Dedication

[Borovsky]

Martin's body nearly hummed with the energy that could only be attributed to the justice that was about to be wrought. The only thing dampening his spirits was that it was not his hands that wrapped around the traitors neck, squeezing the life out of him.

He watched the audience as the deed was preformed. He knew all too well the sounds a person made when they died in such a manner, Stone true to his teachings did not cry out or make too much noise, only those of a dying man. Martin smiled underneath his black hood. His hand clasped behind his back as he surveyed the crowd as they watched. His gaze swept the entire crowd, he looked for those who were shocked and took note. He took note of those who saw with disgust on their face. He made sure to keep track of the faces upon which he saw justice being done. He could tell the difference.

In the back corner he saw one little sheep close her eyes. He saw in her exactly what he was feeling. She was dangerous, Martin wasn't sure the Regus knew exactly what he was doing with that monster. She should be up here, no, he amended his thoughts, she was not worthy of such a death. Monster in sheep's clothing. Martin took note of her companions, particularly the one to whom comforted the monster. He would find out what he knew too.

Martin let his gaze wander the remainder of the crowd, the Regus would get all his findings, and he was sure the Regus would act upon them according to their needs.


Edited by Borovsky, Jan 22 2015, 03:49 PM.

[Seth Marx]

The reactions in the crowd to Reggie's 'justice' spanned from shock to creepy levels of excitement. Seth didn't notice how hard his fists were clenched until Father Stone's body was on the floor. That muffled thump was like a switch - the room was silent, after. Then two men in black, supposedly Reggie's best, strolled up to drag the body away. Seth wasn't quite sure when the Atharim bandwagon took a wrong turn for crazy town, but he'd be damned if it wasn't Reggie who started it.

Reggie killed the priest for trying to protect his daughter. Takes a real God damn man to strangle someone to death in cold blood with a dozen of your own circus clowns standing behind you.
Seth's eyes narrowed on Reggie during his little justification speech.

Seth could give Reggie one thing - he was good at making idiots cheer for murder. Granted, Seth's granddad helped kill the last guy who did that so well. He cocked his head, looking more inquisitively at Reggie, and his bodyguards. They weren't that threatening - but there were a lot of them. And all Seth had was an imaginary boot knife, which he was already unconsciously sliding a hand towards. Didn't feel right without it there, but the bastards disarmed everyone at the door. Pulling the hand away, he sighed. That was a thought for another time. When he wasn't surrounded by crazy ass Europeans.

One of Reggie's SS guys stood out from the rest. He seemed to be scanning the crowd for something. That fucker might be a problem.
When that searchlight gaze landed on Seth, he looked right back.
Edited by Seth Marx, Jan 23 2015, 04:28 PM.

[Enzo Dolan]

The Regus' words sank deep.

Gods.

All-powerful and immortal.

Their return was news previously unknown to him. He felt his lids slide low, as though unwilling to look upon the man uttering this grave news even as the truth of it gonged in his mind. A pit grew in his stomach that he did not fathom could widen any more than when it was ripped open the night his family was murdered. Yet there he sat, nearly sick to his stomach. Corrado's mentorship provided no guidance for the hunt of a god. He never felt so utterly alone as he had in that moment, even surrounded by the allies of the Atharim.

Yet every Atharim knew the truth of their origins as the Regus carried on to remind them. The godwars resulted in the slaughter of millions of innocent people. The gods stole babies from their mothers' arms. They raped and disowned the resultant bastards. They forced the people into worship! The ruins of their temples remain to this day. Enzo had seen them in Rome. Any Atharim to have visited the Vatican was required to look upon the catastrophic ruin of the past.

They were here, and God save them, Apollyon was reborn? Already? The Regus assigned him a name also.

Enzo paled white as a sheet. The way his children's textbooks described the Ascendancy was reverence bordering piety. His daughter once wrote an essay for social studies class about the man - god - that in retrospect turned Enzo's stomach. It was inconceivable.

The conclusion of Regus' speech left him with a cold hope. Enzo would believe what a great man like their leader declared, but the task seemed impossible. The Atharim themselves would need to form an army simply to battle one god. Was that the purpose of today? To formulate such a collective force? He wondered what Tehya thought.

Very soon, the reality of the situation gripped Enzo to the bone. One of the priests, Enzo did not recognize him, was led forward. A bag was draped over his face but it was Enzo who felt as though he ceased breathing. He watched, unblinking, as the bag was sucked into the cavernous hole of the Father's mouth as he gasped his last. The thud of the body was softer than anyone might have imagined. They probably would have heard a pin drop, otherwise.

The surrounding figures in black were posed like black demons guarding the gates of hell. Or perhaps, more accurately, heralding the welcome of another evil soul. The Father sired and harbored a god. That a FATHER - a holy man of the church, sanctified, set-apart - would father any child was abhorrent. But once he did, he should have renounced his faith and accepted ex-communication. Enzo made the sign of the cross over his chest. A Father engaged in an affair, then covered it up, it was the sort of tale from movies not real life. To become an Atharim, you know the laws and the threats for breeching of one. Father Stone's actions were paramount to treason; a holy man of the Catholic Church who willingly took on the order of Atharim service. Enzo understood the necessity of the execution, but he preferred not to have witnessed it.

After it was over, reality hardened his gaze to marble. What would they be called to do?

[Tehya]

She listened with a stoic expression. The ardency of the Regus's speech might have stirred blood if the man hadn't condemned the past actions of gods in the same breath he advocated the killing of children. Tehya could see it no other way. War would come of this pre-emptive strike, bloody and self-prophesied. Before long it would shred the very world they had always promised to protect. It grieved her.

People were not born evil. She refused to believe that. And she would not murder children for what they may one day become.

Self-identity aside. Her own secret; her own lie. She would not murder children.

Her eyes took a blink; she was aware that the gathering was being surveyed in turn, their unwavering loyalty tested in their various reactions. Not to the Atharim's cause - at least as Tehya understood it - but to the Regus's. Steeped in church dogma, in tradition and ritual, all trappings she considered unnecessary to the very core of what the Atharim should be.

She'd never before felt ashamed of the tattoo on her wrist, never felt it burn like a cult brand rather than the very promise she usually considered it to be. Bile stung the back of her throat. It was the 2040s, and the archaism disturbed her. The neglect in the name of ceremony. While they watched a man twitch and die at the behest of the man they called leader, the streets were undefended. Innocents died so that the Regus may have - what? An audience to the breadth of his power? Power corrupts. His actions spoke louder than his words.

[Hood]

Hood had met some hard ass'd jack-wagons in his time. Staff Sergeants and officers that felt they were big men because of rank and position or TI (time in). In his past life, he had in the peripheries of conventional special forces teams, guiding them to a target that needed more firepower then the men in his line of work could usually bring to bear. The men that stood at the front-and-center stage were the worst of that sort; these ones had 'religion' on their side, not just organizational tradition. They knew to their bones they were right, whether he might have thought so or not.

Hood's gaze swept around the room as the priest twitched and spasmed in his death throws; the fellow had taken it like a fuckin' champ, certainly, but those last few moments were never pleasant for anyone involved. Bowls and blatters voided, and the smell was atrocious. Luckily, he was far enough removed not to have to deal with that unpleasantness. He absently wondered if the weirdos wore slippers under their ceremonial robes? That'd be unpleasant.

He couldn't see the expressions of most of the Atharim in the room. Standing off to one side, he could only see their postures in most, and an unsettling few seemed to hang on the Regus' words like they were the Light of God itself, or some shit like that. And others? Well, he had a vague suspicion there was going to be a lot of work for those robed nutbars to do in cleaning house, if'n the ones that were less appeased to watch a man die didn't move first.

It had all been interesting in it's own sort of way, but as Borovsky's gaze, the Regus' chosen attack dog if he'd ever seen one, swept Hood's way he met it without hesitation. Or interest, for that matter. The man was, no doubt, a very qualified killer of things that went bump in the night, or in idiot kids who had discovered they were fucking wizards or star-mages or whatever BS nerdy excuse they came up with, but Hood hunted with the Atharim more for the challenge of it then for any moral obligations.

He was a bad, bad man, and didn't use religion or tradition to convince himself otherwise. He didn't need to justify it and hide his reasons behind laws or offices or ranks. He killed because he was good at it, and was lucky enough that there were plenty of folks out there who thought they were better. If more bad men were willing to do the same, then who knew? Maybe the world would be a better place. Fuck that. Probably not.

[Armande]

Armande was satisfied with what he saw. There was of course shock. Public executions weren't common these days, after all. Which had been been his point, a wake up call for his people in addition to the sifting work. The dangers were real. One did not wait until a viper infestation became large before deciding to take care of it. Now, while the gods were relatively weak, was when they had to act.

He quieted the turning of his stomach. Most of the gods were weak. But one, one was not weak at all. The most dangerous man on the planet. He would not quit though. Not until it was done. No matter the cost.

On one or two faces here and there, some familiar some not, he saw something else. Defiance. Challenge. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. They were very welcome to try. One did not become The Regus of the Atharim, an organization which spanned the millenia, over continents and in every sort of government, and had defeated gods and monsters during all that time, by being soft. Intensive training and hunting of nearly every kind of abomination under the sun for over 45 years had shaped him, sharpened him, honed his mind and body into a deadly blade, an instrument for humanity's salvation. Let them try.

After the body was dragged away, the stench of offal weaker now that it was gone, he clasped his hands behind his back. "A challenge stands before us. If we fail, humanity will once again be enslaved. We will NOT fail." His words hung in the air, sinking in. "A new Order of Atharim is being created: The Order of the Archangels. There will be seven such Orders, grouped into two Canticles of three and four. The sole purpose of this Order is to protect mankind from the reborn gods. I do not need to tell you this will be difficult work. However, you will not be sent out to fight gods with swords and spears. Our considerable resources, as well as channels and contacts in various governments and the private sector have been tapped. Careful thought and planning has gone into the challenges and situations you will face. Your weaponry will be up to the task."

He paused, could see the faint smiles on many faces. His heart warmed. His children made him proud. Most of them, anyway. His voice raised. "Weapons are no substitute, though, for careful planning and cunning. You will not take one down through conventional means. Strategies and tactics are being developed, culled from the finest military minds as well as from the Atharim histories of the godwars. And perhaps more will be available to you, should certain avenues of research bear fruit." He could feel it now, a slight energy in the room. Barovsky had his lists. He made sure to memorize faces he did not know so as to attach their reactions to their files later. Of course, the recording of the audience would do just as well, but he never solely relied on machines for something he could do himself.

It was time to close. He had work to do. And so did they. "Those of you who have been selected will be contacted soon. We haven't a moment to lose. All of us must remember what we fight for. And the cost of failure. To us. And to all mankind." His steely blue gaze swept over them one last time. He clapped his hands. "Dismissed!"

There was no further ceremony. He left the stage, nodding to Barovsky. The man would join him later. There was much to do.

[Borovsky]

Martin watched as few men and women made eye contact. He had that effect on most. Those who did, though, especially those who looked at him with challenge, brought a slight smile to his face. He'd always enjoyed a good fight. Not that any here worried him in the slightest. You didn't do what he did for as long as he had without becoming very good. The faces were noted, though, mostly for himself. He'd keep an eye out. Should something get too much out of hand he'd share it with the Regus and the new High Inquisitor. It was enough to watch for now.

The Regus continued with his final words, the Order was announced, his position in it not so much. But Martin was not a man to brag. He would be what the Regus asked of him. In the meantime, he would hunt gods! And he would hunt the worst of them, even if he had to wait for that whelp of a girl to bring back enough intel upon her death.

The word 'dismissed' echoed in the room, but the shuffle of feet and seats became all that Martin could hear. He smiled to himself. He pulled the hood of the robe down farther. His thoughts turned to his new charge, one Aria Piccolo, a girl, nay a monster in their midst. He walked from his place in front towards the back. The black robe wasn't as good as Moses parting the waters, but most people didn't stand in the way of him.

Martin stopped before the girl and her friends, they still sat in place waiting for the throng of people to depart, or whatever other devious things the little monster was trying to do. He understood what the Regus was thinking, but she was such a sour thing. No emotions in her eyes, the boy's arm still around her shoulders, he watched everything and he watched Martin. He was hardly a threat. Martin smiled in the depths of his hood as he called her name in a quite dangerous voice "Ms. Piccolo, my office. Now."
Martin frowned, no emotions registered on her face, nothing but cold green darkness in her eyes. She looked at Martin and nodded, and stood with little ceremony, the boy next to her stood at her side and he leaned in to say something but she patted his hand and whispered something he couldn't hear, but from what he could gather, it was something to the point of it'll be alright.

Martin cocked his head to the side ever so slightly, he had something to worry about? He would have to keep an eye on her friends too it seemed. Martin headed towards the door, his new little tool in tow.


Edited by Borovsky, Jan 29 2015, 05:00 PM.

[Aria]

The Regus continued after the death of Father Stone as if nothing bad had happened only moments before. He inspired most around Aria, she could feel it. The death of a fellow Atharim was hard to take, particularly one called traitor, but Aria could feel their devotion to the cause.

Aria could have believed as they did once upon a time, if she weren't different. Aria never considered herself purely one of them, she was always different, always treated different, it was never far from her mind with no gods to hunt, and even as Furia she would be next once her usefulness was gone, and now she was truly one of the monsters - Sentient. They had tried to kill her father twice and failed. Stupid people probably underestimated his influence, she would kill the man. She would hunt him down and she would kill him for what he did to Lucas. She had no doubt in her mind about that. He would be dead before the year was out. Granted it had just started anew, but he would not see another year pass.

A new order, an order of archangels, The Regus was a pompous man. He thought he had the right to use what were Gods right hand men. It was only a name, but Aria believe the Regus thought that highly of himself. Her friends were not demons to be hunted down. They were men with choices, just like every other man before him. The gods of before were corrupt beings, but they were still men. Bad men, but just men. Aria wanted to spit in disgust at the use of Gods Archangels but she stared emotionless through the bubble she protected herself with. This many people, too many people. And the ebb and flow of the speech finally ending, everyone leaving and Aria sat still. She was surprised to find Nox staying at her side when even Aurora got up with a nod to them. She had other places to be, Aria was pretty sure she wanted out of this place rather quickly, Aria could feel the doubts spreading in the woman's emotions. Aria didn't doubt her cause, only the way in which it was to be handled. Some of these godlings did indeed need to be put down, but not because they were just born that way, but because they were bad people.

A man in a black robe waded through the crowd towards them, when he stopped next to her chair and spoke her name. Aria's heart sank. What did he know? What did he want? Aria could feel Nox's apprehension rising. She stood and he stood with her. He leaned in, Aria patted his hand on her shoulder and whispered, "Nothing to worry about."
He wasn't reassured. The man moved through the throng with ease and Aria followed calmly behind him. But her mind and feelings reeled with fear and her own apprehension. Though she would never let him know that.

[Nox]

Fear slide around inside like the slippery snake that it was. Aria's calming affect only showed outwardly, he was surprised no one could see the fear in his eyes. Nox knew he was only so good at hiding behind his smile and humor. And this was a matter of his life.

A new order formed to do nothing but hunt the reborn gods, to hunt him and others like him. Fear was a powerful motivator. And despite is abject terror at needles he would don the thing the was dreading most about the whole initiation process - with the serpent on his skin he would hide in plain sight. Hide what he was because it was near unfathomable for anyone to join such an organization knowing that even a hint at what he was could be his life.

Aria sat still in the chair even after they had been clearly dismissed. Nox watched the crowd walk past them. A man in the black robe, the one who had with a wave of his hand brought Father Stone out to greet his death, he walked towards them, he could be leaving but Nox could see the glint of his eyes, they never left them. Nox smiled, but that man was dangerous.

His voice spoke softly but the command in it was powerful. Nox's heart sank. Aria stood up like a puppet on strings. She was too used to being used by the Atharim. She patted his hand and told him it would be okay. It was not reassuring, she followed him out the door and Nox sat back down in the folding chair and put his hung his head in his hands. What then hell was about to happen? And there was nothing he could do about it. Not a single damned thing.

[Enzo Dolan]

Enzo's ill-ease was not soothed by the speech's finale. An Archangel order of Atharim, while inspiring, made him wonder who the individuals would be to fill such roles. The seven orders clearly mimicked the seven archangels of tradition, but how would the Regus implement them into action? Would each order have a different function? Deploy to different parts of the world? Most important, who would be drafted into such responsibilities? A pit, ominous as the gates to hell itself, threatened to open into his gut: what if they drafted him? He honored his family by dispatching the kinds of monsters that murdered them. The Regus argued the gods were just as monstrous, but it was hard to put a villainous mask on an amorphous face.