Fate's Weaver

Darkness fell on the small, rural town of Devenport, but none were abroad to see it. They’d retreated to their homes with the light, huddling around their hearths for warmth, chatting animatedly about nothing in particular around the dinner table, or curling up for bed under the heavy fleece blankets the season demanded. It was peaceful time in a peaceful place. On the edge of town stood a cemetery, its brick walls and wrought iron gating overrun by foliage. It, too, had been abandoned as night crept along, the stone ghosts of Devenport the only witnesses.

A constellation detached itself from the heavens to alight upon the graveyard. The figure wore the silhouette of a woman, but that was where the similarities to humanity ended. Its skin was the night sky, its stars burned an otherworldly, hateful green. Verdant flame topped its head like a torch. It floated soundlessly on the chilly air until it came to a rest in front of a single gravestone, the name too weathered to read. When it spoke, six voices emerged from its throat.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I look different than I did the last time I was here.” The being allowed itself a small smile. “Not that you can tell, of course. I’ve worn so many different faces over the years, even the appearance of this—my ultimate form—means nothing to me.” Its smile took on an ironic edge. “How times have changed.

“You had your own opinions on my appearance, didn’t you?” The smile slid from onyx lips as the figure crouched down next to the gravestone. “You wouldn’t let me forget about it, or any of my other ‘lacking’ qualities. I was never smart enough for you. Never strong enough. Never obedient enough. Never grateful enough.”

Its eyes, burning like twin suns, fell to the snowy ground. “No, I was never good enough for you. But you were perfect, weren’t you?” The eyes rose like the dawn to glare at the stone with twice the intensity as before. “That’s right. Sitting up on your throne, looking down at me while I served you on bended knee—when you weren’t carving your displeasure into my flesh or my psyche, that is.

“I hated you.” The being rose and turned from the grave, hugging itself. “I hated you more than I could ever possibly convey with words.” The eyes closed. “I adored you. You were the only person I could ever truly count on.

“By your own design, of course,” it added, its tone suddenly reproachful. “Don’t think that I didn’t realize it, even back then. The Outcasts would say I’m the expert at manipulating people to do what I want, but I learned that all from you. Playing my love like a fiddle. Convincing me that you were the only person I’d ever need, forcing me to push everyone else away.”

It laughed, a cold, emotionless sound. “You were almost right about that. I was the only person I’d ever need. Everyone else was just a tool for me to do with as a I pleased.” It turned back to grin at the gravestone. “Even you, in the end.”

The dark figure knelt before the grave once more, gripping its sides so tightly the stone cracked beneath its fingers. As if whispering in the ear of its beloved, it continued. “Orchestrating your death was intoxicating. Despite everything I’ve accomplished in the last few months—defeating the Outcasts, outplaying my fellow Contestants, reducing the world to its very knees—I would still stay that you were my finest work. My only regret is that I didn’t yet have my ability to read minds. If only I could’ve experienced your terror, your pain. I dream about it, sometimes. What it must’ve felt like.”

With a heavy sigh, the figure rose to its feet, running its hand through its fiery hair. Its glowing eyes flicked over to the town of Devenport. There were people standing on the edge of the graveyard, staring at the strange, seemingly godlike being that had descended upon their quaint little village. Once, the figure would’ve slunk back into the shadows; a stray bullet from an overeager cop would’ve ended its reign long before it’d begun, after all. But not now. With the Enderqueen banished to the center of the Earth, Isabella Bennett dead at Delaney Greer’s hand, and the rest of the Outcasts mourning their lost teammates, there was no one left with the power to oppose him. There was nothing left for him to fear.

“I wanted to see you, talk to you one last time before I finally showed the world what I was capable of,” he whispered to gravestone. “I like to think that you can hear me. That you can see what I’ve done, and that you know what I’m about to do. I hope you can see the monster you created. I hope you toss and turn in your grave with every life I take and future I ruin. I hope you know that everything I am, everything I’ve done, it’s all because of you.

“And most of all, I hope you realize that I don’t need you anymore.”

The being rose into the air, floating above the startled townsfolk on his way to the center of Devenport. People of all ages flooded the once quiet streets. Some screamed at the sight of him, others drew their phones from their bags to record him, others still thought him an elaborate prank. He thought nothing of their feeble opinions.

“I am fate’s Weaver,” he announced, multiple voices booming through the frigid air. “I decide who lives. I decide who dies.”

Some of the townsfolk realized what was about to happen. They snatched their children to their bosoms and turned to flee, only to find their feet flash-frozen in place. Excitement turned to terror as the dark figure raised a hand and an orb of light formed at his fingertips. It burned brighter until finally the shell of gravitational force holding it together could withstand the pressure no more and burst.

White flame exploded from the sphere, incinerating buildings and people alike. A cone of white light reached into the sky, illuminating the destruction such that it was visible even from space. As the light faded, a mushroom cloud replaced it, curling over the remnants of town. Through the fire and smoke, Weaver floated forward, expressionless, untouched by the devastation around him. If anything, he appeared to be almost disappointed.

It was only then that he noticed that one of the stars of his constellation now burned blue.

Fear returned to the dark being in a rush, followed by a forgotten fury. “You should be dead, Isabella Bennett. Your powers are mine! Mine! You will not deny me my rise, Outcast. You will not stand in my way! If Greer couldn’t be bothered to kill you properly, I’ll just have to do it myself! And I know just where to start looking for you.”

Weaver flew off towards the horizon, leaving the ruined village behind him. But as the dust settled on what was left of the town of Devenport and its little cemetery, a single gravestone rose from the sea of ash to welcome a new dawn.