The grand ball

[Nox]

For all the smirk that was on Nox's lips he didn't feel jovial he didn't feel anything like the outside portrayed. He clawed at the light that he couldn't reach and he knew who ever held his shield was likely laughing at him. If he ever got out... Not that he'd do anything, the strength to accomplish the task was greater than his. He knew that already. The man from the facility wanted to take him again. His name leapt to his mind - Marcus. He wanted to make a deal before and now he was dragging him back in the bastard.

And just as Nox was about to tell them he'd go willingly if they took the fucking shield off but the Ascendancy shook his head. And seconds later the shield fell and the light rushed forward and filled Nox with its suffering and pain and it burnt like the ijiraq was pulling it through him again. He dropped it as suddenly as he grasped it. The pain receded but the memory still scared his body.

Cruz grabbed his elbow and offered to take Jaxen and Oriena wherever they wanted but he declined. Nox was fine with that and he let his friend guide him. It hurt to move. It hurt to think. Fuck what was happening. Cruz asked, "You okay?"

Nox shook his head. "Let's get out of here. I don't want to be here anymore."

Cruz didn't say anything more as they walked out of the Kremlin to where their limo waited. The man driving was looking around like he might bolt any second and he might have since he relaxed the moment he saw us. Nox stared out the window as they drove home... He wanted to close his eyes but everytime he did he saw and felt the Ijiraq pulling on the power through him. He couldn't breathe and he'd start awake. Cruz watched him like he was about to have a break down. But he wasn't this was nothing different than watching his mother die. The same thing. The same fucking thing. He'd see his failures over and over again. Just another thing to add to the long list he already had to play through each night...

[Danika]

Danika was not charmed by Ephriam but not due to any shortage of effort. "Danika," she responded distractedly. Her ears were tuned elsewhere. All the things she beheld left her stunned to say the least. "Power means nothing. This is no mechanical or electrical energy." Power was the rate of doing work, an function of energy over time. These criss-crossed lines blurring the air was some kind of energy, but not one she could identify. She wanted to swipe a palm through one, just to contrast the lack of sensation with what was sensed by the heart. 

It was a foolish leap to attempt reconciliation between her body and her heart. Her scientists' mind buzzed with possibilities. Not for the last time she wondered at the nature of this conduit they found themselves to be. This power was an energy, certainly, but not one of any known particle to exist. Electrons did not power these cords no more than hopeful thinking powered electricity.

The power permeated the universe. The same patterns she detected in the depths of space she was able to reproduce in the lab, but only with means of the lines of light. Ephriam was right. The name was factually wrong.

Marcus was drawn to the heart of the matter, though. He assisted Ascendancy and swept alongside the men of uniform. Tension mounted. Danika's breath was trapped in her chest as they were surrounded.

It was a relief when the tension diffused without a shot fired. Powers and lines were bedeviling, but guns she understood. Ascendancy's departure snuffed the conflict from the air, however, and others filed away.  She wished she was one of them, but something kept her here. 

Someone.

[Oriena]

Marcus misread her, purposefully or otherwise. It was not fearlessness arming her with challenge, nor anything so noble. It was vitriol. A purely antagonistic flame that would burn him up should he step too close, even if she burned with him. Her lip curled derision, ignoring the emptiness of his apology. The moment control was wrenched from his grasp, she stopped paying attention. If he wished to play at subservient masks, that was his problem. But it was a fucking lie. 

A feminine voice broke the impasse. Unsurprisingly. The woman knelt, wreathed like a queen in shadows, the crystals at her throat winking like the promise of spring. Words of defence washed over Oriena unnoticed. Inborn rights were worthless as dirt to someone like Ori, who'd battled for even basic necessities since the cradle. Still, the balm of Evelyn's touch helped her to her feet. She didn't refuse that. 

Ascendancy did not even speak, just disarmed Marcus with a shake of the head and walked away. It burned in the pit of her stomach, that apathetic dismissal, and she untangled herself from Evelyn's gentle grip, felt the resistance in her coil like a striking snake despite having no weapon with which to retaliate. Her black gaze followed him, only to flinch when the barrier ceased and the power crashed back in, so violent it actually hurt. It fizzed within her for a moment, like flexing a sore muscle -- filling her fast and painfully, until she abruptly let go. 

For a moment Ori felt like she balanced on the edge of the fucking world, like the creature had emptied out her brain and shoved it back in wrong. Familiarity sparked beyond the simple hum of kinship that marked her and Evelyn's shared gift. She didn't chase Ascendancy down, and even if she couldn't articulate why, she knew it was purely for Evelyn's sake. The favour would only happen once. 

One of Nox's friends was talking by now, but Ori wasn't listening. Marcus's obsequiousness irritated like a buzzing wasp, and she tuned that out too. He played the smiling assassin, knowledge that might arm her in the future, but it was not a game she was willing to play tonight. She was not likely to forget he'd tried to kill her, either. Her name raised in question finally roused her attention from Ascendancy's retreat and the banalities around her. She likely wasn't welcome at the club right now, and it was closed anyway. Clashing with Carmen on a quest to simply get clean drew no temptation; for while there was somewhere she suddenly realised she would rather be, she did not want to turn up dripping blood like something summoned from a nightmare.

A razorblade smile hitched the corner of her lips, surprised Jaxen even dared offer; not that she wasted thought questioning it. Acceptance came with the carelessness of a tossed coin, though neither did she leave without a final repartee for the consul. Her eyes flashed dark. "Shouldn't you chase after your master, Marcus? That leash must chafe, huh."

[Marcus DuBois]

The venom in her eyes followed Ascendancy as he weakly shuffled out of the room. Malik could imagine her slithering after him, a red viper zigzagging across pools of blood, broken glass tinkling around her body, over fallen tables and chairs and plates and purses, faster and faster until she sank her fangs into his calf, pumping unit after unit of searing poison into his body until his blood thickened and his heart exploded, black liquid filling his chest and spilling out of his mouth and eyes.

He couldn't help the smile that came to his face. One day it would happen, for him. Caedus dead at his feet, the Argus band snugly around Malik's head.

And from there it was a short distance to a laugh at Oriena's words. Her venom fell off of him like water droplets on oiled feathers, puddling to the floor.

As if her words and opinion mattered a whit to him. It was a sad attempt, frankly, given the virtiol and hatred that had been poured down his throat his entire youth. Her fangs would break on his skin, finding no purchase or soft place to sink into.

But he was willing to admit the hatred he saw in her eyes was unequaled by anyone save himself. That alone made her interesting, to an extent, drenched in blood as she was.

Still chuckling, his voice dropped low, ignoring the Representative. "Ahh, my dear. A pity we cannot speak further. I would take notes on verbal warfare Perhaps we shall meet again at the Almaz. I would rather enjoy it."

And they would, or they wouldn't. I didn't matter. She wasn't really important, not now that the danger had past. And he wasn't her plaything. Spectra had tried that too, to little success. He enjoyed games, of course. And making connections to those who were useful to him. But usefulness needed to be demonstrated.

[Lawrence Monday]

Lawrence was one of the reporters squished in near the car-entrance to the Kremlin grounds. There were very few such passageways through those imposing red walls, and everyone who could was crowded in close to this one. At her side another reporter spoke into his own personal handheld camera system. Laurie chatted with him off and on over the past few hours, he was nice enough and they agreed to grab drinks as they composed competing stories when this was all done. She winked at him just as a commotion distracted them both.

Noise filled the courtyard beyond the walls, but the archway might as well have been a portal to the underworld for all any of them could see. The first vehicle tore through the drive. Then a second. Drivers loitering around the periphery scattered off. In less than a minute a whole line of cars awaited passage.

"It seems the ball has come to an abrupt end," Laurie spoke into her live feed. MondayMargin.net was filled to the brim with watchers. She wasn't here to cover ballgown designers, she was here for the real story. "Either the ball was dismissed early or something has happened."

Laurie's lips were drawn to a thoughtful, pursed line. At her side, the reporter, Maximillian was saying almost the exact same thing. Likely the 50 other reporters around them were as well. This was not what set the MondayMargin apart. She let her studious gaze be pulled upward, above the arch, along the wall, to the ramparts she knew were there.

If only the Red Square allowed the use of drones, she could see that high up. Instead, she sank back, neck strained higher. 

Shapes hurried along the top. Those would be the security forces stocked in the Kremlin - military and otherwise.

Laurie angled the video their direction as she narrated. "Something of a security concern has gripped the Grand Palace. Military forces are on the move. Stay tuned for more information."

But as the time trickled by, little else emerged except the endless stream of black cars. They may as well have been tombs and the passengers within corpses. None were talking.

What the hell happened tonight?

[Ascendancy]

As the Ascendancy's chief of staff, Viktor waited as close to the ballroom as ZARS officers would allow. Given the last time the Ascendancy was attacked left him within an inch of his life, Viktor continuously demanded entrance. The operator dismissed him again. Others were inside. Those that watched were allowed to remain. Any that fled were not allowed readmittance. Viktor was neither. He had been in his office, and not alone either, when practically every safety alarm his office monitored roared to life. By the time he made it back to the ballroom, this same damn operator halted.

When from the ballroom finally spilled Nikolai Brandon, he was entombed in double-rows of human shields. The Nine Dominions encircled him - eight, actually, now that he counted - Custody Security Services made fortified the Nine another layer. Alric trailed along behind like a discarded dog. Viktor fell in alongside. Brandon barely looked up let alone paid attention to his Chief of Staff.
"What the fuck happened in there?" He demanded of Alric. It astounded him to this day that the two were so close. Brandon was never without the German. For a while, Viktor was convinced the two were lovers. The suspicion was wrong. So why keep the man so close? It couldn't be friendship. That was absolutely ridiculous.

Canyons dug into the lines on Alric's face. The man was pretty enough to be a model, in fact, in Viktor's back-checks, it turned out he had been the face of a GSG9 marketing campaign, but the worry lines turned Viktor's stomach. The story that followed stopped him in his tracks. 

He put a hand to his forehead. "How the hell are we going to fix this?"  A woman's voice answered. 
"We're pretty fucked, Viktor." Pessimism was an ugly cowl upon Alexandrova. 

They silently looked at one another while the bubble surrounding Ascendancy carried on toward the apartments of the Tsar.  
"Leonid went to the office. I'll catch up with you both." Alexandrova hurried on, heels rapidly tapping the marble as she caught up with the bubble.

---

She wanted to cry out his name to get him to stop, the fool man. Nik rarely lost control of his own impulses, and twice now Alexandrova was a witness to the near-miss of fate, so to see him so shattered of composure, only she knew the depths of his vulnerability. There was little understanding of what happened despite the accounts of an apparent ghost.

Rather than call something so informal as Nik, Alexandrova lifted her voice high. "Ascendancy!" 

They paused. A look and men of power stepped aside. He was veiled as though the opacity of the spectre still clung to him. The passion and strength she normally saw etched into his expression were faded, but like the foundations of the world, not fully eroded. He was dazed. In shock. As any man deserved to be. If not for his countenance and steadfastness, other men would crumble. 

She touched a smear of blood on his shirt. It wasn't his own, thank God. She needed to see for herself, and now that she had, she knew there was no damage that rest, sleep and recuperation could not reverse. "I'm glad you're alright," she spoke softly. Long gone were the days when ears did not loom near. 

---

Surrounded by people, but without the power coursing his veins, vacancy threatened to overwhelm. An abstract vacuum had been his life in the weeks following his escape from Bologna and the Dreyken. Sickness besides, young Nikolai wandered in the general direction of east until he was sure of safety. Sure enough of safety, anyway. When he finally stopped running, sanctuary built walls thicker than those of this fortress. Siberia offered peace. The Datsun was amnesty. The fires of the Atharim's attack forged the cracks in those walls to gleaming rock. Nobody saw through them. None.

Except sometimes Alexandrova glimpsed their shadow.

He hated that she saw weakness. Few people in the world had known him as long as she, Leonid and Valentin. He never explained what happened to Garret despite the budding relationship flit between the two young collegians at the time. Would she still look at him with such loyalty and earnestness if she knew the truth? 

Weakness flaked and pitted at the walls fresh damage that not even Alexandrova was likely to fix. Her age showed writ in worry despite the lovely dress. He hadn't the chance to tell her tonight, but the gown was not unnoticed. Lines touched her eyes and drew circles around her mouth. He kissed her once in the foolishness of youth and dependency that sometimes made people cling to one another. It was a mistake he never repeated again, but the restraint did nothing to diminish the warmth of a familiar companion.

He nodded solemnly, about to speak something to those effects, when the appearance of an angelic face drew his gaze elsewhere. 

For a brief moment he paused on the brink. Never before did he hesitate to seize the power of the gods. He swung from drinking in the relief that was the sight of Evelyn to that of the great door behind him. For the first time in years, he pushed the door open by hand and waited for her to join him.

[Marcus DuBois]

Alexandrova Vladislavovna

Office of the Consul on Public Engagement, Propaganda, and Interdominance Relations

Alexandrova watched Nik wait for the American representative. She had seen Nik with women before, had known of his liasons. They had never bothered her. Yes, he was a beautiful man and they had had one brief moment so many years ago. But she was his sister, not his lover. She, Leonid, Valentin and....Garrett. God but she still missed him.

He was such a dork. But she had been his and he hers. She had loved his goofy lopsided smile, the way he made her laugh. The five of them hitting the bars and clubs of Bologna. An age ago. And he had disappeared. She and Nik had tried, but they had never found him again. Alex's heart had broken. Nik was so kind. Leonid even more so.

She and Leonid and Valentin had Nik's back. Always. Forever.

No, what bothered her was Nik opening himself to this child. She was a child. He should know better. But men were men. And clearly she had his number. He was letting her into their group. It wasn't right.

Nik knew. Tonight was a disaster of global proportions. No one was thinking of it at the moment. No one was thinking of the Ijiraq's words yet.

But they would. And they had seen the Ascendancy at his weakest. No matter that he had been victorious in the end. They had seen him on his knees, needing to be saved. Alex and Leonid would have to fight for control of the story. They needed to confer.

And he wanted Avalon. Alexandrova felt a stab in her heart. She did not deserve to be in their group.

[Evelyn]

Nik assented to Oriena's release, and a swell of pride warmed Evelyn from within. The Light of the Lord burned bright for a heartbeat, radiating from the other women, and swiftly snuffed. Acutely aware of the disturbing dearth of females but for the two of them, and another hovering on the periphery, Evelyn helped Oriena as best as the woman would allow. The men dismissed them as though nothing of interest remained to hold their attention. Of them all, Oriena was pushed to the brink the hardest. She deserved to be treated with a modicum of dignity. 

Evelyn harbored every intention of doing just that when Nik deserted them. Her heart ached to follow in his wake. Lines of men fell in line behind him, billowing like dark cloaks falling from his overly-burdened shoulders.

She inquired as to whether Oriena would be alright as she settled into the embrace of her date. She recognized him from the ball and she was suddenly overcome with a bitter taste slicking her tongue like oil.

The two seemed fine despite the putrid stench of hatred brewing like a storm overhead. They needed a little explaining. Luckily, Evelyn was there to mediate. "He's endured a lot. You can understand, I'm sure." She smiled disarmingly and bid them farewell.

That was when she hurried after Ascendancy. Although, Evelyn never hurried. Rather, her pace was brisk. The black of her dress drew a shadow of her passing as she searched for him. When she found the group, he was confronted by a red-haired woman and wrapped with layers of protection.

As Evelyn approached, her heart beat harder and harder. Everyone was looking at her. She assumed they would recognize the American among them, and something cold and analytical slid over her from those shields of protectors lining the hall. Except for the red-head. The woman was older and had a sort of elegant, mature grace about her, but there was disgust in her glance. Or maybe it was disgust for the silent invitation that Ascendancy so blatantly posed.

She would have wished for less of an audience, but wishing was foolish now. Either she would follow him within, and all those present would bear witness to her choice, or she would turn away the one man she dreamed about her whole life.

She let herself be lost in those bright blue eyes. Needing, yearning for her. 

Her feet moved despite the warning in her heart to maintain distance, but he needed her. Through her, he could find security and trust. She had only to trust herself.

She smiled at him as she walked by.

[Marcus DuBois]

The energy seemed to drain from the room. The events of the past few- had it been minutes? A half hour? Surely no more than that- had energized Malik far more then even his last hunt had.

Not even the visit to the Butcher, as much as his full throated pleas for mercy- the gift he'd relished with-holding from the women he took and tormented and killed, as much physically and mentally- even the full throated screams and wails as Malik had showed him exactly the fate he'd visited on those girls, the shiver of pleasure, the frisson of near ecstacy that quivered with them memory-

Even all of that was as nothing to the pure exhiliration and melodramatic life that had played across this stage, the life and death, agony and orgasm, worthlessness and importance, all rolled into one.

And now it was over, a snuffed out candle, the wisp of smoke all that remained over the now dead wick.

And Malik felt the power drain from him as the woman retreated. It was becoming a habit for her, it seemed, him watching the perfect roundness of a perfect ass, dark hair curling around neck and shoulder, eyes cutting angrily away, to disappear into the night.

Caedus had fled in his impotent sulk, his succubus Representative following soon after. CCD military units and staff suddenly self important, trying to claim authority or show themselves competent despite their complete and utter inadaquacy for the challenge that had appeared.

Dominions that had held their own, had fought alongside him, now looked deflated and lost.

They felt it too.

They- all of them- already missed the rush and heat of battle. And in that moment, Malik knew that Vellas had lost. Ascendancy could claim men such as them could be partitioned off into two departments. Marcus over the civilian side, Vellas over the military.

But not a man under Marcus' control would not be addicted to the existential pleasure that combat and fear and death and life came from using the power made then feel. Vellas may have a trained elite. Malik would have as much....and more. So much more. Experience would count. But numbers moreso.

And yet, even then, Malik felt himself diminishing, shrinking, clothing not as constricting, energy leeching away, until now, at least, he was human size again. Marcus DuBois. A man. Just a man. For now. Until next time.

Malik would make sure next time was sooner rather than later.

Marcus went to Danika. "Are you injured, Danika?" For some reason Marcus rather enjoyed using her name. It felt so very intimate. He found himself thinking of those moments on the balcony, her hand on his wrist, the look in her eyes.

And those lips. Plump and juicy that even now, he still wanted to sample their sweetness. Not that he showed more than a smile of concern. "Let me take you home."

[Ascendancy]

All the others faded when Evelyn accepted his hand. The door’s closure sealed away the outside world. They were blessedly alone. Weight slid from his shoulders like the casting off of a heavy cloak.

No hollow words filled the void. Nikolai’s introspection was nothing new. A similar spell befell him after his father’s suicide. The shell of a young man was arranged well and tidy, but something was unhinged inside. 

Really, Bologna was about escape. The day he boarded the plane, he had no intention of returning to the land that betrayed him. When he vanished, people were likely bereaved, people loved him, but he moved on. Did he ever really love in return? To callously renounce blood and connections as he had? Maybe. Maybe not. Loyalty he bestowed upon his resurrection. That he repaid: Valentin, Alexandrova. Others more or less. Yet none of them were here now. He did not invite the recipient of his flatmate’s affections to join him now. Neither did he summon Valentin for consultation. He knew why. 

Nikolai rarely indulged in alcohol. 

By hand he poured two goblets of deep red. Odd motions. It was like drinking the grapey smokes of Vesuvius. Ash flaked sweet on his lips. Warmth blossomed his chest. His eyes fell low a moment. Savoring the indulgence upon his tongue.

When he turned, it was to offer the partner to Evelyn. Did she drink wine? Or was she too virginal a girl to dip her tongue into the devil’s drink?

Instinct reached to grasp the powers of the universe he wielded like second-breath, but fear held him back. Instead, he crossed the room, feet steady in pace, and calmly flicked lamps alive. The gilding and ornate features of the Tsar’s palace glowed in the dim atmosphere. He yearned for fire if only to stare into the flickering tongues of orange and yellow and lose himself in their dance.

The jacket was thrown disgustedly aside. The white cloth that bound his chest stripped. The shirt remained, wrinkled, marred with ash and blood. Freeing his neck was like loosening the hangman’s noose, but it did nothing to ease the drawing of his next breath.

He sank into a sedan, staring at the empty hearth.

“Evelyn. There is something you should know.” Goblet set aside, he rolled up his sleeves. The scar was revealed, as was the repugnance of the truth to come. “I was once Atharim. Those things that attacked us tonight are called ijiraq, though they are practically a myth even among the Atharim, which is why I know next to nothing about them. They are irresistible. Unquenchable. And they can kill us and we are utterly defenseless against them."

A bleak proclamation.

“It seems that my greatest enemy, the man that leads the Atharim, whose life is devoted to killing any and all that can channel no matter how innocent, commands them. No wall. No fortress. No shield. No sword. Nothing can protect us from their savagery except each other.”

The arm laid across his lap. The five cragged gouges streaked the skin ugly. The dreyken would never be forgotten. In darkness Nikolai still heard his hiss on his ear. Even now, he shivered at the memory.

“I was one of them, Evelyn. I wanted to be Regus one day myself, their leader, their ruler. The current one will never rest until the only thing I rule is a grave. The king of the dead,” he scoffed. The title was morbid humor.

“The enemy of channelers is the enemy of ours. How do we stop him? How do we fight he who commands ghosts and spirits? If you have ideas, I welcome them, for I am out.”