It was so easy.
The girl fought as much as she could, but against Him? She had wrapped herself and the boy in a little bubble that could all too easily pop.
And pop it did. A foolish exercise to fight Him, a God, even wounded as He was.
It didn’t take much to say the things he wanted to hear, and wear the face that the boy blamed for his own misfortune. Then to disappear, seemingly defeated.
And to plant the idea that the boy would be more suitable.
The girl was tired, all too ready to surrender, as her body was consumed by fire and her soul torn apart in the flood of His power.
The boy grasped, fought to surface, but to no avail. The boy didn’t last much longer than the girl did, swept up in the hurricane of His essence.
He took of them what He could use, and consumed the rest.
They were a part of Him now, their bodies naught but a quintessence of dust, as He took control. Totally. Finally.