EPILOGUE
A NEW WORLD
THE second that Michael opened his eyes, his hand went to his chest. A dark red stain was hardly noticeable on the black fabric of dress shirt, which was torn in odd places. He wasn't laying in a pool of his blood anymore, but he still felt a crimson liquid sticking his hands to the floor. His eyes focused on the scene around him. Red coated the walls. The fire across the room looked like it was ready to rumble out of the hearth. There was no one in sight.
Michael lifted his hand, realizing more blood had poured over to his side. It wasn't his own. Slowly turning his head to the right, Michael felt his stomach cave in at the sight of Coraline laying lifeless beside him, covered in her own blood. He kneeled over her, unsure what to do – unsure what he could do. Why hadn't she woken up? Their lifelines were bound.
She should've woken up. But she wasn't moving. She was still dead. The several bullet wounds made sure of that. She was gone.
Michael placed his hands on her chest, trying to pump life into her, even though he knew it wouldn't do anything. "Come on," he muttered under his breath, pushing hard. The only thing it did was stain his palms a darker red. "Fuck!" He gave up, grabbing her cold, wet fingertips and holding them close. He could no longer see their electric connection; the threads were dead. A mixture of anger and sadness formed in the hollows of his half-beating heart. Michael searched for answers in his head, but only came up with one.
He took her other hand, lacing the two together in his own large hands. The blood on her stuck their fingers together. It made him recoil away, but it was the only way he could have her closer. Propping her up, Michael put her head on his chest and wound his arms around her torso. He looked down, seeing her ghostly grey eyes staring at him, no life behind them. She was cold as ice. Her skin had been so warm after the bond was made. That was all gone now.
Squeezing their hands together, Michael breathed in and recited, "Bless us, Dark Lord, with the gift of thy False Prophet." He swallowed hard, grip growing tight on her cold hands. "Her soul is undying in the infinite flames. Through the power of Lucifer Eternal, bring back thy False Prophet." Michael exhaled heavily, "Nema."
His eyes stayed shut. He was too afraid to open them, to check if the chant had worked. For the first time in a while, Michael was scared.
He didn't feel her move in his arms. Michael's face twisted, shutting his eyes tighter. "Fucking hell," he whispered, voice growing hoarse.
This couldn't be it. This couldn't be the end. He still had to kill the witches, and create a new world with her. He still had so much to do. They still had so much to do. He didn't want to plead. Please, don't make me beg, he thought.
He received no reply.
"Bring her back," he murmured. "Please, bring her back."
Footsteps sounded on his right. Michael flashed his eyes open, turning to the side to see one of the blonde witches scrambling to get her footing – the same one who Coraline said she knew. Amalia Beaumont hurried over to where Michael sat with Coraline's corpse, surprised at the way he hid the body from her. Carefully, she brought out a hand, as if she were casting a protection spell, but it was a façade. Michael did the same, ready to snap her neck.
"I don't want to hurt you," Amalia said quickly. "I want to help."
Michael's stare narrowed, yet he still lowered his hand to rest on top of Coraline's again. Amalia swallowed hard and knelt down. Coraline's face was pale, colored a sickly blue. "She's dead," the blonde whispered, causing a snarl to emerge from Michael's throat. She cast him a quick glance. "I'll do something. I can help bring her back."
"She's supposed to be coming back," Michael seethed, hugging her closer. "Our lifelines are bonded together. I need to ... I need to find the witches. I can't wait around –" He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. A sigh escaped his lips. "I can't leave her until she wakes up. I don't understand what's taking so long."
Amalia tried her best to decipher the situation. She didn't quite understand the bond he was speaking about, but she had enough training to understand that her old friend was connected to the Antichrist in more ways than just romantic. "Maybe ... maybe the bond – or whatever you have – takes longer on her because she's naturally human." She licked her lips. "Let me bring her back quicker."
Michael furrowed his brow. "Why do you want to help? You're one of them."
"Because Coraline Avery helped me a long time ago," Amalia replied, voice lowering to a whisper. "Now, it's time for me to do the same."
He paused, looking back down at Coraline's eyes. A film was glazing over her irises, sending a shiver down his spine. Michael Langdon wasn't scared of many things. He looked to Ms. Mead's decapitated head, and then Coraline's pale face. He was scared of this.
Amalia tapped on his arm, shocked at the blazing temperature of his skin. "Go," she ordered, more defiant this time. "Let me do this."
His consciousness was telling him not to leave, but he had no other choice. The more time went by, the less hope he had that Coraline would wake, and he also needed to find the witches. He didn't understand why someone working under Cordelia was going against her, but when he got up and placed Coraline in the blonde's arms, he saw a strong sense of amity in her eyes. She really wanted to help Coraline, even if it meant defying her Supreme.
Michael took one last look over his shoulder, watching Amalia's hands hover over Coraline's chest, before he began to ascend the stairs. The anger returned to him again, filling every vessel and every vein. The image of Ms. Mead's explosion flashed across his eyes, as well as the memory of watching a multitude of bullets enter Coraline's chest. He followed the scent of sage.
•••
Coraline didn't know where she was.
The location looked dreamlike as she sat up from the floor beneath her. The cold ground contained odd, cloud-like shapes circling against it. She could only smell sweet scents, like honey and sugar. Coraline turned her head around, searching for a light or a sign of existence. She found neither. The area around her was dim, highlighted by a violet sky.
"Hello?" She called, surprised to hear her voice echo from every corner.
Coraline's brow furrowed as she got to her feet. She spun around, waving her hands in different directions to push away the clouds lingering around her. All she could remember was the pain. Had she come back to life? Was this the Sanctuary?
Slowly, her head went down, and she almost jumped at the sight of the bullet wounds littered across her clothes. The dress she wore wasn't even purple anymore. It was almost all red. Small holes were punctured into her stomach, shoulders, and chest, but she felt no pain. Coraline lowered her hand to one of the wounds and felt no bullet.
A loud screech sounded in front of her. Instantly, Coraline's back straightened. Her eyes went wide when she noticed a pair of golden gates appearing out of the fog. The doors creaked as they scraped open, and the lilac smoke slowly dissipated around her. Coraline wanted to walk backward as the gates slid closer to her, but there was nothing for her to run to. No other location. No other person. She was alone and this golden doorway was moving to crush her.
But then it stopped just a few feet from her. Coraline hugged her arms around her torso, watching the gates open more. Soon enough, a figure emerged from the fog. It was a familiar face, one that caused Coraline to start running at the speed of light.
"Mom," she muttered under her breath, wrapping her arms around Francesca as soon as she was near. Her mother grasped her tightly, trying to ignore the bullet holes lingering across every part of her daughter's dress. "Holy shit," Coraline whispered. She took in her mother's familiar scent, basking in it, as the fog swirled around their feet.
"It's so good to see you again, Cora," Francesca cooed in her ear.
The golden gate wobbled as Coraline leaned away, watching her mother's face light up. Her complexion was still ghostly pale, but that didn't scare Coraline away. Her brow then knitted together, and she looked over her shoulder at the vast distance of nothingness. "Where ..." She turned back to Francesca, ogling her plain, white dress and shiny hair. "Where am I?"
"Technically, you're in Limbo," her mother explained, gesturing to the land around them. "This is where souls go that died in original sin, but haven't been assigned to Hell."
Coraline's almost fell back. Putting her hand on Francesca's shoulder was the only thing keeping her upright. "Original sin," she repeated, rubbing a hand over her mouth. Coraline thought before that she wasn't scared of Hell, but when her own judgment day was right before her eyes, she cowered at the thought of it.
"You participated in a ceremony that connected you to the Antichrist; to Satan and the End Times," Francesca replied, almost dumbfounded. "You partook in original sin. You defied God and became the False Prophet."
Coraline wagged her finger in her mother's face. "No, no, no. I will not be blamed for this." She shook her head. "You told me that the only way I'd survive was by staying close to Michael."
"I didn't tell you to bond yourself to the Antichrist!" Her mother hissed. It took her a moment to compose herself once again. "And I certainly didn't think you'd end up here either."
Coraline felt like this was a dream. She just wanted to pinch herself and wake up, but she wasn't stupid enough to fall for that. This was real: she was dead, standing in Limbo.
Francesca's lips pulled into a smile. "You're lucky that I had God hear your case," she said, squeezing her daughter's arms. "He has agreed to let you into Heaven. You can be with me now. Your soul will be purified of Satan's hold and the Antichrist's affection."
Her mother was gesturing to the gates. Coraline noticed a light emerging from the distance, hiding behind the glow of the golden gates. She swallowed hard, unable to look at her mother as the light became stronger. "That's Heaven?"
Francesca nodded eagerly.
"How could I possibly get into Heaven after doing what I did?" Coraline whispered, voice breaking with concern.
Francesca's smile softened, and she ran a hand up and down her daughter's arm. Goosebumps appeared underneath her touch. "Oh, honey," she soothed, "God always offers forgiveness to those who need it, even to the False Prophet."
Coraline's stomach dropped. She remembered everything then: meeting Michael after school; sneaking around her mother to get to his house; kissing him for the first time; leaving him at the Winter Ball. Her core imploded at the memory of him arriving at Outpost 3; the way he touched her during the bonding ceremony; when he revealed that he couldn't imagine a new world without her by his side. It was all there, flickering across her eyes. Her life had been connected to Michael Langdon from the very start, even without the bond of the Unholy Trinity.
His voice resonated through her ears: The thought of a new world without Coraline Avery seemed crueler than anything I could've done.
Coraline took a step back. Then another. And another. Her mother's lip twisted as Coraline slipped away from her grip. Francesca waved her over again. "Come through the gates with me, Coraline," she said, clutching one golden bar in her hand.
"I ..." Coraline shook her head vigorously. Her whole body shook with nerves. "I can't."
Francesca knitted her brow.
"I'm not ready to die, mom," she whispered.
Suddenly, Coraline felt her throat clog up. She began to choke, scratching at her jugular to let some amount of air in. Nothing – there was nothing. Coraline gagged, eyeing her mother as she continued to trudge backward. Francesca only waited by the gates.
Coraline's irises vanished, glazing over with a pure white. She saw a red thread in front of her again – the same one she saw after the bonding ceremony. The time, it was broken, two ends laying lifeless in an abundance of light. Coraline watched the red string of fate slowly mend itself together, and before she could ask her mother for help, her vision blacked out.
•••
She woke up gasping for air.
It took several seconds for her eyes to focus on what was in front of her. Coraline clawed at her neck, and when she realized that she could breathe, she heaved in and out, rubbing a hand over her chest. She blinked a few times, trying to concentrate on Amalia Beaumont kneeling in front of her. The blonde nervously knitted her brow together.
Coraline laid a hand on her shoulder and whipped her head from side to side. "Am I –"
"You're alive," Amalia finished. "I helped bring you back quicker."
"But the bond was supposed to –"
Amalia rubbed a spot of crimson off her friend's nose. "I know. But you're back. It's okay, Coraline."
The brunette released a long huff before wrapping her arms around her old friend. Amalia hugged back tightly, squeezing Coraline in her skinny arms. Coraline became very aware then of the dried blood lining her torso, and she wanted nothing more than to change, but there were more important matters to take care of. She took note of the way Amalia still smelled the same, like that purple Victoria's Secret perfume that she told her about in tenth grade.
"Thank you," Coraline whispered, inhaling her familiar scent. "Thank you for helping me. You shouldn't have. You didn't have to."
"But I did," Amalia replied, leaning away. She put out a hand and stood up. "C'mon, let's figure out a plan. I don't have much time left before they find out what I did."
Coraline wanted to ask what she meant, but those thoughts were suddenly interrupted.
The sound of footsteps echoed around every corner of the room. Coraline looked up, and she was surprised to see Michael sprinting down the stairs. His clothes were torn in unusual places, while blood stained different parts of his chiseled features. She wanted to question what was wrong; what was going on, but before she could open her mouth, he was shouting down at her, "Coraline, move!"
She raised a brow, glancing to Amalia for a moment. "What are you –"
And then the bullets rang again.
Coraline pressed herself against the stairs as Amalia turned. One of the blonde witches – specifically, the one who killed Coraline the first time – rushed from the main hallway with Ms. Mead's weapon in her hands. She shot Amalia through the head, screeching, "TRAITOR!" Crimson dotted all over Coraline's face as a shriek rose in her throat. Amalia's body fell to the ground instantly, and her skull crushed at the impact of her head connecting with the floor.
The witch then turned her weapon towards Coraline, and before she could kill her for a second time, Michael's hand closed into a fist. At that moment, the witch's head exploded, and blood flowed from her decapitated neck like a water fountain.
Coraline cupped a hand over her mouth as Michael raced down the steps, pulling her close. She couldn't feel him snake his arms around her waist. She was too busy staring at Amalia's bleeding head from over his shoulder. Coraline bit down on her lip hard, almost drawing more blood. "That's ..." Coraline paused, finally focusing on the warmth Michael exuded by pressing her to his soaked chest. "That's not fair. She ... she was helping me. I've known her since –"
"They were going to kill her once they found out she was helping us," Michael finished, holding the back of her head with his stained hand. "She knew what was going to happen."
"But I –" She choked back a sob, allowing it to fall dead on her lips when she felt his mouth on her temples. His used his free hand to rub the red off her face. Coraline continued to watch the pool of blood grow deeper underneath Amalia's head.
She sacrificed herself for friendship, over her own coven. Coraline still didn't understand her own religious beliefs, but after being so close to Heaven, she hoped, out of all people, that Amalia was allowed into the golden gates. If Coraline was forgiven, even for a short moment, Amalia deserved the same.
She wanted to give her a proper burial. It was what a good friend like her should have, but the air outside was cold and bitter. Nuclear winter raged on forever, and Coraline knew that the second Amalia's corpse entered the outside world, her body would turn to ash. There was no way to preserve her body, but her memory would stay with Coraline forever. Amalia Beaumont wouldn't die in vain.
Coraline leaned back, searching his dark stare. "What happened? Where are the other witches?"
"Dead," he grinned. "They're all gone now. It's just us." Michael cupped her cheeks with both hands. All the desire he tried to suppress was coming out, and he didn't want to stop it. Her skin was warm again and her face flushed. Their temperatures almost matched as the threads wrapped around their bodies once again. He relished in the familiar feeling of them pulling him closer to her chest. "I was so afraid that you weren't going to wake up."
"Me too," Coraline snorted. "I was in Limbo. Committing original sin can be quite a bitch."
His lips curled into a smile.
Coraline pushed his hair to the side, realizing how they both reeked of death. They were the last two humans on earth now. A new generation rested on their hands. She leaned in close, allowing her lips to brush across his own, which smelt like rust and copper. "I promised you that I wasn't going to leave you again," she whispered, caressing his cheek with her thumb. "I could never leave you."
He pressed a quick kiss to her lips, feeling the short amount of energy flow from his mouth to hers. That sensation would never get old. He then stepped away and held out his hand. With a smile, she took it, permitting him to lead her through the Outpost. She didn't know what his plan was exactly, but in that moment, all she could focus on was trying not to step on the corpses lining the floor. Her foot almost got stuck in the dried blood leaking from Andre's body. It was like walking through a maze.
Coraline quickly realized that he was leading her out of the Outpost. He guided her down the narrow hallway that she entered over a year ago. They walked through the decontamination chamber, grabbing two hazard suits along the way. He directed her through the dimly-lit stone corridor, and all the way to the large entrance of Outpost 3.
They didn't exchange any words, only anxious glances, as they pulled on the gray hazard suits. It was difficult for Coraline to wear it over her large dress, so she opted to ripping off the outfit before finally shoving herself into the suit. He took a step closer to her, zipping up the suit and looking into her grey stare. Coraline raised a snarky brow, and Michael was reminded of how she could make the worst situations interesting.
"So what's the plan?" She asked.
Michael huffed, turning for a moment to look at the large door before them. "What we planned all along."
Coraline wrinkled her nose as she watched him approach the entrance, hand wavering over the console to open it. Michael turned his head in her direction again and held out his free hand. With a soft smile, Coraline took it, and Michael unexpectedly pulled her close, wrapping one arm around her waist. That familiar sneer returned to his lips, and the brightness in his blue eyes reminded her of when they first met.
They were always going to win. Prophecy was inevitable. They were the last mankind had to offer. Two beating hearts shrouded in Satan's darkness. In the end, it was going to be him and her: Michael Langdon and Coraline Avery, the Antichrist and the False Prophet.
"Let's rebuild the world," he whispered, before finally pressing his hand against the console.
With a snap, the door began to open. A new world was ahead.
THE END