07-24-2013, 03:03 PM
It was midday when Michael finally opened his eyes. The events of the day before came back in a flood of unpleasant detail.
Climbing out of bed, he covered himself with his thick coat which hung on the bed-frame at the bottom of the bed.
The room was almost as bare as it had been when he had first moved in. He hadn't found the time to purchase anything other than the bare essentials. He would like to buy a few books soon. Perhaps he could find something in a dusty tome. Moscow was an old city, it was bound to have some useful information.
Careful not to wake Tony, he made his way downstairs. He need not have bothered. The man had propped himself up on the couch and apparently used his powers to remove the blood. That was vaguely disturbing. Should he have noticed while he slept? He would have to ask another time.
"Are you well?"
he asked, glancing at the TV. Another day of death. He was just thankful his house was not the feature.
"I'm fine. You did well," Tony replied. His eyes were alert but Michael could hear the exhaustion in his voice. "Now, would you tell me about our friend in the basement?"
"Can you walk?"
"I'll make do."
"Very well."
Michael nodded, turning to the basement at the back of the living room - or whatever they called it here. The gust of cold air was unpleasant as he opened the door, but he didn't find anything particularly pleasant about the situation, so it felt right in a strange way.
Tony's footsteps were sluggish as he followed. Michael suspected he was using some kind of trick, another thing he would have to ask about later.
He did not recognise the dead man, nor did he have any pity for him. His skin had turned an alarming shade of blue where his veins ran.
Michael knelt beside the body and examined the arms.
"Bastards."
"I take it you know the corpse?" Tony said.
Michael shook his head, rising. "No, I don't know this one, but I know that he was sent to find me."
He pointed to the tattoo on the dead man's arm - a snake devouring its own tail. "The Ouroboros, 'tail devourer'. An ancient symbol of eternity. The people who hunt me worship it. I don't know why, but they want to kill me."
Tony looked troubled, but he shook his head and all he said was, "very strange indeed."
"Strange? I suppose it is."
He had never really given it much thought. He assumed they were afraid of him, afraid of what he could do, but perhaps it was something more than that. Perhaps...
It could have been many things. He would find out, of that he was certain, but for now he needed to master his strange powers. If they were trying to kill him, he wanted to be able to defend himself.
"What shall we do with the body, then?" Tony asked quietly.
Michael seized the power, filling himself to the brim. He wove threads of Fire, unrestrained and volatile. "Burn it."
Climbing out of bed, he covered himself with his thick coat which hung on the bed-frame at the bottom of the bed.
The room was almost as bare as it had been when he had first moved in. He hadn't found the time to purchase anything other than the bare essentials. He would like to buy a few books soon. Perhaps he could find something in a dusty tome. Moscow was an old city, it was bound to have some useful information.
Careful not to wake Tony, he made his way downstairs. He need not have bothered. The man had propped himself up on the couch and apparently used his powers to remove the blood. That was vaguely disturbing. Should he have noticed while he slept? He would have to ask another time.
"Are you well?"
he asked, glancing at the TV. Another day of death. He was just thankful his house was not the feature.
"I'm fine. You did well," Tony replied. His eyes were alert but Michael could hear the exhaustion in his voice. "Now, would you tell me about our friend in the basement?"
"Can you walk?"
"I'll make do."
"Very well."
Michael nodded, turning to the basement at the back of the living room - or whatever they called it here. The gust of cold air was unpleasant as he opened the door, but he didn't find anything particularly pleasant about the situation, so it felt right in a strange way.
Tony's footsteps were sluggish as he followed. Michael suspected he was using some kind of trick, another thing he would have to ask about later.
He did not recognise the dead man, nor did he have any pity for him. His skin had turned an alarming shade of blue where his veins ran.
Michael knelt beside the body and examined the arms.
"Bastards."
"I take it you know the corpse?" Tony said.
Michael shook his head, rising. "No, I don't know this one, but I know that he was sent to find me."
He pointed to the tattoo on the dead man's arm - a snake devouring its own tail. "The Ouroboros, 'tail devourer'. An ancient symbol of eternity. The people who hunt me worship it. I don't know why, but they want to kill me."
Tony looked troubled, but he shook his head and all he said was, "very strange indeed."
"Strange? I suppose it is."
He had never really given it much thought. He assumed they were afraid of him, afraid of what he could do, but perhaps it was something more than that. Perhaps...
It could have been many things. He would find out, of that he was certain, but for now he needed to master his strange powers. If they were trying to kill him, he wanted to be able to defend himself.
"What shall we do with the body, then?" Tony asked quietly.
Michael seized the power, filling himself to the brim. He wove threads of Fire, unrestrained and volatile. "Burn it."
"She saw a flaring halo around his head, radiant in gold and blue. It shouted of glory and power to come"
"No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it."