04-21-2020, 10:54 PM
They did not hold him long. His head was still pounding upon release, but it was his pride more grievously wounded.
He’d known Ephraim to be discontent with the differences between them; who wouldn’t be, when confronted with the power of gods? But he hadn’t fully considered the lengths he might go to. The arrogance had bitten him now. Hard. Ephraim might have simply asked, and Sören would have considered it -- it wasn’t like he’d not already laid himself bare for the Network’s scrutiny once before. Had the runes consumed him all those years ago, as he had almost been sure they would at the time, they would have recorded his very death. But this was not about information, or data, as Ephraim suggested. This was about power.
He did not go home, such as home was. The bar was open to the air, and he sat in the shadows outside, smoke curling from a cigarette. The first whiskey had burned, and the second sat on the table in front of him. It wasn’t a usual vice, but for once he wanted to erase the edges from his thoughts.
Ephraim had been certain of Sören’s impotence, despite the bald threat to his life. And killing the man wouldn’t remove the eye from his socket, or undo whatever had been done to taint it. But he was concerned it was more than that. The Network’s webs struck far and wide, and worst of all deep, and though Sören managed it with expert finesse it did not make him immune to its sting. He had to consider there might be more Ephraim had to hold over his head. The possibility soured his mood.
He’d known Ephraim to be discontent with the differences between them; who wouldn’t be, when confronted with the power of gods? But he hadn’t fully considered the lengths he might go to. The arrogance had bitten him now. Hard. Ephraim might have simply asked, and Sören would have considered it -- it wasn’t like he’d not already laid himself bare for the Network’s scrutiny once before. Had the runes consumed him all those years ago, as he had almost been sure they would at the time, they would have recorded his very death. But this was not about information, or data, as Ephraim suggested. This was about power.
He did not go home, such as home was. The bar was open to the air, and he sat in the shadows outside, smoke curling from a cigarette. The first whiskey had burned, and the second sat on the table in front of him. It wasn’t a usual vice, but for once he wanted to erase the edges from his thoughts.
Ephraim had been certain of Sören’s impotence, despite the bald threat to his life. And killing the man wouldn’t remove the eye from his socket, or undo whatever had been done to taint it. But he was concerned it was more than that. The Network’s webs struck far and wide, and worst of all deep, and though Sören managed it with expert finesse it did not make him immune to its sting. He had to consider there might be more Ephraim had to hold over his head. The possibility soured his mood.
![[Image: odinraven.png]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/08/odinraven.png)