09-29-2016, 05:56 PM
It was hard to imagine the raging powers of The Gift as something of light and love. It was ferocious, violent even. To wield it in a way that restored hope and healing felt like a contradiction. As much should have been expected. Much of Jensen's life was one of contradictions.
With the exception of Ivan behind him, all the recipients of the Gift had been unaware they were being bestowed upon until after it was over. Even then, as Jensen always linked the Gift to prayer, it was God to whom the glory of their restoration was given. As it had been in the past, the Ascendancy was completely unaware. The flows of warmth permeated the body before him, and in his mind's eye, Jensen was made aware of the extent of his injuries. The mind was quiet though. Slowed to inactivity with the exception of the basic functions for life, breathing, digesting, fighting. Strength was waning in the Ascendancy, or perhaps it was the coma wilting his soul, but there was something foreign in the man's mind. As Jensen focused on it, he found a sort of glow, like a light that became more apparent as one's eyes adjusted to the environment. Yes, it was there, a light, faint but spreading. It permeated all of the Ascendancy, and Jensen had a moment to wonder whether it was the soul itself he viewed. He had never seen its like before. The Antichrist could not bear such a spirit. Then again, Lucifer was the Angel of Light, the most glorious of all the sons of God. If Jensen were to encounter Lucifer in all his glory, the angel could likely make him weep with awe. Nikolai's soul was not like that, or so Jensen believed. In the end, the man was a man, not an angel, not a god, and probably not the Antichrist. Or if he was, Jensen was soon to be his most rapt devotee.
With a measure of knowing the task at hand, Jensen tightened his grip on the Ascendancy's hand, and pulled the full strength of his power to his grasp. This was by far the most grievous of wounds the Gift had faced and he felt as though he blazed with the power to restore them. His lids slid open, parted to bare slits as he watched the flows form their patterns. It was like weaving four Persian rugs at once. All the elements came together, a beautiful, intricate masterpiece so complex as to make the great artisans of history drop their jaws at once. Mozart's symphonies were children's tunes in comparison. Michelangelo's brush strokes were but crayons in the hands of a toddler. Jensen felt his strength expand and a moment of surprise lit his mind with wonder as it did. The Gift was glorious, and Jensen wondered what it would be like to kneel before the Throne of God and bask in that powerful light. Surely such was the source of this Gift. How foolish he had once been to think it was from Gehenna.
He was barely aware of the effects on the Ascendancy or his changed condition, but he knew the moment it was complete. He drew a heavy breath many long minutes later. His shoulders sagged, his face sunk and pale. He released his grip on the Ascendancy's hand and looked to the man's face for signs of life.
"It is done."
With the exception of Ivan behind him, all the recipients of the Gift had been unaware they were being bestowed upon until after it was over. Even then, as Jensen always linked the Gift to prayer, it was God to whom the glory of their restoration was given. As it had been in the past, the Ascendancy was completely unaware. The flows of warmth permeated the body before him, and in his mind's eye, Jensen was made aware of the extent of his injuries. The mind was quiet though. Slowed to inactivity with the exception of the basic functions for life, breathing, digesting, fighting. Strength was waning in the Ascendancy, or perhaps it was the coma wilting his soul, but there was something foreign in the man's mind. As Jensen focused on it, he found a sort of glow, like a light that became more apparent as one's eyes adjusted to the environment. Yes, it was there, a light, faint but spreading. It permeated all of the Ascendancy, and Jensen had a moment to wonder whether it was the soul itself he viewed. He had never seen its like before. The Antichrist could not bear such a spirit. Then again, Lucifer was the Angel of Light, the most glorious of all the sons of God. If Jensen were to encounter Lucifer in all his glory, the angel could likely make him weep with awe. Nikolai's soul was not like that, or so Jensen believed. In the end, the man was a man, not an angel, not a god, and probably not the Antichrist. Or if he was, Jensen was soon to be his most rapt devotee.
With a measure of knowing the task at hand, Jensen tightened his grip on the Ascendancy's hand, and pulled the full strength of his power to his grasp. This was by far the most grievous of wounds the Gift had faced and he felt as though he blazed with the power to restore them. His lids slid open, parted to bare slits as he watched the flows form their patterns. It was like weaving four Persian rugs at once. All the elements came together, a beautiful, intricate masterpiece so complex as to make the great artisans of history drop their jaws at once. Mozart's symphonies were children's tunes in comparison. Michelangelo's brush strokes were but crayons in the hands of a toddler. Jensen felt his strength expand and a moment of surprise lit his mind with wonder as it did. The Gift was glorious, and Jensen wondered what it would be like to kneel before the Throne of God and bask in that powerful light. Surely such was the source of this Gift. How foolish he had once been to think it was from Gehenna.
He was barely aware of the effects on the Ascendancy or his changed condition, but he knew the moment it was complete. He drew a heavy breath many long minutes later. His shoulders sagged, his face sunk and pale. He released his grip on the Ascendancy's hand and looked to the man's face for signs of life.
"It is done."