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... d darkness stretched like an old, unmended wound. Ahead, nestled in the folds of interstellar static, floated a monolith angular, unpowered, and impossibly old.

The signal had led them here. A whisper that refused to fade. A voice that begged to be remembered.

"...hello? Can anyone... remember me?"

Nova frowned from the pilot’s seat, adjusting the scanners. "The place doesn’t even show up in dead Architect records. Like someone tried to erase it from time."

Damien ...

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“Now… where should I put you both?” he asked casually, not expecting a reply. “It’s regretful that I only have one chandelier.”

“Underneath my bed? No, no, too dirty. My dust bunnies don’t deserve this,” Atticus mused to himself. “The mantlepiece? How about the vanity table? I suppose if I lop off one of your heads I could mount it over… Wife, which head do you want to stare at while you do your hair?”

“Atticus!” Daphne screamed. “I don’t want any heads! Let them go.”

“Fair enough.” Atticus shrugged, and flicked his fingers.

There were two identical cracks as both necks snapped at once.

Daphne gasped, horrified. This man, her husband, had just killed two men with a flick of his finger, as though he was snuffing out candles.

“I told you to let them go!” Daphne cried out.

“Yes, I let them go,” Atticus said. Then, his eyes darkened. “To receive divine judgment from the heavens.”

……………………………………………………………

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