09-01-2016, 05:08 PM
The Ijiraq hung in the air before him, its form roiling and undulating, a slowly shifting cloud of mist, its strange ethereal inner glow seeming to pulse as if in time to some slow insistent heart beat. The sub aural hum seemed to fill his head, echoing in time to the words the creature spoke.
For a moment he basked in the rapture of what he'd done. He had never been a man of faith, of spirit. The Atharim were the arm of flesh, the here and the now. The concrete reality. It was the Church that was the expression of spirit and the beyond, the unseen and immaterial. As different as night and day, as the black of his armor and the white of Patricus' robes, complementing and contrasting each other.
But at this moment, at this very point in time, he felt a connection that extended far beyond himself, a palpable awareness of the brotherhood he shared, a kinship that predated written history, to a time when the gods tyrannically and capriciously worked their will on mankind until the remnant, the Atharii rose up as one body to strike down those chains.
It was as close to feeling the touch of God as he could imagine. Determination filled his bones, fire blazed in his heart, and he confronted this creature, the living embodiment of the will of Atharim. The words came to his lips.
G<sup>w</sup>eplən tu ēchṛ-u-h<sub>a</sub>!!
Devour Apollyon!!!
Yes, devour him, drink him down! The wording was specific, its echoes in the hunting La'mia that drank the blood and life of their prey; in the leonine devil of the New Testemant's Petrine Epistle, who sought to καταπίνω, "drink down" his victims.
He remembered the girl's words. It had been 'feeding'.
He watched as the creature's shadowed form billowed and gusted as from a wind. The whining seemed to increase, the grinding sound of a drill on bone rising in crescendo. It floated closer and the light within seemed to ripple across its surface.
The buzzing sub-harmonic whine seemed to pulsate...almost as if...His eyes darkened, the elation he felt turning to anger. Rage filmed his eyes for a moment. The ripples...It was laughing at him.
G<sup>w</sup>eplən te-ēchṛih<sub>e</sub>sye tis-judh<sub>a</sub>j-mi!!!
Devour Apollyon, I COMMAND you!!!
The billowing form roilled instantly and seemed shrink in on itself, solidifying, cracks of reddish light flashing across the dense surface and the dark spaces that were its eyes glowed with a feral hellish red.
Te-Deiwosn prīskos h<sub>e</sub>eti egoh<sub>a</sub> ǵnéh<sub>o</sub>sk<sup>ʷ</sup>em.
Neqid tué h<sub>a</sub>és-si!
K<sup>ʷ</sup>im h<sub>a</sub>és-si tué mis-judh<sub>e</sub>jrh<sub>a</sub> ?!?!
<big>I have known the gods of old.
You are nothing.
Who are you to command me?!?!</big>
The buzzing whine seemed to bore into his brain and for a moment he felt a thrill of fear- all the more shocking for being so unfamiliar to him after all these years. The creature seemed to vibrate with energy, radiating anger. He breathed deeply, letting the Chong Ran come over him. He was not a child hiding from bullies. Resolve hardened in his heart. He was the Regus of the Atharim, Vicar of Iscariot. This thing would obey him.
The words of the scroll, of the tablet ran through his mind. Variants and possibilities. Apollyon had been foretold. His name was on the tablet. Perhaps the creature was not aware of Apollyon's prophesied identity. It had hidden in Erebus for millenia, venturing out only when a hunt called to it, and others of its kind.
He repeated the command, this time using Apollyon's name, Nikolai Brandon.
As if in answer, the Ijiraq seemed to harden and for the first time, he saw its face, ears wicked points, a mouth filled with sharpened teeth baring into a terrible smile. He could feel heat emanating from it even as it began to quiver, as if crouching in on itself. Armande did not step back. Instead, he ran through everything he knew. Death stood in front of him, but he refused to shy away. If he died, then he died.
But he could not believe that, refused to believe it. There was too much at stake. Too much had come to fruition, had come together for it to be accident. His being here, Regus at this moment in time, in this place, with the enemy they faced. There was intelligence at work, fate, god, providence, kismet, maya, karma, the universe. Whatever you wanted to call it. He had the key. He just needed to find it.
Death filled his eyes. Death made flesh. It studied him. Judged him. Death. He saw it coming, even as the memory of the tablet filled his mind. Death. As if in answer, in his mind, a word on the tablet seemed to blaze to life.
Armande smiled triumphantly.
'I-dhēs ēchṛih<sub>e</sub>sye tis-judh<sub>a</sub>j-mi!!!
Devour Hades, I COMMAND you!!!
Edited by Regus, Sep 1 2016, 05:51 PM.
For a moment he basked in the rapture of what he'd done. He had never been a man of faith, of spirit. The Atharim were the arm of flesh, the here and the now. The concrete reality. It was the Church that was the expression of spirit and the beyond, the unseen and immaterial. As different as night and day, as the black of his armor and the white of Patricus' robes, complementing and contrasting each other.
But at this moment, at this very point in time, he felt a connection that extended far beyond himself, a palpable awareness of the brotherhood he shared, a kinship that predated written history, to a time when the gods tyrannically and capriciously worked their will on mankind until the remnant, the Atharii rose up as one body to strike down those chains.
It was as close to feeling the touch of God as he could imagine. Determination filled his bones, fire blazed in his heart, and he confronted this creature, the living embodiment of the will of Atharim. The words came to his lips.
G<sup>w</sup>eplən tu ēchṛ-u-h<sub>a</sub>!!
Devour Apollyon!!!
Yes, devour him, drink him down! The wording was specific, its echoes in the hunting La'mia that drank the blood and life of their prey; in the leonine devil of the New Testemant's Petrine Epistle, who sought to καταπίνω, "drink down" his victims.
He remembered the girl's words. It had been 'feeding'.
He watched as the creature's shadowed form billowed and gusted as from a wind. The whining seemed to increase, the grinding sound of a drill on bone rising in crescendo. It floated closer and the light within seemed to ripple across its surface.
The buzzing sub-harmonic whine seemed to pulsate...almost as if...His eyes darkened, the elation he felt turning to anger. Rage filmed his eyes for a moment. The ripples...It was laughing at him.
G<sup>w</sup>eplən te-ēchṛih<sub>e</sub>sye tis-judh<sub>a</sub>j-mi!!!
Devour Apollyon, I COMMAND you!!!
The billowing form roilled instantly and seemed shrink in on itself, solidifying, cracks of reddish light flashing across the dense surface and the dark spaces that were its eyes glowed with a feral hellish red.
Te-Deiwosn prīskos h<sub>e</sub>eti egoh<sub>a</sub> ǵnéh<sub>o</sub>sk<sup>ʷ</sup>em.
Neqid tué h<sub>a</sub>és-si!
K<sup>ʷ</sup>im h<sub>a</sub>és-si tué mis-judh<sub>e</sub>jrh<sub>a</sub> ?!?!
<big>I have known the gods of old.
You are nothing.
Who are you to command me?!?!</big>
The buzzing whine seemed to bore into his brain and for a moment he felt a thrill of fear- all the more shocking for being so unfamiliar to him after all these years. The creature seemed to vibrate with energy, radiating anger. He breathed deeply, letting the Chong Ran come over him. He was not a child hiding from bullies. Resolve hardened in his heart. He was the Regus of the Atharim, Vicar of Iscariot. This thing would obey him.
The words of the scroll, of the tablet ran through his mind. Variants and possibilities. Apollyon had been foretold. His name was on the tablet. Perhaps the creature was not aware of Apollyon's prophesied identity. It had hidden in Erebus for millenia, venturing out only when a hunt called to it, and others of its kind.
He repeated the command, this time using Apollyon's name, Nikolai Brandon.
As if in answer, the Ijiraq seemed to harden and for the first time, he saw its face, ears wicked points, a mouth filled with sharpened teeth baring into a terrible smile. He could feel heat emanating from it even as it began to quiver, as if crouching in on itself. Armande did not step back. Instead, he ran through everything he knew. Death stood in front of him, but he refused to shy away. If he died, then he died.
But he could not believe that, refused to believe it. There was too much at stake. Too much had come to fruition, had come together for it to be accident. His being here, Regus at this moment in time, in this place, with the enemy they faced. There was intelligence at work, fate, god, providence, kismet, maya, karma, the universe. Whatever you wanted to call it. He had the key. He just needed to find it.
Death filled his eyes. Death made flesh. It studied him. Judged him. Death. He saw it coming, even as the memory of the tablet filled his mind. Death. As if in answer, in his mind, a word on the tablet seemed to blaze to life.
Armande smiled triumphantly.
'I-dhēs ēchṛih<sub>e</sub>sye tis-judh<sub>a</sub>j-mi!!!
Devour Hades, I COMMAND you!!!
Edited by Regus, Sep 1 2016, 05:51 PM.