The Other Power
Gwendylyn stormed about, in a foul mood. He didn't remember the last time he had gone so long without tormenting something. His sadistic side was beginning to salivate for a new victim. But he knew enough not to give in to his urges. After all, he was dead, surrounded by dead, on a ship headed towards the land of the dead, with his entire situation uncertain, and his safety riding on the words of a stuffed bear, his keeper, and a large, rusty steamboat. These were not ideal circumstances to indulge in temptations. He usually kept to himself, away from the others, up on deck and aft. He enjoyed the wake left behind by the ship. He had seen plenty of wakes on Earth, of course, but those were of the watery type. The swirls and eddies and miniature waves in the clouds were something new, and they fascinated him. It was as if the Gods were waging war, tearing the fabric of reality asunder, the sky howling in pain as its bones were broken and its flesh parted as butter before a chainsaw.
Well, there was one thing to look forward to. Something that was undoubtedly testament to his individual power, his destiny of domination: He had been told by Charon that while the rest of the newlydeads were to go their respective locations, based on the 'average of two factors,' Gwendylyn's letter allowed him passage to a different location. Charon had explained that newlydeads didn't often come into possession of these summonses. Gwendylyn had felt excitement and apprehension blossom in his hollow, warming the hate and stirring it, not unlike a thick stew.
"Am I the only one on the ship to possess one of these letters?" He had asked.
"Of course! These are quite rare." Charon had responded.
Yet Gwendylyn couldn't shake off the feeling that Charon had answered a little too quickly, as if caught off guard. Searching the teddy bear's eyes, he could have sworn he had seen something like alarm, discomfort, and even…excitement?
He hadn't asked much more of it after that, and Charon had not elaborated. But Gwendylyn knew that Charon wasn't being entirely honest. Gwendylyn smiled. At least he had caused one person on the ship some small suffering.
Gwendylyn closed his eyes and delved into his Hollow. Here, in solitude, with the roiling clouds beneath him, he had been training himself to control his Hollow. He had become quite good at it. He slipped into a meditative state, entering his Core with almost a stately elegance compared to his first attempt, on the shore, during Charon's first speech. That first time, he had had little control, barging through the barrier that separated him from his Heart, crashing in with all the couthness and subtlety of a rhino. Now, he slipped under the door, like a dagger with insectile legs, crawling beneath. He unfolded the metal blade, taking flight within the space of his Hollow, like a cave. He was still flying blind, however. Upon discovery, his Hate would drive him out with unprecedented ferocity.
The Self-Righteous Rage Gwendylyn had felt that first time, that had allowed him to tear the Hate apart like a tissue, had retreated to a dark corner of his mind, and try as he might he could not find it. His Hollow might have been a cave, but his mind was more like a labyrinth, and to navigate it took a special concentration that he was not quite capable of yet.
Gwendylyn gritted his teeth. Once he broke through, once he harnessed the forbidden power locked, coded within himself, ingrained into his very being, then he would master his full potential. Rage and Hate both he would shackle to his will, and Absolute Power would bring about Ultimate Suffering.
He wondered about the Deity who had summoned him. What power had he? How did he use it, for what purpose? Was he ally or enemy? Could he be controlled? Killed? Was it even a he? It could plausibly be female, of course, but that was irrelevant. Gender did not matter, it was the power. Perception of gender, of course, controlled perception of power. But Gwendylyn would go unblinded. He would have to gaze at all things with a sort of sharp detachment. Unfettered by common, majority prejudices. He would stand alone, in the middle of the chaos, and be the hollow that brought power and reality together. Only be subjugating himself to doses of truth would he find the Last Truth. The First Truth. The Ultimate Truth that bound the Universe like a chain. And once he found that chain, he would break it, and the power released would be enough to become the God of a new Universe.
Here, in the Land of the Dead, the only thing that mattered was Power, anyway.