27. THE APPARITION

THE APPARITION

The Present

T HE apparition was furious. Once again, The Fates’ curse had activated, forcibly extracting it from The Void to wreak havoc upon the love life of its treacherous immortal child. Despite overwhelming success at keeping the two gods apart, nothing it had done over two millennia was enough to free it from its accursed imprisonment.

The intense bitterness the apparition felt towards this unchanging situation long ago eroded any semblance of patience for a resolution to its confinement; it was on the verge of being driven mad. It could not, would not continue the task indefinitely.

The apparition did not desire its freedom to fade away and embrace the Eternal Sleep. It wanted back what Olympius took from it: life!

The spectral creature was arrogantly confident that its force of will would allow it to possess perfidious Olympius.

After all, the betrayer had consumed all its blood and nearly all its flesh, the godly matter which rightfully belonged to the ancient Titan. The apparition felt an undeniable connection to the stolen power coursing through Olympius’ veins. And that blood—that magic—would call to it, reach for it, and unhesitatingly fuse with the spirit of its original host.

The apparition believed Olympius’ suppressed consciousness would quickly fade, leaving the path clear for Coeus, the forgotten Titan and rightful Lord of the Night, to make his triumphant return to Life Eternal.

After that, a magic that could transform the body, returning the Titan’s physical appearance, would be sought. Shape-shifting was an ability possessed by both Oceanus and Tethys, and the returned Coeus would find his long-lost siblings and beseech their aid, learn their magic.

Yet another opportunity to keep Olympius and Coriolanus apart had been provided; the apparition hoped its efforts this time would bring about the final victory to gain its liberty .

For some inexplicable reason, it sensed a certain auspiciousness in the air. Would The Fates finally deliver an outcome in its favour? The apparition hoped the goddesses had feasted enough upon the pain and suffering this malediction consistently provided and would release it; indeed, no curse could be forever! All gods got bored of repetition and expectancy, and the Weird Sisters were surely no different.

The despairing spirit hung on to this hope like a starving bird of prey’s talons to a plump hare.

Invisible, the apparition had followed and watched Coriolanus for hours—as time worked in the material world—waiting for the perfect opportunity to unleash its wrath upon the unsuspecting god. It briefly sensed Olympius’ presence at one point, but bad luck caused it to just as quickly disappear. He wondered if the constant thorn in his side, the Secundus he long ago discovered was the goddess Fortuna, was to blame.

Trailing Coriolanus in this unfamiliar era, in this exotic city, was all it had to work with; the prolonged pursuit and observation eventually ended at what the apparition considered a garish beggar’s street.

When the apparition first arrived in this unfamiliar time period, it was highly disoriented. Everything vastly differed from anything it previously experienced: the culture, complexity, vibrancy, and especially the extraordinary structures. It tried to imagine Pyramids as far as the eye could see or the great Parthenon of the Acropolis stacked a dozen times upon itself .

But these structures were not merely wood, stone or marble. To its assessment, everything seemed constructed from glass alongside unknown, wonderous materials, a magical iron, perhaps, and they all appeared godlike in their enormity and majesty.

And the giant metal bird the apparition saw soaring above was indeed a wonder! It had no words for such a monstrous thing.

This grandeur was beyond anything it had seen in centuries past, and it questioned why the gods allowed mortals to aspire to such heights of ego. Once it took control of Olympius’ body, the apparition intended to explore and adventure to learn all it could about this fantastical era—before conquering it and teaching humankind humility.

And the gods a lesson in complacency.

Throughout its nocturnal surveillance of Coriolanus, the apparition remained indifferent to the mortal prey at the god’s side. Not once did it look upon the man’s face, and why should it? No matter how Coriolanus played the cat-and-mouse game or how annoyingly long it went on, the apparition believed the mortal’s only importance was as the inevitable meal to satiate the god’s hunger.

However, as it now watched the ancient immortal draw near to the man and kiss him, that odd move quickly changed the apparition’s viewpoint. Though it was barely a breath of a moment, with Coriolanus pushing the man away, abruptly ending the embrace, the apparition believed this was not something to overlook as inconsequential. It knew Olympius’ soul-match would never show such seemingly authentic intimacy, such affection for another, especially a lowly human.

As it finally glanced upon the face of this mortal, the apparition understood that this man was no mere source of food; there was a more profound significance at play.

And if it was furious before, the apparition was incensed now.

That face! How is it possible? To look so much like my traitorous child! Coriolanus must have seen this. It is the only explanation for his less-than-predatorial comportment. Your cruelty knows no bounds, bitch goddesses. To lead him to what must be one of Olympius’ distant mortal relatives, descendants of my duplicitous child’s mortal father! The audacity!

Do you think to toy with me, goddesses? I will tear that mortal apart! No happiness for Olympius or his pathetic lover! None! Not even a flicker of the real thing. I will not suffer torturous isolation and exist in this never-ending nightmare alone.

The apparition fumed; its hatred toward The Fates had grown immeasurably over the centuries. This game, this mockery of parading Olympius’ doppelganger before it, was insufferable, and it demanded retaliation.

Before it could conjure a plan of utmost violence against the god and the mortal bearing a likeness to Olympius, the apparition witnessed Coriolanus finish its detestably intimate business and dart away with a swiftness its spirit eyes could not keep up with .

When the apparition finally found the capacity to focus, the immortal was gone, leaving the mortal man semi-conscious on the ground. Alone, without godly protection.

And oh, how the apparition wanted the mortal dead. It previously thought tonight would be different, but whatever optimistic feeling it had earlier that merciful providence was calling this night no longer held weight. If The Fates wanted to play games, it would show them how they would all end.

However, how to enact a violent attack was still to be determined. The apparition long ago abandoned assuming a solid form in the material world; the false flesh was no longer pleasing to the spirit’s senses.

Over time, the god-sized homunculus meant to be its grand weapon stopped feeling even a semblance—real. If it transformed now, the apparition felt no wondrous physical sensations as it had initially. The spirit thought it akin to feeling trapped in a pool of thick tar, struggling to swim while being pulled down to the inky depths. It was perpetual suffocation. To become flesh and blood temporarily was no longer a functional tool in the apparition’s arsenal of vengeance. The so-called gift became a Trojan horse.

The apparition learned a valuable lesson: beware of Fates bearing gifts.

But in its vexation, it discovered that ghosts could manipulate the material plane in their own way. Exerting its will over physical objects took immense concentration but could be done. Heightened emotion made the activity more effortless—like anger, contempt, fury, and hate. And the disembodied, cursed creature bore those feelings in abundance.

The apparition was set on a hostile path as it glared at the mortal who was trying to rise to his unsteady feet. Its first attack was simple. It mentally projected its hate toward the man, creating profound sensations of dread, anxiety, and fear. Once the man’s mind was addled, it would then assail his body.

Christian could barely stand, swooning due to the loss of blood, though he had no idea that was the reason he felt so weak. His heart pounded so hard in his chest that it felt like it might burst through his ribcage. An overwhelming sense of fright gripped him, though he could not understand why. He had felt so safe and excited in the god’s embrace, but this new sensation was something—evil.

Trembling with terror, Christian frantically scanned the dimly lit area, his eyes darting back and forth as he looked for any sign of his otherworldly lover. He found none. His pulse became erratic as he listened to the eerie silence, broken only by his heavy breathing. Fearing the unknown danger that lurked close so intently, his mind began to shut down. The darkness seemed to close around him, suffocating him with its oppressive weight.

Christian did not even notice the change in his clothing.

“C—Corey?”

No, not him, fool. You will never lay eyes on him or anyone else ever again.

The apparition, wasting no more time on menacing thoughts and non-invasive methods, flew through the air unencumbered by friction or gravity and bore down on the man like a hawk. All it wanted was to inflict pain and suffering—and then death. It would give in to animus, visualize itself lashing out, and see what irreparable damage it could inflict physically.

The apparition moved through the mortal’s quivering body with its first strike. It willed itself partially solidified—not fabricated flesh and bone, but substantial enough to affect material things like a poltergeist would. Like it remembered having done to Coriolanus’ mother ages ago.

As it passed through Christian’s body, the apparition heard the man scream in agony. Several minor lacerations erupted from the flesh; blood quickly began to seep through his shirt.

Yes! A good sign! Oh, how I will make you suffer before ripping you apart!

The malevolent apparition radiated a terrifying presence, an aura resembling a vengeful Keres from the depths of Hades’ underworld. Its spectral eyes glowed with an otherworldly intensity while jagged fangs and claws manifested from sheer intention. Intangible mist calcified just enough for the creature to inflict more physical damage.

Like a hungry jungle cat, the apparition lunged at the throat of its prey, biting down as hard as it could. The savage attack left only minor bite wounds, but they were deep and bled profusely.

Christian continued to scream, confused and afraid. He knew something was attacking him, but he could not see anything in the alley’s darkness except the glow of two eyes with no pupils. The moon’s illumination did little to aid him. His attacker was noiseless and much too fast for him to weakly defend himself, let alone actively fight back.

“Corey, help me!” Christian wailed. “Corey!”

The apparition, incensed by the call for aid, sent his victim backward into a brick wall with such force that Christian’s whole body lifted clear off the ground on its journey to additional pain and injury.

Then, calling upon everything it had to turn rage and hate into force of will, the apparition lifted the mortal off the ground again and propelled him toward the wall on the other side of the alley. It repeated the violent back-and-forth act several times until it exhausted its energy. The final time, the force of the impact split the back of Christian’s head open.

But he was still alive.

Stab your eyes, Fates! I weaken too quickly in this damnable form of nothingness.

The apparition cursed the names of each of the Weird Sisters in its mind as it tried to think of how it could kill this man horrifically, thereby inflicting more harm upon his traitorous child’s already broken love life.

And provide itself with some satisfaction, even enjoyment, from killing this surrogate Olympius.

Then, upon glimpsing something shiny in the distance, it appeared to the hateful spirit that The Fates continued to play their wicked games .

There, lying in utter disrespect upon the dirty ground, its metallic surface catching Phoebe’s moonlight so perfectly that it practically glittered, was its ancient moon brooch.

The very one treacherous Olympius stole and haughtily wears upon his breast! How is it here? But then, all things in revenge are possible when the Wheel of Destiny turns.

Suddenly, the sound of a hundred chimes all ringing at once in its mind signalled the nearby presence of a god.

But I still cannot sense Olympius. So, Coriolanus must have heard the mortal’s cries for help. Oh, this vengeance will be magnificent.

Christian, semi-conscious, remained slumped against the brick wall, his left leg broken and bent at an unnatural angle. Rivulets of blood ran out of his nostrils and down his slack-jawed mouth.

The neck is bloody and punctured but not overly damaged. Yes, that lovely, delicate throat, so accessible, so ready to be utterly savaged.

In a desperate rush, the apparition fixed its gaze on the brooch and concentrated, commanding it to rise steadily, higher and higher, until it floated near its mark. It intended to use the ornamental pin as a weapon.

With malice in its insubstantial heart, the apparition employed the sharp edge of the moon brooch to slice Christian’s throat, causing a profuse discharge of blood from the deep gash. Then, as the object hung in the air, the apparition willed it to slice back the other way.

Finally spent, the apparition allowed the brooch to fall to the ground .

Confused and terrified, Christian slumped to the ground, gurgling and choking to death on his blood.

Olympius will indeed be blamed. Fates, grant me my reprieve, for this ingenious, artful move has surely afforded me your grace.

The apparition, exuding near palpable venomous glee, shrank back to the shadows to watch the final act of this theatre of pain play out.