10-05-2016, 01:56 PM
Armande put his head back against the head rest and allowed himself to relax. A moment only. There was so much to do. But tonight, so much had happened. Emotions churned within him, a maelstrom of fire and ice, a storm that shunted him from one extreme to the other. The image of Apollyon lying there dead. Martin with a sword in his back, dead. Physical tears and breaks of his skin and bones. His ouroboros ripped away from his soul. Exhilaration and exhaustion. Joy and rage. Gain and loss.
He was spent. He needed to let himself breathe. Soon, though. Soon it would begin. He could almost feel himself begin to pull on his reserves, gearing up for another fight. Theiss would be here soon. And the mansion was being locked down. The Order being assembled. A true purge would begin. And then, No, he told himself. Breathe.
He began again his meditative breathing, assuming the Chong Rann discipline. In. Out. In. Out. He willed his heartbeat to slow, felt the pattern smooth and consistent. Gradually, he sunk his breathing into his heartbeat, synced them, ten heartbeats per breath, ten to one, ten to one, ten to one... a mantra. Little by little he felt himself disconnected from his flesh, one part at a time, each limb and finger, detaching, felt his body dissolve into a mist that dispersed until he floated in nothingness, hovered beyond the emptiness, a void of infinite blackness.
Thoughts flitted across his consciousness.
וְהָאָרֶץ, הָיְתָה תֹהוּ וָבֹהוּ, וְחֹשֶׁךְ, עַל-פְּנֵי
תְהוֹם; וְרוּחַ אֱלֹהִים, מְרַחֶפֶת עַל-פְּנֵי הַמָּיִם.
Now the earth was uncreated and unformed; Empty waste. Darkness covered the face of the endless deep;
and the breath of God hovered over the face of the waters.
It would take only a thought for him to change it. "Let there be light!" and a new pure universe would burst forth from the nothingness. हिरण्यगर्भ ब्रह्माण्ड. The Golden Womb gives birth to the Cosmic Egg. Only a thought, an expression of pure λόγος, logos, a word, a fully formed conception of the cosmos.
He let his consciousness thin and spread, diverging to infinite, until it permeated the void. And in that oneness, he felt a spark, a flash of light ripple through him. Kinship with ur-creation. This was his purpose. Across the void he could see the future take shape. Destiny. His to shape.
He let himself merge into that projection for an eternity that could have been seconds. And then, slowly, he pulled on his consciousness, drew it together, coalescing into a singularity of purpose. He drew on the void, draped it around him, reached out to reconnect. Gradually, he became aware of himself again, the aches and pains of his physical body quiet murmurs and whispers he could ignore.
Peace permeated him, the eye of the storm high overhead. And he was the center. He opened his eyes to find the lights off, the doctor gone. The pulsing at his right hand was faint, a slight warmth that drew his attention. The doctor must have thought him asleep. His body had demanded rest, it seemed.
Before he could do more, though, he became aware of the fire alarms going off. His eyebrows darkened, the peace he'd found shattered into shards like glass falling to the floor.
The pattern of the alarm was enough. He sat up and stood, hand steadying himself at the slight dizziness that came over him from the changed position. Only a moment and it was gone. He grabbed his pack and rushed out in the hallway, headed in the direction the alarm indicated. Others rushed and milled about to the exits, some with arms laden with possessions. The designated disaster captains appeared to be heading with purpose and equipment to the source.
Rage boiled over as his mind made thousands of projections. Apollyon was dead. But his empire wasn't. It wasn't an assault, he knew that. But the timing was troubling. This was his house. He could not let it be lost.
His mind continued the extrapolations even as he ran with captains and their fire suppression equipment, grabbing an extinguisher of his own. What if it's too late? Apollyon was dead. But they would be coming for him. For the Atharim.
The man's last gift.
Well, he would decide.
Edited by Regus, Oct 5 2016, 02:00 PM.
He was spent. He needed to let himself breathe. Soon, though. Soon it would begin. He could almost feel himself begin to pull on his reserves, gearing up for another fight. Theiss would be here soon. And the mansion was being locked down. The Order being assembled. A true purge would begin. And then, No, he told himself. Breathe.
He began again his meditative breathing, assuming the Chong Rann discipline. In. Out. In. Out. He willed his heartbeat to slow, felt the pattern smooth and consistent. Gradually, he sunk his breathing into his heartbeat, synced them, ten heartbeats per breath, ten to one, ten to one, ten to one... a mantra. Little by little he felt himself disconnected from his flesh, one part at a time, each limb and finger, detaching, felt his body dissolve into a mist that dispersed until he floated in nothingness, hovered beyond the emptiness, a void of infinite blackness.
Thoughts flitted across his consciousness.
וְהָאָרֶץ, הָיְתָה תֹהוּ וָבֹהוּ, וְחֹשֶׁךְ, עַל-פְּנֵי
תְהוֹם; וְרוּחַ אֱלֹהִים, מְרַחֶפֶת עַל-פְּנֵי הַמָּיִם.
Now the earth was uncreated and unformed; Empty waste. Darkness covered the face of the endless deep;
and the breath of God hovered over the face of the waters.
It would take only a thought for him to change it. "Let there be light!" and a new pure universe would burst forth from the nothingness. हिरण्यगर्भ ब्रह्माण्ड. The Golden Womb gives birth to the Cosmic Egg. Only a thought, an expression of pure λόγος, logos, a word, a fully formed conception of the cosmos.
He let his consciousness thin and spread, diverging to infinite, until it permeated the void. And in that oneness, he felt a spark, a flash of light ripple through him. Kinship with ur-creation. This was his purpose. Across the void he could see the future take shape. Destiny. His to shape.
He let himself merge into that projection for an eternity that could have been seconds. And then, slowly, he pulled on his consciousness, drew it together, coalescing into a singularity of purpose. He drew on the void, draped it around him, reached out to reconnect. Gradually, he became aware of himself again, the aches and pains of his physical body quiet murmurs and whispers he could ignore.
Peace permeated him, the eye of the storm high overhead. And he was the center. He opened his eyes to find the lights off, the doctor gone. The pulsing at his right hand was faint, a slight warmth that drew his attention. The doctor must have thought him asleep. His body had demanded rest, it seemed.
Before he could do more, though, he became aware of the fire alarms going off. His eyebrows darkened, the peace he'd found shattered into shards like glass falling to the floor.
The pattern of the alarm was enough. He sat up and stood, hand steadying himself at the slight dizziness that came over him from the changed position. Only a moment and it was gone. He grabbed his pack and rushed out in the hallway, headed in the direction the alarm indicated. Others rushed and milled about to the exits, some with arms laden with possessions. The designated disaster captains appeared to be heading with purpose and equipment to the source.
Rage boiled over as his mind made thousands of projections. Apollyon was dead. But his empire wasn't. It wasn't an assault, he knew that. But the timing was troubling. This was his house. He could not let it be lost.
His mind continued the extrapolations even as he ran with captains and their fire suppression equipment, grabbing an extinguisher of his own. What if it's too late? Apollyon was dead. But they would be coming for him. For the Atharim.
The man's last gift.
Well, he would decide.
Edited by Regus, Oct 5 2016, 02:00 PM.