Senor Weaselo stands at the edge of the Purgatory’s peak, the edge of the Earthly Paradise. Yes, Glasgow Fog in hand. His duty complete, his charge handed over to the holy light of Beatrice, there is nothing left to do but watch the ascension. From afar of course. Getting caught up in it would be really awkward at this point.

Senor: (sipping on his Glasgow Fog) Y’know, this is pretty good, it’s too bad Scottish Breakfast is so hard to find most places. Irish yes, but Scottish is just so rare…

He looks to back towards the peak proper.

Senor: I wonder what it’s gonna look like. Flash of light, maybe? Whatever it is, time to watch the show.

Meanwhile, in the middle of it all…

Beatrice: You have bathed in the Lethe and become free of sin. And you have bathed in the Eunoe, where your virtues and good deeds have become amplified for those still on Earth. Now, it is time. Time for your soul to rise to Heaven.

tWBS: Do I become a flash of light or something?

Beatrice: No, we’ll just kind of float up there.

tWBS: YA BETTA—

Beatrice gives him a dirty look that pretty much says “Not now, you ass.”

tWBS: What?

Beatrice: Not that kind of float. But yeah, no beam of light or anything like that. That noon sun though, that’s are cue. Shall we?

tWBS: I’m gonna give St. Peter the biggest earful he’s ever gotten. Try to prevent me from entering Heaven because of—

Beatrice: Just, please, don’t end up back where you started. I’m sure your friends don’t want to have to deal with this ordeal again, as much as they love and care for you. I don’t want to have to deal with it either for that matter. So, for all of is. Play nice enough?

tWBS: All right. He better not call me an asshole again…

Beatrice: Aren’t you, though?

tWBS: Hey, you too?

Beatrice: I didn’t say I didn’t love you for it.

tWBS: What?

Beatrice: Come on. The sun’s not getting any higher, and I have to get back into my being-official character.

She closes her eyes and clears her throat.

Beatrice: Now then. Let us go.

At the edge of the peak, Senor watches two figures hand in hand floating up into the sky.

Senor: There he goes. Into the celestial yonder. Now… how do I get back down?

An unknown amount of time later, at a place unknown to the living—the same puffy white cloud we started on all that time ago.

tWBS: Thought you could get rid of me, huh? Well I’m back!

St. Peter: Oh, Chr—not this fucking guy again. Listen, didn’t I banish you to the Dante route?

tWBS: Yes, you did. And I made it back. So, I can go in now, right?

St. Peter: Will you acknowledge the existence of God?

tWBS: I sang the Credo and everything, is that enough?

St. Peter: Shit, you did. Did you believe it, or were you just following everyone else in Latin?

tWBS: I don’t have to answer that! Maybe I can never really answer that.

St. Peter: I’m quite literally asking you to answer that now.

tWBS: Can I finish asshole?

St. Peter: …Fine.

tWBS: I can’t really answer it because I didn’t need to. God or not, I did what I believed was right. Might’ve cost me people along the way, even those I tried to do right by. But I’d do it all again. And even if I don’t believe in God, someone or something believed enough in me that even though you sent me to all those places, I had my friends to back me up. And (motions to Beatrice) she brought me back here. So something believed in me. God or not, I don’t know. But shouldn’t that be enough?

St. Peter: Mmmmmm… all right.

tWBS: Really?

St. Peter: It’s probably the best I’ll get out of you before you get in here. Get on inside.

tWBS: Thanks! Beatrice can come in too, right?

St. Peter: Of course. She was already from here.

tWBS: Y’know, that would explain the metamorphosis and white light. I just wish I had some of the coffee.

Beatrice: I’ll make you some when we get inside. Black, with freezer vodka?

tWBS: Wow, you do know me.

Beatrice: Oh, and by the way, Dave’s here too.

tWBS: Really?

Dave: I missed you too, my charge.

tWBS: Wait, you’re telling me…

Beatrice just smiles at him.

Some months later…

Senor Weaselo sits at his laptop.

Senor: That looks about right for now. I’ll orchestrate it all when I decide to write everything, but there’s another (2, 3, 4… 12… 13, 14, 15, 16, 17…) 18 movements or so to draft. Yeah, 15-20 years at my pace. Might want to speed it up, but requiems are big. But… it’s done. At least for now. I found the tune for the words, buddy.

The words to the In paradisum, in Latin, can be found in the Earthly Paradise chapter, with the added words:

Requiem aeternam. Amen.

Rest in Peace, Mark. We miss you down here.