Into Erebus

[Borovsky]

Martin was almost disappointed when the Ijiraq took its order with only a little bit of fury.

They followed on its heels. The girl didn't put her sword away. He didn't blame her. He had his hand on his own weapon the entire way.

But when the girl stopped Martin turned to look at the Regus and waited for his orders. Martin was glad he didn't have to make the decision... it was a matter of which monster to follow.

[Ascendancy]

The cool, musty hall beneath the city streets eventually led to a deeper tunnel that had once been blocked by a pile of rock and dirt.

Many of the tunnels were built by Prince Dmitry Donskoy, who ruled Moscow for thirty years in the 1300's. The prince built the underground pathways beneath the Kremlin fortress as a secret link to the outside. They were to be used by government spies, as an escape route if the Kremlin were besieged and to bring water from the Moscow River during times of war.

As time passed, Russian Orthodox patriarchs also dug tunnels and connected them with the Donskoy tunnels so that, in case of invasion, the patriarchs could flee to the walled fortress of the Kremlin.

Ivan the Terrible, who ruled in the 1500's hid an arsenal of weapons in the tunnels. Some of the guns were discovered by Soviet workers expanding a subway station. His legendary collection of gold-covered books had yet to be found, but it was thought to lay in an underground library somewhere beneath Moscow.

Remnants of a hole burst through the chalk-white stone greeted the Atharim invaders. Beyond the hole was an old steel door, rusted and heavy, left half open on its hinges. They would need to proceed in single file to pass the narrow passage behind.

Cold air wafted ahead, followed by steep stone steps leading downward into darkness. The catacombs continued in such fashion, ancient and piecemeal, until the Atharim were many levels below ground, enough to eliminate any exposure to radiation should a nuclear blast occur at the surface above.

Their ancient tunnel ended in a sleek, modern door. It opened into the bottom of a stairwell, one navigated by Kremlin security on patrol and served as a fire escape for those inhabiting this underground world.

A fire door across the stairwell led into the hallway that joined the primary elevator connecting Nikolai's home to the Kremlin complex above. At the end of the hall was a dark door, a wood-grain that was warm against the sterile walls and halogen lighting leading up to it.

On the other side of that door, Nikolai shared a holoscreen with Marcus. The military that secured the Kremlin had long ago mapped as many of the ancient tunnels as could be found. But every inch could not be scoured by human eyes. Entrances and exits were monitored. Sensors installed to detect fluctuations in temperature or sound. Any alarms that might be triggered would be investigated immediately.

Tonight, the alarms were muted, but eyes watched.

Nikolai sat on the sofa, watching a holoscreen and the real-time security update on their visitors. Every few moments, he glanced at Marcus, calm and collected, but not quite relaxed.

Ready.

[Armande]

So far, they found their way unblocked. They hadn't traveled far of course. The video the drones sent back to his goggles showed a clear path, at least up to a point. Down one tunnel the micro-drones sent back images of guards. The other seemed empty. The Ijiraq had gone down the occupied tunnel. Likely, it would pass by unseen. And if not unseen, well, at least unstopped. He heard no alarms yet, though.

It was then that Aria spoke, confirming his suspicions. He swung his head to look at her, to weigh and consider her words. She held the key. Supposedly. But he wasn't a fool. It wouldn't take much for them to be trapped down here in a fire-fight, even if Apollyon never showed. And he could collapse the tunnels himself, if he chose. It would have to be her route. He nodded to her, "Lead the way," as he called back the other drones and sent them on their way. They would go slowly.

In the meantime, the Ijiraq would find Apollyon and begin its job of feeding on him. It might even kill him. Armande felt a pang of disappointment at that. After all of this, he almost hoped he'd have the opportunity to dispatch the man himself. Almost. In the end, dead was dead. He would not risk the opportunity just to face the man in person, if it wasn't necessary. He was no movie-style villain.

He was the Regus of the Atharim and Apollyon would die because of what he did here today. That would be enough for him.

[Aria]

The damp hall gave way to dirt as much of the underground tunnels did. Once man-made now either dust or forgotten or just plain didn't want do do anymore. Aria wished for Nox's little glowing ball of light, flashlights were such an inconvenience when your primary weapon was a sword. But Aria lead the way with fury and hatred radiating behind her. There was also fear and mistrust, but Aria couldn't exactly pinpoint which of the two might feel it. Aria knew there must be excitement, but it was decidedly lacking from either man. Aria just wanted to get this over with. Ascendancy was going to be attacked by an Ijiraq, Aria could only hope that he knew enough not to embrace the source. But who knew much about Ijiraq to begin with...

Remnants of a hole burst through the chalk-white stone and just the other side was of the hole was an old steel door, rusted and heavy, left half open on its hinges. The passage was narrow and they had no choice but to follow Aria. The drones were in front but they wouldn't actually see any enemies. She felt nothing between here and there as expected. But one or two guards might have looked better, though it lent to her claim she knew the way in without harming others. Aria was thankful they'd followed her suggestion. Killing innocents.... not a fun chore. Even as much as the darkness pulled to do just that Aria knew that wasn't what she wanted even as it echoed in her mind that she did. The hate, the fury, the fear... she wanted to be apart of it.

Cold and darkness greeted them as they continued into the catacombs. Aria lost track of how may levels below they might be. She missed her land warriors - she should have brought them this time, not to remember how to get her, but to know how far she had gone. There was nothing but emptiness down this deep - except for the few people down here.

The tunnel ended finally ended in a sleek, modern door. Aria stopped and spoke softly "Beyond is an elevator up, and the door to Ascendancy's abode."

[Borovsky]

Regus gave his order and they followed the Sentient to the Ascendancy despite the Ijiraq's course. It was of little consequence. Killing innocents was never easy, but sometimes it had to happen. Though Martin was glad for the reprive - he wanted to save his fighting for the Ascendancy. Martin fondled the crowd control device in his left hand. He was twitching to use it. And his right hand was on his gun.

This was the epic battle he'd been waiting for - the reason he'd joined the Archangels to begin with. He was going to take down a god... not alone - and he was a little afraid of the outcome, but he was mostly excited. His body hummed with the glory about to be had. But there were too many variables he didn't like. The girl being the first. The Ijiraq being a big second. The Ascendancy was powerful - what if he had other gods with him? How many does he have?

Martin was starting to get nervous and he had a bad feeling about it. But he pushed it away and focused on the job. There is nothing he can do about those problems - he had only to focus on the now. Do his job - kill Ascendancy. And then kill the whelp of a girl. Maybe he could even kill the Ijiraq while he was at it.

[Ascendancy]

His fingers tapped the top of his thigh.

Patience was a treasure for Nikolai. He hoarded the value of the virtue, practiced it daily in meditation. Patience was not innate, though. As a child, he was always eager to pursue the next task. As a young man, his mind always stretched to the horizon. It was the Datsan that taught him control. To meditate was a conscious effort to shape the focus of one's mind. Their guidance gave him control over his power. It was his Buddhist mentors that trained a god.

Nikolai abandoned the sofa after their guests disappeared to Kremlin sensors, having descended into the tunnels of Prince Dolskoy. He moved to a seat on the floor, positioned with his back to the fireplace. A cushion unrolled beneath for comfort, his posture straight, knees bent beneath him. It would be better to remove shoes, he idly thought. The sides of the soles dug into his leg where they crossed over his feet. But his shirt was loose at the collar, the sleeves rolled. Fire light cast infernal shadows over the remainder of the tattoo, tinting his skin orange, wreathing his hair with a hellish halo.

He let his mind stretch. He was aware of every breath expanding his lungs, of the heat licking the back of his neck, and the dance of shadows across the opposite wall. The mindfulness was how he learned control - of mind and of the source of his power. It was the only thing that remained after his time in Siberia. Everything else long ago turned to ash.

His hearing was tuned to the cackle of fire and the occasional silent shifts of his companion moving in the room. The fire popped loud then, and he heard the echo of a whisper in his mind.

Seize it.

His eyes flared open, fixing upon Marcus. "What did you say?"


Seize it.. The whisper tickled a chill along the back of his neck, like an icy bead of sweat.

He snapped his gaze behind him, staring deep into the dance of the flames. Nothing was there. No ghost haunted his domain. Nikolai ignored the warning that brushed the base of his brain, and pushed to stand up, dismissing the former question with a wave of the hand.

A message arrived. Sensors were triggered, and they checked the feed. The Atharim had reached the stairwell. Soon it would begin.

He seized the power. It rushed into his body like a raging river. The joy of ferocious euphoria blazed bright, like wielding all the light of the magnanimous sun in his mind. A deathly shadow crossed his expression and he strode to the center of the room. Whips of power made of Aether shoved every piece of furniture to the walls in one arcing thrust. Gaze fixed upon the door, he awaited the attack.

He blinked. A chill and he blinked again. Then fog rushed his eyes, so sudden, he thought his sight had been compromised, but it wasn't darkness that descended. It was something far more treacherous.

The power erupted with an intensity that eclipsed the feat in the Red Square. A star gone supernova exploded in his chest, and he dropped to his knees, crushed beneath its weight. In his mind he screamed Marcus' name, but he was powerless to speak else he would disintegrate. His fingers clawed the floor, digging nails downward, straining to hold onto reality. The power wrenched through him. His bones burned. His eyes ached. He wanted to weep with the glorious pain, and found the barest will to open his eyes and look his tormentor in the face.

Rather than the withered face of Regus, he peered into a cloud of haze. The room beyond was faint and distant. Draped with ghastly white.

The haze swirled and lurched, and a shrill bored into his brain. Nikolai felt his chin wrenched upward, forcing him to peer into the face of the one that gripped it. Ancient horror mounted in the abyss of his thoughts. A face stared back. It's mouth was filled with spikes, its nostrils flared, a demonic glow blazed behind the red hot coals of its eyes.

It's voice was screeching ice. The tongue foreign, but probes jabbing into his mind made the translation known.

Aidoneus Clymenus, Lord of Shades, I have waited an Age for this.

Nikolai screamed a roaring defiance, and sure that all that his flesh was skeleton and liquid sinew, he reached one leaden arm to claw at the face.

It laughed, and the mist swirled with glee.

And Nikolai knew this was how he was going to die.

[Armande]

They followed the girl as she wound the way down and they descended into the earth. The tunnels were silent except for the hum of distant machinery and the sounds of their steps. The air was warm from the pipes that lined the walls and humidity settled around him like a blanket, tried to crawl down his throat when he breathed through his mouth. The trickle of sweat down his temples and on his neck was only a minor inconvenience, though. The fabric beneath the armor was lightweight and designed to wick away any sweat a body produced.

But these impressions were only passing in the back of his mind. At the forefront was something else. Anticipation. Hunger. Excitement. Far greater than he'd ever felt on any hunt he'd every had. Each step brought them closer. Every footfall signaled the beginning of the end. The Atharim would continue on to carry out their charge and keep humanity safe from the gods. But with Apollyon gone, the greatest threat would be eliminated. It could be ended here and now.

Any doubt or hesitation- any fear that he was misinterpreting or forgetting something- was pushed back with each step, every one dropped into an abyss whose waves rippled in the darkness until peace returned to the surface. He focused on what was ahead even as he memorized each twist and turn, for their retreat. He'd not depend on the girl for that, now. He'd checked and triple checked his weapons and had them ready.

The battle would be soon at hand. Dank tunnel gave way to dirt and then to something nicer, the breeze of an air circulation system bring freshness and reprieve, the temperature differentials producing a slight breeze that suddenly seemed to freeze the sweat that matted his hair and temples and neck.

And suddenly there they were. Their path had taken less than 20 minutes and the return route was safe. A door stood in front of them. Armande used an electronic lock pick and it swung open. Almost too easy. It was as if the universe had set this up. The slaying of the beast. It had been foreordained. He sent drones in checking the way. Very likely, security would be here soon. A hallway presented itself, elevator door to one side, stairs to the other, walls and floors clean and lit under halogen lamps. And in front of them was a simple door.

The entire structure matched what he knew of Soviet Era bunkers. The dangers would always have been from above and the greatest defense were the hundreds of meters of earth between them. That and the additional shielding that surrounded the entire structure. They had passed through that outer shell and were inside the heart now. Here shielding was placed at bulkheads throughout, usually load bearing walls, sectioning off areas to prevent any outside leakages from spreading further. The entire complex that housed this section, including Apollyon's apartments- the appellation amused him. So banal for such a demonic and dangerous creature- would have that shield, but probably not this wall and door itself. Again, another risk, but he had no choice. The Ijiraq had paid off.

Even through the thick wooden door he heard a scream and felt a smile tug at his face. The scream was that of a man, ripped from the depths of his being, his entire soul torn and flayed.

No. He was not smiling.

He laughed, a deep rumbling chuckle that he felt in his chest and swung his gaze to look at Martin. The gleam in his eyes danced a fiery blue flame. He nodded to his friend. "Now we can begin."

Armande pulled both of his ADDS emitters and pointed them at the door and switched them on. He had no idea how thick it was. Doubling the amount of radiant energy blasting its way through would increase its effectiveness. Martin had his device as well, which would triple the amount, once he set the charges.

He could almost see the microwaves flowing out the front, into the door, through it, and into the room. He could imagine the room beyond filling with the ambient energy, the people inside feeling themselves warming from the inside, in their stomachs and in their heads, their vision wavering and flickering as if underwater.

They would not know what was happening to them, even as they were cooked from inside out, the liquid in their spleen and kidneys and brain and blood vessels getting hotter and hotter, eventually boiling over and outward. The metal jamb surround the door arced at the joints. He adjusted his hold so one hand was free and tentatively pressed the back of it against the metal. The heat of it could be felt through his gloves.

"Place the charges on the door" he said to Martin. They would wait another few minutes and then blow it.

He could almost envision the scene they would find. The smile on his face tightened.

[Marcus DuBois]

The room was quiet as Ascendancy retrieve a display and pulled up a security feed. He shared it with Marcus and he watched, fascinated, as the Atharim made their way into the trap that was laid for them. And then they disappeared.

Ascendancy didn't look worried, but he did get up and go to the floor and seat himself. Almost a meditative pose. The flickering flame danced shadows across the room, the quiet descending on them, palpable and heavy. The shadows elongated, seemed to stretch out and bath the room in some sort of ethereal darkness, as if this were some dream.

The heat from the fireplace began to feel stifling, as if draping him in some blanket, and he suddenly felt a tiredness wash over him. It would be very easy to fall asleep down here, ensconced in this...he wasn't sure what it felt like. Not a tomb. Not a lair. But it wasn't simple apartments either. There was a quietness that seemed to press in from everywhere, the massive weight of the earth above them almost something he could feel, the pressure in the air. A sanctuary. One in which he could sink into, enveloped in the bowels of the earth.

Drowsiness threatened so sweetly, draping its shadowy fingers across him, caressing his eyes, kneading sore muscles and calling to him with its siren song.

Exactly the wrong thing to happen. He stood, quietly so as to not disturb the man's meditation, and removed his jacket and tie. This was going to be a fight, soon enough, though Marcus laughed at the actual thought. With the power available to Ascendancy, to him, anyone who thought to defeat them would be sorely disabused. As he stood, he removed items from his pocket- his wallet, his key card, some bills. His hands brushed the smooth steel ball in his pocket. He felt its cool surface in between his fingers.

Almost, he pulled it out, wanting to show it to Ascendancy. But something held him. Not yet. It was not ready. Their arrangement was mutually beneficial. And Ascendancy had taken him into his confidence, into his inner sanctum. There was so much he needed to learn. He would present something more than this simple ball, however transformed by the Force it was.

He remained standing, staving off the tiredness that wanted to lull him to sleep, watching the door. The quiet got deeper except for the quiet roar and pops of the fire and Marcus looked at it for a moment, looked into its infinite depths.

Something beyond sound hissed into the air. Almost he could make out sounds, as if someone were speaking. The memory of laying in his room with his foster siblings, being awakened from sleep by their whispering came to him. Too far and soft to hear, almost as if he dreamed it. There was no meaning he could put to what he could make out.

Ascendancy's head whipped to him, eyes flaring. "What did you say?"
Marcus was about to protest when everything happened at once.

The sensors began blaring out a cacophony of noise and Ascendancy checked the display. Marcus immediately knew the Atharim were here, even as he felt the Ascendancy seize the Force, filling himself to the brim. Menace permeated the room, squeezed and forced itself into every corner. The furniture itself moved out from the center to the edges, the space cleared for the confrontation.

Marcus prepared to seized the Force himself when he noticed something and paused. Or rather, he felt it first. Ascendancy drew in more of the Force, more and more, as if he were dying of thirst, unquenchable. More than he'd held in Red Square earlier today.

The shadows of the room were playing tricks on his eyes, Ascendancy's tired face at once seeming euphoric and rapturous, and then strained and in agony.

And then the shadows seemed to coalesce in some way, taking form, nebulous and shifting, a cloud of black silver undulating, light coming from somewhere in its depths. Was that something Ascendancy was making?

The whine of nails on chalkboard bit into his mind, trying to wipe him clean, words he could not understand.

And Ascendancy screamed, the rictus of agony freezing his face, mouth tortured into a shape he remembered from his own excursions. A man screaming out his soul to death

And Marcus was frozen for a second that seemed like eternity, trying to process what he was seeing. Knowing of the Atharim, having seen those things at the Almaz, knowing there were nightmares made flesh was intellectual.

But nightmare had been born in this room. And it was killing Ascendancy. Marcus shoved down the slither of Malik, the whispered temptation to let it happen. Not now. Not this way. Nothing had changed from earlier today. He needed Ascendancy. Alive.

He opened himself and grabbed the Force, choking it down, throttling it in his mind, broke it to his will. He lashed out at the now solidified mist, a blow of air to strike it back.

It seemed to shudder in the wind, a cloud dispersing. But it reformed, black red eyes focused on him. Marcus gave it no chance. Ascendancy was still frozen, scream pouring from him as if ripped from his soul.

The room was hot, now, as he he wove another weave, air and fire and earth, to batter the thing. The creature shifted again, words forming in the air, words he did not understand, words he did not need to understand, translated by the malevolent eyes promising its own retribution when it was done with Ascendancy.

Marcus' eyes watered at the heat in the room, as if the fire had roared into a furnace, head light, and he felt a roaring in his ears. He had to think. Each blow had only dispersed it.

Thought came to him slowly, congealed cold honey, dribbling glacially, one drop at a time. He projected, tried to calculate. It dispersed. It was the wrong style of attack. Marcus wove through the dizziness, compressing the air around the creature, trying to solidify it. Even as he did so, he wove another thread of earth and fire and slammed it into it. This time the thing shuddered as if hit.

Marcus' elation was short lived as something in his pocket flared to life, a coal, fire. He looked down and saw arcing blue light, sparks around the shape of the metal ball. All around him, the metal in the room sparked and flashed, flames fanning to life where they touched fabric or wood. The place would go up soon.

The burning flesh of his leg grabbed his attention and he fell to the floor. Another weave seized the metal ball from the burned hole in his pants and held it up, arcing blue lighting playing around it, his own pain etched on the twisted reflection of his face.

He gritted his teeth and forced himself through the fogginess- the room danced around his vision, twisting and melting in his mind, as if in a funhouse mirror. He knew where the creature was and wove again, solidifying it again, hitting it harder, hearing through the roar the thud as it struck the wall.

The creature seemed to writhe and go wild as he penned it there, and he looked at Ascendancy to see if whatever it was doing had stopped.

But he was on fire, from inside his chest and stomach and head, could feel himself churning. He held onto the Force with every fiber of his being even as he fell to his knees, mind reeling, searching for whatever it was that did this to them.

The arcing of the ball seemed to bathe it in blue light. Something. There was something familiar about it.

[Ascendancy]

<dl>
<dt>Curse tablet</dt>
<dd> </dd>
</dl>
"Cast your hate upon his, and I will bind my enemy in his blood and in his ashes, with all the dead to weep for his suffering.”

More power flowed through him than Nikolai thought existed. If he still had eyes, he knew they must be squeezed shut, but he was sure they had long ago burned from his skull. He wanted to roar with the magnitude of power flowing through him, but his voice was ash as surely as the rest of his body.

Fire churned and ice pelted his soul. He could see nothing else. Feel nothing else. He swam in surging seas of fire; a lord of hell incarnate, until the sea rose up and he became a being of pure fire. The power flowed like a tsunami, and had the creature of terror not controlled the flow, he would have been swept away with it. Obliterated by it.

He wanted to be swept away with it. He silently begged for it to be so.

Survival was impossible, but Nikolai knew he had to hold on. Just a little while longer.

Something moved. Mist devolved to fog, scattering droplets of white. The flow ebbed, waned, and crashed. The sheer amount of it seemed miniscule in comparison to the eternity before, but with it came the realization that he had not been swept away. He had not disintegrated into a being of pure fire.

The monster of smoke rolled and roared defiance. Its shrill voice screamed near to supersonic and rang painfully in his head. It turned its mouth of spikes and demonic red eyes to the other man in the room. But it was hung between them, willing itself to slaughter the second man but command kept him tethered to the first.

He was burning with fever. Sweat rolled the sides of his face, his eyes blinked hot, his throat was ashes. The power was about to burst like a dam, shattering himself, and the city with it, if it wasn't channeled into some purpose. Nikolai clawed himself upright. HIs knees dug into the cement.

Threads lashed out, dozens simultaneously. Aether and Flame attacked the mist, but it billowed and phased in and out of sight, untouched. Aether and Essence fanned the smoke, wafting his hair on funnels of furious wind as it whipped about his forehead, but the creature went untouched by the currents. Firmament, his chosen, made a bomb of a grid until it pressed the walls. Quaking started, and Nikolai drew strength from the miles of underground cacooning his dwelling. The interior walls burst outward. The blast wave threw him backward.

His head smacked the cement floor. Dust and shrapnel billowed through the chamber. But the ceiling was soon filled with mist again. Nikolai threw his hands up to protect himself, but it was a juvenile move. The mist wrapped itself around him, and as it latched, the flow of power was wrenched away. He howled in fury, and it began again.

[Borovsky]

They were finally there. Finally at their goal. Martin was nervous and excited but he still felt that something was going to go horribly wrong. They set the weapons. Everything was going according to plan. There was screaming on the other side barely audible. They lowered the beams long enough for Martin to set the charges on the door. Martin wasn't certain why they needed them on a regular door it kinda gave them away before they got to the door. But the Regus had things planned.

Martin was walking back from the door when the walls flew outward. He didn't have time to look back before the concussive force blew Martin across the hallway. The charges hadn't gone off there was no loud bang just the horrible screech of metal and wood tearing apart.

There was pain in his back as Martin felt the wall in front of him knock the breathe from his lungs. His head was pounding but he was turning around with his gun in hand in moments. Or he hoped it had been moments. His eye sight was blurred with the settling debris. His gun trained in front of him. He had no idea where the other one flew to in the blast of power. It had to come from inside.

Fuck! Martin gazed through the debris and found the Ijiraq latching on to Apollyon. Another man was in the room. Martin trained his gun on the black man he vaguely recognized as the new Sigma and yelled "Don't move."