“Your displays of hubris never cease to surprise me,” David deadpanned.
“I have never been anything other than who I am now,” Lucius pointed out. “I told you from the start that I desired power above all else. It was you who chose to see the different sides of me, to ignore what was laid out right before you. How many battles did you fight to advance my cause, how many times did you assist me in my endeavors?”
David was silent.
Lucius edged closer to him. “The only one who has changed is you. You and your newfound conscience have become my greatest obstacle, but you have gifted me with an easy way to remove you. The court believes you murdered Morgana and their hatred for you grows with each hour she lies comatose in her tower. They have agreed to let you burn under the sun’s rays so that you will suffer before we execute you properly, in front of them all, by beheading.” He grinned with satisfaction, revealing the tapered point of his smooth ivory teeth.
David heard his words, but struggled to accept them. He had long felt the animosity steadily growing between them, but a part of him had always hoped there would be a way to repair their former bond, a sliver of brotherhood still lingering between them. “You once told me immortality robs us of our emotions, but I beg to differ,” he said. “We never truly lose them, otherwise how could we feel rage or love? We become distracted by the killing and the carnage, but we still are not beasts. I know there is still goodness left in you, despite what you’ve become. Do you really think you could put your own brother to death, the one who has spent centuries at your side?”
Lucius did not respond, his expression impassive, his eyes still cold.
David shook his head in disbelief. “Then what is it truly, Lucius? Is it because my existence threatens you? You enjoy having creatures look up to you, following you around as submissive minions, but the moment I evolved into something more, something strong enough to challenge your ultimate authority, that was when you decided I was your enemy.”
“Whatever you want to tell yourself,” Lucius chuckled. “Do not fear, your blood is so old, you should bear the sun easily. It’s only a day of hanging out here, then a swift and merciful execution. At least I have not sentenced you to death by impaling.”
“Even if you kill me, Lucius, she still will never love you.”
“What did you say?” Lucius’s expression darkened as heat began to rise visibly from his skin.
David met his eyes with an unwavering severity. “You will never possess her, no matter what scheme you devise. I freed her from her prison and she is not coming back. Your powers were taken from you, just as mine were, and what you don’t know is that there are forces working behind the scenes who will ensure you never have magic powerful enough to bring her back. But even then, even if you found a way to do so and managed to bring her to life, she will never love you in return.”
Lucius’s collected demeanor nearly crumbled, his knuckles whitening around the stem of the parasol. “You speak of things of which you have no idea,” he spat. “I am the power in this world, I have made it that way. Isis may have been the only one strong enough to bring me to life initially, but her daughters are mine too, meaning any magic left on this earth belongs to me. Hekate will bring back the Morrigan and restore Morgana, and neither you nor her has any say in the matter.”
David’s eyes nearly betrayed his recognition as he silently pieced things together. Hekate was exactly what he was promised, now confirmed to be the most powerful witch on earth.
Lucius gave him a sardonic smirk. “I cannot say the same about your Gaia, however,” he continued his derisive taunt. “Whatever ties she may have had, she was born and died unquestionably human. At first, it caused me great pain arranging her death, knowing you would be shattered, especially when I discovered she would never reincarnate. Yet you proved to be such a disappointment, I’m glad you will never be reunited again. Why should you deserve a happy reunion when you consistently ruin mine?”
The fury that gripped David was unlike any he had ever known, his insides beginning to shake. “Somewhere deep inside, I have always known it was you who killed her,” he snarled.
“I didn’t need to, I simply arranged things to my liking and let life take its natural course. Don’t take it so personally—your lover needed to die so that you would come to me willingly. I assumed Libraean’s flaw lay in the fact that I turned him against his will, so I wanted you to choose this path of your own volition. Unfortunately for us both, my theory proved incorrect. I also hoped that by avenging her death, you would forget the girl for good and recommit yourself to our cause. But the act proved to be your undoing. Just like Libraean, you are a complete and utter failure.”
“You would allow a woman with a child inside of her to die?”
“Nonsense. That was another inaccurate story told to you by that poor sap, Libraean, his gullible mind warped by his obsession with that angel lover of his. You cannot believe one word of what those creatures and their God impart, they are masterful liars. I never corrected you because it suited my agenda. Your thirst for vengeance was thoroughly enjoyable to me and it brought the Morrigan into my life.”
“You are so consumed by selfishness that it will one day be your undoing.”
Lucius bellowed with laughter, nearly losing the grip on his parasol. He paused before offering a retort, suddenly understanding what David was doing. “Ah, very clever to engage me in conversation so that I may perish along with you. Unfortunately, it will take much more than a little sunlight to harm me. I am a god after all.” He placed his sunglasses back on the bridge of his long, narrow nose, before nodding curtly. “Goodbye, brother.”
He started to retreat back down the pathway to the castle before he paused. Without turning around, he added, “And even if you are right—if there was some part of me that still feels emotion, who misses the days of camaraderie and conversation— you threw it all away the moment you took her from me.” Then he disappeared behind the castle walls in a swoop of rippling fabric, the sun so close that smoke drifted off his cloak as he abandoned him in the yard.
David tried to break free of his bounds once more, pulling at the double wound chains with all the effort he could muster. The way they stung his skin let him know they were silver, the answer to why he was unable to shift out of his human form. He looked up towards the sky in desperation, only to observe that it was devastatingly clear of any clouds that might yield a winter storm. He yearned for his magical gifts of yore, trying to will the wind as he had once before. But there was nothing, only the still air and the unwavering copper sunrise.
He slackened in defeat, wondering what it would be like to feel the sun’s rays against his skin, a sensation lost to his early days in Ancient Rome. His swollen lips uplifted slightly as he recalled his life before immortality, one that was filled with vivid colors and the warmth of summer. Perhaps he might see it again as Hēlios melted his body away. Would he feel like Icarus in that horrific moment when he realized he had flown too close, his wings dripping melted wax into the sea? Would it be as terrifying as it was to the poor souls trapped inside the Wickerman, sacrificed to gods they’d never heard of nor seen?
Rivulets of oily black sweat poured down from his forehead as his body succumbed to instinctual quaking, acutely aware that death was near. He relented any further struggle against his bounds, weakened by the impending dawn, the chains biting at his flesh from his weight as he hung against the Traitor’s Wall.
I began my life in chains and now it will end that way, he thought bitterly, his vision blurring as delirium crept in. He squinted back up at the sky, hoping to at least catch a glimpse of celestial blue spotted with bright white before his eyes melted away.
The pressure at his wrists unexpectedly brought forth the memory of a man he’d met long ago, years before the fall of Rome. His followers referred to him as the Christ, believing he was the son of the Hebrew god, Yahweh, and the long-promised savior of the Jewish people. Lucius had written him off as just another overzealous prophet, but David had been intrigued. He’d wondered if he was a reincarnated god like himself, finding his interest piqued when he overheard tales of miraculous healing.
Eventually the man’s followers turned on him, as it happens when a man threatens to shift the balance of power. He was given to the Romans to hang on a cross, a common method for putting thieves and murderers to death. David was curious why they judged him so harshly, keeping to the shadows as he made his way to his public execution under the dome of grey sky.
Women sobbed at his feet as the man hung slackly against the wooden monstrosity, a crown of gnarled thorns stabbing the flesh of his forehead while cruel nails tore his hands and feet. His skin was ripped and flayed, cascades of blood streaming down his half-naked form. A rumbling storm had settled upon the land as the sounds of wailing reached a fevered pitch, provoking the sky to bellow in response. David wondered if the man also bore the same power as he, Potestatem Caeli, the way the wind howled to reflect his affliction. Soon the swollen clouds above burst, spilling onto the mass of spectators below.
The fully darkened skies allowed David to leave his shelter, drenching him as he edged closer to where the man hung. Why didn’t he use his powers to escape, he wondered, to show his people the truth of his power?
It was in that reflective moment that David understood why he had become so fascinated by the man. He represented everything David wanted to be—compassionate and kind, filled with a true, altruistic empathy that David would never feel again for the rest of his immortal life. He suddenly yearned to help the man, to lift him down from his cross so that his grieving wife and mother could have him back in their arms, so he could continue his work on earth. He moved in closer, weaving through the crowd as he debated how it could be arranged.
You do not have to save me, Davius, this was my choice, my gift to them, a voice abruptly invaded his mind.
David stopped in his tracks, connecting eyes with the man. They were a soft ebony that swirled with emotion.
“Death is not a gift, it is giving up,” he argued.
If you only knew who you once were and from where you came. His voice seemed warm and kind although the man hung limply, gaunt and mere moments from death. You have fallen away from who you are meant to be, but it is never too late to remember.
“Is your god the one my friend Libraean spoke of, the god of light?” David asked him.
My Father was not a benevolent god, but He has decided to become one, relinquishing much of His power to me. My death will create a new following, pulling them away from archaic religious practices into a new way of life. He will not abandon His people, for He loves them most of all, and I will look after the others.
“So, you plan on converting your following, tearing them away from their prior beliefs? Is that not the antithesis of what you preached in the streets?”
I simply wanted to inspire, hoping that others would learn kindness and compassion by my example. I do not want to be hailed as a god, though my Father insists it shall be that way.
David peered at the dying man. “It is hard for me not to aid you with any power,” he admitted.
That is another gift for me to give. There are levels of divinity that interact in the ethereal realms, some working together, some trapped in conflict. They have been watching the devolution of the dark god Lucius and your willingness to transcend your curse, determined to follow your own path. We know you cannot feel true compassion or empathy for humans, but I want to change that.
