10. THE APPARITION

THE APPARITION

The Past

T HE apparition had named its immaterial prison many things: The Void, The Abyss, The Endless Expanse of Nothingness. One time, in a fit of anger and frustration, cursing the dead, though still very much hated, progenitor of the Titans, he dubbed this place Uranus’ Anus. The bawdy humour involved was entirely intentional.

Not that naming the place gave the pitiful spirit any power over it. In this space between realms, time had no meaning; as there was no up or down, there was no now or then. The place had no substance, nothing for the apparition to attach itself to or utilize, let alone understand.

Though a pathetic haze of illumination from an unknown source continuously swirled around the prisoner, near-darkness was the predominant state of The Void. Not that the apparition minded this, as it was once Lord of the Night; it found a small comfort in the gloaming. But this realm was nothing like the beauteous and vast night sky it formerly traversed, as there were no dark winds to swell around it, to kiss its face as the once-Titan soared haughtily above the world.

There was no world. The Void was akin to the immensity of celestial space, only without the moon’s luxurious glow or the far-off stars twinkling in their beholder’s eyes.

Aside from the pitifully weak luminance, there was a faint light far in the distance, on the edge of the apparition’s vision, possibly a wall, a barrier that held back the lively material plane from piercing the darkness with illumination, time, and matter. The apparition remained rooted in place whenever it attempted to push its consciousness toward the barrier.

Nothing about this prison could be controlled—at least, not by it. Attempting to force its will upon the place had no effect and would have no effect. Ever. It was an immutable fact. The apparition accepted this, though it still hated the situation immensely. It would never surrender that feeling of defiance; acceptance would not lead to compliance .

In time, it had come to focus exclusively on its spiritual form, not brooding over what it could not affect.

By The Fates’ declaration, this spectral energy that housed its consciousness could be manipulated and shaped. And so the apparition had learned to do just that. It could not view its face, but it could see, to a limited degree, its body from the chest down, and at some point, it willed its energy into a replica of its once powerful Titan form, clothed in a facsimile of godly raiment.

This control over itself pleased the apparition, and it continued to wait patiently to use this power against its betrayer. It knew not how much time had passed since its imprisonment. Days? Decades? Centuries? It mattered not. Revenge would come. The Fates decreed it.

Abruptly, as the apparition was involved in its only occupation, that of form-shaping, a strange, never-before-felt sensation sent tingles throughout its ghostly body. It possessed a powerful awareness that something was happening in the physical world outside its prison. It needed more clarity, but whatever it was, it was something important that would impact its very existence and future. Yes, it believed that completely.

And then a familiar image appeared in its mind’s eye: a beautiful face that smiled and showed happiness—a face it once loved but now despised.

I understand!

The apparition took the vision as a sign that The Fates were announcing the time for vengeance was at hand.

Yes, I can sense it. Olympius has found his soulmate.