02-03-2014, 04:11 PM
After Jacques left, Michael was left in thought. The Legion was both a thrilling and dangerous piece on the board. If only he knew where the CCD had placed them...
He dismissed the clerical staff when they inquired about any further requirements and ordered his guards to inform anyone who wished to see him that he had retired for the day. That done, he opened his private line and imprinted a small coded message: AN EYE ON THE STORM. Hopefully the message was clear enough; he dare not make it any plainer in case the CCD had decided to hack his private system – which was all too possible.
The rest, as they say, is in the lap of the Gods.
***
Nights in old Saudi Arabia were infinitely more comfortable than the days but it was still a far cry from peaceful.
Michael sat at his desk, his stiff black coat buttoned up to the throat. While the northerners burned in the sun, Michael found it a refreshing reminder of winter back home, if a bit chilly as the cold swept in from the desert night.
It was a rare moment of quiet that allowed him time to savour the power undisturbed. He had intensified his nightly exercises, pushing himself to the limits of capacity and fatigue. The prospect of imminent war stuck in his mind like a leech, draining his patience and equilibrium – rare as it was.
This night he spun his nets with a renewed vibrancy, the tendrils of Spirit mixed with a touch of each of the other four spreading from the room, pulsing with power. His control and variance of the spun Wards was increasing rapidly. He had begun to discern male from female, human from beast although with mixed success.
His eyes closed of their own accord and he let instinct and practise guide the patterns that formed – he saw them clearly in his mind – drinking in all that was liquid life and death. Lately, he had experimented with multiple webs spinning concurrently. At first he had almost killed himself in a backlash of disrupted power, but such things happened infrequently now. Alongside the nets of Warding tendrils of Air and Fire whipped the air around him at regulated intervals like lashes of lightning. Filled to the brim with power, Michael was content.
The Wardings were the only thing that saved him. His eyes flashed open in surprise as a blur struck. He only had time to see the faint traces of mist curl in the dim light before the air was ripped from his lungs as he started to move.
Pain lanced through his chest and his grip on the power strained. Metallic wetness flowed upwards through his throat. His vision wavered like a magnifying glass passing over his eyes before he scrambled his wits and forced himself to focus.
“Who...”
the words were hard to form, so he abandoned them; it wasn't important if he died for it in any case. He lifted his eyes to meet the dead gaze of a pale-faced man. At least, it took the form of one, but not even the hardest of soldiers had such inhuman eyes.
It lifted a dripping red hand with a smile before becoming a blur once more. Michael’s only link was the vague sense of movement set off by his Wardings. He lashed out with the power – a vicious web of rage and hatred – throwing himself to the left towards the back wall.
The web flew wide and dissipated as another sharp pain deadened his right shoulder. Michael’s left hand shot out to grip the thing’s arm but caught only mist. His eyes widened and a wordless growl escaped his throat.
Human blended seamlessly with mist as it undulated and jumped backwards. Desperate, Michael spun Fire, razing a wall of molten flame before his eyes, separating himself from the thing. Its face hardened like a beast deprived of a meal and Michael managed to straighten himself to lock eyes. He would not show weakness to the bastard; it deserved nothing but contempt, even if it killed him.
As the flames crackled, Michael felt his legs grow heavy and his shoulders began to slump. The power allowed him to ignore the pain, but he knew time grew short. He attempted another net, but it was all he could do to keep the power in his grasp and his body upright.
After what could have been years, the creature’s eyes flickered towards the entrance. Michael heard something... but it was faint and distant, the last vestiges of his concentration were reserved on one thing alone. The noise grew louder and the creature scowled, giving him a look that promised death before fading to mist before his eyes.
He released the fires and swayed on his feet before stumbling back to sit at his desk. Pain now consumed his entire body. Whatever the thing was, Michael hoped from the marrow in his bones that he never laid eyes on it again.
Edited by Michael Vellas, Feb 3 2014, 04:49 PM.
He dismissed the clerical staff when they inquired about any further requirements and ordered his guards to inform anyone who wished to see him that he had retired for the day. That done, he opened his private line and imprinted a small coded message: AN EYE ON THE STORM. Hopefully the message was clear enough; he dare not make it any plainer in case the CCD had decided to hack his private system – which was all too possible.
The rest, as they say, is in the lap of the Gods.
***
Nights in old Saudi Arabia were infinitely more comfortable than the days but it was still a far cry from peaceful.
Michael sat at his desk, his stiff black coat buttoned up to the throat. While the northerners burned in the sun, Michael found it a refreshing reminder of winter back home, if a bit chilly as the cold swept in from the desert night.
It was a rare moment of quiet that allowed him time to savour the power undisturbed. He had intensified his nightly exercises, pushing himself to the limits of capacity and fatigue. The prospect of imminent war stuck in his mind like a leech, draining his patience and equilibrium – rare as it was.
This night he spun his nets with a renewed vibrancy, the tendrils of Spirit mixed with a touch of each of the other four spreading from the room, pulsing with power. His control and variance of the spun Wards was increasing rapidly. He had begun to discern male from female, human from beast although with mixed success.
His eyes closed of their own accord and he let instinct and practise guide the patterns that formed – he saw them clearly in his mind – drinking in all that was liquid life and death. Lately, he had experimented with multiple webs spinning concurrently. At first he had almost killed himself in a backlash of disrupted power, but such things happened infrequently now. Alongside the nets of Warding tendrils of Air and Fire whipped the air around him at regulated intervals like lashes of lightning. Filled to the brim with power, Michael was content.
The Wardings were the only thing that saved him. His eyes flashed open in surprise as a blur struck. He only had time to see the faint traces of mist curl in the dim light before the air was ripped from his lungs as he started to move.
Pain lanced through his chest and his grip on the power strained. Metallic wetness flowed upwards through his throat. His vision wavered like a magnifying glass passing over his eyes before he scrambled his wits and forced himself to focus.
“Who...”
the words were hard to form, so he abandoned them; it wasn't important if he died for it in any case. He lifted his eyes to meet the dead gaze of a pale-faced man. At least, it took the form of one, but not even the hardest of soldiers had such inhuman eyes.
It lifted a dripping red hand with a smile before becoming a blur once more. Michael’s only link was the vague sense of movement set off by his Wardings. He lashed out with the power – a vicious web of rage and hatred – throwing himself to the left towards the back wall.
The web flew wide and dissipated as another sharp pain deadened his right shoulder. Michael’s left hand shot out to grip the thing’s arm but caught only mist. His eyes widened and a wordless growl escaped his throat.
Human blended seamlessly with mist as it undulated and jumped backwards. Desperate, Michael spun Fire, razing a wall of molten flame before his eyes, separating himself from the thing. Its face hardened like a beast deprived of a meal and Michael managed to straighten himself to lock eyes. He would not show weakness to the bastard; it deserved nothing but contempt, even if it killed him.
As the flames crackled, Michael felt his legs grow heavy and his shoulders began to slump. The power allowed him to ignore the pain, but he knew time grew short. He attempted another net, but it was all he could do to keep the power in his grasp and his body upright.
After what could have been years, the creature’s eyes flickered towards the entrance. Michael heard something... but it was faint and distant, the last vestiges of his concentration were reserved on one thing alone. The noise grew louder and the creature scowled, giving him a look that promised death before fading to mist before his eyes.
He released the fires and swayed on his feet before stumbling back to sit at his desk. Pain now consumed his entire body. Whatever the thing was, Michael hoped from the marrow in his bones that he never laid eyes on it again.
Edited by Michael Vellas, Feb 3 2014, 04:49 PM.
"She saw a flaring halo around his head, radiant in gold and blue. It shouted of glory and power to come"
"No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it."