Knox stared breathless and dazed into the eyes of his Fate. Their universes collided and Knox felt his own existence give in to the power of that realm from which the Goyar Heddagh came. He feared the intercourse intimate in its own way, the consumption of his body and mind into this unknown place where shadows crept and gods died. Knox knew the price. It was simple to understand now, to believe and agree. He was alone on this ridge with something ancient, something he hadn’t pictured this awful.
He had hoped for mercy and a second chance but instead a monstrosity rose before him with its fists clenched and its body magnificent offering him the kind of death he would agonize in, repeat over and over, yes he believed that most of all – it would never be a final death. That shattered his confidence made his future nonexistent, wiped.
His power in this world had reached its absolute limit. Any hope of redemption left Knox staring into that impossible green. The Goyar had already seen through all of his hopes, all of his questions, through the fear and regrets and they meant nothing to him. Blood and rage was what Knox felt in return, a rejection of his pity. He was to willingly allow himself to die, to be no more, and his death would not serve as a martyr’s might, not as a warning either, but as punishment for his own soul. The man now saw the sign of the judgment like he’d never seen it before.
Knox could feel the drift, yes. It was shrinking him to just a shell in human skin. His existence narrowed to just being a bag of bones. Nothing around, nothing back, nothing further from this point. That clarity burned with the horror of the present and it inflamed the inside of his skull, convulsing him. The winds made a distant song, a laughter of sorts that whistled through Knox’s ribcage. Knox finally spoke, the words rolling off his parched lips in no more than a choked whisper.
“You’ve been looking for me.” That was the only truth he knew and could acknowledge without a shiver.
The Goyar Heddagh bent his tall figure drawing his face so close to Knox that the man felt the heat from the goat-spirits’ mouth on his face, a mixture of dirt and mold. Knox was repulsed by the eyes, for they did not bear even a small piece of something animalistic, or savage. They were filled with trickery; a false calmness that shot dead glances instead. The beast bellowed his volume and it cascaded down Knox’s throat and sunk through his eyes and pierced through his skin, tearing and biting.
Knox heard a voice in his, a penetrating thunderous voice that belonged elsewhere, but came from all around here for what was still here. Knox watched a golden-brown hand extending from all in-between places and coming to touch him.
“YOU HAVE,” the goat spirit answered.
“I have”, echoed Knox, nodding. The Goyar sheathed two fingers inside one of his gaping wounds and blood-stained, smeared his longer fingers over Knox’s face marking him. Knox bit the insides of his mouth till he tasted blood as sour as sin; a guilt which crept deep awoke.
“YOU HAVE DENIED ME FAR TOO MANY TIMES, THIEF.”
Knox knew now would be his last hope to find the answer to the simple “why” he had sought so many days and nights.
“I didn’t know. I don’t know. Tell me what I can do to make things right!” The tears came easily, fear and guilt mixed with snot. “I’m so sorry. Please…please.”
The bloodied fingers silenced him, a calloused and sticky touch against his lips.
The goat-spirit grabbed Knox. He cracked him with ease, like a nutshell and blew his remains to go with the autumn wind.
To be continued…