08-03-2016, 01:39 AM
The blue eyes of the officer regarded him with resolve- but he could see the fear there too. A pup facing a wolf-hound, yet determined all the same. He didn't know whether he should laugh or be impressed. He gave him this much. The man had courage. And dedication. Perhaps that could be useful.
Oakland too shifted almost immediately. The menace seemed to vanish, acceptance of him- of his words, his suspicion. His presence. Marcus felt almost as if he had been arm wrestling and the person had just gone limp. Unsatisfied. He was a fool of course. He knew this could lead to nothing, should lead to nothing, here, in this place, at this time. But he hungered for it all the same.
And then the roar of the crowd rose and Marcus turned. And there was the Ascendancy. Nikolai Brandon. A man. Just a man. Those who hated him, who vilified him roared as loudly as those who only saw a god. But in the end....what did it matter? Love. Hate. Rage. Devotion. Worship. Abhorrence. They were all the same, the same coin of two sides.
To provoke that reaction meant you mattered. You were important. You meant something. And so all of it, every shout of praise and curse was homage and worship to the man. And Malik again felt the pull of the crowd, of its energy. A force that begged to be dominated just as the Force did. For him to draw away one sliver to himself, to feel the power here flow to himself. Power for him to draw on, to hold and caress and use. To bring his will, his....order.
He hated and loved the Ascendancy at this moment. As a Sith must always do.
The man embraced his power, more than even he was capable of. Yet. It had to be yet. Malik would not let it be never. Would not believe it to be never. But the power, it mingled, the power of the roar of the crowd, the roar of the Force, they mingled and Malik watched as the Ascendancy reduced the mausoleum to nothing and in the same moment, grew as if from the touch of God, a monument to himself. Threads of the Force in numerous directions and weaves wove a tapestry of metal and stone until before him stood what could only be a new Ark of the Covenant in the Holy of Holies, a new Pyramid, a new Temple. A manifestation of God on earth.
And Malik coveted. He craved. And he was tempted. For he also knew something else. Dominating the Force came with a price. It tired one out, riding that beast. The night with the Butcher had been glorious and liberating. But when he was done, he had been exhausted, pushed to his limit.
What was Ascendancy feeling at this moment? Was he tired? Weak? Malik struck in his mind, trying to take over. Now. NOW!!!! he screamed. Do it now!!!!
But Marcus did something he had never done. He reached out to Malik, seized him, held him writhing in his palm. And he said NO! No. Not yet. However much he hungered and wanted this, he knew it was not his time. The years stretched before them. He was young still, Ascendancy already in his 60's despite his appearance. There was much for him to learn, much to do.
He was not a fool. He was not ready to take over an empire that was not his, that did not know him or love him. He had come for a master. And he had found one. A master who had much to teach. A master with real power. He would learn. Even as his mind filed away all the combinations of weaves before him, he knew that was only the smallest part of it. He would learn what it meant to be the Ascendancy.
And in the meantime, he mentally saluted the Ascendancy, Nikolai Brandon, the man who had come from America and somehow, against all odds, came to the head of power among the people most ripe and perfect for one such as them.
Almost as if it had been destined.
As their meeting had been.
As his place here, in this place, at this time, at that man's side was. There was order to the universe. Meaning. The universal program chugged on, heedless of people's wishes, continuing to operate the transcendent code that represented the multiverse in all its glory. And their place in it.
He felt as close to communion with the divine as could exist, glorying in its perfection.
He turned to Oakland, peace enveloping him. The hatred and antagonism was gone. replaced by contentment, by trust. There was a soft smile on his face. Others might take it for rapturous worship, of sycophancy. But only he knew the truth. "I am happy to escort you to the Ascendancy, if you wish."
Edited by Marcus DuBois, Aug 3 2016, 02:27 AM.
Oakland too shifted almost immediately. The menace seemed to vanish, acceptance of him- of his words, his suspicion. His presence. Marcus felt almost as if he had been arm wrestling and the person had just gone limp. Unsatisfied. He was a fool of course. He knew this could lead to nothing, should lead to nothing, here, in this place, at this time. But he hungered for it all the same.
And then the roar of the crowd rose and Marcus turned. And there was the Ascendancy. Nikolai Brandon. A man. Just a man. Those who hated him, who vilified him roared as loudly as those who only saw a god. But in the end....what did it matter? Love. Hate. Rage. Devotion. Worship. Abhorrence. They were all the same, the same coin of two sides.
To provoke that reaction meant you mattered. You were important. You meant something. And so all of it, every shout of praise and curse was homage and worship to the man. And Malik again felt the pull of the crowd, of its energy. A force that begged to be dominated just as the Force did. For him to draw away one sliver to himself, to feel the power here flow to himself. Power for him to draw on, to hold and caress and use. To bring his will, his....order.
He hated and loved the Ascendancy at this moment. As a Sith must always do.
The man embraced his power, more than even he was capable of. Yet. It had to be yet. Malik would not let it be never. Would not believe it to be never. But the power, it mingled, the power of the roar of the crowd, the roar of the Force, they mingled and Malik watched as the Ascendancy reduced the mausoleum to nothing and in the same moment, grew as if from the touch of God, a monument to himself. Threads of the Force in numerous directions and weaves wove a tapestry of metal and stone until before him stood what could only be a new Ark of the Covenant in the Holy of Holies, a new Pyramid, a new Temple. A manifestation of God on earth.
And Malik coveted. He craved. And he was tempted. For he also knew something else. Dominating the Force came with a price. It tired one out, riding that beast. The night with the Butcher had been glorious and liberating. But when he was done, he had been exhausted, pushed to his limit.
What was Ascendancy feeling at this moment? Was he tired? Weak? Malik struck in his mind, trying to take over. Now. NOW!!!! he screamed. Do it now!!!!
But Marcus did something he had never done. He reached out to Malik, seized him, held him writhing in his palm. And he said NO! No. Not yet. However much he hungered and wanted this, he knew it was not his time. The years stretched before them. He was young still, Ascendancy already in his 60's despite his appearance. There was much for him to learn, much to do.
He was not a fool. He was not ready to take over an empire that was not his, that did not know him or love him. He had come for a master. And he had found one. A master who had much to teach. A master with real power. He would learn. Even as his mind filed away all the combinations of weaves before him, he knew that was only the smallest part of it. He would learn what it meant to be the Ascendancy.
And in the meantime, he mentally saluted the Ascendancy, Nikolai Brandon, the man who had come from America and somehow, against all odds, came to the head of power among the people most ripe and perfect for one such as them.
Almost as if it had been destined.
As their meeting had been.
As his place here, in this place, at this time, at that man's side was. There was order to the universe. Meaning. The universal program chugged on, heedless of people's wishes, continuing to operate the transcendent code that represented the multiverse in all its glory. And their place in it.
He felt as close to communion with the divine as could exist, glorying in its perfection.
He turned to Oakland, peace enveloping him. The hatred and antagonism was gone. replaced by contentment, by trust. There was a soft smile on his face. Others might take it for rapturous worship, of sycophancy. But only he knew the truth. "I am happy to escort you to the Ascendancy, if you wish."
Edited by Marcus DuBois, Aug 3 2016, 02:27 AM.