‘It’s the truth. I killed him.’
‘Do you really think that you, a mere animal, could really kill a god?’
Konrad pointed at the bodies that lay all around him like scattered pieces on a chessboard. ‘Look around you, Ziegler, here lies the remains of your glorious new Reich!’
The reality of the situation, so blatantly demonstrated by Konrad, failed to compute with Ziegler. His mocking tones continued to scream from the gloom. ‘Stahl lives, you fool! He is now like the original Überführer. He may have cast off his fleshy shell, but his spirit endures. It exists all around us, Konrad. Stahl is this spire! Stahl is this planet! Stahl is this universe!’ Ziegler exalted. ‘Can you not see the truth in my words? Can you not see that you’ve failed?’
The words gnawed at Konrad as they spoke to the nagging sense of trepidation that had gripped him ever since he had shot the Nazi creature.
‘You’re wrong,’ Konrad said unconvincingly.
‘No, you’re wrong,’ Ziegler hissed as he suddenly appeared behind Konrad, his knife at his old friend’s throat. ‘It’s such a pity you can’t rejoice with me,’ Ziegler said, twisting Konrad around to face him. ‘After all, it wouldn’t be appropriate for your stinking carcass to witness the resurrection.’
‘What are you talking about? What resurrection?’
Ziegler pressed the knife deeper into Konrad’s throat. Blood oozed from beneath the blade.
‘Can you not see it happening now? Everything you see is part of him! The walls, the floor, even the air are all part of him. They are one and the same,’ Ziegler babbled. ‘I’ve remained loyal, even after I was exiled to Neu Magdeburg. My loyalty may not have been overt, but in my heart of hearts, my love for the Party remained. But loyalty is a word you’ve never understood. And you never will. You have to be one of us – a Nazi – to really understand the meaning of the word. It is etched into my heart, the same way it is etched into this knife: my honour is loyalty.’
‘You’re right, Zeigler, I would never understand your loyalty to that diseased creed you follow. Your devotion to that perverted swastika has made you just like Stahl. You may look human, but beneath the surface you’re simply an abomination.’
Ziegler pressed the knife deeper.
‘Last word…’ Konrad croaked as he struggled to get his words out with the knife so deep in his throat.
‘And what is that?’
‘Fuck you, and fuck your Reich!’
Zeigler’s eyes widened with rage. He drew the knife back to deliver the fatal blow. ‘I slay thee, in the name of the Führer!’
Konrad’s eyes slammed shut as he prepared to meet his fate. He waited for the hard, sharp point to slam into his exposed throat. Instead, a great boom resounded, and a warm metallic-tasting spray hit him in his face. He slowly opened his eyes.
Ziegler stood in front of Konrad, his eyes wide not with anger, but with pain and shock. He zeroed in on the cause of Ziegler’s pain, and the source of the sickly spray that dripped off him. Ziegler held his arm out in front of him, but the knife was now gone, as well as his hand. Only blood spat from the ragged stump. On the floor were the remains of the missing hand, the bloody digits still clung to the knife, whose surface reflected Ziegler’s agonised face.
Confusion filled Konrad’s mind. But as the wounded Zeigler collapsed out of sight to the floor, Konrad saw the smoking gun floating in the darkness. Then, much to his relief, Elsa stepped into view with Konrad’s discarded weapon. A steely look dominated her face. It was the face of a warrior.
Konrad ignored the gibbering prisoner at his feet and grabbed the gun from her.
‘There was nothing else I could do,’ Elsa said staring at Ziegler. She then looked at Konrad as if seeking approval for her brutal actions. ‘Ziegler would’ve killed you if I didn’t fire. He would’ve killed you! I’d be damned if I allowed him to rob you from me.’
‘You don’t have to justify anything to me,’ he said as ushered her toward the steps and safety.
Zeigler, meanwhile, let his head slump to the floor. His skewed view of the devastation made him forget the terrible pain that overwhelmed him. Stahl’s disfigured body lay nearby amidst the fires that burnt undisturbed. Could it really be over? Could his dream of creating a glorious new Reich really have been destroyed? If it was, at least he had the satisfaction of knowing that he would die next to his new Führer. It would be the ultimate act of loyalty. With his intact hand, he reached forward and pressed it into Stahl’s open palm. He gripped the cold flesh tightly like a child holding the hand of its father. But then, and much to his surprise, Ziegler felt the tremors that quietly pulsed below him. The vibrations grew in strength the longer he listened.
‘My Führer!’ he whispered with a childish grin.
Konrad slowly pulled himself onto the smooth floor beyond the funnel’s rim. For a few seconds he let his aching body rest. Above him the spectacular cathedral of light had disappeared as darkness once again returned to the spire. The vast chamber’s breeze still blew, its cooling touch a welcome relief after his recent excretions, but he soon rolled back to the ledge and held out his arms to Elsa, who wearily approached the funnel’s lip. Her small hands slipped into Konrad’s and their eyes met. Hope spread between them both.
But as their fingers locked tightly together, a painful frown suddenly displaced her confident smile.
‘It’s not fair,’ she gasped. ‘It’s not…’
‘Elsa?’ Konrad asked with a note of concern in his voice. A sick sensation filled his stomach when he saw the blood trickling from her mouth. ‘No!’ Konrad screamed as Elsa’s body slumped in his grasp.
He pulled Elsa fully onto the ledge only to see the horribly familiar SS blade protruding from her back. Desperately he pressed his blood-smeared hands around the knife to try and stem the blood’s flow, but the spurting wound had slowed until only a trickle of ruddy fluid oozed from between his fingers. It was obvious that Elsa was dead.
A shadow enveloped the grieving prisoner as Ziegler crept into view like the serpent as it entered Eden.
Ziegler held his bloody stump to his chest, but the obvious pain he must have been experiencing appeared not to permeate his face, instead, a ghastly satisfied-smile shone. He reached down and snatched his knife from Elsa’s blood-soaked back, wiping the blood-stained blade on his tunic.
‘As always, Konrad, you’ve underestimated the power of those who follow the swastika,’ Ziegler said.
Konrad said nothing. In his mind, Ziegler was invisible to him. The old Nazi prisoner had, like Stahl before him, become part of the surrounding spire. His grief made them invisible.
Ziegler stepped closer towards Konrad. ‘Now I will complete my task,’ he cried as he raised the knife above his head. ‘And this time your bestial whore will not save you!’
Suddenly, the entire spire shook.
Clouds of dust, along with great pieces of rubble, started to rain down from the gloom. The floor below them fractured and shattered as it heaved into life, buckling and rippling as the level surface tore itself apart.
Amidst this chaos, Konrad took the opportunity to sweep his old comrade off his feet. The Nazi prisoner clattered onto the rocking floor, his beloved SS dagger spilling from his hand and into the darkness. But as Konrad scrambled away, he caught sight of something else moving within the dust.
It was something large.
It was something powerful.
Konrad still clung to Elsa’s dead body, but his grip grew even tighter as he watched the indistinct shape emerge from its titanic womb. The abomination towered over the tiny human figures; the chaos of its birth – the sound, the dust, the debris, the sheer shock – all contributed to prevent a cool analysis of the rocky giant, but one thing was certain, its features were unmistakable. The colossal figure that the spire had just given birth to was Stahl. But this was a new Stahl. This was now Über-Stahl.