01-07-2015, 10:49 AM
The Regus slid the ancient tome back on his desk and closed his eyes in meditation. Time would spin out of his control if he did not take the proper action. Clues and hints were all he had, bits and pieces culled from prophecies and ancient songs.
The phrase repeated in his mind. πόλεμος ἐν τῷ οὐρανῷ. The Archangel Michael against the seven headed diademed Dragon. An image from the video floated into his mind, the ouroboros, slashed and distorted into a twisted travesty, a mutilation of the purity it symbolized. His lip curled. Apollyon, Abaddon, 'Destroyer', the angel of the abyssou, the 'infinite void', the tehom of the monster serpent Rahab, the Leviathan of Isaiah and the Psalmist. The threat, the danger, was more real than anyone realized, its twisted body encircling and permeating the entire world, even reaching into heaven to cast down the stars to be trampled on the earth. Evil incarnate.
And It walked the halls of the Kremlin, ruling half the world already while worshipped as a god by millions.
But even as he gazed into that dark future, there was a glimmer of light, a way provided. "Michael and his angels fought with the dragon, and the dragon fought and his angels." Not a war between two single individuals. Apollyon would not be alone.
But neither would he. Michael would have his angels. A slight smile curved his lips and he opened his eyes, thinking on how fortuitous Father Stone's treason was for the convocation.
He pressed his comm. "Yes sir," came the voice.
"Send a summons to all Atharim in Moscow. For tomorrow night in the Grand Hall. Make it clear that attendance is mandatory. And please notify Barovsky that I would like to see him."
His eyes fell on a 13th century Latin translation of the Apocrypha on his desk. He reverently opened its pages to Tobit and his smile grew as he read.
A knock on his door drew him out of his meditation. "Come." Barovsky entered silently before closing the door. "Sit please." The man sat and Regus studied him for a moment, remembering their meeting beneath the Vatican more than two decades ago. He had not been wrong about the man. From his training at his hands forward, Barovsky had proven himself one sharpest and deadliest Atharim ever. When the Regus Wijngaard had asked his counsel on a new High Inquisitor, the answer had been easy despite his relative youth. Armande had an inkling of where things might go.
"I trust you've posted guards to Father Stone's door." He didn't wait for an answer beyond the simple nod. "Well then. The Atharim are entering a new age. Abominations walk the earth without fear. It is time for some changes. I will announce some tomorrow at the convocation."
He tilted his head and studied Martin. "Tell me, do you find your work as High Inquisitor as fulfilling as when you were in the field."
The phrase repeated in his mind. πόλεμος ἐν τῷ οὐρανῷ. The Archangel Michael against the seven headed diademed Dragon. An image from the video floated into his mind, the ouroboros, slashed and distorted into a twisted travesty, a mutilation of the purity it symbolized. His lip curled. Apollyon, Abaddon, 'Destroyer', the angel of the abyssou, the 'infinite void', the tehom of the monster serpent Rahab, the Leviathan of Isaiah and the Psalmist. The threat, the danger, was more real than anyone realized, its twisted body encircling and permeating the entire world, even reaching into heaven to cast down the stars to be trampled on the earth. Evil incarnate.
And It walked the halls of the Kremlin, ruling half the world already while worshipped as a god by millions.
But even as he gazed into that dark future, there was a glimmer of light, a way provided. "Michael and his angels fought with the dragon, and the dragon fought and his angels." Not a war between two single individuals. Apollyon would not be alone.
But neither would he. Michael would have his angels. A slight smile curved his lips and he opened his eyes, thinking on how fortuitous Father Stone's treason was for the convocation.
He pressed his comm. "Yes sir," came the voice.
"Send a summons to all Atharim in Moscow. For tomorrow night in the Grand Hall. Make it clear that attendance is mandatory. And please notify Barovsky that I would like to see him."
His eyes fell on a 13th century Latin translation of the Apocrypha on his desk. He reverently opened its pages to Tobit and his smile grew as he read.
A knock on his door drew him out of his meditation. "Come." Barovsky entered silently before closing the door. "Sit please." The man sat and Regus studied him for a moment, remembering their meeting beneath the Vatican more than two decades ago. He had not been wrong about the man. From his training at his hands forward, Barovsky had proven himself one sharpest and deadliest Atharim ever. When the Regus Wijngaard had asked his counsel on a new High Inquisitor, the answer had been easy despite his relative youth. Armande had an inkling of where things might go.
"I trust you've posted guards to Father Stone's door." He didn't wait for an answer beyond the simple nod. "Well then. The Atharim are entering a new age. Abominations walk the earth without fear. It is time for some changes. I will announce some tomorrow at the convocation."
He tilted his head and studied Martin. "Tell me, do you find your work as High Inquisitor as fulfilling as when you were in the field."