32. He Must Be Cleansed

Ophion briefly considered hijackingthe ship and flinging them all into the nearest star. It would have been the honorable thing to do. But he found that since he'd left Keth space—since he'd been tortured and imprisoned, frozen and forgotten—he'd changed. The Game he was playing now—his game—was very much that for the first time in his life. And what better game was there in the entire universe than one with consequences like these?

Skotádi.

He hissed, his talon scraping impatiently against the fabrication bay as it churned out more missiles for his launcher. He had tried to distract himself, to focus on the impending chaos he anticipated on Hestia. But the thought of the demons tearing through into their dimension was a persistent thorn in his mind. And now, with his homeworld in ruins, it seemed that the end of time might indeed be upon them.

"Are you okay?" Lupo asked from the doorway.

Ophion had smelled him standing there long before he'd spoken.

"We must cleanse your companion while there is still time," he said.

"What do you mean by ‘cleanse'?" Lupo asked.

"He must be destroyed," Ophion clarified. "He has been touched by the shadows. It is like an infection, a wound that will spread until it cannot be contained."

"Well, we're going to have to devise a plan B. We're not cleansing anyone on this crew. Not now. Not ever. Join us for dinner and a movie in the galley. We fall out of hyperspace tomorrow morning. Might as well enjoy our last night of peace as a unit. And no more mention of cleansing—I don't think it will go over well with the others."

Lupo departed.

A chime indicated that the missiles had finished fabricating, and Ophion stared down at them in the little dispenser tray, wondering if one of these would stop the Skotádi if it came to it. From the folklore that had been passed down to him, the answer was undoubtedly not.

He hissed, and then stomped out of the fab bay to join his abominations.

The Game was on.