08-04-2013, 06:51 PM
The early morning sunlight streamed in the window. Rivers of dust and lint seemed to dance in the beams of light. The window was a good 3 feet above the table where a man sat.
An older man paced the room behind him. Back and forth, wall to wall, the man paced. Not fast, nor impatient ...pacing was simply what he was doing at present.
The younger man held his forehead in his hands. Stress winkled his face as he continued to stare and search through the texts laid before him on the table.
All night they had been studying. All night and the past week, they had been studying and training.
Punit was 26 years old, a full Atharim for the past 6 years, and yet instead of being out there, doing his work, he was in here, with this man who was proving to be a tyrant of scholarship.
He had been invited to come to Moscow to study with The Regus because of his stellar reputation. He was deadly as an assassin. He specialized in Rakshasa. He loved hunting these specters of the night. He loved following them and hunting them. That magic moment when hunting prey when you began to think like them and understand their movements. That point when you were one ... Right before the kill. He lived for that moment, that rush.
And he was no dummy either. He had studied about the Rakshasa in the Caucus Mountains and in the jungles of Malaysia and Indonesia. He specialized in the creatures. He read everything he could find on those soulless creations. He hated them, despised them. They had taken more than their share of Atharim, and Punit was determined to do his best to destroy as many as he could.
He had been annoyed at first at being taken off his chosen path to stop and come to Moscow. Of course, one did not turn down a meeting with The Regus, and Punit was honored, but still ... He had Rakshasa to hunt and kill.
So for a week, Punit and the Regus had lived in this room. Morning and night. They slept in periods of 4 hour blocks. The rest was studying, or sparring in the yard. The Regus had been tougher and more deadly than Punit had suspected because of his age. Punit nursed several bruises on his leg and torso, and his shoulder had been strained and dislocated at one point. It throbbed now. He would need the ice pack again, if he ever was allowed to sleep again. They hadn't taken a break from the studies all night. Since they had showered after coming in from practice the afternoon before, it had been constant study. Punit was tired and irritable.
"Do you have your answer?", the older man asked.
"I keep coming with the same translation," Punit responded, a note of exasperation in his voice.
"Not acceptable. Keep reading," The Regus said with steel-like authority.
Punit sighed audibly, rolled his eyes and went back to the books before suddenly slamming them closed and staring at the blank wall below the window.
"You have an issue?" Regus asked calmly, without turning around, or ceasing his pacing.
"The translation is the same. The Mark is an identifier. The Beast is the anti-Christ. This is known."
At this The Regus stopped, his voice was only slightly raised, but if he was the steel before, now he was the forge.
"Known? Known! You speak about what is Known? That which you consider to be "known" can fit into a thimble amidst the ocean of what there is to be learned.
"Known is simply a comfort to the lazy. Those who won't or can't stretch their minds to dismiss the impossible.
"Start over. Read it. Again!"
With that word he slammed his hand down on the table.
Punit jumped, he had not felt the other man walk up beside him.
The Regus then gently opened the texts again and pointed with his long index finger to the passage Punit had been reading.
"Again," his voice was steel again.
Punit started to read again, but his temper was up, and he turned to lash out at the older man.
"Foolishness. Absolute foolishness," he declared, an edge to his voice, "There are people dying out there even as we speak. Men, women, children, Atharim ...dying at the hands of make-believe monsters. And you sit here safe. Pushing your books. Bullying me, and countless others. I have work to do. Out there."
With that Punit pushed back from the table and prepared to stand. Anger flooded his face and his eyes blazed in insubordination.
He didnt make it out of the chair, as The Regus's rock hard hand pressed against his shoulder, keeping him in his seat.
"You are angered. This outburst will be forgiven. Return to the texts. We will continue to study these writings. You will learn the connections with these works and the prophecies of our own Atharim."
"I said I was done. Sir. I have no use for anymore of this redundancy."
"You are done when I say your done. Do you really think YOU are in control here? Do you not know that anything you have done, I had done before you were born? Any kills you made, any assignments completed, hunts you have accomplished ...I have done ten-fold?
"Do you think this is an exercise in vanity?" His voice raised on the last sentence. The forge was flamed again.
"Arithmos tou Thēriou. Literally number of the beast in Greek. But now extrapolate. Think. What else could this relate to. You. Are. Atharim. Use your mind, there should be no limitation on your ability to analyze and find a solution"
Punit's body crumpled in his chair. His resistance seemingly evaporated at the onslaught of the older man.
"I...I....don't know. I can't think," he stammered. Days of exhaustion washing over him.
"You can. You will. Arithmos when plural is Arithmoi, Numbers, also the name of the third book of the Hebrew Testament. To the ancient civilizations numbers were simply symbols, nothing more. Symbols that indicated something of greater value. A mistranslation and the word number became a fixture of the prophecy, when the more generic symbol may have been intended. If we continue to look at the connotation and overlap from the original language to the vernacular, we get the more common rendering of "mark". There is a reason our forefathers carried particular words into their translation. Mark can mean sign, sigil, the act of being marked ... Or even "to brand".
"If we then look at the word beast, and it is routinely translated as beast, what do we have?", The Regus waited with patience.
Punit gritted his teeth. His caution evaporated as he thought of the seemingly futileness of this. "I. Don't. Care.", Punit said and looked boldly into the face of The Regus.
He never saw the back of the other man's fist collide with his face, so fast was The Regus.
Punit fell out of the chair and landed on the floor at the feet of The Regus.
"You will know respect. You will know your place. And you will know this work and this world is not a plaything to amuse you or get you laid after telling adventure stories."
These last words were louder and were emphasized with a swift kick to Punit's side.
"Translate this, Great Hunter of Rakshasa.
'ita bestia vulnerata est. patefacta, non mortuos. oraque ultra recognitionem, adhuc bestiam superstite'," The Regus said with cold derision.
Punit was in pain and tried to speak, but before he could begin to translate the Latin words, The Regus threw a scroll down before him. He saw the Hebrew phrase:
וכך היא החיה מצולקת. הניח פתוח, עדיין לא מת. מצולק ללא הכר, עדיין החיה שורדת
"Would you be quicker if I spoke it in your own Malay?
Oleh itu, adalah binatang yang berparut. diletakkan terbuka, tetapi tidak mati. berparut di luar pengiktirafan, tetapi binatang itu bertahan"
"Thus is the beast scarred. Laid open, yet not dead. Scarred beyond recognition, yet the beast survives?"
"Correct," The Regus said as he extended a hand to Punit, and helped him to his feet.
"And now, think, my young friend. How can these be linked. Eschatology is simply the bastardized understanding of our mission and our works."
"With all due respect, sir," the sarcasm as heavy as the blood on Punit's lips, "I believe I made it clear, I had no more interest in this conversation."
Punit elbowed past The Regus and made his way towards the door. He could not believe he had wasted a week of his life, for this. For endless speculations and translations. He had monsters to kill. People to protect.
"Mr. Tengku." The Regus said in the iciest tone Punit had heard. Chill bumps suddenly ran down his neck.
"Turn around Mr. Tengku. Your mission is here. Your blood is hot, but you still have work to do."
Ironically, Punit felt as if his blood had turned to ice. He had never felt this inferior or afraid. He knew how to deal with fear however, you kept moving forward. So he took two steps towards the door.
"Fool!" The Regus breathed under his breath.
Punit made to run, to get out of this man's presence as quickly as possible. He was unnerved, which unnerved him even more.
He made it to the doorway just as The Regus caught up with him and caught him around the neck. A sharp twist as his elbow went around Punit's neck, followed by pressure and a crack, and the young Atharim's lifeless body went limp and fell to the floor.
"Damn!" The Regus said, as hot tears glistened in his eyes.
"Why did it have to be so hard? Why did they have to resist and fight. Why were they so arrogant?", he thought.
The tears dried before they hit his cheeks. They were not for the talented man lying dead at his feet, they were for this organization he led.
They must be shaped to his will. They must become the arrow in his quiver.
The man at his feet was a casualty of a greater war, that was all. A discard. After all, a weapon that will not kill where you aim, serves no purpose.
The Regus stepped over the body and out the door. Another would soon come, and he would be ready to start again. Stoking the forge, over and over, until the weapons he needed were fashioned by his hands.
Edited by Regus, Aug 5 2013, 05:29 AM.
An older man paced the room behind him. Back and forth, wall to wall, the man paced. Not fast, nor impatient ...pacing was simply what he was doing at present.
The younger man held his forehead in his hands. Stress winkled his face as he continued to stare and search through the texts laid before him on the table.
All night they had been studying. All night and the past week, they had been studying and training.
Punit was 26 years old, a full Atharim for the past 6 years, and yet instead of being out there, doing his work, he was in here, with this man who was proving to be a tyrant of scholarship.
He had been invited to come to Moscow to study with The Regus because of his stellar reputation. He was deadly as an assassin. He specialized in Rakshasa. He loved hunting these specters of the night. He loved following them and hunting them. That magic moment when hunting prey when you began to think like them and understand their movements. That point when you were one ... Right before the kill. He lived for that moment, that rush.
And he was no dummy either. He had studied about the Rakshasa in the Caucus Mountains and in the jungles of Malaysia and Indonesia. He specialized in the creatures. He read everything he could find on those soulless creations. He hated them, despised them. They had taken more than their share of Atharim, and Punit was determined to do his best to destroy as many as he could.
He had been annoyed at first at being taken off his chosen path to stop and come to Moscow. Of course, one did not turn down a meeting with The Regus, and Punit was honored, but still ... He had Rakshasa to hunt and kill.
So for a week, Punit and the Regus had lived in this room. Morning and night. They slept in periods of 4 hour blocks. The rest was studying, or sparring in the yard. The Regus had been tougher and more deadly than Punit had suspected because of his age. Punit nursed several bruises on his leg and torso, and his shoulder had been strained and dislocated at one point. It throbbed now. He would need the ice pack again, if he ever was allowed to sleep again. They hadn't taken a break from the studies all night. Since they had showered after coming in from practice the afternoon before, it had been constant study. Punit was tired and irritable.
"Do you have your answer?", the older man asked.
"I keep coming with the same translation," Punit responded, a note of exasperation in his voice.
"Not acceptable. Keep reading," The Regus said with steel-like authority.
Punit sighed audibly, rolled his eyes and went back to the books before suddenly slamming them closed and staring at the blank wall below the window.
"You have an issue?" Regus asked calmly, without turning around, or ceasing his pacing.
"The translation is the same. The Mark is an identifier. The Beast is the anti-Christ. This is known."
At this The Regus stopped, his voice was only slightly raised, but if he was the steel before, now he was the forge.
"Known? Known! You speak about what is Known? That which you consider to be "known" can fit into a thimble amidst the ocean of what there is to be learned.
"Known is simply a comfort to the lazy. Those who won't or can't stretch their minds to dismiss the impossible.
"Start over. Read it. Again!"
With that word he slammed his hand down on the table.
Punit jumped, he had not felt the other man walk up beside him.
The Regus then gently opened the texts again and pointed with his long index finger to the passage Punit had been reading.
"Again," his voice was steel again.
Punit started to read again, but his temper was up, and he turned to lash out at the older man.
"Foolishness. Absolute foolishness," he declared, an edge to his voice, "There are people dying out there even as we speak. Men, women, children, Atharim ...dying at the hands of make-believe monsters. And you sit here safe. Pushing your books. Bullying me, and countless others. I have work to do. Out there."
With that Punit pushed back from the table and prepared to stand. Anger flooded his face and his eyes blazed in insubordination.
He didnt make it out of the chair, as The Regus's rock hard hand pressed against his shoulder, keeping him in his seat.
"You are angered. This outburst will be forgiven. Return to the texts. We will continue to study these writings. You will learn the connections with these works and the prophecies of our own Atharim."
"I said I was done. Sir. I have no use for anymore of this redundancy."
"You are done when I say your done. Do you really think YOU are in control here? Do you not know that anything you have done, I had done before you were born? Any kills you made, any assignments completed, hunts you have accomplished ...I have done ten-fold?
"Do you think this is an exercise in vanity?" His voice raised on the last sentence. The forge was flamed again.
"Arithmos tou Thēriou. Literally number of the beast in Greek. But now extrapolate. Think. What else could this relate to. You. Are. Atharim. Use your mind, there should be no limitation on your ability to analyze and find a solution"
Punit's body crumpled in his chair. His resistance seemingly evaporated at the onslaught of the older man.
"I...I....don't know. I can't think," he stammered. Days of exhaustion washing over him.
"You can. You will. Arithmos when plural is Arithmoi, Numbers, also the name of the third book of the Hebrew Testament. To the ancient civilizations numbers were simply symbols, nothing more. Symbols that indicated something of greater value. A mistranslation and the word number became a fixture of the prophecy, when the more generic symbol may have been intended. If we continue to look at the connotation and overlap from the original language to the vernacular, we get the more common rendering of "mark". There is a reason our forefathers carried particular words into their translation. Mark can mean sign, sigil, the act of being marked ... Or even "to brand".
"If we then look at the word beast, and it is routinely translated as beast, what do we have?", The Regus waited with patience.
Punit gritted his teeth. His caution evaporated as he thought of the seemingly futileness of this. "I. Don't. Care.", Punit said and looked boldly into the face of The Regus.
He never saw the back of the other man's fist collide with his face, so fast was The Regus.
Punit fell out of the chair and landed on the floor at the feet of The Regus.
"You will know respect. You will know your place. And you will know this work and this world is not a plaything to amuse you or get you laid after telling adventure stories."
These last words were louder and were emphasized with a swift kick to Punit's side.
"Translate this, Great Hunter of Rakshasa.
'ita bestia vulnerata est. patefacta, non mortuos. oraque ultra recognitionem, adhuc bestiam superstite'," The Regus said with cold derision.
Punit was in pain and tried to speak, but before he could begin to translate the Latin words, The Regus threw a scroll down before him. He saw the Hebrew phrase:
וכך היא החיה מצולקת. הניח פתוח, עדיין לא מת. מצולק ללא הכר, עדיין החיה שורדת
"Would you be quicker if I spoke it in your own Malay?
Oleh itu, adalah binatang yang berparut. diletakkan terbuka, tetapi tidak mati. berparut di luar pengiktirafan, tetapi binatang itu bertahan"
"Thus is the beast scarred. Laid open, yet not dead. Scarred beyond recognition, yet the beast survives?"
"Correct," The Regus said as he extended a hand to Punit, and helped him to his feet.
"And now, think, my young friend. How can these be linked. Eschatology is simply the bastardized understanding of our mission and our works."
"With all due respect, sir," the sarcasm as heavy as the blood on Punit's lips, "I believe I made it clear, I had no more interest in this conversation."
Punit elbowed past The Regus and made his way towards the door. He could not believe he had wasted a week of his life, for this. For endless speculations and translations. He had monsters to kill. People to protect.
"Mr. Tengku." The Regus said in the iciest tone Punit had heard. Chill bumps suddenly ran down his neck.
"Turn around Mr. Tengku. Your mission is here. Your blood is hot, but you still have work to do."
Ironically, Punit felt as if his blood had turned to ice. He had never felt this inferior or afraid. He knew how to deal with fear however, you kept moving forward. So he took two steps towards the door.
"Fool!" The Regus breathed under his breath.
Punit made to run, to get out of this man's presence as quickly as possible. He was unnerved, which unnerved him even more.
He made it to the doorway just as The Regus caught up with him and caught him around the neck. A sharp twist as his elbow went around Punit's neck, followed by pressure and a crack, and the young Atharim's lifeless body went limp and fell to the floor.
"Damn!" The Regus said, as hot tears glistened in his eyes.
"Why did it have to be so hard? Why did they have to resist and fight. Why were they so arrogant?", he thought.
The tears dried before they hit his cheeks. They were not for the talented man lying dead at his feet, they were for this organization he led.
They must be shaped to his will. They must become the arrow in his quiver.
The man at his feet was a casualty of a greater war, that was all. A discard. After all, a weapon that will not kill where you aim, serves no purpose.
The Regus stepped over the body and out the door. Another would soon come, and he would be ready to start again. Stoking the forge, over and over, until the weapons he needed were fashioned by his hands.
Edited by Regus, Aug 5 2013, 05:29 AM.
