The Last Human Ch. 53: The Final Sentence

Bakke assassins dragged me to the throne of the Shayk, the life having entirely left my limp body. The world within a world stood as magnificently as it did before, the hulls of a thousand ships reaching up to a gilded sky. It is one of my great regrets that I did not spend more time with Ingrish, learning every intricacy and habit of The Golden Court. If any of these symbols had meaning to me, I might’ve argued my case further, delayed the inevitable for a few more seconds. It is a cruel temptation that comes with memory. Who knows what might have been purchased with a little more time?

But it was all too useless at the moment. Amon screamed his words to condemn the Shayk. Through sobs, I begged for mercy. Both rang out. Both were forcibly silenced as the false god drew near with the zero-sword. Ingrish was held down, kneeling at the foot of the throne.

Ten thousand and more were in attendance. Sitting in the viewer stands of this great hall, they awaited in abject silence for the death of the Traitor. The eyes of a nation bore down upon us.

Ingrish did not try to fight or flee. She knew there was no point. Instead, she held her head low, waiting for the parting strike of a sword. I do not know what thoughts ran through her head, but as selfless as she was, I think she simply wanted me and Amon away, so we wouldn’t have to watch.

The Shayk approached, and as I braced for the moment, the false divine hesitated. In words that were permitted, in secret, and I knew, to us and us alone, we were allowed to hear the final sentence. “You were my most beloved Ingrid—Ingrish. At the Rhodeshi Death Games, I first learned you were still alive. Through my most minor of servants, I learned that you still practiced our arts. I saw you had not abandoned our way. And yet you still attempted to kill with our poisons?”

Ingrish didn’t move a muscle, simply waiting for the strike, not answering a word.

The Shayk relaxed his hand with the zero-sword, striking the floor with the blade. “You would practice your love for another, but not for me—the universe? You attempted a murder, stealing a life from the cosmos, and it was not for me?”

I lifted my gaze, some sliver of hope kindling in me. These spoken words were meant for us and not for a single member of The Golden Court. I saw Amon heard them too. Maybe he could find what I couldn’t—a way to talk the Shayk down.

Ingrish raised her unveiled eyes. Her blindfold had been stripped from her, and for the first time, the Bakke assassin looked into the eyes of the Shayk and the seven into her. “You want a confession? I admit fully I wanted to kill him. His name was Oberyn, and it was not for you. That is all you should need to hear.”

Those words could’ve been said with spite. They could’ve been said with terror. Instead, she quietly spoke with a resigned truth.

The seven eyes of the Shayk blinked for once. “I can understand abandoning our way. I understand things beyond your conception. Know the murder of Oberyn would’ve been just under my eyes, and it was not above the Stitched Eyes of the Three. Nearly every Rhodeshi deserves the punishment. But you saw fit for an alien child and not for me? Ingrid abandoned our way to forsake murder itself, and yet you chose murder again? Your betrayal is not what harms me so. It is your hypocrisy. I would’ve rather you been only a traitor and not a traitor to yourself.”

Ingrish did not look away from the Shayk’s eyes. “You have carefully selected my bloodline for generations. And so your predecessors before you. My mother wanted me to escape my nature, but I have discovered I cannot help but murder for the ones I love.”

“That is a lie!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, against all better judgement and perhaps even the power the Shayk. “You didn’t betray Amon! You’re not a murderer! You wanted to make sure Oberyn couldn’t do what he did again! You’re the only mother I have left in the whole universe! You’re the only one! And it’s wrong that you should take the blame for my life!”

I turned the the Shayk with tears in my eyes. “It’s me you want. Ingrish never meant anything to you. You didn’t even acknowledge her name until I told it to you. If you loved her, you would’ve known her name was Ingrish!”

The fires around the Shayk’s mask, wreathed like a sun, flickered. “You are right,” he slowly said, his tight grip loosening on the zero-sword. “Truly, fate has made a farce of us. Here I thought this was some begrudging sacrifice, but as much as I want to pretend otherwise, to tempt myself to be as you are, I see now that I feel nothing about this at all.”

My eyes widened, in equal parts horror and hatred. “Don’t—Don’t you—”

“I am no different. I only am what The Golden Court made of me.”

“Take me! I’m—”

The Shayk ignited the zero-sword, and in that moment, I felt the world come to a standstill once again. My mother glanced at me with her unveiled eyes. Greenish eyes with dark pupils. Everything had happened too quick, as if the universe itself was plucking her away. But she had the time to mouth the words.

“Don’t blame your—”

The zero-sword parted her head from the neck. The black hole at the center of the blade screamed a shrill shriek as if it was devouring her soul itself. Though, I realized it was the sound of my own voice. As the world fell from beneath me, I barely registered my head hitting on the hull plate. But as everything crumbled around me, I learned even so we were not alone as we thought.

From my sideways glance, I saw Nycxalotha just behind Amon with a pistol in his hand. One of my pistols. The Xurak doctor turned to me and grinned wide, raising a finger to his lips. I was so numb that I barely registered what I was seeing. It appeared I was beyond their interference—but not my father.

Amon felt the grip of the gun, and he did not think for a moment of what to do next. He didn’t question this impossible thing. He didn’t hesitate. With a battle cry that would’ve sent the Aberrants running in terror, he whipped the pistol forward. The Shayk only had the time to glance towards Amon surprised. The harsh crack of a bullet filled the great chamber like a thunder strike. I saw Amon standing there, clicking the trigger of the empty gun again and again as a pool of red blood welled on the Shayk’s chest. With a pale three-fingered glove, the would-be god held his alien palm over his heart and stumbled. The Shayk looked at me shocked with his seven eyes.

With a jolt of ungodly power. he suddenly arched backwards, arms thrown to his sides. And while his lungs no longer commanded wind, the Shayk let out a psychic roar of agony that seemed to shake the entire galaxy. My nose gushed blood and red tears spilled down my face. I felt as if my eyes were being popped open by the pressure. Amon was physically thrown back, the gun clattering away. I only vaguely heard the agonized screams of the rest of The Golden Court, their minds shattering outright into insanity. Like a burning, invisible star, one wanted to turn their eyes away but there was nowhere for the mind’s eye to run. I could not even blink as I heard the death-cry of the Shayk.

Just as I thought I was going to join him in death, the scream ended, incomprehensible voices and images burning my thoughts, flaying me from the inside out.

It would’ve been impossible to still see with human eyes, but my Xurak eyelid swept the blood away, and I looked at the Shayk as he stood unmoving, frozen in his contorted posture. Then like a puppeteer finding his strings again, the seven-eyed alien jerked and came back to life again. This time, the Shayk lunged with every last ounce of strength towards the portum, desperate not to die before crossing to the other side. The would-be god toppled helplessly over the edge, passing through the boundary and disappearing into the abyss.

There was not even time for a stunned silence as the universe rippled around us. My heart stopped in my chest, but before I could realize what was happening, the interior of the ship space became as folds of cloth, reaching for every Bakke assassin of The Golden Court. Like grasping fingers, the hand of a slain god reached for every last one, except for the warm corpse of Ingrish, and in the passing of another second, dragged every single member of The Golden Court into the portum. Though I doubted this was what they expected of their salvation, he kept his promise to them.

And then quiet.

I was gasping for air as every breath was a struggle. Amon was motionless on the floor, his face covered in blood. With the last ounce of my strength, I dragged myself over to the decapitated body of Ingrish. I threw myself over her, and I wept until it seemed the stars themselves would flicker and give up before me.

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