Gilbert looked into Temple’s eyes, desperate to tell him that he didn’t blame him. That the fault was his if it was anyone’s.
He had been so stupid.
Temple had kept him at bay, had shown his fear openly and told him that the darkness had stared at him, and Gilbert had dismissed the entire thing and kept pushing him to commit, to give himself over, to go against everything he had clung on to for over two decades, just because Gilbert had decided it was right and was only willing to approach him on his own terms.
And here they were. Because of him, Temple’s last thought would be that he was to blame, and there was nothing Gilbert could do about it but hold his gaze and hope he saw the truth. That Gilbert regretted not having listened. Not having found a way to protect them both. That he loved him.
And then Temple saw nothing anymore. What made him Temple suddenly vanished, and what was left was Temple’s body, an empty shell, a breathing corpse. The eyes were vacant and, though they were still fixed on Gilbert, there was no will or emotion behind them.
And then the Darkness rushed in, taking possession of its temple in a matter of seconds, and a palpable, living aura of authority abruptly radiated from Temple’s body, snuffing out all movement and murmur from everyone in the ritual room. The bruises and cuts Temple had suffered during the fight healed themselves, and everything was silent for a few seconds.
Then everyone fell to their knees around the circle. Hiding their faces. Shaking. Some crying silently under their eerie white masks.
If Gilbert hadn’t already been on his knees, he would have done as the others. He had looked into a god’s eyes and now hid his face too, terrified at the ancient malevolence that had stared directly at him. And then he realised it didn’t matter much, as he sat there, bound and gagged and beaten. Temple was dead. What did he care if an old, sour god stared at him?
So Gilbert raised his head again to look.
The god’s gaze was turned to the tall man at the edge of the circle, and even without his direct gaze, there was no doubt that what made Temple himself was absent. Somehow, this creature carried the body …incorrectly.
“High Merchant,” Rakkos said to the tall man in a voice that filtered through Temple’s vocal cords but wasn’t his. “You have done your duty to me. You consecrated my temple and reunited me with it at last. Your oath is fulfilled, and you and your people have earned my gratitude.”
The High Merchant didn’t dare look at the god, but he held his hands up in supplication, averting his eyes. “It was a pleasure to serve, High Darkness,” he said with a slightly shaky voice.
“You even brought me a sacrifice, in case the temple rebelled again,” Rakkos commented, clearly amused, and turned its gaze back to Gilbert. “Well done. You have served me well and are greedy for your reward. You shall have it.”
The Darkness stared at Gilbert through its borrowed grey eyes. And with a smile Temple could never have smiled, it made a short beckoning motion with its arms and then stood still.
A few moments passed while the white-clad worshippers began to move a bit and look around, and then a terrible pulse was felt, like the sensation inside the chest when a giant drum was beating, only without the sound to accompany it. The sunlight filtering down from the entrance dimmed, the ritual candle flames flickered and drowned in their own wax, and then the first scream sounded from one of the guards at the door.
The darkness in Temple’s home was tearing itself loose from every nook and cranny, breathing, multiplying… And then it reached for the white-clad people. The living, throbbing, howling darkness jumped forth like caged animals that suddenly found their freedom, tearing into the now-screaming worshippers who began to flee in the madness.
The living darkness didn’t leave visible wounds. No blood soaked the white clothes they wore, but Gilbert heard the crack of bones, the screeching whispers all around him, and Rakkos laughing softly through Temple’s voice, and he expected the darkness to reach for him too.
But it didn’t. As the screams and chaos around him died down, he remained unharmed, still kneeling among the warm, twisted corpses.
“Architect of my return,” Rakkos smiled and closed the gap between them. “Without you, my thieving little temple would never have woken,” it said and put a hand on Gilbert’s face in mockery of Temple’s gentleness.
Gilbert felt the ropes binding him vanish and the fabric gagging him fall apart, turning to bitter dust. He inhaled some of it as he spat and coughed, trying to breathe again. His battered body shook as he heaved for air. Finally, he could breathe, and he stared at Temple’s bare feet right in front of him before looking up at the dark god.
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“Why did you kill them?” he croaked. “They were your servants.”
“And I owed them my gratitude, so I sent them to my afterlife where they will have free roam to react on their greed and strengthen me forever. I always keep my promises.”
“Then why am I alive? Can you just get it over with?” Gilbert demanded and slowly got to his feet, expecting the entity in Temple’s body to subdue him again. He looked down into the utterly foreign and devastatingly familiar eyes.
“Last time I was here,” Rakkos said, “I used a murder to try to subjugate my temple, but this time, I might just try the opposite.”
“Subjugate?” Gilbert asked slowly. “You couldn’t control him.”
“No,” the Darkness admitted openly. “The murder was too stark for him, and he refused to let go of his body. He found the strength through his horror to topple the ritual, use MY darkness to elude everyone and deny me my right. …Kids. You have a devoted priest raise them in the darkness in your name and what do you get after seven years of feeding them? Resistance and naysaying! All I could do was hang on by a paltry little thread, barely able to tag along, and with nobody to hear me but an opinionated child. Frankly, it’s been a humiliating twenty-two years.”
The dark god took a step closer, and Gilbert took a step back on instinct, tripping over a fallen worshipper. Rakkos smiled as Gilbert picked himself up and retreated.
“I couldn’t find my temple, Armstrong, because there was nothing to find,” he said, approaching calmly.
Gilbert kept retreating, hoping to make it to the bedroom where his sword had been thrown when he was overpowered.
“My temple had no friends, he had no joy, he stole but didn’t feel greed, he fucked but didn’t feel anything more satisfying than scratching a small itch in his flesh. He never even killed anyone so he could appear to my senses. What’s a personification of darkness supposed to do with that? He wasn’t really alive, was he? Some fleeting little moments of fear of discovery were all I had to cling to, a petty sensation in the flesh, not even a real feeling. But then you happened, and suddenly there was remorse and joy and happiness and anger and hope, and I had a solid bridge to cross to reclaim my property and give loud orders to my priesthood.”
“Temple isn’t your property. He isn’t anyone’s. Trust me,” Gilbert said, finding his way with a hand on the wall until they came to the workshop, where a few lamps Temple had lit only this morning still burned.
“You are wrong. He willingly gave himself over to me twenty-two years ago and then promptly used my gifts to escape my priesthood.” The being in Temple’s flesh laughed. “But I’m not above renegotiating.” It gave him a big, unsettling smile as it seemed to listen to something Gilbert couldn’t hear. “Ahh. There we are. He can be rather loud for a stealthy little cat burglar, can’t he? Well, it seems you can go.” The dark god stood aside, gesturing for Gilbert to pass.
“He’s alive?” Gilbert asked, feeling like someone was holding his heart and squeezing it. “I’m not letting you out of my sight!”
A little laugh that Temple had never made came in response. “I have many fervent worshippers who want me close, Gilbert Armstrong, but they usually do what they’re told. I agree with my temple that you should remain unharmed by me, my actions, and everyone I command in all ways in exchange for his complete submission to my will. I will honour that agreement, but I can move you wherever I want you.”
It smiled as icy-cold darkness began to gather in the workshop, slowly appearing to congregate near Gilbert.
“What happens if you harm me?” he asked, withdrawing faster now that there were fewer corpses he could trip over, as a mad idea took root in his mind. It was insane. He knew it. But he had known his death was a certainty ever since the ritual began, and if Temple was still alive somewhere, he had to try.
Gilbert turned and ran into the bedroom, scooped up his sword where it had been thrown, and hoped he remembered right as he held the weapon out in front of him. The darkness approached like a living, writhing entity and Rakkos emerged from it. The small, annoyed wrinkle between his brows was close to the expression Temple wore just before waking up, and cold anger gathered in Gilbert’s chest.
He took a step backwards, over the pressure plate for the trap, hoping the entity didn’t know everything that Temple knew.
“Don’t attack me, child!” Rakkos barked in a voice that sent waves of unease through Gilbert’s body, instinct begging him to flee because he was prey and felt his insignificance. “You have annoyed me enough and your back is to the wall. You have nowhere to run. Leave, and let me fulfil my promise to my temple, or I will move you myself!”
“Please…” Gilbert croaked and lowered his sword. He didn’t have to pretend that his hand shook. “He… I didn’t even get to hear him say…”
“What? That you annoy him?”
“That he loves me.”
The occupant in Temple’s body rolled his eyes. “Trite and predictable.” It sighed. “If it’s any consolation, he never believed it was anything but temporary. The joy was real, but he never planned for keeping you. He didn’t even trust that you wouldn’t eventually turn him in.”
“Please, don’t do this…” Gilbert said, retreating one step further, as far as he dared.
Rakkos approached slowly. “He was sure he would have to frame you for something to get you removed eventually. He kept returning to your home while you were out to look through your things, hoping to find something to hit you with when you inevitably became troublesome.”
Gilbert thought back to the times he had felt like someone had just been there when he came home, but now that he realised he had a cult of dark worshippers following his relationship with the man consecrated as the temple of their god, he felt that made it significantly harder to blame Temple for breaking in. “You are cruel. It’s not true. I know him,” Gilbert said quietly and dropped his sword.
“I am cruel, but it’s also true. So is the deal he made to have you assassinated if he ever needed you gone. He didn’t like it. But he made the deal nonetheless because he doesn’t trust you. Face it, Armstrong. You’re just a temporary fuck.” Rakkos laughed happily and moved to take a step forward.
“I don’t believe you,” Gilbert smiled, absolutely truthfully, seconds before the spear from the newly triggered trap impacted with his back and threw him forward with brutal momentum, blinded and numbed by the agony.