Charan Ghedes

Fate? No, I don’t believe in fate. I don’t believe that anything happens because it’s “supposed to,” or as the result of some “force” or “power” meddling in people’s affairs. Sometimes, though, I wish I did. My life would make a lot more sense.

* * *

I don’t know why I went downtown that day. Likewise, I don’t know what prompted me to go into that theater. But while I sat there comfortably in my seat, my attentions fully focused on the screen, the whole building came down around me. I never did learn who was responsible for destroying the building, whether it was professional terrorists or just local street thugs. I suppose it really doesn’t matter, either way. I was the only one to survive the blast, and even then it was only by a small margin. Most of my ribs had been broken and I couldn’t feel my legs. I blacked out soon after, anticipating the end.

I awoke some time later. I couldn’t tell if it had been hours or days. All I knew for certain was that I had been pulled free of the rubble. I looked around, but saw no sign of my rescuer. I shut my eyes and took in a few deep breaths, wincing at the painful rattling in my chest. When I opened my eyes, an odd figure hovered over me. It was a horrible translucent green color. It had the appearance of the upper torso and head of a man, but its edges were sort of shifting and blurred. It had no legs, it just floated in the air. The wraith opened it odd, shapeless mouth, and let out a terrifying wail. As it did so, it was joined by others, one at a time. More and more came to float above me. There didn’t seem to be an end to them. I screamed then, and as I did so, the entire mass of them flew into my mouth. The creatures were inside of me, but they caused me no harm. Instead, they healed me, repaired me. My ribs quickly knitted together, my legs regained their strength. Soon, I was well enough to stand and walk of my own power. But, more than that, I could hear them. They were in my mind, talking to me, explaining to me all that had happened.

* * *

Eighty-four. That’s the number of souls that currently inhabit my body. One is, of course, my own. The other eighty-three come from those that died in the theater on that day. I’m not sure why they stuck around. Perhaps they’re collective consciousness was too strong-willed to pass on to the afterlife. Perhaps they were all heavily bound to this world, for some reason or the other. Perhaps they simply weren’t “meant” to die just yet. I don’t know. They don’t know, either. But they did stick around, and they chose me to avenge their deaths. We enter battle together, and I am their commander. My companions can leave my physical body and hover around it. They form a sort of living shell all around my form, protecting me and warding away attacks.

Unfortunately, their ethereal forms are not the most perfect of armors. While they excel at deflecting energy blasts, attacks with a bit more solidity tend to pass right through them. Even when I do suffer some heavy damage, it’s not overly concerning for me. They would never let me die. They can fix me up in a fairly short amount of time. This does, however, take quite a bit out of them. They’re always tired and drained after a mid-fight patch-up job, and it takes some time before they can reach their peak strength again. Really, it’s just better for all of us if I don’t take any damage in the first place.

Another service provided me by my spiritual allies is that of evasion. In times of need, they can carry me for short distances. It’s not overly useful in terms of transportation: it’s not practical for longer trips. They complain we’d be able to go a whole lot faster if I weren’t so heavy. I tell them it’s their fault for being so weak. We love to joke around like that. Anyway, the point is, I still have to walk everywhere to get around. The only times they ever see fit to carry me around is to evade an attack or to catch an enemy by surprise.

Finally, the souls exist as the living embodiment of good within a person. They are the purest beings of all. As such, those of a wicked alignment cannot come into contact with them without being destroyed. This is our greatest offensive weapon. At my command, I can send the souls outward to attack my enemies. All that they touch is torn apart, their smoking remains hitting the ground before they can even put up a counter-attack. The truly good and honest, though, will remain completely unharmed within the carnage. We have no desire to kill the innocent. Only the diabolic shall fall before us.