01-29-2015, 03:48 PM
Armande was satisfied with what he saw. There was of course shock. Public executions weren't common these days, after all. Which had been been his point, a wake up call for his people in addition to the sifting work. The dangers were real. One did not wait until a viper infestation became large before deciding to take care of it. Now, while the gods were relatively weak, was when they had to act.
He quieted the turning of his stomach. Most of the gods were weak. But one, one was not weak at all. The most dangerous man on the planet. He would not quit though. Not until it was done. No matter the cost.
On one or two faces here and there, some familiar some not, he saw something else. Defiance. Challenge. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. They were very welcome to try. One did not become The Regus of the Atharim, an organization which spanned the millenia, over continents and in every sort of government, and had defeated gods and monsters during all that time, by being soft. Intensive training and hunting of nearly every kind of abomination under the sun for over 45 years had shaped him, sharpened him, honed his mind and body into a deadly blade, an instrument for humanity's salvation. Let them try.
After the body was dragged away, the stench of offal weaker now that it was gone, he clasped his hands behind his back. "A challenge stands before us. If we fail, humanity will once again be enslaved. We will NOT fail." His words hung in the air, sinking in. "A new Order of Atharim is being created: The Order of the Archangels. There will be seven such Orders, grouped into two Canticles of three and four. The sole purpose of this Order is to protect mankind from the reborn gods. I do not need to tell you this will be difficult work. However, you will not be sent out to fight gods with swords and spears. Our considerable resources, as well as channels and contacts in various governments and the private sector have been tapped. Careful thought and planning has gone into the challenges and situations you will face. Your weaponry will be up to the task."
He paused, could see the faint smiles on many faces. His heart warmed. His children made him proud. Most of them, anyway. His voice raised. "Weapons are no substitute, though, for careful planning and cunning. You will not take one down through conventional means. Strategies and tactics are being developed, culled from the finest military minds as well as from the Atharim histories of the godwars. And perhaps more will be available to you, should certain avenues of research bear fruit." He could feel it now, a slight energy in the room. Barovsky had his lists. He made sure to memorize faces he did not know so as to attach their reactions to their files later. Of course, the recording of the audience would do just as well, but he never solely relied on machines for something he could do himself.
It was time to close. He had work to do. And so did they. "Those of you who have been selected will be contacted soon. We haven't a moment to lose. All of us must remember what we fight for. And the cost of failure. To us. And to all mankind." His steely blue gaze swept over them one last time. He clapped his hands. "Dismissed!"
There was no further ceremony. He left the stage, nodding to Barovsky. The man would join him later. There was much to do.
He quieted the turning of his stomach. Most of the gods were weak. But one, one was not weak at all. The most dangerous man on the planet. He would not quit though. Not until it was done. No matter the cost.
On one or two faces here and there, some familiar some not, he saw something else. Defiance. Challenge. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. They were very welcome to try. One did not become The Regus of the Atharim, an organization which spanned the millenia, over continents and in every sort of government, and had defeated gods and monsters during all that time, by being soft. Intensive training and hunting of nearly every kind of abomination under the sun for over 45 years had shaped him, sharpened him, honed his mind and body into a deadly blade, an instrument for humanity's salvation. Let them try.
After the body was dragged away, the stench of offal weaker now that it was gone, he clasped his hands behind his back. "A challenge stands before us. If we fail, humanity will once again be enslaved. We will NOT fail." His words hung in the air, sinking in. "A new Order of Atharim is being created: The Order of the Archangels. There will be seven such Orders, grouped into two Canticles of three and four. The sole purpose of this Order is to protect mankind from the reborn gods. I do not need to tell you this will be difficult work. However, you will not be sent out to fight gods with swords and spears. Our considerable resources, as well as channels and contacts in various governments and the private sector have been tapped. Careful thought and planning has gone into the challenges and situations you will face. Your weaponry will be up to the task."
He paused, could see the faint smiles on many faces. His heart warmed. His children made him proud. Most of them, anyway. His voice raised. "Weapons are no substitute, though, for careful planning and cunning. You will not take one down through conventional means. Strategies and tactics are being developed, culled from the finest military minds as well as from the Atharim histories of the godwars. And perhaps more will be available to you, should certain avenues of research bear fruit." He could feel it now, a slight energy in the room. Barovsky had his lists. He made sure to memorize faces he did not know so as to attach their reactions to their files later. Of course, the recording of the audience would do just as well, but he never solely relied on machines for something he could do himself.
It was time to close. He had work to do. And so did they. "Those of you who have been selected will be contacted soon. We haven't a moment to lose. All of us must remember what we fight for. And the cost of failure. To us. And to all mankind." His steely blue gaze swept over them one last time. He clapped his hands. "Dismissed!"
There was no further ceremony. He left the stage, nodding to Barovsky. The man would join him later. There was much to do.