08-06-2018, 06:52 PM
(This post was last modified: 08-07-2018, 02:24 AM by Jaxen Marveet.)
Jaxen shifted when Jensen took a knee before Oriena. He barely understood the American, whose slow drawl was like speaking through a scarf muffed around the mouth. He was keenly aware of the laser-like focus of Scion upon the back of his head, but if the twin beams of hatred were going to affect him, it would have done so decades ago. His father wouldn’t cross him yet. Scion made promises that Jaxen was confident would not be unmade.
Jensen’s palms laid upon Oriena, and the inkling of protectiveness that bubbled surprised even him. He’d never been one to be possessive of women. There were simply too many out there to bother wasting the energy on any given one. Oriena was different though. Like secrets shared, he cautiously watched Jensen attempt to insert himself into their restrictive, dark world by slipping into hers.
The immensity of what happened next swept all such petty thoughts aside. Power bristled on his senses like sandpaper skidding upon skin. It was the most complex weave of the ancient power Jaxen ever beheld. He’d not bore witness to the channeling feats by Ascendany in the Red Square, and the immensity of that power eclipsed Jensen’s, but the two experiences were almost incomparable. Jensen’s was not raw, dominating power, although certainly such strength did not go unnoticed. It was shocking to sense it from someone with so unthreatening an appearance.
The artistry in the weaves was what Jaxen spied. If the human body were so easy to injure, it was infinitely more difficult to put back together.
There was no need to probe Jensen for more details. Jaxen knew he would never be able to duplicate the feat even if he mastered all that the ancient power offered. His own gifts lay elsewhere. Oriena could speak to that.
He smirked when her attacker was led away. Infinitely curious as to where such a path ended, but Jaxen let it go for now.
Instead, he helped Oriena away, knowing full well the woman was more than capable of walking on her own two feet.
Once out of earshot, he pinned her down. “I had no idea you were so religious, Ori,” he smirked. “Did you kill God or did he just die of old age?” He laughed and planted himself in front of a mirror, studying the smear of red upon his shirt.
A moment’s concentration summoned the Ancient Power. With it, he watched himself in the mirror, getting used to the need to invert the paths while watching his own reflection. Soon, red bubbles floated from his clothes. They glopped together into one red orb.
He thought about depositing it on Oriena. Given that it was hers to start with.
Jensen’s palms laid upon Oriena, and the inkling of protectiveness that bubbled surprised even him. He’d never been one to be possessive of women. There were simply too many out there to bother wasting the energy on any given one. Oriena was different though. Like secrets shared, he cautiously watched Jensen attempt to insert himself into their restrictive, dark world by slipping into hers.
The immensity of what happened next swept all such petty thoughts aside. Power bristled on his senses like sandpaper skidding upon skin. It was the most complex weave of the ancient power Jaxen ever beheld. He’d not bore witness to the channeling feats by Ascendany in the Red Square, and the immensity of that power eclipsed Jensen’s, but the two experiences were almost incomparable. Jensen’s was not raw, dominating power, although certainly such strength did not go unnoticed. It was shocking to sense it from someone with so unthreatening an appearance.
The artistry in the weaves was what Jaxen spied. If the human body were so easy to injure, it was infinitely more difficult to put back together.
There was no need to probe Jensen for more details. Jaxen knew he would never be able to duplicate the feat even if he mastered all that the ancient power offered. His own gifts lay elsewhere. Oriena could speak to that.
He smirked when her attacker was led away. Infinitely curious as to where such a path ended, but Jaxen let it go for now.
Instead, he helped Oriena away, knowing full well the woman was more than capable of walking on her own two feet.
Once out of earshot, he pinned her down. “I had no idea you were so religious, Ori,” he smirked. “Did you kill God or did he just die of old age?” He laughed and planted himself in front of a mirror, studying the smear of red upon his shirt.
A moment’s concentration summoned the Ancient Power. With it, he watched himself in the mirror, getting used to the need to invert the paths while watching his own reflection. Soon, red bubbles floated from his clothes. They glopped together into one red orb.
He thought about depositing it on Oriena. Given that it was hers to start with.