09-07-2016, 03:28 PM
His fingers tapped the top of his thigh.
Patience was a treasure for Nikolai. He hoarded the value of the virtue, practiced it daily in meditation. Patience was not innate, though. As a child, he was always eager to pursue the next task. As a young man, his mind always stretched to the horizon. It was the Datsan that taught him control. To meditate was a conscious effort to shape the focus of one's mind. Their guidance gave him control over his power. It was his Buddhist mentors that trained a god.
Nikolai abandoned the sofa after their guests disappeared to Kremlin sensors, having descended into the tunnels of Prince Dolskoy. He moved to a seat on the floor, positioned with his back to the fireplace. A cushion unrolled beneath for comfort, his posture straight, knees bent beneath him. It would be better to remove shoes, he idly thought. The sides of the soles dug into his leg where they crossed over his feet. But his shirt was loose at the collar, the sleeves rolled. Fire light cast infernal shadows over the remainder of the tattoo, tinting his skin orange, wreathing his hair with a hellish halo.
He let his mind stretch. He was aware of every breath expanding his lungs, of the heat licking the back of his neck, and the dance of shadows across the opposite wall. The mindfulness was how he learned control - of mind and of the source of his power. It was the only thing that remained after his time in Siberia. Everything else long ago turned to ash.
His hearing was tuned to the cackle of fire and the occasional silent shifts of his companion moving in the room. The fire popped loud then, and he heard the echo of a whisper in his mind.
Seize it.
His eyes flared open, fixing upon Marcus. "What did you say?"
Seize it.. The whisper tickled a chill along the back of his neck, like an icy bead of sweat.
He snapped his gaze behind him, staring deep into the dance of the flames. Nothing was there. No ghost haunted his domain. Nikolai ignored the warning that brushed the base of his brain, and pushed to stand up, dismissing the former question with a wave of the hand.
A message arrived. Sensors were triggered, and they checked the feed. The Atharim had reached the stairwell. Soon it would begin.
He seized the power. It rushed into his body like a raging river. The joy of ferocious euphoria blazed bright, like wielding all the light of the magnanimous sun in his mind. A deathly shadow crossed his expression and he strode to the center of the room. Whips of power made of Aether shoved every piece of furniture to the walls in one arcing thrust. Gaze fixed upon the door, he awaited the attack.
He blinked. A chill and he blinked again. Then fog rushed his eyes, so sudden, he thought his sight had been compromised, but it wasn't darkness that descended. It was something far more treacherous.
The power erupted with an intensity that eclipsed the feat in the Red Square. A star gone supernova exploded in his chest, and he dropped to his knees, crushed beneath its weight. In his mind he screamed Marcus' name, but he was powerless to speak else he would disintegrate. His fingers clawed the floor, digging nails downward, straining to hold onto reality. The power wrenched through him. His bones burned. His eyes ached. He wanted to weep with the glorious pain, and found the barest will to open his eyes and look his tormentor in the face.
Rather than the withered face of Regus, he peered into a cloud of haze. The room beyond was faint and distant. Draped with ghastly white.
The haze swirled and lurched, and a shrill bored into his brain. Nikolai felt his chin wrenched upward, forcing him to peer into the face of the one that gripped it. Ancient horror mounted in the abyss of his thoughts. A face stared back. It's mouth was filled with spikes, its nostrils flared, a demonic glow blazed behind the red hot coals of its eyes.
It's voice was screeching ice. The tongue foreign, but probes jabbing into his mind made the translation known.
Aidoneus Clymenus, Lord of Shades, I have waited an Age for this.
Nikolai screamed a roaring defiance, and sure that all that his flesh was skeleton and liquid sinew, he reached one leaden arm to claw at the face.
It laughed, and the mist swirled with glee.
And Nikolai knew this was how he was going to die.
Patience was a treasure for Nikolai. He hoarded the value of the virtue, practiced it daily in meditation. Patience was not innate, though. As a child, he was always eager to pursue the next task. As a young man, his mind always stretched to the horizon. It was the Datsan that taught him control. To meditate was a conscious effort to shape the focus of one's mind. Their guidance gave him control over his power. It was his Buddhist mentors that trained a god.
Nikolai abandoned the sofa after their guests disappeared to Kremlin sensors, having descended into the tunnels of Prince Dolskoy. He moved to a seat on the floor, positioned with his back to the fireplace. A cushion unrolled beneath for comfort, his posture straight, knees bent beneath him. It would be better to remove shoes, he idly thought. The sides of the soles dug into his leg where they crossed over his feet. But his shirt was loose at the collar, the sleeves rolled. Fire light cast infernal shadows over the remainder of the tattoo, tinting his skin orange, wreathing his hair with a hellish halo.
He let his mind stretch. He was aware of every breath expanding his lungs, of the heat licking the back of his neck, and the dance of shadows across the opposite wall. The mindfulness was how he learned control - of mind and of the source of his power. It was the only thing that remained after his time in Siberia. Everything else long ago turned to ash.
His hearing was tuned to the cackle of fire and the occasional silent shifts of his companion moving in the room. The fire popped loud then, and he heard the echo of a whisper in his mind.
Seize it.
His eyes flared open, fixing upon Marcus. "What did you say?"
Seize it.. The whisper tickled a chill along the back of his neck, like an icy bead of sweat.
He snapped his gaze behind him, staring deep into the dance of the flames. Nothing was there. No ghost haunted his domain. Nikolai ignored the warning that brushed the base of his brain, and pushed to stand up, dismissing the former question with a wave of the hand.
A message arrived. Sensors were triggered, and they checked the feed. The Atharim had reached the stairwell. Soon it would begin.
He seized the power. It rushed into his body like a raging river. The joy of ferocious euphoria blazed bright, like wielding all the light of the magnanimous sun in his mind. A deathly shadow crossed his expression and he strode to the center of the room. Whips of power made of Aether shoved every piece of furniture to the walls in one arcing thrust. Gaze fixed upon the door, he awaited the attack.
He blinked. A chill and he blinked again. Then fog rushed his eyes, so sudden, he thought his sight had been compromised, but it wasn't darkness that descended. It was something far more treacherous.
The power erupted with an intensity that eclipsed the feat in the Red Square. A star gone supernova exploded in his chest, and he dropped to his knees, crushed beneath its weight. In his mind he screamed Marcus' name, but he was powerless to speak else he would disintegrate. His fingers clawed the floor, digging nails downward, straining to hold onto reality. The power wrenched through him. His bones burned. His eyes ached. He wanted to weep with the glorious pain, and found the barest will to open his eyes and look his tormentor in the face.
Rather than the withered face of Regus, he peered into a cloud of haze. The room beyond was faint and distant. Draped with ghastly white.
The haze swirled and lurched, and a shrill bored into his brain. Nikolai felt his chin wrenched upward, forcing him to peer into the face of the one that gripped it. Ancient horror mounted in the abyss of his thoughts. A face stared back. It's mouth was filled with spikes, its nostrils flared, a demonic glow blazed behind the red hot coals of its eyes.
It's voice was screeching ice. The tongue foreign, but probes jabbing into his mind made the translation known.
Aidoneus Clymenus, Lord of Shades, I have waited an Age for this.
Nikolai screamed a roaring defiance, and sure that all that his flesh was skeleton and liquid sinew, he reached one leaden arm to claw at the face.
It laughed, and the mist swirled with glee.
And Nikolai knew this was how he was going to die.