ch 3

Ash was where it was cool and still and safe. It was best that way. The space had been empty for longer than Ash could remember. It was lonely, but unavoidable. Master King was a busy man. Ash was lucky to have any of his attention. He was, without a doubt, the wisest and most sublime man on the planet, and Ash felt exceedingly grateful to be one of his chosen.

The void around Ash reverberated, and they braced themself. They put all their focus into the void, felt it flowing around them, and concentrated on mending the damage, pulling their environ back to the cool stillness. It was what was best, and they refused to disapoint Master King.

The void shook again, despite Ash’s efforts, and they struggled under the rending, tearing, quivvering void.

“Sir, please, I can’t--,” Ash thought.

“You can, boy,” King thought back. Ash felt a tremor pass through their frame. “You had better. We cannot allow these deluded fools to interfere.”

“Yes Sir,” Ash said, and they steeled themself again. The void shook painfully, and they took that agony up and inward, writhing but forcing the bond to stay. The shaking subsided, and Ash managed to relax for a moment.

“Good boy.” The praise didn’t feel the way it used to, although it still sent an electric tingle down their spine.

“I’m not a boy,” Ash thought privately. But there were no private thoughts in this space.

“I know you think you’re not. But I know what you are.”

“Yes Sir,” Ash thought, cursing themself for their disobedience.

“Have I ever been wrong, boy?”

“No Sir. Your worthless disciple begs your forgiveness, Master King,” Ash said.

“Stupid stupid stupid idiot boy,” they thought quietly, tasting bile in their throat.

Suddenly, a piercing, burning, hateful breach of the void, and Ash felt the world around their Master creep in. A handful of figures, worn down and weary, stared back at them. Ash babbled internally, straining against the pain and the fear to close the breach, to stay in the amniotic bubble of their Master’s mind.

“You have to fight him!” A blind, hateful fool who didn’t understand King. He spoke with angels. He was chosen to clense the world of sin. And Ash, poor, sinful child, was allowed to love him, and to have some measure of his affection returned. Ash felt a tearing in their essence as they shut the curtains on the breach, and they screamed.

“Very good boy.” The sick, deluded, sinful lie came back to Ash, and they felt an even worse pain pierce through them, the white-hot anguish of King’s fury.

“You’re whatever I say you are, you wretch of a boy!”

They shook.

“Yes, you are! You’re not some kind of made-up fantasy thing, you’re a boy! Boy boy boy boy boy boy--”

“Shut up.”

The void tore open like a popped blister, and in a shower of light Ash fell from the safety of King’s inner world to the cold, hard ground.