Work Text:
Day 19 -- "Spooky Ghost" by Lighthouse_Raiders
song; "Scared of The Dark" by Steps
What you can't see can't hurt you they say
But I've been blind too many times before
Never see it coming your way
Shadows and secrets hide
Honestly, if you had asked Morgan five years ago if he'd ever thought that he'd be the leader to a—honestly rather successful—cult, the young man would have laughed in your face.
A cult? He would have asked. Why on earth would I want to have one of those, when all I need is here with my family? What a strange question. Next reporter, please.
It was funny how a little time and a few small acts could change everything.
But now, here Morgan was; slowly stepping through the throng of disciples as they fell into a reverent quiet upon the breaking of his voice in the air. The instrumentals hum quietly in the temple, giving him an audible lifeline to follow. The people part before him, giving him just enough room to move as their hands brush over the robes he'd so carefully designed for this exact moment. The words of his song come easily. They're not his own lyrics, no, but they don't need to be. They only need to fit the ritual. And oh boy, did they ever fit exactly what he needed.
He had been blind, before he'd left home.
Blind to the truth of things around him. Blind to his parents manipulations. Blind to his brother's own desperation that would outweigh his loyalty to Morgan. Blind to even himself; to the things he felt, and the things he wanted in this life.
Many of his disciples were much the same. All of them, coming to him once the veils had been ripped from their eyes. Needing a place of safety, of sanctuary.
Needing a place of truth.
A place where nobody would lie to them again.
And that was what Morgan gave them.
Give me the bright lights of the dance floor
To shine inside this broken heart of mine
The way you move I'm forgetting all the ghosts in my mind
Just say your mine and stay by my side
One of the children reach out to him; leaning in close enough that Morgan's hand brushes across their hair. It's the child of one of his newer disciples. Only just old enough to start being allowed in the church. They'd worked hard to earn the privilege of coming to the ritual, Morgan remembers. He smiles down at them, adjusting to cup their face gently as he walks by.
They're a good kid.
And unlike his parents had with him, Morgan doesn't take his responsibility of caring for them lightly.
Morgan bares himself to all of his disciples. He didn't pretend that he was anything other than flawed; than human. He had been broken and bruised and battered when he'd bought the land the compound would come to be on. Heart bleeding from the thousand pieces it had been shattered into by the ones he'd held the closest his whole life. Everyone who chose to stay was told the story. The story of how he—and consequently, the group as a whole—had come to be. He had been hurt, and so pitifully alone before the first had decided to stay.
Morgan's following was as much his home as he and the compound was theirs. They completed him. Connected him to this plane of existence in a way that his own blood had never been able to. Their love, and loyalty, and admiration filled all of the cracks that had been carved in him, and allowed him to be the leader they so desperately craved to guide them. He was eternally grateful to each and every one of them.
And he told all of them as such.
These were his people now.
Not his to own; but his to care for.
His to look after. To cherish. To defend and protect. They were the reason he had worked so hard to make this ritual perfect. The reason he'd spent the last year studying the lines he's had drawn on the floor beneath all of their feet.
With his disciples, he forgot who he had been before them. All of the fear, and pain, and confusion gone in the face of their devotion. He became himself. He became Morgan; leader of the Daybreak cult, shepherd that was tasked with bringing them the truth and peace that they begged for. It was a strange sort of family. But it was his.
It was entirely his, and each touch of their hands on him was a promise of their steadfastness.
They were all inextricably tied in a tangle of branches and roots and flowers that was this family tree—woven together by fate and the choice to stay.
Don't say you're leaving
Don't turn out the lights
The child's face slowly falls away from his touch as Morgan moves deeper into the crowd. As he moves towards the center of the church, where the dais holding the sacrificial alter stands.
He looks across his disciples' faces as he moves. Each of them holding a warmth that Morgan had come to cherish. Smiles, and varying levels of excitement are what greet him. The dimples of Anna, who had somehow gotten absolutely covered in paint when it was her turn to add to the summoning circle. The kind eyes of Robert, who in his old age shared all of his knowledge with the children in the schoolhouse. The strength of Nadia, that newcomers often mistook for sternness, but Morgan saw how it was meant to be encouragement. The reaching hands of Willow, whose long fingers had come so far from trembling in fear of any movement too big or too quick.
He knew all of them intimately, just as they knew him.
He knew what every one of them was hunting for; what each of them desired more than anything. That was the point of this ritual—to bring to life their dreams, and to give Morgan the strength to keep them all alive.
He smiles back at them, and he can feel the buzz in the air begin to take shape as he lifts a hand, signaling them to bring out the lights.
I scream, I scream, I scream
Each disciple lifts up a candle—another one of Morgan's carefully engineered creations. A flame resistant to wind, so that they could stay lit throughout the entire ritual. Each one a different color, tailored exactly to the personality of its designated holder. It'd taken a lot of chemical knowledge. And even more time to adjust each combination to create the exact colors he wanted.
All around him, the flames spark to life.
Morgan's heart soars at the surrounding colors. His followers can surely see it on his face, as the energy in the room jumps up another notch. It's as if each of their hearts have been pulled from their chests for him; dancing in the form of flames flickering at a hundred different wavelengths of light.
He holds his hands out, beckoning to them. Faces lit by candlelight shine back at him.
Don't let the the darkness come and hold me
I need someone 'cause I can't be lonely tonight
Come on baby, come and take me in your arms
I'll never be scared of the dark
All at once, their voices join Morgan's; matching the notes of the song's chorus seamlessly.
He'd long prepped them for this moment. At least in the literal sense, teaching them the lyrics had been the easiest part of the ritual to prepare. The song was catchy, and he really only needed them to know the chorus by heart. The more important part that Morgan had done his best to imprint on them was the feeling that each one of them was supposed to put into the words. The song was just as much a sacrifice as it was a summoning call. Not only did they have to sing the lyrics, they had to mean it; their genuity is what would give the ritual its power.
As Morgan sings alongside his disciples, the truth in the words bloom bright in his chest. Despite the fact that there aren't any other lights besides the candles, the space feels intimate rather than haunting. Close. Like an embrace.
In this moment, Morgan can't be afraid of the shadows dancing and licking at the edges of the flames surrounding him. The darkness means nothing when faced with those who he'd come to love truly as his own.
And when the shadows creep up on me
If I shiver, keep your body close to mine
Come on baby, come and take me in your arms
I'll never be scared of the dark
The words crack open yet another wave of memory in Morgan as they all sing together.
He remembers every arrival here—hundreds of hollow, searching eyes that had looked to him for sanctuary. Some with guidance that had pointed them his way. Some without even knowing at all. Most with an idea, and only finding him by a miraculous stroke of luck. He remembers thundering rain, and gentle spring breezes, and freezing snow that blanketed the ground in suffocating silence.
He sees his own arrival.
Unassuming. Innocuous. The sheer importance of it completely buried beneath the weight of Morgan's heartbreak and the crawling warmth of a late spring sun. The emptiness of the land that had stood before him; with its sprawling field of only half-alive grass and single ramshackle house just a touch far back from the road. The keys burning in his hand even though the metal was still cold. The canvas of his favorite travel bag scratching at his back, with the rest of his belongings in the bed of the truck he'd managed to buy secondhand off of an old farmer he'd met while he'd been wandering around trying to find whatever was calling out to him.
Oh, how unknowing he'd been to what laid in store.
He can still taste the first breath he'd taken when he'd stepped over the property line. The flavor dances across his tongue like a mischievous spirit. As if his origin itself had been brought to life through the words of the song.
The ritual is working, Morgan realizes.
He can feel it; humming through the air in harmony to their voices.
The realization has Morgan grinning, and the disciples must see the knowledge in his face, because they react immediately to it. Matching grins spark to life around him. Much like the candles they'd lit, their joy lights up the space. The energy in the room jumps even higher, flourishing Morgan's movements as he leads into the next verse.
I'm the kind who's always falling
Into trouble and into paradise
I don't love by half, I'm all in, I wanna be yours
Just say you're mine and stay by my side
The excitement makes Morgan more fluid—flowing from disciple to disciple, almost dancing as he spreads his affection and pride across the crowd of them.
Once again, the song bares Morgan's heart to his followers.
Even back before he had arrived here—before he'd come across the truth of his bloodline—Morgan had always seemed to end up in places he never had any intention of even entering. Falling, in a way, into the arms of chaos and change without trying. Back there, his intensity had always been his greatest flaw; he cared too much, he felt too strongly, he reacted so fiercely that it constantly broke his surroundings into pieces before his eyes. Most of the time he had also managed to stumble onto the solutions. Somehow accidentally finding the exact tools he needed to mend his life by pure coincidence.
Here, surrounded by the people that had become his, that flaw became the exact reason that Morgan was able to succeed. The way he gave his all—even to the smallest of things—became his greatest strength.
Became the motivation that he would need to do this for his people.
Became the will to find the answers they sought.
Became the power to make those answers come to life.
And Morgan allowed himself to be absorbed by it. To envelop himself in both the magic surrounding him, and the feeling of belonging and hope spreading through him like wildfire. There was no going back, and Morgan didn't want to go back.
He was here.
Right where he belonged.
There was nowhere else for him to go. Nowhere else that he wanted to go. He had built this family from literal nothingness, and he was going to see it through to the end. Even if it killed him, trying to give them this, Morgan would offer all of himself. No half, no hidden parts of himself, no unknown shard of doubt would be kept from their eyes.
They would have him all.
They would have him all, and if he even got a fraction of their completeness in return, Morgan would consider himself more than fulfilled. Even if they simply kept their oaths to remain.
Don't say you're leaving
Don't turn out the lights
I scream, I scream, I scream
The delight rising within him is infectious; the others are starting to sway with Morgan as he sings. Small movements, at first. Nodding along to the rhythm. Looking at each other and smiling as they shift from foot to foot to the beat. The younger ones do a sort of half-bounce reminiscent of childhood as they get into it. The sight only encourages Morgan further, reaching out and spinning one of the older children in a gentle twirl that sends them giggling back into the throng.
Don't let the the darkness come and hold me
I need someone 'cause I can't be lonely tonight
Come on baby, come and take me in your arms
I'll never be scared of the dark
And when the shadows creep up on me
If I shiver keep your body close to mine
Come on baby, come and take me in your arms
I'll never be scared of the dark
After that, the threads of seriousness that'd been tying them all to formality seem to snap.
The children are the first to break them—flooding around Morgan and each trying to take his hands in their rush to dance with him. He does his best to indulge all of them. Twirling some like he had the first, throwing his arms up with others, even sharing the microphone with one or two of the more eager teens.
The adults melt with the sight, the crowd quickly moving in to surround him and joining in on the fun. Every voice is singing, now, and Morgan feels almost overwhelmed as they close in. Candles change hands, being shared among the disciples as bodies shift and move. But they never go out. If anything, Morgan swears that the flames dance taller as the song builds.
The energy of the room floods through him like electricity.
Never be scared of the dark
Never be scared of the dark
Morgan lets himself loose.
Grinning wider than he thought possible, Morgan dances with his chosen family, singing at the top of his lungs as the words of the song echo in the temple with the force of their combined breaths.
Even the elders are moving with him now. Its almost as if Morgan has stopped being himself; as if he's finally become one with his flock as they sway and dance and sing together. He's not just him anymore, he's them. He's all of them—together—even the ones who aren't standing with him on the painted floor. Every last soul that had come into his care, all living inside his ribcage, a rhythm beating in time with his own heart.
Even in the physical sense, he feels outside of himself. He's lost track of how many hands had come to brush across him, or sought out to hold onto him in their passing by. His skin is alive with their touch. each one adds another jolt to his system, pushing him higher and higher as they share the will he knows is powering the ritual.
It's maddening, and Morgan revels in it.
Come on baby, come and take me in your arms
I'll never be scared of the dark
The song continues, and Morgan sings, and the disciples keep touching him, and he feels like the feeling around him might make him explode like a dying star as it builds.
And then, suddenly, all at once—just as Morgan thinks the spell might really be too much for him to direct—light bursts from the floor beneath them.
It's the patterns; the symbols he'd spent so long researching and designing, glowing with an ethereal light. It starts from underneath Morgan's feet, spreading outward. The glow is pure gold. Morgan's heart hammers in his chest.
The children cheer, and it takes all of Morgan's control to keep singing.
He wants to join them. Wants to shout in ecstasy because it worked! The ritual is working just as the books said it would, and Morgan has a chance to bring his people everything they've ever wished for!
The adults are quick to wordlessly urge the children back into singing. They'll need every voice to keep the summoning circle open. Their voices rejoin the rest, and Morgan feels that same electricity spike through him again.
In your arms, in your arms, in your arms
As the children rejoin the crowd, it parts to let him through.
Now, in front of him, the path to the dais is clear. He steps towards it, and the golden light spreads with him, lighting the way towards the altar.
It's a dazzling sight to see.
The dancing has stopped now, as the disciples watch him move, and watch the golden runes take over the floor and light the temple. But, somehow, the energy in the room has only grown. Everyone is still singing, and the words sound more like the traditional, guttural chants that others had used to try and summon the powers beyond. Morgan supposes that this part of the song was the most similar to it. Structurally speaking, at least. Short phrases. Simple words. Repeated over and over.
In your arms, in your arms, in your arms, in your arms
Morgan climbs the steps to the alter.
The golden light precedes him; crawling up the sides of the altar until it's glowing with the pulsing golden light, calling out to Morgan with an irresistible pull. A siren song, without it's own words, but living in the words coming from him. As if his voice were already laid claim to by the entity.
He circles the alter, fingers reaching out and trailing along the edge of it reverently. Joseph—recently graduated from college, and disillusioned to the promises that society had sworn said degree would bring him—has spent hundreds of hours carving it. Perfecting every last detail until it was exactly as it needed to be. Had even gone through the effort of hunting down the perfect wood and harvesting it himself. Had refused to accept even Morgan's help, outside of taking instruction on what the cult leader needed the alter to look like. So intent on proving his place here. And it did end up perfect. Exactly as Morgan had envisioned it to be. It looked even more perfect, now, with the golden lines completing it.
As Morgan reaches his place at the alter, his disciples' faces come back into view. Lit by both candles and now shimmering runes, smiling up at him as they kept their harmony going. His chest fills with even more pride of them. More warmth, so scalding hot that he can feel the flush of it coloring him.
These are his people, and they've helped him come so far. Helped carry him to the edge that he's standing on right now.
They give him the bravery to do what he needs to do.
The microphone had been taken from his hand at some point in his walk to the alter. At what point that was, Morgan can't remember. It's unimportant compared to the call of the magic within him. All of the little details of his humanity feel so far away now.
He curls his fingers over the knife waiting for him. Clean, painstakingly forged by Hannah and bejeweled by Nyx, and placed dead center in a circle of glowing shapes.
Most importantly; wickedly sharp.
Deceptively so, even.
The handle feels good in his palm. The blade even nicer, as the point of it digs into his skin as he positions it.
He glances over the disciples one last time, smiling reassuringly at them to wash away any of the residual hesitance they held over his well-being. What reflects back at him is everything he's feeling inside of himself; joy, and excitement, and pride and hope.
The endorphins from it all dull the pain to almost nothing as Morgan slashes the blade down.
To their credit, the disciples don't even flinch. Continue singing as Morgan raises his arm to show them the wound blooming rapidly with fresh blood. It's a decently sized wound; stretching from about the halfway point of his forearm all the way down into his palm. It's a clean edge, which meant that the blade had done it's job properly. Morgan's smile feels almost manic, now, and something new rises within him that he's never felt before.
A hunger.
The bright red of his blood against the raw umber of his skin ignites a desire in Morgan previously unknown to him. Makes him want to lick at and sink his teeth into his own flesh just to have his fill of it.
Distantly, Morgan recognizes that this hunger isn't his own.
But presently, Morgan feels nothing but the overcoming wave of feeling and magic, and turns his gaze down to the alter.
Towards the circle that had enclosed the knife, waiting for his hand upon it.
I'll never be scared of the dark!
Morgan slams his hand down onto the surface of the alter, blood pooling rapidly around his hand as he makes contact.
And immediately, in a split second that Morgan's brain can't even conceptualize enough to count, light erupts from the alter and surrounds Morgan in a blinding storm of gold.
Don't let the the darkness come and hold me
I need someone 'cause I can't be lonely tonight
The temple around him is gone; the disciples, the music, the building itself, all reduced to nothing as Morgan is overtaken by pure light. Golden, furious in its intensity, and filled with such an innate sense of power that Morgan feels like nothing more than a single atom standing before the very explosion that created the universe.
If Morgan had believed in God, he's sure that this feeling itself would be enough to secure his belief.
As it is, Morgan is more sure than ever that this is the entity he'd been tracking down.
A myth of untamable power; one able to weave and change reality itself, however it wished.
Alexander, the S-tier.
A being so powerful that history had been able to even come up with a name for what it was. No scientific classification, no concrete definition, not even a comparable creature in all of mythology to try and explain what it was. It defied all laws of physics, space, and time.
It was exactly what Morgan needed.
Tendrils of golden light start curling around Morgan's bloodied arm. He's helpless to do anything but watch as they encircle the limb and raise it once more. For a moment he worries that the loss of contact with the alter will end the summoning, but the light around him doesn't fade. Rather, a shape starts to form—not quite into a recognizable shape, but Morgan catches glimpses of features fading in and out of existence. Morgan can almost interpret it as a head and shoulders, floating ever closer and radiating light so bright Morgan's eyes water.
The entity stops just short of Morgan's arm, seeing to inspect it.
The it moves closer and touches him.
And god—oh sweet mother of mercy—the contact burns!
Morgan can't help the scream he lets out as his blood literally sizzles against the embodied light. It burns, but at the same time, it's like Morgan can feel the satisfaction that the creature gets from lapping at his blood. Like the hunger from earlier. Only now it's mixed with a sense of delectation; warring against his human mind as his connection to the entity strengthens with each drop of blood that gets absorbed into it.
You think you are strong enough to contain me?
The words come—unspoken by physical means—into his mind.
And for a second, Morgan isn't sure.
Is he? He's so overwhelmed already. So overtaken, powerless to do anything but stand here at the entity's mercy as it drinks from him.
It's already so much.
But then the light around him pulses, and the sound of the others breaks through into his hearing for a moment. There, and gone again, but it's enough.
Morgan doesn't have a choice. He has to be strong enough. He can't fail his people now. Not now, when he's literally in the hands of the fate he'd been fighting to find for years.
He will be strong enough.
"Yes." Morgan chokes out, somehow managing to find his voice through all of the pain.
Come on baby, come and take me in your arms
I'll never be scared of the dark
The entity regards him.
Do you even know who I am?
Morgan shivers, something about the question setting his nerves alight. The entity seems to enjoy it, wrapping tighter around Morgan's arm and forcing more blood to evaporate as it leaves Morgan's veins and flows over the entity's scalding surface.
Morgan does his best to tilt his chin up. To look directly into the glowing spot he'd decided to imagine as the entity's face. "You are Alexander" he states.
Suddenly there are eyes.
They aren't really eyes, but they feel like eyes, and they're surrounding Morgan and they look full of anger. He's lifted even higher, danging in the entity's hold by his injured arm.
That is NOT my name. I despise it, and you will never refer to me as such again.
The tendrils already holding him burn indescribably hotter, and Morgan cries out again as he's taken by the pain of it. He can't breathe, it hurts so much.
Still, somehow, he opens his eyes against the sensation. "That's what the books say to call you." he gasps.
The "eyes" directly in front of him narrow.
Your books are wrong.
The books also said to be afraid, Morgan thinks to himself. But…if they were wrong about something as important as the entity's name, maybe they were wrong in this sense too? Maybe Morgan needed to prove his strength in this way? By not backing down in the face of the entity's challenge? If the entity wanted to kill him, it would have already. It clearly had the advantage here. If the entity were dependent on Morgan cowering before it, surely it would have wiped him from existence for calling it the wrong name at all.
So, Morgan endeavors to be brave.
He swallows, trying to get his throat to work past the heat of the entity emanating into his face.
"That's not my fault." he protests. "You could—You could just tell me what to call you. Because clearly nobody's lived long enough to correct the record."
The entity pauses. Regards him again. Several of the eyes fade back into golden tendrils, and the heat from the entity's grip lessens. More tendrils come to curl around Morgan's legs, holding him up in the air as the shape of the entity shifts. Almost like it's surprised, or confused about Morgan's response.
You…You will refer to me as Alex. Not Alexander. Just Alex. comes the eventual response.
Morgan nods, his heart thundering in his chest despite his defiant demeanor.
"Alex." Morgan agrees.
The tendrils curl around Morgan further, now reaching up to his thighs as he's held suspended in space. The entity's "head" leans in closer.
And what shall I call you, ignorant little human?
Morgan blinks up at it for a moment. The thought of the entity wanting to know his name had never even crossed his mind. It's strangely…normal, considering the situation.
"My name is Morgan." he answers. "Morgan Sterling."
The entity seems to perk up at his name, glowing even brighter and the shape of it expanding outward.
Sterling? Oh, I remember your bloodline. Absolutely delectable for devouring. It has been many millennia since I tangled with one of you. You Sterlings tend to be rather…heroic, in your need to kill me.
That hunger spikes through Morgan once more, and the tendrils around his injured arm lap at the edge of his wound like searching vines. It has his breath stuttering in his chest for a moment.
"Well," Morgan rasps. "This time, I'm asking for your help."
The entity makes a sort of noise that Morgan can only take as the cosmic version of a hum; several pitches at once, and strong enough to have his bones vibrating.
What are you willing to do for it?
There was the question that Morgan was expecting.
Morgan grins. Though, he imagines that it might look like more of a grimace at this point.
"Anything." he says surely. Because he would. He would do anything for his people.
The entity hovers even closer.
Anything?
A breathless sort of laugh escapes Morgan's lungs.
"What, you gonna ask me for a kiss or something?" Morgan asks.
Oh, he needs to shut the fuck up. The blood loss must be getting to him if he's cracking such casual jokes to the literal entity of unlimited power.
The tendrils tighten around him again, and the entity towers over him.
A measly human kiss for reality-altering power? No, that would be a flagrantly moronic trade. Pathetic.
Morgan has to tilt his head back to keep his gaze on his chosen section of the entity. It exposes his throat to Alex, and Morgan can't help but notice more tendrils ghosting over the open flesh.
"I don't know…" Morgan says. "I've been told my kisses are pretty good."
You are incredibly egotistical if you think that will be enough to persuade me.
"Well if you don't want one, you can just say so."
The entity almost bristles. It reminds Morgan of a cat, and the thought makes him a little delirious.
Oh man, he must really be in bad shape at this point. Maybe even going mad from the exposure to such cosmic power. It must have been at least a minute, by now. Maybe longer. There's no telling how long has passed back in his world, though.
I did not—You are being—I could kill you right now. It would be so easy.
Morgan hums. "You could. But you haven't."
Is he seriously arguing with the entity over a technicality? More of the tendrils overtake Morgan, and he supposes that he is indeed arguing with this creature over a technicality.
You are irritating.
"I'm still offering myself up on a silver platter, though."
The entity makes that same sort of hum-noise again. Yes…I suppose you are. Is this your offer? Yourself, in exchange for the power I lend you?
Morgan nods.
"All of me. Forever and always."
The entity pulls Morgan in, this time, instead of moving closer itself.
Humans cannot truly conceptualize the concept of forever.
At this point, Morgan is covered in golden trails of light. He can feel them, trailing over his torso and closing in on the last bits of his body that they haven't reached yet. He'll be consumed entirely, soon.
"Well, that's just another point in your favor, then, isn't it?" Morgan prods. The entity is close enough that Morgan is going a little cross-eyes trying to keep his gaze on the spot he'd picked earlier. Not to mention his eyes feel like he's been flash-banged.
You, Morgan Sterling, swear to be mine, for all of eternity?
"I promise."
The hunger washes over Morgan again as the words fall from his lips. The entity seems to swell, and something snaps loudly into place in Morgan's chest. Morgan's jaw drops open, a soundless cry ripped from him at the sensation.
A deal has been struck, then.
And when the shadows creep up on me
If I shiver keep your body close to mine
At last, Morgan is overcome.
The entity dives forward, disappearing into Morgan's body, and Morgan screams as he feels like he's being burned from the inside out. His arm, especially, burns white-hot; the wound still bleeding despite the fact that Morgan thinks the heat from Alex's magic should have definitely cauterized it by now.
His insides are twisting, and moving—making room for Alex, shoved deep into every crevice that Morgan's human body has to offer for its shelter. The pain is unlike anything Morgan has ever experienced, and all he can do is scream and writhe as Alex does as it wishes with him. Morgan doesn't even know how to understand what he's feeling as entity and human are bound together. His body is hot—hot, hot, hot, too hot he's going to die—and his nerves are alight in a way no drug had ever been able to achieve.
It's too much.
It's too much pain, too much sensation, too much everything.
Morgan's eyes roll back in his head, and he feels himself finally collapse.
Come on baby, come and take me in your arms
Rather than hitting more scalding, blinding light, when he falls Morgan instead hits something hard. And cold. Blessedly, humanely cold. He can't tell where he is yet, but it doesn't matter because it's not hot anymore. his breath is dragging in and out of his lungs in ragged breaths, and his eyes are still dancing with so many golden spots that he can't see. Can't even tell if his eyes are open at all, actually.
Morgan can feel hands on his body. Human hands, rather than disembodied mimicry of them.
His hearing comes back to him after that. Slowly, and ringing, but steady.
"—gan? Morgan, are you alright? Answer me, Morgan!"
"Ohio, d-d-don't freak out. Let-Let him b-b-b-breathe, or he's going to-to suffocate b-because you are holding him too t-t-t-tightly."
Ah. It's Ohio and Barnaby. Their resident doctor and foraging expert, respectively. As good as Ohio was for emergencies out in the woods, he really was shit in clinical settings.
"You saw how he collapsed, Barnaby! What if something went wrong?"
"If-If something had g-g-gone wrong, he would b-be d-d-dead, Ohio."
As amusing as it was to hear the two bicker, and as nice as Ohio's arms felt around Morgan, the man knew that it was going to be better the sooner he could reassure the others that he was alright. His right eye stung like a bitch, and he was rather sore all over, but other than that he was already feeling somewhat normal. He might need a few days rest, but Morgan was more than sure he'd survived the encounter with Alex well enough.
"…'m right…" Morgan manages to croak out.
Oh, that was not a nice feeling. He was probably going to be walking around with his voice completely gone for a little while. He'd have to have Barnaby check to make sure his vocal chords hadn't torn with all the screaming he'd done.
"Morgan." comes Ohio's relieved response.
At this point, Morgan can hear the hushed chattering of the rest of the disciples; nervous, and fast, and entirely unsettled. Which, honestly, Morgan should have expected.
Morgan just answers with another low noise, doing his best to push himself up to sitting. Ohio gets the memo quickly enough, thick arm pushing on Morgan's back to help him easily. Another, calmer pair of hands is touching him now. Morgan assumes it to be Barnaby, by the way the touch is focused around his left forearm. The arm he'd sliced at the alter.
"D-Does anything hurt too-too badly, M-M-M-Morgan?"
Morgan shakes his head, even though the movement makes him grimace a bit. Definitely a migraine. He doesn't think it's a concussion, but he's not the expert here. That was what Barnaby was for.
"Can you open your eyes? Barnaby needs to make sure you didn't take too much head trauma." Ohio prompts.
Ah, so the spots are on the back of his eyelids. Good to know that Alex hadn't actually blinded him.
Morgan doesn't know exactly how long it takes, but he does eventually manage to open his eyes and blink away the little gold specks dancing across his vision.
The temple looks dark; so devoid of brightness, compared to wherever Alex had pulled him into to make their deal. Though, Morgan supposed that made sense, considering that Alex seemed to be made entirely of light itself. As he glances around the temple, he's met with gasps.
"…what?" Morgan croaks, brows furrowing as he tries to figure out what's upset the disciples. He looks to Barnaby—still sitting in front of him, Morgan's forearm in his grasp—for an answer.
Barnaby is looking at him, that carefully neutral expression on their face that they got whenever they had to deliver difficult news to one of their patients. "M-Morgan, it's…it's your eye…"
Morgan reaches up to his own face. His eye feels fine. It doesn't feel like he's missing a chunk out of it, or that there's any damage to that spot on his face. And he can see out of it. It still stings, but even that's going away as Morgan's eyes adjust back to normal human levels of light. There's quick, quiet steps to the side of him, pulling Morgan's attention to whoever is approaching him.
When he turns to look, it's Max; one of the younger teens. They're not the youngest here today, but not older than that by much. They're holding a mirror in their hand.
Morgan smiles at them. He doesn't want anyone to worry. He's not in any real pain, so surely whatever they're seeing can't be that bad, can it? Max relaxes at the warm expression, moving to settle on their knees beside Morgan.
"Your eye is different…" Max says shyly. They mess with the mirror in their hand, and Morgan motions them to lift it.
What greets Morgan is surprising.
His right eye—the one that was still humming with a bit of discomfort—was gold. Gold, with a thin slitted pupil and almost glowing in the dimness of the temple.
Morgan recognizes that gold.
He brings his hand back up to his face; gently tracing the skin around his altered eye. He turns his head side to side, and his eye follows just like it normally would. Morgan smiles.
"Hello, Alex." the cult leader whispers.
Hello, Morgan.
I'll never be scared of the dark