08-22-2016, 04:45 PM
Nikolai had to press all five fingertips to sensors on the interior door before the elevator began to descend. As it did, he calmly watched his abstracted reflection in the stainless steel doors before them while Marcus relayed his story.
The Almaz was a name unfamiliar to him. By its description, he was unsurprised such a club existed in his city. It smelled of immorality, but so long as such business was self-contained, he would continue to allow it. There were more offensive places, he guessed. The Ascendancy would never attend such an environment. Not openly anyway. Damien's trick of the face might change that.
The encounter Marcus described likely was an Atharim. How many people met one and didn't know? He himself had, as a teenager, been flat mates with one for months before the secret was shared.
He didn't care about one random Atharim. If the plan worked, Aria would lead the society next and she could reshape it into an acceptable tool. The public may never accept them, and they would need better disguises, but they could remain. All these years and Nikolai still believed in their cause. If they would just leave him alone! He'd not stop their attacking any god that couldn't defend themselves. In fact, with the registration, he counted on it.
He elevator doors parted, revealing an open space with high ceilings, recently paneled walls and dark cement floors. At the end of a hall was two frosted glass doors, which only opened after another biosensor was unlocked by his touch.
"Welcome to my home,"
he said and entered. "Ever since I left the Presidential palace outside the Golden Ring and returned to the Kremlin, I never stayed above ground. The risk was too great. Instead, I had one of the many lower basement bunkers refinished. It's quite comfortable."
A gas fireplace roared to life when he entered, as did the lighting scheme. Floor to ceiling screens along the back wall were quiet. He glanced at them but decided not to breathe life into the panels yet. Instead, he sank into one of the supple leather couches. Threads of Essence snagged a bottle of water from a crystal laden wet bar and carried it to him across the air.
He spoke after a long drink. "Yes, you probably met one. We don't have much time to discuss them, but I'll explain as much as I can."
He gestured that Marcus could sit, even have water if he desired.
"They had a noble cause. Those things that bump in the night are real. I've seen some. The Atharim keep them at bay: trapped in the sewers and contained by forests. If people really knew what was out there, they'd panic. Vampires. Werewolves. Demons. Ghosts. They're all fantasies based in truth.
"The Atharim are more though. They are ancient. Older than Rome. Older than Jerusalem. Older than Babylon. How old, I don't know. Since the days that the stories we know as ancient myths were real, however long ago that was. You know the tales of mythology? The Atharim believe those tales actually happened. That at one time there really was a Zeus on Mount Olympus, a king of the underworld, a father that devoured and regurgitated them, and so on.
"It has been their primary purpose to kill me since 2001. I've eluded them all this time. Today, I've arranged for a trap. One of their own -a girl - will lead the leader of the Atharim and his best agent into these very rooms where you and I are going to finally kill them."
The Almaz was a name unfamiliar to him. By its description, he was unsurprised such a club existed in his city. It smelled of immorality, but so long as such business was self-contained, he would continue to allow it. There were more offensive places, he guessed. The Ascendancy would never attend such an environment. Not openly anyway. Damien's trick of the face might change that.
The encounter Marcus described likely was an Atharim. How many people met one and didn't know? He himself had, as a teenager, been flat mates with one for months before the secret was shared.
He didn't care about one random Atharim. If the plan worked, Aria would lead the society next and she could reshape it into an acceptable tool. The public may never accept them, and they would need better disguises, but they could remain. All these years and Nikolai still believed in their cause. If they would just leave him alone! He'd not stop their attacking any god that couldn't defend themselves. In fact, with the registration, he counted on it.
He elevator doors parted, revealing an open space with high ceilings, recently paneled walls and dark cement floors. At the end of a hall was two frosted glass doors, which only opened after another biosensor was unlocked by his touch.
"Welcome to my home,"
he said and entered. "Ever since I left the Presidential palace outside the Golden Ring and returned to the Kremlin, I never stayed above ground. The risk was too great. Instead, I had one of the many lower basement bunkers refinished. It's quite comfortable."
A gas fireplace roared to life when he entered, as did the lighting scheme. Floor to ceiling screens along the back wall were quiet. He glanced at them but decided not to breathe life into the panels yet. Instead, he sank into one of the supple leather couches. Threads of Essence snagged a bottle of water from a crystal laden wet bar and carried it to him across the air.
He spoke after a long drink. "Yes, you probably met one. We don't have much time to discuss them, but I'll explain as much as I can."
He gestured that Marcus could sit, even have water if he desired.
"They had a noble cause. Those things that bump in the night are real. I've seen some. The Atharim keep them at bay: trapped in the sewers and contained by forests. If people really knew what was out there, they'd panic. Vampires. Werewolves. Demons. Ghosts. They're all fantasies based in truth.
"The Atharim are more though. They are ancient. Older than Rome. Older than Jerusalem. Older than Babylon. How old, I don't know. Since the days that the stories we know as ancient myths were real, however long ago that was. You know the tales of mythology? The Atharim believe those tales actually happened. That at one time there really was a Zeus on Mount Olympus, a king of the underworld, a father that devoured and regurgitated them, and so on.
"It has been their primary purpose to kill me since 2001. I've eluded them all this time. Today, I've arranged for a trap. One of their own -a girl - will lead the leader of the Atharim and his best agent into these very rooms where you and I are going to finally kill them."