06-16-2015, 01:50 PM
Armande's eyes were impassive as he gazed at the images on his screen. It was the fifth video he had seen showing the destruction in Izmailovsky Market. He had passed through the fire of anger and nausea of disgust. He did not begrudge or tamp down such feelings. Indeed, he welcomed them, as a dagger welcomes the slow methodical strokes of a stone, honing its edge, shaving away the extraneous and leaving what truly mattered.
Here, on this screen, for all the world to see, was the reason the Atharim existed. A godling, uncaring of the injury and destruction he causes by his actions. All too common in myths too numerous to recount, but now given flesh.
His wallet beeped and he looked at the message. He came as close to a smile as he ever did. Barovsky was on top of things. He felt a stab of excitement in his heart. To be a part of this hunt would be exhilarating. He had not had a proper hunt in months, much less an actual reborn god in control of his power, as opposed to those wretched creatures whose first touch of power was accidental.
He closed the image from the market, leaving the email from Dr. Daniat at the forefront. Despite the encrypted nature of their communiques, she was not forth coming with details. Still, word from her was encouraging. It meant there had been promise.
Holding an artifact out of time was as close to a religious experience as Armande understood. Leading the Atharim, an organization that was as focused on the arm of flesh as the Mother Church was on the heart of spirit, left little in the way of Mystery and academic and esoteric philosophies. As the Church was to the soul, the Atharim was to the hand. Two sides to one coin, one as necessary to the other.
And yet he was a student of history and philosophy, among other things. They were steeped in history and tradition. Their identity flowed outwardly from it, a life giving spring of water. A passage from St. John came to mind and he found it ironic. An 'everlasting well' indeed. It nourished them. To hold an instrument that had been used during the god-wars would be as near to holy communion as he could envision, time coming full circle. No wonder the serpent eating its tail was such a fitting symbol. The endless eternal struggle of man written in the flesh of the Atharim.
No, Barovsky would begin this hunt. He hoped that Cross and Yoshimura realized the privilege he had bestowed on them. And what he expected of them. Each had their own issues. But so did anyone, he admitted, including Barovsky himself.
They would be what he needed, what the world needed. "Michael and his angels did battle against the dragon and his angels." Yes, it was foretold.
He began to type a reply to Dr. Daniat. Into his mind images from millenia ago kept flitting. He allowed the momentary indulgence as he continued to compose his missive.
Here, on this screen, for all the world to see, was the reason the Atharim existed. A godling, uncaring of the injury and destruction he causes by his actions. All too common in myths too numerous to recount, but now given flesh.
His wallet beeped and he looked at the message. He came as close to a smile as he ever did. Barovsky was on top of things. He felt a stab of excitement in his heart. To be a part of this hunt would be exhilarating. He had not had a proper hunt in months, much less an actual reborn god in control of his power, as opposed to those wretched creatures whose first touch of power was accidental.
He closed the image from the market, leaving the email from Dr. Daniat at the forefront. Despite the encrypted nature of their communiques, she was not forth coming with details. Still, word from her was encouraging. It meant there had been promise.
Holding an artifact out of time was as close to a religious experience as Armande understood. Leading the Atharim, an organization that was as focused on the arm of flesh as the Mother Church was on the heart of spirit, left little in the way of Mystery and academic and esoteric philosophies. As the Church was to the soul, the Atharim was to the hand. Two sides to one coin, one as necessary to the other.
And yet he was a student of history and philosophy, among other things. They were steeped in history and tradition. Their identity flowed outwardly from it, a life giving spring of water. A passage from St. John came to mind and he found it ironic. An 'everlasting well' indeed. It nourished them. To hold an instrument that had been used during the god-wars would be as near to holy communion as he could envision, time coming full circle. No wonder the serpent eating its tail was such a fitting symbol. The endless eternal struggle of man written in the flesh of the Atharim.
No, Barovsky would begin this hunt. He hoped that Cross and Yoshimura realized the privilege he had bestowed on them. And what he expected of them. Each had their own issues. But so did anyone, he admitted, including Barovsky himself.
They would be what he needed, what the world needed. "Michael and his angels did battle against the dragon and his angels." Yes, it was foretold.
He began to type a reply to Dr. Daniat. Into his mind images from millenia ago kept flitting. He allowed the momentary indulgence as he continued to compose his missive.