XXIX. Ascension

And the golden light of the halo illuminated the entire mountain, made of dark stone like obsidian.

Suddenly Soren felt pressure in the side of his neck—

He gasped sharply as Half-Little One emerged from a hole she pulled apart in his neck, which sealed behind her instantly. She shook hands with the other half that had escaped from Cybele’s own neck before they merged together, and Half-Little Ones became Little One.

“I’m afraid here is where we part,” said Little One. “This place is dreadful! Also, there is plenty of light for you now.”

“Thank you for everything,” said Cybele. Little One flew and landed atop Cybele’s head before falling flat against his hair.

“No, no, thank you! This was a welcome vacation from that dotard Leshy. And…”

She flew back into the air, hovering before them.

“Sophie needs me now. You were both very kind to her and Maria.”

“Please…” said Soren, as he clutched his chest. “Give Sophia our regards.”

“Of course! How rude it would be if I didn’t. Farewell, little ones. And good luck!”

And she flew into the darkness whence they came.

And for a moment, they stood still, watching her become a speck of light before they could no longer see her, and they saw that great patch of white light very far from them, now.

They began their ascent.

Nothing else was said while scaling the mountain’s sharp cliffs, glassy paths, razor-thin edges of its protruding stone. It was not particularly steep, though at times Soren feared he would slip and tumble, ending up a pile of ribbons against the rocks. The stone itself, black and opaque, glinting like the obsidian he thought he saw as he first approached the mount, formed shapes of endless variety.

A third of the way up he stepped on a jutting rock and it came loose; Soren gasped as he regained his footing. He saw the rock tumble and fall, breaking into jagged shards, and the shards come alight with swirling black-white flames emanating an inscrutable dark mist. He scurried away.

At the last third of the ascent, Soren saw the stone beneath him vibrating with streaks of shadow. Visions projected onto his mind showed the twisted, elongated limbs of men and women swirling through the stone. Soren slipped, cutting himself on an edged rock before feeling a surge of warmth. He cried out, and saw Cybele turn to him, pulling Soren upward by his arm, and they continued their climb.

“Are you—all right?” Cybele asked, panting.

Soren saw that the cut was bleeding, yet it was superficial.

“It is but a scratch. Let’s go,” he said.

Soren saw the stone beneath him gradating into whitish grayness, the golden light nearly blinding him as his eyes had to adjust.

They reached the peak, and in front of it stood a thirty-winged figure, fifteen on the back of each side of its, its obsidian crystalline scales cracked roughly around hundreds of eyes spread across all its body. Pitch-dark bulbous masses protruded from random places across its body, and within them he saw faint, white, glowing light.

And Soren saw that he and Cybele were no larger than its legs.

Its head tilted forward, all eyes of spectacular and indescribable color shifting in their sockets with the sound of flesh dragged against sand toward them. Strands of dry crackly hair around its otherwise human head stood unmoved by the wind.

“Is—is—”

Cybele did not finish speaking as he stared at the being towering over them, mouth agape. His legs quivered, as did Soren’s, who found no words at all.

This… is an angel?

And suddenly Soren’s head quaked with pain; he felt himself on his knees and hands ahead of his sight and time, and he saw Cybele had fallen with him.

The being moved its tumorous arm forward, each finger moving and creaking like earth erupting from itself, and grabbed them both.

It lifted them, released them, suspended them above the ground. The angel’s eyes grew in brightness as it struck them with beams of golden light. Soren felt his clothes tearing away from his body, vanishing against the rays, and his naked flesh became incandescent, wisps of some black liquid swirling round his body.

All his thoughts—all collapsed upon him, woven together in a stream of white flame torching his mind, lifting him upward toward the throng above.

Angels danced around them, their bodies covered in eyes of their own on wings of flaming skin. Soren saw the hole beneath him, an eclipse in the light, moving further away. Golden light turned to transparent liquid, filling his mouth and lungs—he gasped for air as the angels caressed his body, suffocating his sight. And his memories were borne naked, crashing and tumbling through him—

He dreamed of himself departing from himself. The angels carried his body and soul ever upward. Then all was blank.