As Angar and Spirit continued their journey, the landscape shifted from lush to battered to desolate upon entering the charred remnants of Mecia.

  What was once a harsh but beautiful land was now nothing, just the stark black of lava-crust and the smoking craters that were once a mighty mountain range, the whole area covered in a heavy fog.

  Near what was once the great Mount Shirdis, they approached the gateway, half of it buried under crust.

  Spirit halted, pivoting to face Angar, her stance radiating a calm authority that belied the strain in her crossed arms.

  “Okay. Listen,” she began, voice steady but edged with a quiet ache. “No soul who’s crossed a gateway’s threshold has ever come back. Just a fingertip’s touch and it drags you in. Robots can’t pass through, only the living. Explosives shatter uselessly against it, and even the mightiest bombardments from super-class capital ships leave it unscathed.”

  From all the lava piled up around the gateway, Angar could tell none had entered it.

  “We’ve hurled everything at these gates,” she said, a solemn weight settling over her features as a shadow flickered across her impossible eyes. “Nexus unleashed nukes in desperation. We’ve forged weapons far deadlier since, but the outcome never changes. Only a world’s annihilation breaks them.

  "Blessed martyrs carrying world-destroyers have run into portals. Some Hellspawn always immediately runs back out with it, and I mean immediately, and our world feels the effect. Destroying a world is something no one wants, especially if it’s a life-sustaining planet, not even Hell."

  That took Angar by surprise. He had assumed Crusaders frequently ventured into the Underworld, given his oath and the wording of the First Edict.

  He was about to ask a question when Spirit continued. “We’ve tried everything imaginable. All we've learned is the Hellspawn that runs out has a correlation to the power of the person running in. Send a low-level soldier in, you get a minor invader back. Send in a high-level Crusader, and you deal with something far more formidable.”

  Before Angar could voice his question, Spirit rushed to add, “That’s the sum of our knowledge. That’s all we know. Over four thousand years, four allied species fighting together, a Divine System directing a grand Empire spanning a quarter of our galaxy, and so little known.”

  When she finally fell silent, Angar asked, “Does the new idea you want to try risk the destruction of my world?”

  Spirit offered a small, sad smile. “Sometimes I forget you’re clever. My goal is to save the people of this world, not destroy it. If I thought there was a serious risk, I’d never try my new plan. Besides, you erupted a volcano knowing it’d kill you and your people along with your enemies.”

  “No,” replied Angar. “We thought the eruption would kill everyone close to Shirdis, what remained of our warriors and all the Kondunean legions. Not our city, not our lands, not our people.”

  “Your mother warned otherwise.”

  “After...that was after she turned evil. When she told my father what her relic would do, her plan was to destroy those legions approaching the city while we and most of our army were away. With three legions gone, the emperor would...”

  “I know what her plan was,” interrupted Spirit. “This is all beside the point. As I said, if I thought my plan placed this world at risk, I’d never consider it. Our situation is a lot direr than Theosis lets on. We’re fighting a losing battle. If something doesn't change, we eventually lose this war.”

  Angar sensed Spirit was hesitant to share her new idea. Rather than detailing her plan outright, she was building a case for its value, seemingly to reassure herself, maybe mustering her courage to tell him what it was.

  He removed his backpack and set it down. “If your idea doesn’t risk this world, then it only risks me. I don’t need convincing. I’m Mecian, and I trust you. I assume the waste containers go into this device. Then what? I doubt the plan is to send me running into the gateway. Not if I’m guessing correctly that the person running in the explosives is the Hellspawn that returns?”

  Spirit was silent for a moment. Her impossible eyes seemed to become glassy.

  She placed her hand on Angar's shoulder and squeezed once. “You’re a fine young man, Angar. I can detect those to whom I can manifest. In over four millennia, you’re only the third individual I've revealed myself to, and that's because you're the third I've thought could be of use to me.

  "I try so hard to turn things around, come up with something that hasn’t been tried, and I always fail." Her voice cracked faintly, as if testing the weight of her next words. "If I didn’t think you could be useful, I would’ve never appeared to you.

  "I was different in life," she said, her voice heavy with sorrow. "I overflowed with boundless love and humanity. Now...as I said, I'm just an echo of my former self. I think I'm broken."

  She withdrew her hand from his shoulder, and with a weary grace, she rubbed her eyes with the backs of both hands. “The Holy and the broken, Hallelujah. Those other two – I used them up completely. They both died horrific deaths. The same fate awaits you if you continue following me. I’m sorry. The least I can offer you is honesty."

  Angar took a deep breath, piecing together his thoughts. “When my father would visit my mother, he’d give me a nonsensical task made to sound grand and important. When I was older, I learned this was just to get me out of the way, so he’d have time alone with her. Before then, I took these very seriously.

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  “I failed one of these tasks once, and it filled me with shame. To comfort me, my father told me what made a bad king. He said it wasn’t their failures. It was letting those failures define them, eat away at their hearts, making them scared to act.”

  He looked Spirit in the eye, his resolve clear. "You’re not using me. I’m following because I have faith in you. I’m this strong and have this chance to save my world because of you. We’re all used, and we all die, but with you, I know I’ll be used well, and my death will be for a worthy cause. I’m no less brave or dutiful than Martyr Varko."

  From his oath, Angar quoted, “Command me to march into the infernal abyss, and I shall trample the gates of Hell underfoot.”

  Spirit wept then, her sobs loud, and for long.

  Later, with her tears drying, Spirit’s voice gained strength, and her back straightened. “Thank you, Angar. For trusting me. For everything. I’ve tried keeping you at arm’s length as I assumed you’d die long before now. You make keeping you distant difficult.”

  “No thanks needed,” he replied. “I swore an oath. It’s my duty. Now, tell me this new idea you’d like to try.”

  "Okay,” she said, then taking a steading breath. “Gatekeepers are significantly stronger than other Hellspawn of an invasion. Knowing you’d stand no chance against certain ones, coupled with how sincere and simple your faith is, got me thinking. It’s the best idea I could come up with to save this world. You alone bear the risk.”

  Angar nodded, his mind trying to puzzle out her intentions, but he found himself at a loss.

  The plan had to involve the item tethered to his backpack and the seven waste containers. Some new approach to detonating the far side of a gateway, which supported Spirit's statement that he’d bear most of the danger.

  She had previously said zero-point-energy waste could create an explosive powerful enough to destroy a world, but this couldn’t be the case here. She had assured him that her plan wouldn't seriously risk his world’s destruction.

  So, the explosion wouldn’t be all that massive. If he ran out of the gateway as a Hellspawn, clutching explosives, it’s not like Mecia could be destroyed much more than it already was.

  He racked his brain thinking of what the plan could be. Some way a gateway could be closed without needing to defeat the Gatekeeper.

  A new way to detonate the other side of a gateway seemed obvious, but Spirit said they’d already tried everything. The plan had to be something not yet tried.

  Then it hit him. “You’re taking over my body again.” This was less about destruction and more about understanding and learning.

  Spirit placed her hand on Angar's shoulder again, her touch firm and reassuring. "In life, the dark whispers of corruption never touched me. I could be tempted, but only I could choose to corrupt myself by succumbing. I couldn’t pass through a gateway, but I could close the lower-rated ones with a touch."

  She paused, her gaze intense as she explained further. "Anyone else touching a gateway is overwhelmed with dark whispers and immediately corrupted. Even before fully passing through the portal, they transform into what we've termed a 'Thrall,' the fifth of six stages of corruption."

  The hand on Angar’s shoulder tightened. "If all goes as planned, and I pray it does, I believe this gateway will close. We’ll save your world, and you’ll survive with your mind intact."

  She looked away for a moment, her eyes scanning the horizon as if picturing the outcome. "We’ll finally know what happens when an explosion detonates on the other side of a portal, and glimpse what’s beyond too."

  She released his shoulder, stepping back slightly as she continued. "At the least, we’ll have new data. I hope we’ll somehow utilize what’s learned, maybe devise a way to turn things around, maybe halt this slow march towards our eventual annihilation."

  “Should I untie and unwrap the item now?” asked Angar.

  Looking surprised, Spirit asked, “No questions?”

  “I’d prefer a plan including battle, but if we’re causing a big enough explosion on the other side, that could satiate our Lord’s craving for blood.”

  A smirk crept onto Spirit’s lips. “If you survive this world, Theosis is going to end up loving you. I’m not even sure I should correct your interpretation of Catechisms. Okay. Let’s get to work then.”

  Spirit detailed her new plan, but before they got to it, she had Angar pray silently for forgiveness.

  Pleading with anyone, especially God, wasn’t his way. Theosis had already declared his penance complete, absolving the blood of innocents spilled in the wake of the eruption. Even if he was the begging type, there was nothing else to be forgiven.

  He’d not dare challenge the Messiah, or this echo of her grace, so he offered his prayer as he always had, with his eyes shut, mind ablaze with visions of clashing steel and riven flesh, a tithe of blood and slaughter laid before the Lord’s altar, a Crusader’s vow to war until his last breath.

  When he finished, he untied and unwrapped the device.

  It was a mechanical contraption, roughly square in shape. All seven waste containers were awkwardly shoved into its top. They didn’t fit well, so Angar had to force them in.

  Right near the gateway, Spirit had him power on the device, then grab and hold down the levers on the handles tightly, sternly telling him not to release his grip.

  “Okay,” said Spirit, positioning herself behind him. “Hold that up straight in front of you, step forward just enough so your forearms are through, then I take over, protect your mind, and pull your hands out.”

  Angar obeyed, stepping forward into the shadowy, shimmering veil of the gateway’s portal.

  As his forearms and the device crossed the threshold, an immediate, suffocating darkness enveloped him. The air thickened, pressing against his skin with an oppressive, malevolent weight.

  Instead of dark whispers, screams of corruption assaulted his mind like a physical blow, with claws tearing at his spirit, his very soul.

  Not just words, but entities, ancient evils infiltrating his thoughts, making him a vessel of their will, commanding obedience, promising power, seducing him forward.

  The sheer volume and force of these voices were overwhelming, a cacophony of damnation heralding his downfall, demanding he come through the portal.

  His resistance shattered. He had no choice but to yield and obey.

  Then Spirit flooded into him, her presence a radiant warmth piercing the storm, a candle’s flame against the void.

  “Hold on,” she whispered, her voice a fragile thread weaving through his fracturing will. His body seized, his muscles going completely rigid, his hands quaking on the levers as she battled to protect him, her essence a shield of light, a buffer against the dark.

  Blessed unconsciousness shimmered ahead, a sanctuary so near he could taste its peace, the same as last time she took over him. All would be well. She’d save his mind from this horror.

  But the darkness screamed out in a bellow, a deafening tide that swallowed her glow. Her grip frayed, and her warmth bled away like a dying ember.

  “No!” she cried, a raw, anguished plea shattering through his skull.

  The screams redoubled, a chorus of malice dragging him deeper, his feet jerking forward as if controlled by unseen hands.

  He was still awake. Horribly, impossibly awake. His soul teetered on the edge of being lost.

  Then, the ancient evils’ will surged triumphantly.