The Kiss of the Void

Silas stared up at the horror. He saw the mandibles dripping with ichor. He saw the void where Alistair’s face used to be.

The Cult Leader was laughing. "Feed! Feed on the Tether!"

Silas realized the truth. Alistair had lost control. The hunger had taken over. If Silas ran, he would be chased. If he fought, he would be crushed.

He remembered Alistair’s words. *I love you with a violence that scares me.*

Silas reached into his pocket. His fingers brushed the quill he had inadvertently kept from the Archives.

He stabbed the cultist holding his right arm. The man shrieked and let go.

Silas rolled off the altar.

He didn't run toward the exit. He ran toward the monster.

"Alistair!" Silas shouted.

The monster roared, swinging a massive limb at him. Silas ducked, feeling the wind of the blow ruffle his hair.

He scrambled up the pile of rocks Alistair was standing on. He grabbed the shifting, oily substance of Alistair’s chest. It was freezing cold.

"Look at me!" Silas commanded.

A massive yellow eye opened in the center of the mass. It focused on Silas. It dilated.

* HUNGRY.* The word echoed in Silas’s mind.

"I know," Silas whispered. "I know you're hungry."

He reached up. He grabbed the place where the human face should have been. The shadows parted slightly, revealing the remnants of Alistair’s features—eyes wide with panic, mouth open in a silent scream.

Silas pulled him down.

And he kissed him.

It wasn't a fairytale kiss. It was a collision. It tasted of salt, and copper, and the absolute zero of deep space. It froze Silas’s lips. It sent a shockwave of cold through his veins that nearly stopped his heart.

But he didn't pull away. He pressed closer. He poured every ounce of his own affection, his own loneliness, his own desperate need to be seen, into the monster.

* I am here,* Silas thought loudly. *I am yours. You don't have to eat me to keep me.*

The monster froze.

The chaotic writhing stopped. The tentacles stiffened.

The taste of Silas—not his blood, but his *consent*, his *love*—hit Alistair’s core like a lightning bolt. It was a stronger tether than any ritual.

The shadows began to recede. The mass condensed. The extra eyes closed.

Alistair fell forward, collapsing into his human form, naked and covered in black ichor. He landed in Silas’s arms, heavy and trembling.

They fell together onto the damp stone floor.

Alistair gasped, air rushing into his lungs. He looked up at Silas. His eyes were still entirely black, filled with stars.

"Silas," he choked out. "You... you tasted like..."

"Peace?" Silas suggested, wiping ichor from his lip.

Alistair let out a sob and buried his face in Silas’s neck. "You foolish, beautiful thing."

The Cult Leader stood over them, enraged. "No! He must consume! The ritual is incomplete!"

Alistair looked up. He didn't let go of Silas. He simply raised a hand.

The shadows behind the Cult Leader rose up. They weren't wild anymore. They were precise.

"I have consumed what I needed," Alistair said, his voice echoing with the power of a God. "I am full. But the Void... the Void is still hungry."

He clenched his fist.

The shadows snapped shut on the Cult Leader. She vanished without a sound.

The other cultists screamed and ran, but the cave floor turned to liquid. They sank, pulled down into the depths of the earth.

Within seconds, the cave was silent.

Alistair stood up, pulling Silas with him. He wrapped his coat—miraculously intact—around Silas’s shivering shoulders.

"Let's go home," Alistair said.