04-14-2018, 04:40 PM
Armande and Valeriya had spent longer than expected exploring Gorky Park. His meeting with Theiss had been fairly brief and, as before, he began to make arrangements to farm out the other Khylsty quickly.
But Armande had seen the hunger in Valeriya's eyes as they had come to the park. Things that didn't even impinge on his mind caught her attention. And while she respected they had a mission in coming here and so curbed her enthusiasm, it was clear it was only just barely.
And so after their discussion about the living arrangements of the other Khylsty- another concession on her part, from the look in her eyes- he decided it was more important to give her time to explore. There was no need to hurry at that moment. Indeed, things had worked out fortuituously. The initial news concerning a new Regus being chosen might provoke anger at first. But at second thought, it provided a far better cover under which to act. He had never needed the glory of men. Just to accomplish his will.
Apollyon had no clue he lived. Indeed, the man seemed to be basking in the adulation and worship of the people after his death stroke had been healed- Ahh John of Patmos. You must have had a script. Or an Eye.
The Eye. Valeriya. And so, uncharacteristically, Armande shed the weight of the world for one afternoon. Time would come soon enough. While he could never shut it off- plans churned deep in the background. A trip to Rome. How to handle the new Regus. New strategies for driving wedges between the gods and men. How to unite the people against the these reborn gods. Ways to shatter Brandon's control, to destroy the hold he had over people. And above all, how to kill the false god. While those plans swirled and coalesced and merged, for this afternoon he could just be a man and a beautiful woman strolling through the park.
It barely scratched the surface of the experience of the above. His time below had been relatively short and yet he too felt a new sense of joy at the openness and brightness and vibrancy, the infinite colors and never ending variation of smell and taste and touch and sound. He smiled more than he meant to as they wandered, he letting her lead the way to what she wanted to see, explaining as best possible whenever she asked a question or five, the greatest joy at being able to experience these things vicariously through her.
It was near dusk when they returned to the safe house, the sky painting itself in darker and darker shades of orange and red and purple and blue and black. It was easy to see why ancient peoples worshipped the dawn and the dusk, the infinitely graduated transition of one clear finite state to another a beautiful but necessary state.
She seemed spent from the experience and so they passed a peaceful and content night in each other's arms. The next day, the mantle would be shouldered.
And it was. Theiss was fast. It would take time to coordinate everything, but he had gotten things started. Valeriya took the lead with the Khlysty, matching groups, going over what was needed, tending to her flock. She knew them better than he could, knew which people could be together and which couldn't. Matvei had been neutralized for the moment, but ambition rarely died.
Armande poured over the news feeds, learning as much as possible about what was going on. Numerous things had happened, and it would take time to determine which would be the most useful.
Of greatest news, aside from Apollyon's healing, was the American delegation. Of course both countries had embassies. But this was meetings with Brandon himself. The man was no fool, Armande knew. He was honest enough to admit that in many ways the man was as skilled and talented as he was.
He had an angle and it involved the Americans. While American politics was only something he followed peripherally, he knew enough to see the country was severely divided. It had been that way since he was a teenager. The fact it hadn't broken off into various countries was something of a mystery. The American Constitution was evidently a powerful adhesive. But nothing lasts forever. The cracks had been there for decades, only getting wider and wider with each administration, each blow to American pride and power as the ASU and then CCD grew.
If he were Brandon, he would be trying to widen them even more. How this delegation fit in, he didn't know, but he would look into the reports of Atharim eyes and ears to find out.
The Consulate on Channeling had concerned him. He recognized the Consul. He had been in the room with Apollyon during the attack, broken and dying. Armande smiled, realizing that very likely a god power had been used on both of them. And true to his guess, it wasn't long before he saw the Patheos event, the footage unmistakable. Not God. Not divine will. Just a trick to fool the masses. More use of the power. That was a useful fact to keep in mind.
This Consulate concerned him though. Normalization of....channeling, they called it, was the wrong course. People needed to fear it. They needed to see the danger it posed. Patheos showed the potential was there. The riots around the square showed it. The numerous cases of people being singled out- kicked out of homes- because they were different, just suspected of the power, was proof. They were out there. He just needed to stoke the fire.
Africa might be useful. There were rumors near Egypt that might be gods. And al Janyar had been growing as well, especially in the Horn of Africa. Rumor, but every bit helped.
Still, it wouldn't be enough. It needed to be at the heart of the Empire. Another Andlain, perhaps. That could work. But he couldn't actually find one and control him. Still, the idea was interesting.
And the Ball. Armande's mouth turned down in disgust. He could think of many crude terms from his youth that would describe what this would be. In polite terms, it was nothing but a love fest for Apollyon. They paid millions of dollars just to be awed by his power, to worship him. The very concept made him want to vomit.
Every person of influence and power would be there. And there Apollyon would be, the god walking among men.
It was he, the Regus, the Vicar of Iscariot, who must do what must be done. Expose him as a fake.
Disgust drove him. A cruel smile appeared on his face. He pulled out the pocked silver scroll that he had carefully stowed in his bags all that time ago, before his descent into Hades, and unrolled it. He had only perused it the first time, paying primary attention to the missive at the beginning.
Now it was time to study more deeply. The key was in there.
Edited by Regus, Apr 14 2018, 07:35 PM.
But Armande had seen the hunger in Valeriya's eyes as they had come to the park. Things that didn't even impinge on his mind caught her attention. And while she respected they had a mission in coming here and so curbed her enthusiasm, it was clear it was only just barely.
And so after their discussion about the living arrangements of the other Khylsty- another concession on her part, from the look in her eyes- he decided it was more important to give her time to explore. There was no need to hurry at that moment. Indeed, things had worked out fortuituously. The initial news concerning a new Regus being chosen might provoke anger at first. But at second thought, it provided a far better cover under which to act. He had never needed the glory of men. Just to accomplish his will.
Apollyon had no clue he lived. Indeed, the man seemed to be basking in the adulation and worship of the people after his death stroke had been healed- Ahh John of Patmos. You must have had a script. Or an Eye.
The Eye. Valeriya. And so, uncharacteristically, Armande shed the weight of the world for one afternoon. Time would come soon enough. While he could never shut it off- plans churned deep in the background. A trip to Rome. How to handle the new Regus. New strategies for driving wedges between the gods and men. How to unite the people against the these reborn gods. Ways to shatter Brandon's control, to destroy the hold he had over people. And above all, how to kill the false god. While those plans swirled and coalesced and merged, for this afternoon he could just be a man and a beautiful woman strolling through the park.
It barely scratched the surface of the experience of the above. His time below had been relatively short and yet he too felt a new sense of joy at the openness and brightness and vibrancy, the infinite colors and never ending variation of smell and taste and touch and sound. He smiled more than he meant to as they wandered, he letting her lead the way to what she wanted to see, explaining as best possible whenever she asked a question or five, the greatest joy at being able to experience these things vicariously through her.
It was near dusk when they returned to the safe house, the sky painting itself in darker and darker shades of orange and red and purple and blue and black. It was easy to see why ancient peoples worshipped the dawn and the dusk, the infinitely graduated transition of one clear finite state to another a beautiful but necessary state.
She seemed spent from the experience and so they passed a peaceful and content night in each other's arms. The next day, the mantle would be shouldered.
And it was. Theiss was fast. It would take time to coordinate everything, but he had gotten things started. Valeriya took the lead with the Khlysty, matching groups, going over what was needed, tending to her flock. She knew them better than he could, knew which people could be together and which couldn't. Matvei had been neutralized for the moment, but ambition rarely died.
Armande poured over the news feeds, learning as much as possible about what was going on. Numerous things had happened, and it would take time to determine which would be the most useful.
Of greatest news, aside from Apollyon's healing, was the American delegation. Of course both countries had embassies. But this was meetings with Brandon himself. The man was no fool, Armande knew. He was honest enough to admit that in many ways the man was as skilled and talented as he was.
He had an angle and it involved the Americans. While American politics was only something he followed peripherally, he knew enough to see the country was severely divided. It had been that way since he was a teenager. The fact it hadn't broken off into various countries was something of a mystery. The American Constitution was evidently a powerful adhesive. But nothing lasts forever. The cracks had been there for decades, only getting wider and wider with each administration, each blow to American pride and power as the ASU and then CCD grew.
If he were Brandon, he would be trying to widen them even more. How this delegation fit in, he didn't know, but he would look into the reports of Atharim eyes and ears to find out.
The Consulate on Channeling had concerned him. He recognized the Consul. He had been in the room with Apollyon during the attack, broken and dying. Armande smiled, realizing that very likely a god power had been used on both of them. And true to his guess, it wasn't long before he saw the Patheos event, the footage unmistakable. Not God. Not divine will. Just a trick to fool the masses. More use of the power. That was a useful fact to keep in mind.
This Consulate concerned him though. Normalization of....channeling, they called it, was the wrong course. People needed to fear it. They needed to see the danger it posed. Patheos showed the potential was there. The riots around the square showed it. The numerous cases of people being singled out- kicked out of homes- because they were different, just suspected of the power, was proof. They were out there. He just needed to stoke the fire.
Africa might be useful. There were rumors near Egypt that might be gods. And al Janyar had been growing as well, especially in the Horn of Africa. Rumor, but every bit helped.
Still, it wouldn't be enough. It needed to be at the heart of the Empire. Another Andlain, perhaps. That could work. But he couldn't actually find one and control him. Still, the idea was interesting.
And the Ball. Armande's mouth turned down in disgust. He could think of many crude terms from his youth that would describe what this would be. In polite terms, it was nothing but a love fest for Apollyon. They paid millions of dollars just to be awed by his power, to worship him. The very concept made him want to vomit.
Every person of influence and power would be there. And there Apollyon would be, the god walking among men.
It was he, the Regus, the Vicar of Iscariot, who must do what must be done. Expose him as a fake.
Disgust drove him. A cruel smile appeared on his face. He pulled out the pocked silver scroll that he had carefully stowed in his bags all that time ago, before his descent into Hades, and unrolled it. He had only perused it the first time, paying primary attention to the missive at the beginning.
Now it was time to study more deeply. The key was in there.
Edited by Regus, Apr 14 2018, 07:35 PM.