May You Have a Peaceful Night

KWOOOOOOH!!!

The giant's roar hardened into physical force and came hurtling in.

A piercing whine filled my ears, and my head reeled. In that stagger the sword-ghost was already on me. Crimson ghost-fire blazed beneath the bamboo hat, and a stroke packed with grudge sought my throat. Before the viper's fang could cut my breath short, I tilted my head and took it on the mask.

Kak-kak-kak. Countless sparks spat between mask and blade.

Thung!

Using the Third Apostle's strength as recoil, I arched backward at the waist. Two beams of light sheared through the space where my torso had been. Heat surged from the Fifth Apostle's arm; smoke poured from the Sixth Apostle's mouth.

A flash.

Light flickered across the sky—a light I knew. White fury crouched inside it. Recognition took an instant. The decision was immediate.

I seized the arm of the Third Apostle, who had not yet withdrawn. The monstrous strength in that gaunt limb locked my movement down; he had grasped by instinct exactly what I meant to do.

KWA-BOOM!

While I wrestled him, the light detonated. Heaven's fury pierced my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠whole body and drove a warped pillar up out of the earth. Static snapped and crawled between my legs, stinging, and the charge spreading into the ground became shackles around my feet.

Soot erupted from the Third Apostle's bandages. The blow must have landed hard. Ghost-fire that had looked as if it would burn forever drew in on itself.

"———."

But would a sword-ghost already dead and gone have any reason to fear death?

Kwak.

A skeletal hand crushed down on my shoulder. A boulder settled onto my body.

Past the mask I saw a blade soaked in blood. Not my blood. Not the Third Apostle's, either. Over my shoulder the Second Apostle crooked one finger, smiling with a bewitching grace.

"————!"

Was it the taste of blood? The Third Apostle's guttering ghost-fire roared back up in splendor. I had to fall back. I could not stay in that grip.

Chwararak.

Bundles of paper came fluttering down. The Seventh Apostle shaped a hand seal, lips moving, and the paper became chains that bound my limbs.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Caught. But that was fine. I was a phantom thief. Escape, and—

A twitch.

No. The escape I had used as easily as breathing was sealed.

The binding was not a single binding. From the paper chains crawled tentacles dripping sticky mucus, and on those tentacles clustered swarms of flies with fairy wings. At my feet a pool of blood crouched, and out of the pool straw crept, stealthily widening its claim. Slip one, and another barred the way. Break that way open, and the ground itself became a wall.

I could not move so much as a single step.

"Convey our will to the Third Apostle."

The First Apostle defined a new law. Eleven apostles reached toward the Third.

Ulkeok!

The Third Apostle's body turned to ghost-fire. The sheer capacity to bear the grudges of eleven was astonishing. The ghost-fire glared at me. The viper had become a dragon—a ghost-dragon that lived by feeding on spite.

The dragon bared its fang, and the fang wore the shape of a sword: a pure edge, unstained by ghost-fire. Rusted and notched, it was hardly fit to be a dragon's tooth. For the duty appointed to it, however, it would serve.

Slowly, the sword drew near.

It was not slow. The world had slowed. This was the world's courtesy—it would not grant a death of a single instant. It meant for me to watch for a long, long time.

It was coming.

I had not imagined it. I had not even supposed it. Who could ever have conceived of this? Not one death, but twelve, all of them aimed at me. No one here wished me to survive.

A dreadful death touched the mask. And—

Crash!

It shattered to pieces.

They had certainly staged it grandly.

The deaths of things already dead could not overcome the yearning of the living. A puppet is a puppet. A cotton bat, nothing more.

Beyond the shards of the broken sword was the ghost-dragon. And inside the ghost-dragon was I. I, with the mask drawn over my face. I, a phantom thief. I, Phantom. I, a human being.

My name is—

A jolt. Goosebumps rose over the First Apostle's entire body, worst of all at the nape, where a chill tapped lightly, taking his measure.

Crash!

While his mind was elsewhere, it happened. The sword that had inherited the spirits of the twelve apostles broke, and it did not leave so much as a scratch. By the time he understood, it had already happened. The Third Apostle was in pieces. Not a mote of dust remained.

Silver light fluttered in the empty air. Superhuman sight caught hold of its substance. Thread—a spider's web covering the world.

"Why was I fighting so strangely without using this? I am a phantom thief."

The phantom thief muttered it, looking for all the world as if he regretted something.

"One."

He stepped on the law that had been the Third Apostle and walked out.

"Hngh!"

The groan escaped of its own accord. The air was different from before. The distortion was gone, and his presence had settled into something solid. Where revulsion and dizziness had been, illusion and enigma took their place. He had a body, and yet he did not. As if he were a phantom.

"KUOOHHHH!!!"

Thud!

The Fourth Apostle surged to the front. He meant to hurl himself into the snare of the Silver Thread and, in doing so, give the others their opening.

The Silver Thread carved the giant to ribbons. Red lines scrawled in chaos across flesh like steel.

He stopped dead.

A few slender threads had overturned common sense. The apostles did not despair. His part was finished with this.

"Do not let him escape!"

The First Apostle drove them on.

The Second Apostle vaporized into blood. Breathe in what spread through the air, and the lungs would collapse.

The Fifth Apostle opened her chest. The heart that drove her became energy of destruction, and destruction would erase the enemy.

The Sixth Apostle's belly swelled. Its mouth tore wide, and an abyss showed through, brimming with starlight.

The Seventh Apostle flung every book in his hands. They sprang open, and geometric patterns flashed.

The Eighth Apostle caught them. He uncorked a glass bottle and sprinkled it over the patterns, and from those patterns a merfolk's arms reached forward.

The Ninth Apostle divided himself. Hundreds of him charged.

The Tenth Apostle raised the clouds. Imitating heaven's fury, she gave form to nature's judgment.

The Eleventh Apostle wore a smile of rapture. He was already standing before the phantom thief, meaning to reach his completion inside the bombardment.

The Twelfth Apostle made sport among that multitude of Ninth Apostles. Insects born from his belly were steeped in virulent poison; a single drop, and a man would become a handful of bloody water.

"Hnnnnnngh!!!"

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠First Apostle manifested his law. He amplified the force of the assault several hundredfold and set it so that it must strike true. He had staked life itself. Fail to kill the man here, and there would be nothing left.

———!!!

The First Apostle's vision drowned in white.

"Guhk."

The First Apostle clawed through a mound of earth and pushed himself up. All around him there was nothing—only a vast, empty plain.

His chest burned. The Stone Tablet was taking its price. His flesh dried further, his blood cooled, his cheeks sank gaunt, and his whole aspect became that of a sick man.

"Cough. Cough."

A parched cough tore out of him. Black liquid soaked his beard.

"Haa... Fortunately, I was able to end it without dying."

He was relieved. He could not know how much longer he had to live, but he would at least be able to die having seen the Heavenly Road open.

"Nnnngh."

Bracing on his staff, he barely got to his feet. His legs trembled like a fawn's, newly born. Dragging them, he went to where the phantom thief had stood.

"There is nothing..."

Unease and a strange clarity came over him together. Yes. Phantom thief or not, that had been an attack no one could survive.

"I have overcome the prophecy...!"

He flopped onto his back. His body screamed, but he hoped it would indulge him, just this once. He looked up.

The sun was going down. The light of heaven was slowly changing, and the moon that had been hiding rose.

His heart grew restless. For some reason he felt that moon must not be full.

"Hoo."

It was a crescent.

"Heaven looks upon us with tender favor."

He praised the Heaven he had followed to the very end. Decades of faith seemed repaid at last. Tears poured from his eyes.

"Please... may you have gone to a good place!"

Grant rest to those who believed in one so inadequate!

The First Apostle offered a silent prayer for the apostles who had gone before him.

Moon and stars glittered.

And then, around the time his breathing grew peaceful, the crescent moon tilted downward. Stars gathered with the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠moon at their center. The sky clouded. Space dyed itself black.

Only the First Apostle still possessed color.

A mask covered the sky.

"First Apostle. Your finale was wanting."

The crescent moon moved its lips. Eyes of stars watched the human lying at his ease.

"You seem to be having a pleasant dream. You have suffered greatly, so that much is permitted."

No sense in letting him dream alone. I'll give him a gift.

Ten of the stars that had drawn a circle fell, and took their places at the First Apostle's bedside.

"You will be glad. You will be able to see those who died."

I did not wander about collecting them for nothing.

"It pained you that you could not remain beside them to the very end, did it not?"

"Please. Do not let it pain you any longer."

I will give you the chance to be with them.

I will come for you soon.