Crimson drops welled up out of the pink flesh. Sharp pangs of pain lunged up through Owen’s fingers through his arm as he pressed the bloodied fingertips onto the dusty metal quickly tracing the ancient Enochian ward onto the door.
“In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.” Owen began the incantation slowly, reverently as he formed the sign of the cross over the door. He could already hear the gang of spirits thrumming against the bulkhead door. Based on the reaction from the horde of former crew and past victims, it had been too many years since a live body of any species wandered the halls of the ‘Lustful Storm.’
The cargo hauler was drifting in space. No running lights. No answer to hails. It was a clean salvage. Owen should have known it was a bad sign. When Owen got to the engine room and saw that the Soul-Drive was still not only functional but also running to nearly 100% efficiency, the poltergeists still aboard the cargo hauler began their attack.
Owen ran the length of the ship in what seemed like seconds. The violence followed him. Ancient moldering mattresses and uniforms full of fungus were thrown from the crew quarters into the passageway. Bits of decayed flesh and bone permeated the thin air. Skin flakes hung suspended in the mix as if it were just one frame in a video.
Now, in a storage chamber near the umbilical from his own ship, Owen found himself turned around. He checked the map on the cipher-compass strapped to his wrist and rolled his eyes at the result.
“Perfect.” He was on the starboard side of the ‘Lustful Storm.’ His transport was on the port. A legion of ghosts bent on converting him into fuel was between him and escape. Owen looked at the bulkhead door and frowned.
“Confiteor Deo omnipotenti, beatae Mariae semper Virgini, beato Michaeli Archangelo, beato Joanni Baptistae, sanctis Apostolis Petro et Paulo, omnibus Sanctis, et tibi, pater. Quia peccavi nimis cogitatione verbo, et opera,” Owen began the chant, summoning the ancient and powerful magicks that was taught to him before he left the Great Church. Owen could already feel it manifesting through him.
Glowing tendrils began to drift out from Owen, extending through his environmental suit. The light began to glow orange, reflecting the hue of the protective suit that he wore. The poltergeists banged on the door in more force. A small dent appeared on the door.
“Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.” Owen beat on his chest three times as he blamed himself for his past sins. He continued on beseeching the Holy Hierarchy, Mary, ever the Virgin, Michael, warrior of Angels, John the Baptist, Peter, Paul and whatever Apostles and Saints had the grace to hear his prayers.
More violent rage came from the other side of the bulkhead as the ghosts reacted to Owen’s words. The wheel in the middle of the door began to budge. One of the poltergeists seemed to remember how to operate the simple machinery instead of assaulting it through blind rage.
“Inclina, Domine, aurem tuam ad preces nostras, quibus misericordiam tuam supplices deprecamur. Ut animam famuli tu,” Owen halted slightly. The blessing was to call the names of the souls affected and trapped here. The Lord’s Blessing was strong enough, but Owen struggled. The prayer required a name.
“Tempest Cupido,” Owen translated the name of the ship in an attempt to address all of the souls aboard, “quam de hoc saeculo migrare jussisti; in pacis ac lucis regione constituas, et Sanctorum tuorum jubeas esse consortem. Per Dominum Nostrum Jesum Christum Filium Tuum, Qui tecum vivit et regnat in unitate Spiritus Sancti Deus. Amen.”
The tendrils of power flowing out through Owen launched in all directions, touching all of the restless and violent spirits aboard. Owen could feel their pain and anger. He could smell the fresh meat on his bones. He could almost taste the fear ebbing from his sweat.
Owen saw the slaves in the engine room of the ‘Lustful Storm’ chained to the Soul Drive that powered the ship. He saw their throats cut supplying the necromantic lubrication for the machine to push through the folds of space-time. He saw the drive push through the barriers of the membranes to forge new pocket dimensions where the now useless flesh of the slaves would be deposited as their souls were sucked into the holding chamber. He heard the screams of the damned souls that were put into a mechanical hell that provided no relief.
“In those days I heard a voice from heaven, saying to me, ‘Write, Blessed are the dead , who die for the Lord. From henceforth now,’ saith the Spirit, ‘they may rest from their labors and their works do follow them.’” Owen dropped to his knees and began to scribble on the deck with the blood flowing from his fingertips. The names of the poor souls who were used for the soul of the ship rushed into his mind. Sweat freely flowed from Owen’s forehead as the mass of names assaulted his brain from the ether.
“Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine. Et lux perpetua luceat eis.” Owen granted them peace. Another wave of energy flowed out through him and permeated the ship. The screams of the poltergeists echoed in response.
The blessing was working. Owen could feel the ghosts begin to accept the peace and grace of what should have followed their death. Their power was being reduced. Lights flickered as the Soul Drive made a noise that reverberated throughout the ship.
“Absolve, Domine, animas omnium fidelium defunctorum ab omni vinculo delictorum. Et gratia tua illis succurrente, mereantur evadere judicium ultionis. Et lucis aeternae beatitudine perfrui.”
Owen collapsed the deck as one last surge of light ran from his body. It was finally done.
“A-fuckin-men.”
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