The God, the Ghost, and the Whore

A look of horror washed over Alexander’s face. The same vague recollection that Henry had experienced, but it was much more intense. It was terror and fear braided together with the understanding and recognition. The small details he had previously ignored and was now seeing began to fit together to form a putrid truth that could not be denied. Alexander looked upon this man, and he knew that his fate, all of their fates, were sealed with his. He was the one that brought them all together years ago, and he was the one that brought them together now. Playing the strings of a puppet behind the scenes while giving the illusion of choice and free will. He was reason they were all here. “Chenrile?” The name died in the air as soon as leaving Alexander’s mouth. His throat was dry and sore for having said it. Alexander felt a tingling growing out from his mind and spreading throughout his body like a great plague had poisoned him and was consuming its way through his cells like a virus. “You still exist? That’s not possible.” The man laughed. It was a deep and humorless sound. The laugh of being the one that had finally ended his long-game. Being the one that had succeeded in a task that even he doubted was possible at times. “Prince Alexander.” The smile on Chenrile’s face began to fade. It twisted and contorted into a scowl of disgust. “I should have killed you on that mountaintop a thousand years ago.” The frown on Chenrile’s face looked even more disgusting than his smile. It spoke of plots and schemes that were half-finished and abandoned. And one plot that was coming to fruition. Rising to a great climactic flood. “But, now you are here, and things couldn’t be more perfect.”