05-30-2014, 11:29 AM
At first there was little method in the madness that ensued. Both patient and doctor scrambled around him as he made his way through the halls of the hospital. The sounds of battle faded the deeper they went. Michael had briefly thought of assisting the assault but he did not trust himself to confront Hasan, not now.
The power raged through him like it had never done before. It was his breath, life itself. The burden of Dr. Weston seemed nothing compared to the power he drenched himself in.
Cold fury fuelled his dark stride so much so that those who passed by avoided him despite being unarmed. He did not seem to meet any resistance either. For their own sakes, it was better that way. If they were to die, better they die riddled with bullets. A grim thought, but he felt no sympathy nor remorse for those who chose the path of death.
With cool precision, Michael cast aside his emotions for the more immediate concerns. At least, that is what it felt like in the void of clarity, the voice of fear was almost muted.
Encased by a shell of calm, he slowed and entered an abandoned ward. He lifted Dr. Weston onto one of the empty beds and closed the door in silence.
When he turned back, he spoke in an even tone of abstraction, removing himself from the emotions that crashed like waves against his grasp on the power. "Can you assess your condition? I can't heal you."
A curse as bitter as a Funnel-Web's poison. "Do you need immediate treatment?."
His head turned to the door as he heard the distant battle, then back to examine Dr. Weston's bruised face. "You don't need to concern yourself with the enemy."
If he had not held so firm a grasp on himself, he would have shivered at the chill in his own voice.
The power raged through him like it had never done before. It was his breath, life itself. The burden of Dr. Weston seemed nothing compared to the power he drenched himself in.
Cold fury fuelled his dark stride so much so that those who passed by avoided him despite being unarmed. He did not seem to meet any resistance either. For their own sakes, it was better that way. If they were to die, better they die riddled with bullets. A grim thought, but he felt no sympathy nor remorse for those who chose the path of death.
With cool precision, Michael cast aside his emotions for the more immediate concerns. At least, that is what it felt like in the void of clarity, the voice of fear was almost muted.
Encased by a shell of calm, he slowed and entered an abandoned ward. He lifted Dr. Weston onto one of the empty beds and closed the door in silence.
When he turned back, he spoke in an even tone of abstraction, removing himself from the emotions that crashed like waves against his grasp on the power. "Can you assess your condition? I can't heal you."
A curse as bitter as a Funnel-Web's poison. "Do you need immediate treatment?."
His head turned to the door as he heard the distant battle, then back to examine Dr. Weston's bruised face. "You don't need to concern yourself with the enemy."
If he had not held so firm a grasp on himself, he would have shivered at the chill in his own voice.
"She saw a flaring halo around his head, radiant in gold and blue. It shouted of glory and power to come"
"No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it."