The Last Soul

Author's note: I own nothing, make nothing. It's sad... :( But eh, what can you do?

Silent as the shadows Xipe Topec moved through the bowels of the Labyrinth. There were hints at life here, below the water level and hidden from direct contact with Leviathans light. Old growths, fungal in nature and dim in color covered walls, Old bones, the remnants of felled Cenobites who lost their lives in the great war lay forgotten here. This was a tomb, a storage for the past. It did not surprise Topec that those who still lived had sought refuge here. This was as good a place as any in hell, to die.

Commonly if he sought someone he would join his conscious to that of the god, and search hell through the black light for the flicker of their lives. That would be infinitely faster than the ground search he was attempting. That option, however, would draw the god’s attention to his task. And the nature of his task demanded he dare not attempt it. He was turning tail, heeding the voice of the soul bound with his. He was weakening, his balance was frayed. Spencer had not lied, and Topec could not turn his back on the truth. Hell was going to fall, whether or not it would rise again rested on his shoulders, and those of any other he could convince to desert with him. The Black Pope turned turncoat, his teeth ground together and his pride, as old as his soul, stung to the core of his being. He had never felt shame before this night. He loathed it.

(I was born to serve this realm, it’s god. To be his priest, his sword…) The ground turned soggy again, and the sounds of his passage echoed wetly off of the stone walls. (I took my first breath already dedicated to my task, I took my first skin to the limits of my endurance in his service. I died with his sacred name on my lips… It was agony, it was rapture. And like all demons, I rose again into the flesh.) Before him an underground pool extended seemingly without end in the dark, his ears strained, catching the soft lap of the black fluid on the walls.

It was deep, this would be… uncomfortable. Topec sighed, strode forward until the water rose over his boots, the hem of his robe, to his thighs… ah gods! With a hiss he held still a moment, trembling, sending ripples into the water around him. Few things could he feel, cold or heat, but this dark pool was a fell chill and it pierced him to the bone. His breath misted heavily in the air. Shortly he adapted, continued on until the water passed his waist, his abdomen, seeped into the wounds on his chest… Again he froze, hissing with discomfort. This was not water! It was too thick, and too acidic, this was… with a snarl he plunged the rest of the way in, felt the fluid close over his head, ache where it seeped into the grid lines that marked him.

“Demon! What are you doing?!” The cry was soft under the blood pounding in his ears, but he heard him nonetheless.

(There is no other way, others have passed by here, It must not be too long a passage.)

“Have you lost your senses?! Do you realize what we are swimming in?!”

Despite himself, Topec’s teeth bared in a savage grin. (I know better than you, spirit.)

“Then you realize those who came before are probably dead! Eaten alive by this bloody pool!”

Spencer was growing increasingly agitated. So was Topec, but the deed was done. Odds favored they were too far in now to turn back. Odds aside, if he turned back now… He would not reach the way they had come in time to keep this skin together. Moments passed in muted silence due to the volume of the liquid, they felt like years. The stinging from his chest was growing increasingly intense as the exposed muscle eroded from the bone. Perhaps Spencer had been right. Right or wrong, he had to go forward. He swam blind, his eyes shut to protect the sensitive orbs. It was critical he retain his sight, and critical he deny this fluid an easy access to his brain. His lungs stung, fighting the instinct to expel and inhale, still he swam. He felt a sudden disturbance above him; two hands grab onto his shoulders and pull him, hissing and coughing, out of the blackness and into a chamber filled with light.

“Pontiff! Pontiff!” He felt himself fall forward into the chest of his rescuer, faintly he heard them call him. But in his head the voice distorted… grew higher, younger… “Pontiff! Pontiff!”

(…What..? Daniel…)

“Wake Demon… you are drifting…”

(Spencer..? … … … Daniel…)
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Alone in his guardians quarters Daniel sat on his cot, his knees to his chin. Stay here, the Pontiff had said. Wait for me, do not stray from this room. And so Daniel had waited. For a while he had wandered about, lay on his guardians bed. The mattress had his smell, and it was soothing… for a time. But then an odd stain caught his eyes. Dark, almost black. A strip, a spill? It brought memories to his mind… A faint image of himself… sitting on a soft floor and drawing with his fingers, stained blue, across a white piece of paper. He reached out almost as though asleep, ran his small hand over the mark. With a whimper and a gasp he fell back, clutching the hand to his chin. It stung! Pain was not new to him, but this, he could compare nothing to this. In frantic pulls he wiped it of onto the matress, but the sting continued even after the residue was rubbed free. Tears ran freely down his shallow cheeks, and to his surprise, they helped the pain immensely when they landed on his fingers.

So he cleaned his hand, trying to be careful, to not transfer the pain to his eyes. Only once this was done did he look at the mess he had made. A mess it was. Now there were dark fingerprints all over the cloth. Panic choked off his breath. “Oh no, no, no, no, no, no, no….” He feared to touch it again,but he couldn't leave it! Nothing like this had ever happened before! What if his guardian got mad? What if he decided he wasn't wanted anymore! He wasn't supposto be on this bed, and now... now... “No,no, no, oh no… he’ll be mad! He’ll be so mad!” Daniel looked around the room, desperately searching for something to clean the marks with. Nothing greeted his eyes, save the two pillows on a bench. There was no cushion or cloth on the commanding chair that lay behind the desk. There was in fact, no cloth at all in the room except…

Sadly, Daniel looked at the blanket that lay over his bed. It was small, and light blue. Some time ago The Pontiff had realized that the cloth wasn’t warm enough for Daniel. Another blanket lay beneath it after that point, thicker and white. Daniel didn’t want to part with either, but… “…I can… ask for another… but I have to clean up…” And so he took the thin blue blanket… clutched it to his chest. It was one of only two things in the whole world that was his; it had become a comfort item. “…He’ll get me another… I’m sure, when he goes for food…”

His head turned to the desk, a loaf of bread, half gone. A pitcher of water. “It will be soon, soon! untill then I…” A small sob. “It’s just… a blanket… just a blanket…” He sat down on his bed, pulled the blanket around his shoulders, pulled his feet up until his knees were to his chin. “…but it's my blanket..." a shuddering sob followed a soft whimper. "...Pontiff…”

Without warning the pain struck again, causing his fingers to twitch, and his hand to jerk. Daniel scrambled back as though to get away from his own fingers. “Ow! Ow-ow-ow… ow! Why? Ow! Why?! Pontiff! Pontiff!” Eyes wide with fear Daniel scrambled to his feet. “Pontiff! Pontiff!”