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Martin is alone. Or at least he tries to be. The Beholding far above makes it difficult, of course. In this new world, all are watched. Still, he takes solace from the fact that compared to the suffering around him, he must be of little interest to it. He is unharmed—magically, miraculously—and his heart is far too raw for him to truly embrace The Lonely. Loss is more the domain of The Desolation, after all.
Maybe that is why he finds himself wandering through the smoldering fields of what had probably once been Scotland. It is all a blur. How long has it been? Days? Weeks? The fog closes around him sometimes but The Eye watches, even there. This place is a battleground. The Desolation clashed with The Slaughter here, before being forced to retreat. They’d scorched the earth as they went, leaving nothing but fear and loss. It is as blank and monotonous as The Lonely but he knows it’s not. This is the world now.
They are upon him before he notices; a group of mud-splattered soldiers, looking as if they’ve stepped from the screen of an old war movie. On the ground beside him, a tape recorder turns on. He smashes it with his boot. The leader is asking him questions, bloodlust in his bloodshot eyes. Martin is barely listening. Staring down the barrel of the old-fashioned riffle, Martin realizes he has no fear of The End. There’s no way he’ll get off that easy, though. It is The Slaughter here, not Terminus, and he has no wish to fight its war.
“I’m just passing through,” he says, lamely. “I’m a civilian.”
There is laughter then, and accusations of espionage. However, Martin notices it comes only from the captain. The others are too still, too silent. The feeling of being watched crawls up Martin’s spine. How this is different from before, he could not articulate, but it is. The men and women in their army fatigues encircled them. They are all staring, but not at him. The captain trails off as he notices. Hundreds of hungry eyes watch him (the Slaughter consumes its own so easily.) The captain yells accusations. Apparently, he is a spy for The Lonely, or perhaps for The Eye. Perhaps, the captain suggests, he is some unholy union of both.
Is he an avatar now? Martin realizes he doesn’t care. Perhaps in this new world, no one is… or everyone.
“Not willingly,” Martin says.
Of course, no one pays attention.
The soldiers do not attack their captain as Martin knew he wishes them to. They just watch. However, when he turns his gun on Martin again, he collapses, screaming into the dirt. His anguished cries echo across the silent wasteland, easily heard by all who’d care to listen. His comrades watch him writhe, uncaring. Marin wonders what he’s seeing. Perhaps The Buried… or perhaps just The End. He doesn’t care.
No one notices when he leaves. Why would they? Adjusting his pack, he continues on towards… towards… he isn’t sure yet. But he doesn’t feel like stopping either.
In a world of horrors, he travels safely. After a while, even the monsters stop trying. Perhaps even those truest embodiments of the powers can feel fear.
~
He eventually finds himself back at The Magnus Institute. Where else would he have gone? It is much the same as he remembers it, even though the city around it has been warped so drastically. On instinct, he goes up to the office. It had been his for some time after all, borrowing it from Peter, who’d been borrowing it from Elias. Elias is here, but it quickly becomes clear that won’t be a problem. He sits curled against the wall, cowering. Martin can see he has been there for some time, probably since the ritual. His usually smug face is frozen in a mask of terror.
Martin listened to the tape. Even among the destruction, it had been intact, as if something had left it for him. He knows that this smug, evil, pathetic man is to blame for what has become of reality. For a moment he wants to hurt him, but this is quickly pushed aside by the realization that nothing he can do will compare with whatever he’s already experiencing. Jonah’s stolen body has begun to decompose, but Martin knows he’s still alive. He knows he will be long after all of his fleshy vessels have been reduced to dust. Even with centuries to prepare, even with all the knowledge in the world, Jonah had been too stupid to see this coming. It seems obvious to Martin that it was not a good idea to create a god who despises you. What did The Eye care for loyalty? It had no more need for Jonah. It had its Archivist.
When Basira finds him, he is still staring at Elias’s stricken body.
“Martin!” Her fear and surprise fade away quickly. “You look… well.” It is an accusation.
She is injured, tense, clutching her pistol like a talisman. He is untouched.
He thinks about what to say. He thinks about slipping away. But suddenly he feels more real than he has in weeks, and he knows if he opens his mouth it will be sobs that escape. Eventually, he breaks; both the silence and his illusion of uncaring. He cries.
The Magnus Institute appears to be a shelter, of sorts, for its former employees. It makes sense that in The Eye’s world those touched by The Beholding have managed to protect themselves. Basira brings him to a room in the archives, his old room. Melanie and Georgie follow them in. Perhaps they truly do care, or maybe it's curiosity, or voyeuristic pleasure in his breakdown.
He tells them, of course. It is hard to keep secrets in this place.
“It’s my fault,” he easily admits, but the rest is harder.
He has seen the love of his life consumed by something terrible. Jon is gone. What is left in his place has torn reality to shreds. And this monster, this avatar-of-avatars, will not let him grieve in solitude. He has felt it watching him since he ran from it. Then again, he’s not special in that regard.
He never asked for its protection. All he wants from it is for it to return Jon, but he knows that is the one thing it cannot give. To be plagued by this presence, this echo, it is worse than just having lost him.
Martin remembers Elias’s condescending words, as he sealed his own fate.
“You will keep an eye on him when all this is over, won’t you? He’s earned that.”
One last curse from that terrible man.
It is Basira, in her calm logic, who eventually gets through to him. So maybe Martin was the last nail in the world's coffin. Maybe he is the last scar on the watcher’s crown. But, like everyone living in this hell, he will have to face his fears eventually. And maybe… just maybe… he has the power to fix things. How infuriatingly ironic that Peter had been right, after all. That Martin might be the only one capable of turning back the apocalypse. It is probably a false hope, but at least it’s hope. Maybe Jon’s still in there.