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It was the first night of September, and the gentle breeze brought a chill with it. The autumn air carried whispers of change, rustling the leaves and sending shivers down the spines of those who dared to stay awake. It was drizzling rain, and dark clouds threatened to cover the brightly shining moon.
It was late, and most were asleep, acknowledging that the darkness of night and the chill of the air meant that they weren't welcome outside the safety of their warm and welcoming buildings. Most of the Clergy was deep in sleep, their dreams untouched by the shadows that prowled the Ministry grounds, their dreams not haunted by nightmares of what was coming.
Copia, however, was not asleep.
With the looming uncertainty of the end of the Re-Imperatour - and what that end meant for Copia's rule as Papa Emeritus - he hadn't been sleeping much.
The weight of the legacies - and ends - of those who had come before him and the ever-watchful eye of the Clergy bore down on him like a suffocating shroud, muting any excitement he had been feeling at the success of his current tour.
The grand halls of the Ministry felt more like a constructing prison with each passing day.
He hadn't been in his room outside of when he was avoiding Sister Imperator, his mother. She was always all too happy to spout poetic and vague sayings about endings and death and new beginnings - as if she wasn't speaking of her son potentially meeting his end.
Like his brothers had.
Or, well, half-brothers, but... Copia supposed that, to them, they were no brothers at all. For Sister Imperator hadn't told him of his lineage, of his blood connection to her and Papa Nihil, until recently.
The revelation had shattered what little sense of identity Copia had and he had been unsteadily building it back up since then - to think that throughout his life he had lived in the same halls as his brothers, without knowing it.
To the Clergy, he - they were just pawns, a product of machinations far beyond their control.
Copia loved his mother, of course he did, but...
His brothers hadn't known about who he was to them, it was kept like a dark family secret that would bring disfavor and shame, until after their deaths.
Until after their... murders.
Even as her son, Copia wasn't safe from what was to come. Sister's cryptic words echoed in his mind, a constant reminder of the precariousness of his position.
Copia held three roses in his gloved hand.
The crimson petals were wet with rain, glistening like freshly spilt blood under the moonlight, a stark contrast to the dark, foreboding atmosphere of the graveyard he was stood in. Each rose was a token of his grief, a silent apology to those who had gone before him.
Each petal held countless unsaid words, conversations he wished he could have held, bonds he wished he could have formed, if only they had known.
So much had been kept from them, for reasons still unclear to Copia.
There were no bodies - no, they were prepared and already on the way to their next tour destination in Texas, but there were tombstones for empty graves.
He knelt, and placed one at the tombstone labeled 'Papa Emeritus I.'
The next at the tombstone labeled 'Papa Emeritus II.'
Finally, he knelt at the tombstone labeled 'Papa Emeritus III.'
Out of all of the Papa's, out of all of his brothers, Terzo had been the only one not granted the grace and kindness of a proper farewell, a fitting final performance - both for himself and the fans. The abruptness of his demise had left a gaping wound in the hearts of those who revered him, both for fans of the band and those within the Clergy.
And considering Terzo's love for theatrics, his love for films and entertainment, Copia knew that had hurt his brother most. The stage was Terzo's sanctuary, almost his very realm of existence, and to be denied that final bow was a cruelty that haunted Copia. And what the Clergy had done to him after his murder...
He could still feel how it felt, how Terzo's blood had made his grip slippery and how it was wrong to hold his...
He shook himself from his thoughts, and gently placed the rose upon the dirt that had long since been grown over with yellowed grass and weeds, not being taken care of or maintained since the graves had been fresh. The neglect mirrored the disregard the Clergy showed for those who served them - and Copia wondered if he would be given the same treatment, fated to be just another forgotten relic of the past.
Copia moved to the next tombstone.
This one was... empty.
There were no words engraved on the granite, no empty grave beneath the earth.
There was nothing.
This tombstone was unclaimed, as the soul it would carry the memory of hadn't died yet. As Copia traced his fingers over the smooth and empty surface, he shivered. It was a chilling reminder of the transient nature of his own existence - and how it may be nearing its end.
How long did he have before his name was etched in stone, just like his brothers?
Copia didn't have a rose for this tombstone, instead he turned, and sat on the cold ground in front of the tombstone. His breath came out in visible puffs, mingling with the mist that crept across the cemetery.
And as Copia sat there, the ground chilled as night fell and a brisk wind sweeping across his exposed skin with a biting cold, he wished, for a brief moment, that the Dark One would simply reach up and drag him down to Hell. He wished his body would be strangled by the vines and flowers that Primo had once tenderly cared for, dragging him down far below to be hidden beneath the Earth and unable to be found.
He didn't want that empty glass case Mr. Saltarian had brought out of storage to be his.
He didn't want to face the cruel fate of his brothers. He didn't want his corpse, preserved, posed, and made-up like a doll, to be paraded around like he was some poor zoo animal to be ogled at - a relic from years passed.
He didn't want to be tossed aside by the Clergy, like a toy that a child had lost interest in. The thought of being discarded, his legacy forgotten, was a fear that haunted him more than death itself.
He had done so much for the Clergy, for the Dark One, did he not deserve the chance to do more?
A part of him, a quiet and tired part, wanted to join his brothers in Hell, he wanted to be at peace and to be with the family he hadn't known in life - but at the same time, he wasn't done.
He hadn't achieved what he knew he was capable of, not yet, and he wouldn't be ready to join his brothers until he had. The fire of ambition still burned within him, a relentless drive to leave a mark that could not be erased no matter how hard the Clergy tried.
But...
Copia leaned back against the unclaimed tombstone, the cool granite icy against his neck, and sighed as he looked up to the full moon that bathed the graveyard in soft moonlight.
His time was coming, and it was coming soon. His last Ritual was on the horizon, and he knew there was nothing he could do to stop it.
The Kia Forum Arena awaited him.
He would give the final performance that the fans deserved, regardless of the fate that awaited him after the lights came up and the crowd went home. He owed them that much, and he owed it to himself to go out with a bang.
The Kia Forum Ritual had concluded.
The unclaimed tombstone in the Ministry graveyard had been claimed. The once-empty granite now bore an inscription, a name etched into eternity.
A body had been buried, a service held. The Clergy had performed their rites, their faces masks of solemnity as they laid one of their own to rest.
Papa Emeritus IV was done, and the Clergy was ready to pass the torch to Papa V. The cycle continued, unbroken, relentless in its pursuit of dominance and power.
Except...
Copia was not done.
Copia, Brother Imperator, stood in the Ministry graveyard, silently standing tall over the recently disturbed ground that held the body of his mother.
He held a small bundle of roses, which he gently knelt to place at the grave. He took a moment to brush his gloved fingers over the engraved letters carved out upon the granite, before rising to his feet once again.
Sister Imperator was gone.
The matriarch of his twisted family, the woman who had shaped their destinies with an iron will, was no more.
He turned, looking to the stained glass windows that lined the side of the Ministry. He could see a shadow standing behind them, their features obscured, but it was clear they were watching him.
Copia knew who the figure was.
Papa Emeritus IV was gone, he had given his final performance - and Brother Imperator was here, to guide Ghost to their next era. to guide the new Papa V, the next in line, who was eager and ready to take up the mantle and lead Ghost into a new era.
A new future awaited Ghost, the Clergy, and Copia - and Copia would not meet it passively. Copia would not fade into the background to be nothing more than a footnote in Papa V's story.
Just as Sister Imperator had, Brother Imperator had his... motivations, his goals.
And he would ensure they were achieved.