Oh Lord of the Dark, Soul of Emptiness,

please have mercy on us tiny lights in the darkness.

Though we are doomed to dim,

please grant us your mercy for a swift passing.

Cathal had always meant the words of the prayer, as long back as he could recall. As a child he had often been afraid of the idea of the Dark and their inevitable deaths.

But he had gained inner peace when he learned that all things died, that it was inevitable and normal. He had accepted his own mortality.

But while he had cared for many, he had never been so afraid to lose someone.

“Please, protect Apollonia,” he whispered fiercely, rocking back and forth with pent-up energy that kept him from being as still as he should while praying.

Something great was occurring on the disabled pirate ship. He did not know what, but he knew that he was not meant to be a part of it.

The Source there, whatever it was, had not called him. If it had, he would be there now, he knew. Things had worked out as an Ascended had desired. It had noticed him, that he knew – and found him wanting in some way.

But it had decided to take Apollonia.

“Please,” he said out loud, fiercely, through tears streaming down his cheeks.

Tears of shame at his own inadequacy. Tears of fear for his friend.

“I need a miracle.”

----------------------------------------

Apollonia felt something cold on her hand.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

For a moment she thought it was the feel of her own blood; but that would be hot, not cold, and she opened her eyes to stare at the hand of Kell, holding hers.

Even with all of her strength she could not budge the metal blade. He shook her hand, almost gently, and her ersatz knife fell from her grip, clattering to the floor.

He let go of her, and she felt all strength leave her body; the grip of the Source releasing her.

Because now it was entirely focused on Kell.

He was staring back at it, his face tight with an anger so intense that Apollonia felt stunned by it, subsuming any question she might have of why he had come or how he had gotten here.

The revulsion of the ancient Priest was visceral, manifesting in the world; the edges of the sarcophagus around it began to decay, crumbling to dust, and its withered body shook with a hate even brighter than Kell’s.

Unworthy thrall. You dare to stand before your god again?

The destructive fury of the being seemed to be expanding; the decking around it began to crack and corrode, pitting as if acid was eating away at it, and with what little strength she had, Apollonia tried to drag herself away.

Kell alone seemed unaffected. He took a step closer.

“You are no god,” he said. “Nor are you beloved of any of those beings who you proclaim our superiors.”

Blasphemy! the Priest screamed, punctuated with a boom like thunder that left its sarcophagus cracked and rent the metal deck plates.

“You escaped once,” Kell said. “But not this time.”

I am eternal! the Source screamed.

But it was tinged with fear.

Kell lunged in; his swiftness that of a predator going for prey.

And when he hit the withered carcass, he was not a man, but his true form.

Apollonia saw it clearly for a moment. It seemed to pour forth from his body; a viscous, tar-like liquid that covered the Star-Priest, dragging it down into its sarcophagus.

Its legs flailed, and it rent reality, creating bizarre distortions in the air that glowed in unearthly colors.

The tarry flesh of Kell contorted, but it did not stop.

She could not see what happened in the sarcophagus, but she felt the waning presence of the Source.

It reached out to her, screaming for help. Begging for her, the one it had just wanted to kill.

Don’t you want to know what you truly are?

Don’t you want to know what it means for your life?

You can be greater.

Help me, young one and I will tell you all.

“No,” she said softly. She couldn’t even feel hate for it at this point. Only disgust.

Its screams turned into incoherent pain and fear. Until it winked out.

And she could only think that even unto its end it had not understood or changed.

Kell’s mass, a hulking, shapeless fluid mound, sat atop the sarcophagus and then screamed from a hundred mouths.

A primal release of anger that had been contained for eons.

Its ancient enemy destroyed at long last.