Thirty Five

Total

   Rattling coughs have been shaking Corey's apartment for days now. Ever since the episode in his bathroom he's been unable to so much as look at his front door. With the mask now fused to his skin and what seems to be a flu he likely caught from digging in the subway station trash there's really no point in him leaving anyway. The man wanders from room to room aimlessly; his phone ringing every few hours as his boss calls again and again. He'll likely get fired, but he doesn't have enough control over his body to answer. The thing in the mask has taken control of every part of his being. The images of the goddess are all he can see in his mind's eye, and his muscles move against his will.

   Each pass in front of anything reflective gives the trapped host a glimpse of what he is becoming. His skin has become covered in stains from the ooze the mask produces. There is a burning pain inhabits every cell of Corey's form. Each and every moment of his new existence is a new hell.

   The forsaken soul has manifested jewelry of runes and symbols to adorn it's host. The metal of each piece seems to repell the liquid of the mask, staying glittery and bright no matter the acrid streams that touch them.

   Moments of sleep allow Corey no reprieve. As his body tires and rests memories that are not his own fill every one of his senses. Ancient memories of The Soul and The Goddess. It is as if within slumber is when they are closest. Some of these memories feel less like moments passed and much more like reality. The Host can feel a rage hotter than the brightest lightening thrown at his form each time the tornadic sands of The Goddess looks at the mask. It is a feeling worse than hatred - worse than even pity. It is righteous rejection. No human story of unrequited love could even begin to explain the bitter taste of being deemed unworthy by your own diety.

   A coughing fit brings Corey back into his position as an observer. He wishes he could just pick up his phone and have some medicine delivered. Even some cough drops or Gatorade would be fine. He just wants this damn cough to let up.

   "It's me." The Soul's voice wraps itself around his brain. With it's images of past hosts flow through the man's inner vision. Decaying bodies shuffling along roads and fields. Flesh sloughing and appendages falling behind. This is no simple virus.

   If he could feel anything of his own Corey would be terrified at this realization. His body hasn't just been commandeered by a heartbroken fool. His very existence has been snatched by an ancient curse. A fate unespable by The Soul, and now The Host. This form will desiccate until it can no longer be used as a vessel, leaving the mask to find a new curious man to hear it's cries.

   "There has to be a way to stop it." Corey manages to speak out.

   "I've yet to find a way to stave off the inevitable." The mask breathes, taking a few of the tokens on it's necklace between the man's fingers. "She controls it, not I."

   The Host stands in front of the dirty window of the run down unit.
   "What are you looking for?" Corey asks The Soul, hoping for something less cryptic than the other thirteen words it's spoken.

   It takes a long while for it to answer. The thoughts they share flicker from a scene in a dimly lit bedroom to what looks to be a cathedral to a simple image of the moon.

   Is this some sort of fucking cult? Corey asks himself incredulously, forgetting that the mask can hear him.

   "To hear the worship on the alter of many unknown. To taste fleeting divinity." The mask's voice swells with the first bit of joy it's shown since taking over.

   The two consciousnesses drown in a feeling of ecstasy with memories of hundreds crammed into buildings singing the praise of the goddess. A strength fills the host's psychical form, and Corey can feel his muscles flexing at near full strength.

   "There is power in the feeling of existence." The Soul speaks again, this time it is a deep growl. Not of anger, but of confidence. Both inhabitants of this body become drunk with the feeling of being. Of being seen and heard and witnessed. In this moment The Soul and The Host find solice in knowing one another understands. The need to be part of something can drive any man mad.