Dora was miserable. She didn’t think she’d ever been so miserable, and the last person she would have expected to cause such misery would be someone claiming to represent the “Light” and the “greater good” in the world.
But here she was. She wasn’t bound and she wasn’t a prisoner but she might as well have been: the golden figure had made it abundantly clear that he had a lot of plans for her, and that to go against his will would be a very bad idea indeed.
And so here she was, still holed up in the abandoned church, which appeared to be her companion’s main base of operations, although he didn’t appear to have any “staff” as such. It appeared to be a solitary operation, or at least it had been until she had come along.
She was still unsure of his endgame. He kept mentioning the “greater good” and “saving” people from the “Darkness”, but she still didn’t really know what that meant outside of what she had already seen from Magnus. Was she the only other representative of “Light”? Was Magnus, for that matter, the only other representative of “Dark”? Why, for that matter, were they fighting? It all seemed so neat, tidy and utterly clichéd that were the evidence not all around her, she wouldn’t have believed any of this were possible for a moment.
She wasn’t sure how many days had passed since she had been brought here, but she felt like it had been several. Oddly, she didn’t feel at all tired or hungry despite not having slept or eaten; the light within her seemed to sustain and feed her at all times.
What a boring existence, she thought, pondering a life sustained only by the light. Imagine a world without cake, or chocolate, or pie. How awful that must be.
Over the course of her captivity, she had come to learn a little more about the powers she seemingly had. She could fly, much like her companion, and she could move at superhuman speed — the latter she already knew, of course, following her strange experience shortly after all this had begun. But she also had more subtle powers: powers to break and to mend; powers to manipulate both matter and the mind. She hadn’t had the opportunity to try the latter as yet, but she could feel the capability within herself; she wasn’t in any hurry to find out, however, particularly as she vividly recalled how the golden figure — clearly magnitudes of power stronger than her — had forced her to do things as a demonstration of both his power and what she might be capable of. She hadn’t enjoyed the demonstrations.
Under less oppressive circumstances, she might have enjoyed learning about and discovering her new powers, but she knew that she’d never have the freedom to explore them fully, as the golden figure was never far away, and as he’d said to her, she would not be able to just use the Light as she saw fit. She had to think of the greater good, whatever that was, and whoever defined it.
“Soon,” said the golden figure suddenly after a long period of silence. Dora hated those long periods of silence, as they made her feel more lonely than ever. The golden figure wasn’t someone she could just talk to, after all; he seemed to have no interest whatsoever in her as a person, caring only for whatever his eventual goal was.
“Soon,” he said again, turning to her. “The time is almost right. Then you’ll see. The world will see. The world will understand. The world will come to know the Light.”
“How?” she cried, throwing up her hands in frustration. It wasn’t the first time she had asked this question, because it wasn’t the first time the golden figure had given a similar speech. Today felt a little different, however: there was more… she wasn’t sure if she wanted to say emotion in the speech, but there was certainly a noticeably greater intensity about it.
“The world shall be bathed in a cleansing Light,” he said, sounding like an increasingly excited preacher. “All who are touched by it shall be judged. And the righteous shall rule at our side, and the corrupted shall bow down to us and serve us. The world will be a better place, for the greater good.”
He turned away from her and faced the sanctuary of the church.
“It begins… now.”
The figure clenched its fists, and Dora became dimly aware of what appeared to be a low rumbling sound. She couldn’t tell what it was initially, but then she felt the ground begin to shake beneath her feet; a slight vibration at first, a sensation that brought unprompted to her mind the memory of her student flat where the washing machine that belonged to the people downstairs used to make her floor vibrate.
But then it grew, and it was no longer the odd, unexpected source of a memory: it was frightening. The intensity of the tremors grew and grew and grew, and Dora was sure she could feel the very earth shifting beneath her feet. The floor of the church remained intact, though, even as the shaking caused empty candlesticks to fall over and roll down the aisle, vases of long-dead plants to fall from their pedestals and shatter on the floor, and the long-dormant, powerless light fittings in the ceiling to swing violently from side to side.
Oddly, the many candles which had flared to life at the golden figure’s command when they had first arrived remained solidly and stubbornly where they had always been, defying the laws of physics — though by now, Dora thought with grim amusement, this was nothing new to her.
“Come,” said the golden figure, apparently unperturbed by the violent shaking of the earth and extending his hand to Dora in an uncharacteristic symbol of cooperation. She pointedly refused to take his hand, but did follow him as he started to walk down the aisle towards the large front doors of the church.
“Behold,” he said dramatically as he opened the doors. She walked up to the opening, feeling the cool breeze coming in and stirring up the air for what felt like the first time in years.
She had expected to see something peculiar when she peered out of the doors, but she hadn’t been quite ready for this.
The church was no longer where it had been, sat in the depths of forgotten countryside. Instead, it now sat atop a huge golden spire that glowed with the same radiance as the golden figure and, indeed, at times, herself. It illuminated the surrounding area for what looked like miles, making the night almost as bright as day.
She stepped out of the door and onto the surface of the golden spire; there was a good few feet between the church doorway and the unprotected edge, so she got as close as she dared and looked down.
The spire was a long way up; she didn’t feel she could accurately judge the altitude, but she knew that a fall from here for a normal person would be immediately fatal and probably extremely messy. She started to feel dizzy as she gazed down at the ground far below the spire, so she quickly stepped back from the edge and back into the church doorway.
“It begins,” the golden figure said again. “And now we have work to do.”
* * * * *
Magnus felt something amiss the moment it happened, even though he was preoccupied.
A terrified Wilkins gazed up at him, saying nothing. Or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he was incapable of saying anything.
Magnus had not seen himself in a mirror for a while now, and he indeed cut an imposing, intimidating, even terrifying figure. His features were twisted by the darkness that flowed through him, and as his powers had grown he had begun to emanate what appeared to be a dark miasma. And, as he had grown in strength, he had become less able to shut his powers off and appear “normal”. The shadowy figure had described this phenomenon as the Embrace: allowing the Darkness into his body and mind so completely that he was becoming one with it.
Magnus found himself surprised at how unafraid he was with this situation. He welcomed the Darkness; it had been a friend to him when he had no-one else, and now it was rewarding him with these powers.
But how was he supposed to use them? Why was he here, really? The shadowy figure had told him to protect Wilkins, but there had been no sign of any threats to his wellbeing — although Wilkins clearly interpreted Magnus’ presence as a threat to his wellbeing.
That is, there had been no sign of any threats until now. He couldn’t tell what was different — what was wrong — but he knew as soon as it had happened. And he knew that bad times were coming.
He looked Wilkins in the eyes and frowned. The world seemed to bend and shift around the two of them, and Wilkins gave a low groan, slumping back in his chair as he did so. His head lolled back limply as he groaned and moaned again, then it rolled forwards again. Then Wilkins looked up at Magnus, this time with a blank, glassy stare, all trace of the previous terror gone.
“Master,” he said.
Now it was Magnus’ turn to be terrified. Had he done this? He hadn’t meant to. What did it mean? How did he undo it? Should he undo it?
“Shit,” he said to himself. “Did I mess this up?”
“No,” said the shadowy figure, stepping out of a nearby wall. “No, you’re doing just fine.”
She clapped her hands once, twice, three times; a slow, sarcastic clap. Magnus had the feeling that he was being played, but he couldn’t tell how. He had trusted the shadowy figure up until this point, but he was starting to have second thoughts. Who was she? What did she want with him? And why had he, of all the people in the world, been chosen for… whatever task she had in mind for him?
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Washing machine vibrating – superb, mundane touch. There is now total confusion as to which side is the good side – the light or the dark – it’s as if they are both as bad as each other. So clever.