That made him stop. He stared at them, not for the first time, trying to keep the crushing implications at bay. Created the stars... The bloody-- Anthony-- They weren't-- This wasn't--
They had met god who apparently existed which meant --

"For fuck's sake I do not have the time for an existential crises."

He stormed to the table, set his crystals down where indicated, then turned on his heel and stormed back out again-- back through this eerie ghostly city, heading toward the bridge and at least the somewhat normal city of Bloody Camelot.

What he wouldn't give for a cheap flat or a narrow room at the sea side inn with the insufferable people of Broadchurch.

He had to get through this to get there and he couldn't let anything stand in his way.