Tar-Khal huffed in approval.

“Good. Keep listening to it. Do you hear the bell?” It asked, a singular claw emerging from the fog. It was pointed behind her.

“Yes, I don’t like it.” Dibbuk answered coldly. It was a tinny, sharp sort of tone that pierced through the black water like a knife. The Tar-Khal huffed in approval again.

“Good. Follow it, and keep going no matter how long it takes. You’re going to need help. It will come.” It said, shifting away from Dibbuk.

“Are you not coming?” Dibbuk asked, sensing the massive bulk of the Tar-Khal was moving further and further away.

“I cannot. A living mind malfunctions when it is too close.” It said, the words growing further away with each syllable.

“Then who’s going to help me?!” Dibbuk shouted, gesturing futilely at the empty space stretching out around her.

“Help will come!” The ancient Tar-Khal boomed. Dibbuk stood there in the darkness as the vibrations faded into the vast abyss around her.

However reassuring the waterlogged words were meant to be, they weren’t. Dibbuk pointed herself in the direction of the bell. She waited a moment, hoping her eyes might adjust to the darkness. They didn’t.

“I don’t think this is going to turn out well.” Dibbuk said, to absolutely nobody but herself. She took a step, and then another, and then another. Thus began her long journey to the center of the end. The end of all things.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Limerick Meadows-Greigs strapped himself into the front seat of his greatest creation. He’d have preferred a bit more ceremony for the first flight of his baby, but things had become a little more urgent as of late. As things stood, he was watching two humans, a Tar-Khal, and a 12 foot tall talking mushroom secure themselves to his invention.

“Is everybody ready? No stopping once you say yes, so everyone put your helmets on now!” Lemmy yelled over the sound of the singularity generator spinning up. He held his hand over the three button combination he would need to hit in sequence to initiate launch. Parker and Aldon nodded, their helmets properly fastened. Lemmy looked to the two much larger passengers.

“Remember everyone, stay on the boat if you can. I’m going to grab my sister and the rest of the team and get them on board. Everybody good with that?” Harvel said over the roaring of the singularity generator. Having no problem with not jumping into an army of blood thirsty insects the rest of the team nodded in agreement.

“I think we’re good. Wait, Harvel, hold onto my shoulders. I might throw up if you squeeze my stomach.” Yiddek affirmed, bracing his tablet against his chest. Harvel, who had wrapped several tendrils around various mooring positions, adjusted his grip and gave a thumbs up to Lemmy. He mirrored the gesture and turned back to the controls.

He took a deep breath and engaged the magnetic field generator. It pulled in massive amounts of air as it produced a magnetic field nearly fifty times that of Liberums poles. The Trip boat began to float, or to be more precise, it stayed in the exact position it always had been, just with more science and fewer wooden struts.

The boat was locked in above the magnetic cushion it was sitting on, blasts of cold air flowing out from under the hull. Lemmy took an even deeper breath and set the singularity engine to fire. This was the moment. The moment. The most important moment of his life.

Lemmy pressed the button, and the intelligent species of Liberum became slightly less infinitesimally small in the known, and unknown, universe.