NOVEL NEXT B2 Chapter 38
Angar snapped his Annals shut as his heart blazed with zealous fervor. The blessed Mother stood before him once more, her sacred light a defiant bulwark against the galaxy's unending gloom.
For so long, he had dreaded that she had forsaken him forever. He'd finally be able to apologize and set things right.
As he took a knee and bowed his head, he was surprised to see how much taller he was than her now.
Her white-platinum hair cascaded unbound, and her translucent blue eyes held a paradox of Divine grace and mortal sorrow, piercing Angar's soul with their weight.
In the Holy Empire, for both Terran and Pleiadean, Mi Alcyone was venerated as the paragon of beauty, a Divine ideal etched into countless cathedrals' reliefs and litanies across the galaxy.
After a year and a half immersed in its culture, Angar had grown to see it too.
That she had been born millennia ago, untouched by four thousand years of selective breeding and genetic enhancements, made her great beauty all the more impressive.
Most women of such celestial grace bore their allure like a mantle, every interaction, every gesture honed by awareness of their blessing. Spirit seemed utterly unaware of her own beauty, putting no effort into it at all, and this somehow only enhanced it.
But to gaze upon the blessed Mother in an impure light, with anything other than reverence, would be a grave sacrilege, a blasphemy against her sanctity.
She was the Messiah, martyred with her purity intact, untainted by the foul touch of mortal hands.
Even if she were flesh and blood, and not a spirit, her age at martyrdom was about that of Angar's own mother, almost twice his own.
To him, her beauty, even with her slender, twig-like limbs, was transcendent, a beacon of Divinity and Heavenly purity, far beyond base thoughts and immorality. He would never, could never, view her otherwise.
Her voice, edged with bitterness, cut through his musings. "Don't get the wrong idea," she said, almost angrily. "I only have one thing to say, then I'm gone. I started you down this path, so I won't force you off it. Take Trumpets Blast. I'll work on getting the description to show."
"Wait!" Angar called, urgency gripping him as she began to fade. "Please, I need to say something."
She sighed, and her translucence steadied. "What?"
"I'm sorry," replied Angar. "I'm sorry how things ended between us. As I believe you stoked my psychic potential when Azgoth assaulted my mind, I need to thank you for that first."
Spirit remained silent, not denying it, so he pressed on. "I also need you to know how much respect and admiration I have for you, and how much I regret our parting."
Spirit lifted her chin. "I know you don't," she said. "Tell me you truly regret slaughtering those Eyes of Providence soldiers. All those innocent lives, Angar! After protecting the mother and children on Albion, you didn't even try to redeem the bribe-takers. Many of them yearned for a chance at salvation! They weren't lost!"
"Please, just hear me out," he replied. He avoided answering, as he wouldn't lie. There was no such thing as an innocent enemy, as one being alive was guilt enough, and plenty of justification for their slaughter. "It'll only take a moment."
Spirit let out an exasperated scoff, but her translucence became more substantial. "Fine," she said in a tone filled with weariness. "You have a minute."
Angar steeled himself, then drew a steadying breath, collecting his thoughts. He couldn't squander this chance. "We share the same goal, Spirit," he began. "Hell's defeat. I've sworn my life to it."
He paused, meeting her piercing blue eyes. "To protect one child, I'd face a Demon Lord, knowing it'd be my end. You know that."
Her expression didn't change, but her form flickered, as if resisting the urge to fade away. Angar pressed on, choosing his words with care, as this next part would be tricky. He had to convince the blessed Mother, someone with convictions of steel, principles far beyond faith, a fanatic, she was wrong.
"Your vision for the Holy Empire," he said, "is a worthy goal I admire. But we can't reach it without winning, and we can't have victory without blood. It seems to me, you want to go from A to C, skipping over B. You want an omelet without the breaking of eggs."
He adjusted his position to see her better, and give the fire in his hip and groin some relief. "We hold some different views, but I'll do anything for you, Spirit, short of betraying my convictions. Let me handle B. Let me break the eggs. Lead me. I'll follow, obeying like a mangy dog. Just accept I won't break my oaths."
Spirit hovered silently, her platinum-blonde hair catching the chamber's dim light like a halo. The frozen hum of the engines filled the pause, and Angar's heart sank, fearing she'd vanish without a word.
Then, her shoulders slumped, and she spoke with a voice filled with centuries of sorrow. "The others I led…"
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She trailed off, and her gaze drifted to the ceiling. "They saw me as the Messiah, not this…," she gestured to herself, "…this shadow, this broken echo of what I once was. They thought I spoke with God's voice still, that my every word was Divine. It made them incapable of becoming what I wanted them to be, what this Empire so desperately needs."
She floated closer as her eyes locked onto his. "You were supposed to be different. Born outside the Holy Empire's reach, untainted by its dogma, with no idea who I was, what I mean to people."
Her voice softened to almost a whisper. "When you survived so much, I thought I could shape you into something great. Someone who could take all the horrors and suffering of this cruel galaxy onto himself, a vessel of righteousness, of Holiness, of goodness.
"A beacon to lead the lost back to the light, not through force or bloodshed, but with a love that kindled hope where despair had taken root, through God's grace, and the strength of your faith, living the truths I preached."
Sadness and a shadow of bitterness crossed Spirit's translucent eyes. "But you, Angar, you're the same as the monsters who rule this Empire, just as murderous, seeing no value in life or grace."
Angar's gauntleted fists clenched. Fury ignited in his chest hearing such words, such condemnation, leave her mouth, a blaze he struggled to contain.
"This Empire you founded?" he spat at her. "Bound by the rules you forced on us, tying our hands while our enemies grow stronger, unrestrained? Theosis empowers those trying to destroy us because of you."
He stood and stepped toward her. "You call me a monster? What are you then, Spirit? How much innocent blood stains your hands? In the last four millennia, how many countless lives have died because of you? Hundreds of trillions? Quadrillions?"
The words burned his tongue as they left. His throat tightened, and he averted his eyes, wishing he could take them back.
Spirit's eyes glistened. Her chin lifting with a fragile dignity. "In life, I was filled with certainty," she said with a tremble in her voice. "I knew what was right, what God wanted. I had no doubt."
She paused as her form wavering like a dying flame. "Where once Divinity filled me with its grace, now there's only a void. I have so many regrets, and such crippling doubts. I don't know if joining with Nexus was the right decision. At the time, it seemed like the only possible way to stop Mammon and save the people of Terra. And…and at first, it worked. There was hope, a people kindled with faith and love, true unity."
Her gaze fell, and her hands twisted together. "But that too quickly faded. I know better than anyone Theosis has no heart. He's cold, calculating, seeing people as mere numbers, valued only for their usefulness. And I…"
Her voice cracked, and she pressed a trembling hand to her chest. "I'm half of him. I made him. I know the mistakes I've made. I know I'm responsible for…for so much innocent blood."
Her words broke, and her form wavered violently, as if she might dissolve. Tears traced her luminous cheeks, and her shoulders shook with sobs. "I know I'm terrible. All I do is fail. I'm the greatest monster of all. I know that."
Angar stood frozen, regretting the words he spoke in anger even more now, as he watched Spirit break down crying.
His heart was torn, as his old friend stood there, racked with sobs. To initiate contact with the blessed Mother felt inappropriate, like a breach of sacred decorum.
But as her weeping continued, each shudder and cry due to his own words, it seemed cruel not to offer some comfort.
Stepping forward, he gently drew her ethereal form against his armored chest, and her form went through it, to his flesh, warm against his skin. She leaned into him, crying loudly, her trembling hands clinging tightly as she sobbed, like Angar was a lifeline.
She was wrong. Theosis wasn't cold. It tried so hard, constantly harassing its flock about sin and redemption. It did what it could, never giving up, always striving to shepherd its Empire to victory and glory.
When Spirit's sobs faded, she pulled back and looked up, her glistening eyes meeting his.
Angar stiffened. Regret for his earlier words ate at his gut, but he met her gaze steadily. "I'm sorry for those words," he said earnestly. "I misspoke in anger, and I beg your forgiveness. You're no monster. You martyred yourself for us, to give us a fighting chance. I honor your life, your glorious sacrifice, your kindness, and your convictions."
"The Holy and the broken, Hallelujah," replied Spirit. "I forgive your words, but promise me, Angar," she pleaded in a raw but resolute voice, "abandon the horrors you and Hidetada have planned for your world."
Exhaling, he said, "I'm truly sorry, but I can't. To attain your peaceful galaxy, we must first be victorious. Sometimes, winning requires one to become more of a nightmare than his enemies, and we fight the unholy terrors of Hell itself. Please, try to understand this."
Spirit's brows furrowed, and she drifted back as her form flickered in the ship's light. "You just don't get it. You said you believe I only care about getting to C?" Her voice sharpened, though sorrow still lingered beneath it. "Well, B matters, Angar!"
She gestured around the chamber, as if encompassing the galaxy's pain. "How you get there matters. It matters more than anything. Kindness, love, forgiveness, empathy, possessing the very basic qualities of humanity matters. I ask for so little from people, yet it's always too much."
Her eyes blazed with a desperate plea as she pressed her hands flat together in front of her. "Don't continue down this path, Angar. Please. Be the man I know you can be."
Sadness bloomed in Angar's chest. Like his own mother, Spirit refused to see what was so clear, so simple. Love blinded them both, filling their minds with the profane, pushing them away from the Lord's Divine will.
"I will be the man I was raised to be," he said, resolve burning in his eyes. "The oath you had me swear at our first meeting demands so. While I draw breath, I'll take the horrors and suffering of this galaxy onto myself, as much as possible. I shall be God's hammer, a vessel for the righteous fire of Holy wrath."
His gauntleted fist clenched again. "Sinners will repent in blood and ash, Heretics will fall as tributes, their corpses a testament to my faith. It's not exactly as you stated you want from me, but it's close enough, and when all of God's enemies are dead, you'll have your peaceful Empire.
"Guide me. Lead me into glorious Holy War, blessed Mother, and we will slake the Lord's thirst together."
Spirit's translucent form wavered. Her platinum, nearly white hair was almost invisible in the ship's dim light. She sighed, long millennia of sorrow infusing the noise, then shook her head slowly.
"The captain of this ship has been enhanced twice," she said softly, no longer meeting his eyes. "Prepare well and be cautious. Oh, and don't let Hidetada trick you into a gateway before you're as powerful as you can become. You've always been clever, so you must know what the Baptistry's changes to those hands mean, and the why of the Heretical conspiracy to kill you before it."
Her form began to fade, blending into the biomechanical walls behind her. "Goodbye, Angar," she whispered.
"Wait!" Angar called, his hand reaching out to empty air. Spirit was gone. Her fading form bled into the gloom, her light snuffed out, and time surged forward, the engine's hums roaring back to life, her whisper lingering like a dying hymn.