05-08-2019, 09:35 PM
The sight of his dear Valeriya's hands entwined with that woman's stoked a bubbling burning sensation in his gut. After Apollyon...no. It could not be tolerated. Only....the look on Valeriya's face stopped him, love and pride shining through. Somehow they had bonded. In just a short period of time, she had wormed her way into Valeriya's heart and affections.
It was galling, as he knew it was all fake. For all her strength and resolve, his dear love was a child in many ways, naive to those of the above. The Khylsty- all of them- had been known to her from birth. There were no surprises in them during her time as Eye. But people of the surface were alien to her. They did not recognize her authority or bow to her will, however resentful they might be, as in Matvei's case.
Would Valeriya see through flattery? Trickery? Would she be subconsciously awed by the manifestation of the power of the gods? Even he was surprised at how...intense such things could be. At least the things he'd seen Brandon or Vellas do. Not the foolish playing of that boy at the restaurant. Of course, any awe he felt was immediately translated into revulsion and anger and a desire to destroy. Which came from years of indoctrination and teaching.
None of which Valeriya had. He would have to think on a way to free her from such an influence. The war was on. And Valeriya was his partner and lover. His Queen and his consort. She was key to defeating Apollyon, his secret. She could not fall prey to such influence. He needed every weapon in his arsenal.
The woman turned and Armande felt his stomach drop as his mind tried to register what he was seeing. A warped darkness shone out of one eye socket, reddish black- dried blood- smudging the bruised skin around the remnants of eye. He stared, the hair on his neck standing up. He had seen Valeriya's back. Ilarion's burns. Roots of tongues ripped from the mouth. Missing fingers. Even castration.
The Khylsty were serious about their Awakening ritual, the barbarism an undeniable outward indicator of how important their beliefs were. However else they might feel about each other- including Matvei himself- no one doubted another's devotion, not after that. No one deformed themselves voluntarily unless they truly believed.
And Rowan had done it to herself. How, he did not know. But the missing eye was a sign to all of her commitment.
Armande felt shaken to his core, unsure what all of this meant. He looked from her to Valeriya, the pride beaming from her smile making far more sense.
He opened his mouth to speak when both women gasped, fear and horror falling across their faces like a blanket. Hands clasped together and one voice- one voice somehow made up of two voices, one Russian, the other English- came from their lips. His mind seemed to split, hearing both, the words and sentence structures different, yet one single stereophonic meaning flowing into his mind.
Two voices vividly painted a picture. The room disappeared and he saw everything clearly, the clearing, the crown, the cage, the light. The death. Saw and felt panic threaten to overwhelm him. He breathed deeply, swallowing bile, trying to calm the nausea and fear that wanted to reduce him to a dried up husk on the floor- as if to make the vision of him a reality here and now.
He could almost hear the dead silence that hung palpably over the vision, the cage and their burned and darkened skeletons quiet as the tomb.
The Chong Rann enveloped him and he floated in its depths, his flurry of emotions leeching into the nothingness until he was perfectly still, once more at peace. Gradually, normalcy returned and he was aware of Rowan and Valeriya's shaken voices, no longer bound as one, speaking quietly.
He studied Valeriya, peering into her eyes, thinking. It had been what she had seen all those months ago, the vision vouchsafing his victory. Only more. There was more to the vision. He looked at Rowan. Was it because of her? The two of them....together?
If Valeriya had been his key, a single Eye to see for him, what did that make her and Rowan together? He had thought her vision real? Did that mean this was real? Would he and Apollyon die together? Both of them? It was then Armande became aware of a small smile forming on his lips. No. A feral grin as he considered the possibilities.
Death had never scared him. Not fulfilling his purpose was what kept him up at nights. Trying to figure out how to win the battle against the prophesied Destroyer of the world. Eradicating him from the earth. It was why he had been born, taking his first breath the day after Brandon had. It was why every experience of his life- joy and pain- had shaped and prepared him..
If he died destroying the Destroyer, he would count it the culmination of that life. A life of meaning, of purpose. Destiny.
To fulfill his destiny, he would do anything. Apollyon had to die. The rest could be taken care of. The keys were there, he was sure. An infrastructure to carry on his work. Fate would see to that. He still had much to do. But he could now see the finish line to his long life. The end of Abaddon, the angel of the Abyss.
And it brought him great joy.
He walked closer to the shaken women and held out his hands toward each of them, his face not unkind. Finally he understood. "Come, my Eyes. Let us talk. You must help me understand."
It was galling, as he knew it was all fake. For all her strength and resolve, his dear love was a child in many ways, naive to those of the above. The Khylsty- all of them- had been known to her from birth. There were no surprises in them during her time as Eye. But people of the surface were alien to her. They did not recognize her authority or bow to her will, however resentful they might be, as in Matvei's case.
Would Valeriya see through flattery? Trickery? Would she be subconsciously awed by the manifestation of the power of the gods? Even he was surprised at how...intense such things could be. At least the things he'd seen Brandon or Vellas do. Not the foolish playing of that boy at the restaurant. Of course, any awe he felt was immediately translated into revulsion and anger and a desire to destroy. Which came from years of indoctrination and teaching.
None of which Valeriya had. He would have to think on a way to free her from such an influence. The war was on. And Valeriya was his partner and lover. His Queen and his consort. She was key to defeating Apollyon, his secret. She could not fall prey to such influence. He needed every weapon in his arsenal.
The woman turned and Armande felt his stomach drop as his mind tried to register what he was seeing. A warped darkness shone out of one eye socket, reddish black- dried blood- smudging the bruised skin around the remnants of eye. He stared, the hair on his neck standing up. He had seen Valeriya's back. Ilarion's burns. Roots of tongues ripped from the mouth. Missing fingers. Even castration.
The Khylsty were serious about their Awakening ritual, the barbarism an undeniable outward indicator of how important their beliefs were. However else they might feel about each other- including Matvei himself- no one doubted another's devotion, not after that. No one deformed themselves voluntarily unless they truly believed.
And Rowan had done it to herself. How, he did not know. But the missing eye was a sign to all of her commitment.
Armande felt shaken to his core, unsure what all of this meant. He looked from her to Valeriya, the pride beaming from her smile making far more sense.
He opened his mouth to speak when both women gasped, fear and horror falling across their faces like a blanket. Hands clasped together and one voice- one voice somehow made up of two voices, one Russian, the other English- came from their lips. His mind seemed to split, hearing both, the words and sentence structures different, yet one single stereophonic meaning flowing into his mind.
Two voices vividly painted a picture. The room disappeared and he saw everything clearly, the clearing, the crown, the cage, the light. The death. Saw and felt panic threaten to overwhelm him. He breathed deeply, swallowing bile, trying to calm the nausea and fear that wanted to reduce him to a dried up husk on the floor- as if to make the vision of him a reality here and now.
He could almost hear the dead silence that hung palpably over the vision, the cage and their burned and darkened skeletons quiet as the tomb.
The Chong Rann enveloped him and he floated in its depths, his flurry of emotions leeching into the nothingness until he was perfectly still, once more at peace. Gradually, normalcy returned and he was aware of Rowan and Valeriya's shaken voices, no longer bound as one, speaking quietly.
He studied Valeriya, peering into her eyes, thinking. It had been what she had seen all those months ago, the vision vouchsafing his victory. Only more. There was more to the vision. He looked at Rowan. Was it because of her? The two of them....together?
If Valeriya had been his key, a single Eye to see for him, what did that make her and Rowan together? He had thought her vision real? Did that mean this was real? Would he and Apollyon die together? Both of them? It was then Armande became aware of a small smile forming on his lips. No. A feral grin as he considered the possibilities.
Death had never scared him. Not fulfilling his purpose was what kept him up at nights. Trying to figure out how to win the battle against the prophesied Destroyer of the world. Eradicating him from the earth. It was why he had been born, taking his first breath the day after Brandon had. It was why every experience of his life- joy and pain- had shaped and prepared him..
If he died destroying the Destroyer, he would count it the culmination of that life. A life of meaning, of purpose. Destiny.
To fulfill his destiny, he would do anything. Apollyon had to die. The rest could be taken care of. The keys were there, he was sure. An infrastructure to carry on his work. Fate would see to that. He still had much to do. But he could now see the finish line to his long life. The end of Abaddon, the angel of the Abyss.
And it brought him great joy.
He walked closer to the shaken women and held out his hands toward each of them, his face not unkind. Finally he understood. "Come, my Eyes. Let us talk. You must help me understand."