Realization

[Valeriya]

Of all the Khylstys, Valeriya was keeper of their tales. The responsibility fell to her to pass on their heritage. First and foremost to that end was the tale of Rasputin, their savior, who preserved them underground while the world above burned. When the time was right, he would return to bring them Above.

Before Rasputin, while the Khylstys were still Above. Their own tale stretched back Valeriya did not know how far. Their lore told of spectres, ghosts and necromancy. Mystics, prophets, diviners were the basis of their faith. Everything that Armande claimed to denounce.

Central to it all, however, was one doctrine. The dogma that bound every single one of them together. It was the reason that Illarion had branding marks on his face. It was the reason Valeriya whipped herself bloody. It was the reason people severed tongues or castrated themselves.

Salvation could be attained only by total repentance and that this became far more achievable for one who had truly transgressed. Sin in order that you may obtain forgiveness. Fall so that you may rise. For a righteous man falls seven times, and rises again, But the wicked stumble in time of calamity.

Armande was going to tell her the tale of his life. He spoke of devastation, torment, pillage and plunder. War. Oppressed under the thumb of the gods, all suffered. Valeriya could have sneered at such a pathetic complaint, but she suppressed the urge and let him go on.

He summoned his magick visions again. For one who declared freedom from visions, then he sure relied on them a lot. Valeriya calmly watched the moving visions.

Large spheres of fire. Sweeping arms of death. Towers toppled. The skies turned red. People screamed and ran from the vorticies of ruin.

Then one last vision. Armande's voice deepened as though his chest shook with fury. She had never heard tones of such hate before. Not even from Matvei.

Armande called him Apollyon, but he had other names too. Abaddon. Destroyer. Angel of death.

Val watched the vision of a black building melting and reforming into something new. Her eyes grew wide and fear clawed at her heart.

Armande killed a god. He killed the angel of death itself. Valeriya could have smiled proudly. But then she frowned again when the vision showed the broken and bloody angel whole and pristine again. The Atharim were broken and scattered. Only a few remained. Nothing but a remnant remained.

The visions fell aside and Armande ranted about their uselessness. No, about their distortion.

She didn't know what to say. Armande was a defeated man. The Regus she met below was a gray ghost of himself. He didn't know how to win this war, but he looked to her for answer. Well, she thought for a moment and asked a single question.

"The Ancient Atharim rose up and eventually defeated the gods. How?"
She thought for a moment longer. "When I was a girl, my mother, The Eye took me to the tunnels to kill my first beast. I would have been devoured if I hadn't chosen the correct weapon. The Eye did not tell me what weapon to use. I had to figure it out for myself. Do you see, Armande? You need the right weapon and you need to practice killing beasts with it."