Post by Maya on Jan 25, 2015 6:26:48 GMT -5
The Effect Previous thread
Clattering against the harden marble floors echoed through the halls, bouncing off the cold ceiling till it met face with an broad wooden door; empty except for one lone figure, shoulders pressed low he made its way down the corridor. Weighted down, eyes sunken in deep, there wasn't an ounce of sleep to be had in his face, days seemed to congeal into one over the weeks, sleepless nights went by, only with the stars and never ending thoughts to keep him company. Coat ties dangled in the moving wake of his form, no stops were necessary tonight, plans where always in action, hands nor minds ever having a peaceful moment, memories of the wars seemed oh so similar. A constant threat of bomb shells, hails of lead, tanks, troops rushing from the city side, but this was a different type of war, a war which guns held less of a ploy in manners most dangerous and cunning, words, actions, a vocalization of demands only able to be given by those which held the most power. Politics had never been a strong suit of his, guns, their sleek, cool metal pressed against his fingers, that was where he fit best at; sitting around in monkey suit as other listed outrageous demands which were less likely to happen than the sun imploding. Tolerance was an instant reaction, sharp, harsh tone were his weapons now; threats, his loyal companion which rested by his waist, always ready to attack when master called.
Heaving against the brass handle the door swung open laying out the dimly lit right before him, well kept, clean, it was a cozy hovel fit for personal usage. Sighing with an exhale his arms fell from the length of the cloak as it set off to the side, falling upon a stack of books it took an odd form over the table as it sat still. A commanding snap with a flick of his fingers did the room come to life, a series of lights of the wall took a deep breath as their yellowish glow illuminated the room, off against the far wall near the back a fire place roared with the birth of flames as they jutted froth from the ground. The rooms always held a touch of cold to them, partially due of the effect of heat absorbing stone floors but being as far away from home star as his world was gave the air a slight nip to it; cold season, the harshest times of the year, crops dared not stand in the face of the icy chills that swept over the lands. Before the wars, the revolts, his people where rarely graced with comfort away from the winds, ice formed in their breath; housing was less than adequate if one was lucky they would even have a roof over their heads at night, those less fortunate... a tale much to grim to tell for those which fell under such a fate.
Hovering hands rested above the fires that stroked the mantle piece, comfort from something so simple as a flame, in times of war, or even out the wilds it was fire that could bring a soldiers moral back to its peak; licking, dancing flames had a magic to them, swift like birds yet with the raw strength of nature itself behind it, there was no wonder it was held in high regard amongst those he lived with, more than just a way to heat a home, even build tools. Flames, the herald of wakening, new birth, destruction; Pyre of spark, the one thing they had taken out of all the madness, the enslavement over the thousands of years. The Spark had been pushed upon them for years; at least that's what the stories told of, none of his people thought otherwise now, clear on how it came to be in their blood, in their hearts and minds, once they had fought against the idea but now it was apart of them, a piece of who they were. Stories long ago told the tales of those that gave life to this world, those that lived amongst the stars those that did not know of it... till the conquests began, the banner of The Spark etched into their souls just like his people.
ҁσ≈ƺ ‡σ ≈ƺ ҁ♓♊λ∂༢ƺ₪,
ζσ༢‡♓ ζ༢σ≈ ‡♓ƺ ζλ⊼≈ƺى,
⊼∮∮ ى♓⊼∮∮ ༢♊ىƺ,
⊼₪∂ ⊼∮∮ ى♓⊼∮∮ ζ⊼∮∮.
∝♊‡♓♊₪ ≈ɏ ⊼ى♓ƺى ɏσμ ∝♊∮∮ ζ♊₪∂ ∝♓⊼‡ ♊ى ىσμ♓‡,
⊼₪∂ ∝♓⊼‡ ♊ى λσى‡.
‡♓σىƺ ϡμ༢ƺ ى♓⊼∮∮ ƺ ༢ƺσ༢₪,
‡♓σىƺ λσى‡ ى♓⊼∮∮ μ༢₪.
:Translation:
Come to me children,
Forth from the flames,
All shall rise,
and all shall fall.
Within my ashes you will find what is sought,
and what is lost.
Those pure shall be reborn,
those lost shall burn.
Written in the stone structure of the wall the message had been carved, each letter chiseled over time by his own hands, blood, and sweat laced the words, hammered in so deep that the world would long forget his people before it disappeared. Eyes shimmered in glow of the fire he cursed under his own breath at his actions; faith, something which had no purpose if one did not believe. Death, war, famine, he had seen each one during his life, it takes a toll on ones mind... his faith was waning, shaking at its foundations... deep within his body he wished to believe, yet his mind told his else. All great men had struggles, more burdens that a normal person to bear; news of such blasphemy could never leave spoken lips, 'traitor', 'heretic', lists could go on and on, though losing any position of power he had gained would all be a pipe dream at that point.
"ىϡ⊼༢⋡, ‡♓⊼‡ ∝♓♊ҁ♓ ♓⊼ى ♊√ƺ₪ ⊼∮∮.
μ♊∂ƺ ‡♓♊ى ♓μى⋡ σζ ⊼ ≈⊼₪.
♓⊼ƺ ♊ ༢σ∝₪ ♊₪∂?
♊ ىƺ⊼༢ҁ♓ ɏƺ‡ ♊ ζ♊₪∂ ₪σ‡♓♊₪,
⊼♊∂ ≈ƺ, ⊼♊∂ μى.
♊ ζƺ⊼༢ ♊ ∝⊼₪,
ىƺ₪∂ ≈ƺ ⊼ ى♊₪.
∝♊‡♓σμ‡ ζ⊼♊‡♓ ♊ ⊼≈ ₪σ‡♓♊₪ ≈σ༢ƺ ‡♓⊼₪ ⊼ ≈⊼₪."
:Translation:
"Spark, that which has given all.
Guide this husk of a man.
Have I grown blind?
I search yet I find nothing,
aid me, aid us.
I fear I wan,
send me a sign.
Without faith I am nothing more than a man."
His words spoke to the empty room, the only one to hear them was himself, reaching upon the top of the mantle lay a small metal box, its metallic coat shinning from the light of the flames. Craved on the exterior of the box was the symbol of a lone flame, the symbol itself was glowing a deep red with his spoke words. Whipping his wrist in a flicking motion the box clicked rapidly as sparked flew from the top, bellowing out a sea of charred embers into the flames within the fire place giving it an odd green glow. Grunting softly he placed the box atop the mantle once again, stepping away from the fire place a few rapid knocks pressed on the door. Within a second his had was placed at his side, as always his hand cannon was always well loaded and ready to fire upon his beckoning command; there had been no call from his servants of a coming visitor and certainly no one could come and visit him; a loner he kept to himself, never having anyone but family over... what few that were still breathing that was.
Armed with the lone gun which carved its way through the bloody fields of his 'glory days' he approached the door, feet lighter than feathers he glided to the doorway, not a single beat of his movements could be heard over the crackles of the crumbling wood, a mask to his steps; often in the trenches gun shots were forced, pulling attention else were from his troops, guile was his friend, dear and old. Hovering, he stood, his stance firm yet it held a looseness in his shoulders, ready to spring when the moment rose, uncertainly held thick around his breaths, there was no idea of who could be approaching his chambers, friend or foe it mattered little of who it could have been, until their eyes locked everyone was a enemy of his state.
Opening the door would have been beyond foolish, within point blank range even the weakest of weapons could do potentially fatal damage if not ending his breath with the first placed shot; calling out was always an option but that too would put him in the line of danger, an assassin that only cared for a job done could put a bullet into him even though the barrier of the wooden door. Options were limited but most forget the most crucial things in moments such as these; patience. Obviously the person knew where he lived and where his chambers were at, if they had come this far they were well versed in his life, they knew he was here, they would come, invite or not; waiting, waiting would seal the deal and let him face those which might seek to cause him harm... all of this could have been for nothing but his life's longevity would not be in peril because of acts most idiotic on his behalf.
Time ticked, clocks on the far walls moving back in forth, their pendulums swayed with the beat of his heart, clam and collective his hand remained, even before with his hands stained in fresh blood he never flinched, eyes dilated from the dim lighting of the room he held his position, gun locked on the doors face. Creaking of worn hinges filled the rooms space, not a reason of lack of maintenance, but defense, a warning in the back of his mind, ready at all times to give him those few precious seconds to guard himself. Eyes unblinking he watched as the door swung to its full letting the darkness of the corridor into the room, sucking like a black hole the fire grew haphazardly, being pulled towards the new opening. A lone figure stood, taking time to adjust, the barrel of the gun didn't come to a thought till the flicks of the flames bounced from its metallic surface.
"♓σλ∂ σ₪ ‡♓ƺ༢ƺ ₪σ∝."
:Translation:
"Hold on there now."
The all to familiar voice rang out from the darkness.
Muscles relaxed as his finger moved from the triggers side, words spoken to him just saved the mans life, another second and the dice would have been cast, another body would be laying at his feet once again.
"ɏσμ ∂σ ༢ƺ⊼λ♊ƺ ‡♓⊼‡ ‡♓ƺ ∂ƺ༢ƺƺى σζ ♊∂♊σҁɏ ɏσμ ♓⊼ƺ ҁσμλ∂ λƺ⊼ƺ ɏσμ ∝♊‡♓ ⊼ ∂σҁ‡σ༢⊼‡ƺ."
:Translation:
"You do realize that the degrees of idiocy you have could leave you with a doctorate."
He spoke as his gun hand lowered towards the floor yet remained fully cocked as it had before; it was always cocked, never for a second did a thought pass in his mind that he would not need it again one day, and then, then he could be ready.
"ҁ⊼∮∮ ≈ƺ ∝♓⊼‡ ɏσμ ∝⊼₪‡, ⊼ ∂ƺ༢ƺƺ ♊ى ⊼ ⊼ ∂ƺ༢ƺƺ, ҁσ≈≈⊼₪∂ƺ༢."
:Translation:
"Call me what you want, a degree is a a degree, commander."
The man at the door gave off a nervous laugh as he stepped into the room. At first the commanders eyes could not understand what it was that he saw before him, the voice, the voice was all to familiar to his yet the blood battered remnant of a mans face was unforeseen sight. Even with the fire placed towards his back side the other man could see the dismay in the commanders face, leaving him with could only be called a smirk on his face.
"༢ƺ≈ƺ≈ƺ༢ ‡♓♊ى? ى‡♊∮∮ ♓μ༢‡ى, ‡♓ƺ₪ ⊼⊼♊₪ ‡♓ƺ μ∮∮ƺ‡ ∂σƺى₪'‡ ىƺƺ≈ ‡σ ∝⊼₪‡ ‡σ ҁσ≈ƺ σμ‡."
:Translation:
"Remember this? Still hurts, then again the bullet doesn't seem to want to come out."
His hand pointing at what reminded of the left side of his head, were once soft flesh rested there was a goopy matter of muscle and bone showing in the fires dim light.
"♊‡ ∝⊼ى ₪ƺҁƺىى⊼༢ɏ ‡σ ىƺ⊼λ ‡♓ƺ ∂ƺ⊼λ."
:Translation:
"It was necessary to seal the deal."
The commanders unphased voice came out as he turned about towards the lone desk in the corner, his coat still taking majority claim over it.
"₪ƺҁƺىى⊼༢ɏ? ∝ƺ∮∮ ζμҁ⋡ ≈ƺ! ⊼ λ♊‡‡λƺ ∝⊼༢₪♊₪ ∝σμλ∂ ♓⊼ƺ ƺƺ₪ ₪♊ҁƺ, ♊ ⋡₪σ∝ ∝♊₪♊₪ ⊼ ϡλ⊼₪ ♓⊼ى ∝σ༢⋡ƺ∂ σμ‡ ζσ༢ ɏσμ μ‡ ♊ ♓⊼ƺ ⊼ ∂⊼≈₪ ى♓ƺ∮∮ λσ∂ƺ∂ ♊₪ ≈ɏ ♓ƺ⊼∂!"
:Translation:
"Necessary? Well fuck me! A little warning would have been nice, I know winging a plan has worked out for you but I have a damn shell lodged in my head!"
The man's voice raised slightly as his arms expressed a great deal of anger as they danced about his body in a flailing manner.
"ɏσμ'༢ƺ ⊼λ♊ƺ, ƺ ༢⊼‡ƺζμλ."
:Translation:
"You're alive, be grateful."
The commander scoffed harshly, his hands now digging deep within the contents of the desk, clutter splattered about with his hands movements, though his life was generally organized, beneath all of the class was a layer of dismay and chaos of his belongings.
"σ♓ ɏ⊼, ζμҁ⋡♊₪ ϡƺ⊼ҁ♓ɏ σ√ƺ༢ ♓ƺ༢ƺ. ∮μى‡ ƺ‡ ‡♓♊ى ∂⊼≈₪ ‡♓♊₪ σμ‡ σζ ≈ɏ ζ⊼ҁƺ ⊼λ༢ƺ⊼∂ɏ, ♊‡ҁ♓ƺى λ♊⋡ƺ ‡♓ƺ ༢ƺ⊼‡ ζλ⊼≈ƺى."
:Translation:
"Oh ya, fucking peachy over here. Just get this damn thing out of my face already, itches like the great flames."
The man groaned softly with impatience in his voice, though having spent the last three weeks in a grave would do that to a man.
Grunting with a final tug the commander recoiled a step as a shiny metal object was grasped within his clutches; at the top bore a dull metal tip looking similar to that of a ordinary metallic rod, affixed on the bottom was a dimly lit button hardly seen in the lighting of the room. Sliding around the width of the table the commander stood in front of the half faced man the metallic instrument in hand, with out missing a beat he took a hold of the man's shoulder and with a single burst of moment he drove the device into what could only be describe as what was once an eye socket. A deep pitched yell bounced off the walls as the man whelped in pain, his movements of escape were meaningful but in the end useless as the commanders grip on the man's shoulder was far beyond that of a normal being.
"φμ♊‡ ɏσμ༢ ى‡༢μλ♊₪, ɏσμ ∝⊼₪‡ ♊‡ σμ‡ σ༢ ₪σ‡? ♊ ҁσμλ∂ ҁ⊼༢ƺ λƺىى ♊ζ ɏσμ ∝ƺ₪‡ ⊼༢σμ₪∂ ζσ༢ ‡♓ƺ ༢ƺى‡ σζ ɏσμ༢ λ♊ζƺ ∝♊‡♓ ♓⊼λζ ⊼ ζ⊼ҁƺ."
:Translation:
"Quit your struggling, you want it out or not? I could care less if you went around for the rest of your life with half a face."
The commander barked, with a flip of a switch a high pitch whining revved up followed by a multiple clinking sounds; as soon as it had started it was over as the metal tool was ripped from the man's face with a gust of suction following after.
"ζμҁ⋡♊₪ ζλ⊼≈ƺ! ∝♓⊼‡ ♊₪ ⊼∮∮ ‡♓⊼‡ ♊ى ϡɏ༢ƺ ♊ى ∝༢σ₪ ∝♊‡♓ ɏσμ?"
:Translation:
"Fucking flame! What in all that is Pyre is wrong with you?"
The man slumped over his hands covering his once again wounded face, as if once wasn't bad enough he was feeling a sense of overwhelming pain once over.
"ɏσμ ♓⊼∂ ⊼₪ ϡ༢σλƺ≈, ♊ ζ♊жƺ∂ ♊‡, ♊ ƺλ♊ƺƺ ≈σى‡ ϡƺσϡλƺ ∝σμλ∂ ♊ƺ ‡♓⊼₪⋡ى ζσ༢ ىμҁ♓ ⊼ ⋡♊₪∂ ∂ƺƺ∂."
:Translation:
"You had an problem, I fixed it, I believe most people would give thanks for such a kind deed."
The commander carelessly shook his head from side to side as he tossed the metal tool on the table; unlike before various shaped and sized metallic shards held to it, ranging anywhere from grains of sand to quarters.
"∝♊‡♓ ⊼∮∮ ༢ƺىϡƺҁ‡ ♊₪ ‡♓ƺ ∝σ༢λ∂, ζμҁ⋡ ɏσμ."
:Translation:
"With all respect in the world, fuck you."
The man spoke up through the waves of pain not daring to make any move less he find himself in another ocean of pain.
"∝♊‡♓ ⊼∮∮ ༢ƺىϡƺҁ‡, ♊ ∂σ₪'‡ ♊ƺ ⊼ ζμҁ⋡, ɏσμ'∮∮ ƺ ζ♊₪ƺ. σ λσσ⋡ ♊₪ ‡♓ƺ ≈♊༢༢σ༢, ƺζσ༢ƺ ♊ ϡμ‡ ⊼₪σ‡♓ƺ༢ σ₪ƺ ♊₪ ɏσμ ⊼₪∂ ‡♓♊ى ‡♊≈ƺ ♊'∮∮ ≈⊼⋡ƺ ىμ༢ƺ ‡σ ∂σ ‡♓ƺ ∮σ ༢♊♓‡."
:Translation:
"With all respect, I don't give a fuck, you'll be fine. Go look in the mirror, before I put another one in you and this time I'll make sure to do the job right."
He scoffed once more as he went back to the fire place against the wall, his eyes gazing into the deep seeded flames.
With little else to do other than sitting through the dwindling pain the man sluggishly crossed the room till the far wall were a single mirror stood in place, held in place with a rich wooden stand and etched with silver it came with a high price but it looked ever so lovely, it even matched with that of the desk. Hands cupping his face he watched through his eye unsure of what he might behold once free of his hands, waiting would get him no where so with gentle movements his hands pulled away from his face; fear and uncertainty was replaced with awe and confusion. Where once a gaping hole was his face he now saw a mass of silver liquid as it swarmed around his skin, already it was readily turning a soft tan color, till it disappeared completely as if nothing had happened before hand.
"ىϡ⊼༢⋡ ƺ ϡ༢⊼♊ىƺ∂."
:Translation:
"Spark be praised."
Words came softly through his lips.
"ىϡ⊼༢⋡? ىϡ⊼༢⋡? σ♓ ɏƺى, ♊ ى♊≈ϡλɏ ∝⊼ى ⊼ √ƺىىƺλ ♊₪ ∝♓♊ҁ♓ ♊‡ى ≈σى‡ ∂♊√♊₪ƺ ∝⊼ى ىƺ₪‡ ‡♓༢σμ♓, ♊‡ ∂♊∂₪'‡ ҁσى‡ ≈ƺ ⊼₪ɏ‡♓♊₪ ҁ༢⊼ζ‡ μى ♊₪‡σ ₪ƺ⊼༢ ϡƺ༢ζƺҁ‡♊σ₪. ♊ ‡♓♊₪⋡ ♊ ≈μҁ♓ ༢⊼‡♓ƺ༢ λ♊⋡ƺ∂ ♊‡ ∝♓ƺ₪ ɏσμ ∝ƺ༢ƺ ∂ƺ⊼∂ ♊₪ ⊼ ҁ⊼ى⋡ƺ‡, ⊼‡ λƺ⊼ى‡ ‡♓ƺ₪ ‡♓ƺ ىλμ༢༢ɏ ɏσμ ҁ⊼∮∮ ىϡƺ⊼⋡♊₪ ∝σμλ∂₪'‡ λƺƺ∂ ζ༢σ≈ ɏσμ༢ ≈σμ‡♓ λ♊⋡ƺ ⊼ ىƺ∝ƺ༢ ϡ♊ϡƺ."
:Translation:
"Spark? Spark? Oh yes, I simply was a vessel in which its most divine was sent through, it didn't cost me anything craft us into near perfection. I think I much rather liked it when you were dead in a casket, at least then the slurry you call speaking wouldn't bleed from your mouth like a sewer pipe."
The commanders scornful words spouted from his mouth, his fist shaking slightly with rage though it quickly vanished.
" ɏσμ ⋡₪σ∝...♊ζ ɏσμ ⋡ƺƺϡ ‡⊼λ⋡♊₪ λ♊⋡ƺ ‡♓⊼‡ ɏσμ'∮∮ μ༢₪ λ♊⋡ƺ ⊼-"
:Translation:
" You know...if you keep talking like that you'll burn like a-"
BANG!
"⊼♓ ≈ɏ λƺ! ∝♓⊼‡ ‡♓ƺ ζμҁ⋡!"
:Translation:
"AH MY LEG! WHAT THE FUCK!"
He yelled loudly into the small space of the room, bucking over in pain as a sliver liquid pooled from his leg he swore under his sobs.
"∂⊼≈₪, ♊ ≈♊ىىƺ∂, ♓ƺ༢ƺ λƺ‡ ≈ƺ ‡༢ɏ ⊼⊼♊₪."
:Translation:
"Damn, I missed, here let me try again."
He spoke with an almost comical laugh in his voice.
"ƺ‡ ⊼∝⊼ɏ ζ༢σ≈ ≈ƺ ɏσμ ϡىɏҁ♓σϡ⊼‡♓!"
:Translation:
"Get away from me you psychopath!"
Word Count:
2793
Clattering against the harden marble floors echoed through the halls, bouncing off the cold ceiling till it met face with an broad wooden door; empty except for one lone figure, shoulders pressed low he made its way down the corridor. Weighted down, eyes sunken in deep, there wasn't an ounce of sleep to be had in his face, days seemed to congeal into one over the weeks, sleepless nights went by, only with the stars and never ending thoughts to keep him company. Coat ties dangled in the moving wake of his form, no stops were necessary tonight, plans where always in action, hands nor minds ever having a peaceful moment, memories of the wars seemed oh so similar. A constant threat of bomb shells, hails of lead, tanks, troops rushing from the city side, but this was a different type of war, a war which guns held less of a ploy in manners most dangerous and cunning, words, actions, a vocalization of demands only able to be given by those which held the most power. Politics had never been a strong suit of his, guns, their sleek, cool metal pressed against his fingers, that was where he fit best at; sitting around in monkey suit as other listed outrageous demands which were less likely to happen than the sun imploding. Tolerance was an instant reaction, sharp, harsh tone were his weapons now; threats, his loyal companion which rested by his waist, always ready to attack when master called.
Heaving against the brass handle the door swung open laying out the dimly lit right before him, well kept, clean, it was a cozy hovel fit for personal usage. Sighing with an exhale his arms fell from the length of the cloak as it set off to the side, falling upon a stack of books it took an odd form over the table as it sat still. A commanding snap with a flick of his fingers did the room come to life, a series of lights of the wall took a deep breath as their yellowish glow illuminated the room, off against the far wall near the back a fire place roared with the birth of flames as they jutted froth from the ground. The rooms always held a touch of cold to them, partially due of the effect of heat absorbing stone floors but being as far away from home star as his world was gave the air a slight nip to it; cold season, the harshest times of the year, crops dared not stand in the face of the icy chills that swept over the lands. Before the wars, the revolts, his people where rarely graced with comfort away from the winds, ice formed in their breath; housing was less than adequate if one was lucky they would even have a roof over their heads at night, those less fortunate... a tale much to grim to tell for those which fell under such a fate.
Hovering hands rested above the fires that stroked the mantle piece, comfort from something so simple as a flame, in times of war, or even out the wilds it was fire that could bring a soldiers moral back to its peak; licking, dancing flames had a magic to them, swift like birds yet with the raw strength of nature itself behind it, there was no wonder it was held in high regard amongst those he lived with, more than just a way to heat a home, even build tools. Flames, the herald of wakening, new birth, destruction; Pyre of spark, the one thing they had taken out of all the madness, the enslavement over the thousands of years. The Spark had been pushed upon them for years; at least that's what the stories told of, none of his people thought otherwise now, clear on how it came to be in their blood, in their hearts and minds, once they had fought against the idea but now it was apart of them, a piece of who they were. Stories long ago told the tales of those that gave life to this world, those that lived amongst the stars those that did not know of it... till the conquests began, the banner of The Spark etched into their souls just like his people.
ҁσ≈ƺ ‡σ ≈ƺ ҁ♓♊λ∂༢ƺ₪,
ζσ༢‡♓ ζ༢σ≈ ‡♓ƺ ζλ⊼≈ƺى,
⊼∮∮ ى♓⊼∮∮ ༢♊ىƺ,
⊼₪∂ ⊼∮∮ ى♓⊼∮∮ ζ⊼∮∮.
∝♊‡♓♊₪ ≈ɏ ⊼ى♓ƺى ɏσμ ∝♊∮∮ ζ♊₪∂ ∝♓⊼‡ ♊ى ىσμ♓‡,
⊼₪∂ ∝♓⊼‡ ♊ى λσى‡.
‡♓σىƺ ϡμ༢ƺ ى♓⊼∮∮ ƺ ༢ƺσ༢₪,
‡♓σىƺ λσى‡ ى♓⊼∮∮ μ༢₪.
:Translation:
Come to me children,
Forth from the flames,
All shall rise,
and all shall fall.
Within my ashes you will find what is sought,
and what is lost.
Those pure shall be reborn,
those lost shall burn.
Written in the stone structure of the wall the message had been carved, each letter chiseled over time by his own hands, blood, and sweat laced the words, hammered in so deep that the world would long forget his people before it disappeared. Eyes shimmered in glow of the fire he cursed under his own breath at his actions; faith, something which had no purpose if one did not believe. Death, war, famine, he had seen each one during his life, it takes a toll on ones mind... his faith was waning, shaking at its foundations... deep within his body he wished to believe, yet his mind told his else. All great men had struggles, more burdens that a normal person to bear; news of such blasphemy could never leave spoken lips, 'traitor', 'heretic', lists could go on and on, though losing any position of power he had gained would all be a pipe dream at that point.
"ىϡ⊼༢⋡, ‡♓⊼‡ ∝♓♊ҁ♓ ♓⊼ى ♊√ƺ₪ ⊼∮∮.
μ♊∂ƺ ‡♓♊ى ♓μى⋡ σζ ⊼ ≈⊼₪.
♓⊼ƺ ♊ ༢σ∝₪ ♊₪∂?
♊ ىƺ⊼༢ҁ♓ ɏƺ‡ ♊ ζ♊₪∂ ₪σ‡♓♊₪,
⊼♊∂ ≈ƺ, ⊼♊∂ μى.
♊ ζƺ⊼༢ ♊ ∝⊼₪,
ىƺ₪∂ ≈ƺ ⊼ ى♊₪.
∝♊‡♓σμ‡ ζ⊼♊‡♓ ♊ ⊼≈ ₪σ‡♓♊₪ ≈σ༢ƺ ‡♓⊼₪ ⊼ ≈⊼₪."
:Translation:
"Spark, that which has given all.
Guide this husk of a man.
Have I grown blind?
I search yet I find nothing,
aid me, aid us.
I fear I wan,
send me a sign.
Without faith I am nothing more than a man."
His words spoke to the empty room, the only one to hear them was himself, reaching upon the top of the mantle lay a small metal box, its metallic coat shinning from the light of the flames. Craved on the exterior of the box was the symbol of a lone flame, the symbol itself was glowing a deep red with his spoke words. Whipping his wrist in a flicking motion the box clicked rapidly as sparked flew from the top, bellowing out a sea of charred embers into the flames within the fire place giving it an odd green glow. Grunting softly he placed the box atop the mantle once again, stepping away from the fire place a few rapid knocks pressed on the door. Within a second his had was placed at his side, as always his hand cannon was always well loaded and ready to fire upon his beckoning command; there had been no call from his servants of a coming visitor and certainly no one could come and visit him; a loner he kept to himself, never having anyone but family over... what few that were still breathing that was.
Armed with the lone gun which carved its way through the bloody fields of his 'glory days' he approached the door, feet lighter than feathers he glided to the doorway, not a single beat of his movements could be heard over the crackles of the crumbling wood, a mask to his steps; often in the trenches gun shots were forced, pulling attention else were from his troops, guile was his friend, dear and old. Hovering, he stood, his stance firm yet it held a looseness in his shoulders, ready to spring when the moment rose, uncertainly held thick around his breaths, there was no idea of who could be approaching his chambers, friend or foe it mattered little of who it could have been, until their eyes locked everyone was a enemy of his state.
Opening the door would have been beyond foolish, within point blank range even the weakest of weapons could do potentially fatal damage if not ending his breath with the first placed shot; calling out was always an option but that too would put him in the line of danger, an assassin that only cared for a job done could put a bullet into him even though the barrier of the wooden door. Options were limited but most forget the most crucial things in moments such as these; patience. Obviously the person knew where he lived and where his chambers were at, if they had come this far they were well versed in his life, they knew he was here, they would come, invite or not; waiting, waiting would seal the deal and let him face those which might seek to cause him harm... all of this could have been for nothing but his life's longevity would not be in peril because of acts most idiotic on his behalf.
Time ticked, clocks on the far walls moving back in forth, their pendulums swayed with the beat of his heart, clam and collective his hand remained, even before with his hands stained in fresh blood he never flinched, eyes dilated from the dim lighting of the room he held his position, gun locked on the doors face. Creaking of worn hinges filled the rooms space, not a reason of lack of maintenance, but defense, a warning in the back of his mind, ready at all times to give him those few precious seconds to guard himself. Eyes unblinking he watched as the door swung to its full letting the darkness of the corridor into the room, sucking like a black hole the fire grew haphazardly, being pulled towards the new opening. A lone figure stood, taking time to adjust, the barrel of the gun didn't come to a thought till the flicks of the flames bounced from its metallic surface.
"♓σλ∂ σ₪ ‡♓ƺ༢ƺ ₪σ∝."
:Translation:
"Hold on there now."
The all to familiar voice rang out from the darkness.
Muscles relaxed as his finger moved from the triggers side, words spoken to him just saved the mans life, another second and the dice would have been cast, another body would be laying at his feet once again.
"ɏσμ ∂σ ༢ƺ⊼λ♊ƺ ‡♓⊼‡ ‡♓ƺ ∂ƺ༢ƺƺى σζ ♊∂♊σҁɏ ɏσμ ♓⊼ƺ ҁσμλ∂ λƺ⊼ƺ ɏσμ ∝♊‡♓ ⊼ ∂σҁ‡σ༢⊼‡ƺ."
:Translation:
"You do realize that the degrees of idiocy you have could leave you with a doctorate."
He spoke as his gun hand lowered towards the floor yet remained fully cocked as it had before; it was always cocked, never for a second did a thought pass in his mind that he would not need it again one day, and then, then he could be ready.
"ҁ⊼∮∮ ≈ƺ ∝♓⊼‡ ɏσμ ∝⊼₪‡, ⊼ ∂ƺ༢ƺƺ ♊ى ⊼ ⊼ ∂ƺ༢ƺƺ, ҁσ≈≈⊼₪∂ƺ༢."
:Translation:
"Call me what you want, a degree is a a degree, commander."
The man at the door gave off a nervous laugh as he stepped into the room. At first the commanders eyes could not understand what it was that he saw before him, the voice, the voice was all to familiar to his yet the blood battered remnant of a mans face was unforeseen sight. Even with the fire placed towards his back side the other man could see the dismay in the commanders face, leaving him with could only be called a smirk on his face.
"༢ƺ≈ƺ≈ƺ༢ ‡♓♊ى? ى‡♊∮∮ ♓μ༢‡ى, ‡♓ƺ₪ ⊼⊼♊₪ ‡♓ƺ μ∮∮ƺ‡ ∂σƺى₪'‡ ىƺƺ≈ ‡σ ∝⊼₪‡ ‡σ ҁσ≈ƺ σμ‡."
:Translation:
"Remember this? Still hurts, then again the bullet doesn't seem to want to come out."
His hand pointing at what reminded of the left side of his head, were once soft flesh rested there was a goopy matter of muscle and bone showing in the fires dim light.
"♊‡ ∝⊼ى ₪ƺҁƺىى⊼༢ɏ ‡σ ىƺ⊼λ ‡♓ƺ ∂ƺ⊼λ."
:Translation:
"It was necessary to seal the deal."
The commanders unphased voice came out as he turned about towards the lone desk in the corner, his coat still taking majority claim over it.
"₪ƺҁƺىى⊼༢ɏ? ∝ƺ∮∮ ζμҁ⋡ ≈ƺ! ⊼ λ♊‡‡λƺ ∝⊼༢₪♊₪ ∝σμλ∂ ♓⊼ƺ ƺƺ₪ ₪♊ҁƺ, ♊ ⋡₪σ∝ ∝♊₪♊₪ ⊼ ϡλ⊼₪ ♓⊼ى ∝σ༢⋡ƺ∂ σμ‡ ζσ༢ ɏσμ μ‡ ♊ ♓⊼ƺ ⊼ ∂⊼≈₪ ى♓ƺ∮∮ λσ∂ƺ∂ ♊₪ ≈ɏ ♓ƺ⊼∂!"
:Translation:
"Necessary? Well fuck me! A little warning would have been nice, I know winging a plan has worked out for you but I have a damn shell lodged in my head!"
The man's voice raised slightly as his arms expressed a great deal of anger as they danced about his body in a flailing manner.
"ɏσμ'༢ƺ ⊼λ♊ƺ, ƺ ༢⊼‡ƺζμλ."
:Translation:
"You're alive, be grateful."
The commander scoffed harshly, his hands now digging deep within the contents of the desk, clutter splattered about with his hands movements, though his life was generally organized, beneath all of the class was a layer of dismay and chaos of his belongings.
"σ♓ ɏ⊼, ζμҁ⋡♊₪ ϡƺ⊼ҁ♓ɏ σ√ƺ༢ ♓ƺ༢ƺ. ∮μى‡ ƺ‡ ‡♓♊ى ∂⊼≈₪ ‡♓♊₪ σμ‡ σζ ≈ɏ ζ⊼ҁƺ ⊼λ༢ƺ⊼∂ɏ, ♊‡ҁ♓ƺى λ♊⋡ƺ ‡♓ƺ ༢ƺ⊼‡ ζλ⊼≈ƺى."
:Translation:
"Oh ya, fucking peachy over here. Just get this damn thing out of my face already, itches like the great flames."
The man groaned softly with impatience in his voice, though having spent the last three weeks in a grave would do that to a man.
Grunting with a final tug the commander recoiled a step as a shiny metal object was grasped within his clutches; at the top bore a dull metal tip looking similar to that of a ordinary metallic rod, affixed on the bottom was a dimly lit button hardly seen in the lighting of the room. Sliding around the width of the table the commander stood in front of the half faced man the metallic instrument in hand, with out missing a beat he took a hold of the man's shoulder and with a single burst of moment he drove the device into what could only be describe as what was once an eye socket. A deep pitched yell bounced off the walls as the man whelped in pain, his movements of escape were meaningful but in the end useless as the commanders grip on the man's shoulder was far beyond that of a normal being.
"φμ♊‡ ɏσμ༢ ى‡༢μλ♊₪, ɏσμ ∝⊼₪‡ ♊‡ σμ‡ σ༢ ₪σ‡? ♊ ҁσμλ∂ ҁ⊼༢ƺ λƺىى ♊ζ ɏσμ ∝ƺ₪‡ ⊼༢σμ₪∂ ζσ༢ ‡♓ƺ ༢ƺى‡ σζ ɏσμ༢ λ♊ζƺ ∝♊‡♓ ♓⊼λζ ⊼ ζ⊼ҁƺ."
:Translation:
"Quit your struggling, you want it out or not? I could care less if you went around for the rest of your life with half a face."
The commander barked, with a flip of a switch a high pitch whining revved up followed by a multiple clinking sounds; as soon as it had started it was over as the metal tool was ripped from the man's face with a gust of suction following after.
"ζμҁ⋡♊₪ ζλ⊼≈ƺ! ∝♓⊼‡ ♊₪ ⊼∮∮ ‡♓⊼‡ ♊ى ϡɏ༢ƺ ♊ى ∝༢σ₪ ∝♊‡♓ ɏσμ?"
:Translation:
"Fucking flame! What in all that is Pyre is wrong with you?"
The man slumped over his hands covering his once again wounded face, as if once wasn't bad enough he was feeling a sense of overwhelming pain once over.
"ɏσμ ♓⊼∂ ⊼₪ ϡ༢σλƺ≈, ♊ ζ♊жƺ∂ ♊‡, ♊ ƺλ♊ƺƺ ≈σى‡ ϡƺσϡλƺ ∝σμλ∂ ♊ƺ ‡♓⊼₪⋡ى ζσ༢ ىμҁ♓ ⊼ ⋡♊₪∂ ∂ƺƺ∂."
:Translation:
"You had an problem, I fixed it, I believe most people would give thanks for such a kind deed."
The commander carelessly shook his head from side to side as he tossed the metal tool on the table; unlike before various shaped and sized metallic shards held to it, ranging anywhere from grains of sand to quarters.
"∝♊‡♓ ⊼∮∮ ༢ƺىϡƺҁ‡ ♊₪ ‡♓ƺ ∝σ༢λ∂, ζμҁ⋡ ɏσμ."
:Translation:
"With all respect in the world, fuck you."
The man spoke up through the waves of pain not daring to make any move less he find himself in another ocean of pain.
"∝♊‡♓ ⊼∮∮ ༢ƺىϡƺҁ‡, ♊ ∂σ₪'‡ ♊ƺ ⊼ ζμҁ⋡, ɏσμ'∮∮ ƺ ζ♊₪ƺ. σ λσσ⋡ ♊₪ ‡♓ƺ ≈♊༢༢σ༢, ƺζσ༢ƺ ♊ ϡμ‡ ⊼₪σ‡♓ƺ༢ σ₪ƺ ♊₪ ɏσμ ⊼₪∂ ‡♓♊ى ‡♊≈ƺ ♊'∮∮ ≈⊼⋡ƺ ىμ༢ƺ ‡σ ∂σ ‡♓ƺ ∮σ ༢♊♓‡."
:Translation:
"With all respect, I don't give a fuck, you'll be fine. Go look in the mirror, before I put another one in you and this time I'll make sure to do the job right."
He scoffed once more as he went back to the fire place against the wall, his eyes gazing into the deep seeded flames.
With little else to do other than sitting through the dwindling pain the man sluggishly crossed the room till the far wall were a single mirror stood in place, held in place with a rich wooden stand and etched with silver it came with a high price but it looked ever so lovely, it even matched with that of the desk. Hands cupping his face he watched through his eye unsure of what he might behold once free of his hands, waiting would get him no where so with gentle movements his hands pulled away from his face; fear and uncertainty was replaced with awe and confusion. Where once a gaping hole was his face he now saw a mass of silver liquid as it swarmed around his skin, already it was readily turning a soft tan color, till it disappeared completely as if nothing had happened before hand.
"ىϡ⊼༢⋡ ƺ ϡ༢⊼♊ىƺ∂."
:Translation:
"Spark be praised."
Words came softly through his lips.
"ىϡ⊼༢⋡? ىϡ⊼༢⋡? σ♓ ɏƺى, ♊ ى♊≈ϡλɏ ∝⊼ى ⊼ √ƺىىƺλ ♊₪ ∝♓♊ҁ♓ ♊‡ى ≈σى‡ ∂♊√♊₪ƺ ∝⊼ى ىƺ₪‡ ‡♓༢σμ♓, ♊‡ ∂♊∂₪'‡ ҁσى‡ ≈ƺ ⊼₪ɏ‡♓♊₪ ҁ༢⊼ζ‡ μى ♊₪‡σ ₪ƺ⊼༢ ϡƺ༢ζƺҁ‡♊σ₪. ♊ ‡♓♊₪⋡ ♊ ≈μҁ♓ ༢⊼‡♓ƺ༢ λ♊⋡ƺ∂ ♊‡ ∝♓ƺ₪ ɏσμ ∝ƺ༢ƺ ∂ƺ⊼∂ ♊₪ ⊼ ҁ⊼ى⋡ƺ‡, ⊼‡ λƺ⊼ى‡ ‡♓ƺ₪ ‡♓ƺ ىλμ༢༢ɏ ɏσμ ҁ⊼∮∮ ىϡƺ⊼⋡♊₪ ∝σμλ∂₪'‡ λƺƺ∂ ζ༢σ≈ ɏσμ༢ ≈σμ‡♓ λ♊⋡ƺ ⊼ ىƺ∝ƺ༢ ϡ♊ϡƺ."
:Translation:
"Spark? Spark? Oh yes, I simply was a vessel in which its most divine was sent through, it didn't cost me anything craft us into near perfection. I think I much rather liked it when you were dead in a casket, at least then the slurry you call speaking wouldn't bleed from your mouth like a sewer pipe."
The commanders scornful words spouted from his mouth, his fist shaking slightly with rage though it quickly vanished.
" ɏσμ ⋡₪σ∝...♊ζ ɏσμ ⋡ƺƺϡ ‡⊼λ⋡♊₪ λ♊⋡ƺ ‡♓⊼‡ ɏσμ'∮∮ μ༢₪ λ♊⋡ƺ ⊼-"
:Translation:
" You know...if you keep talking like that you'll burn like a-"
BANG!
"⊼♓ ≈ɏ λƺ! ∝♓⊼‡ ‡♓ƺ ζμҁ⋡!"
:Translation:
"AH MY LEG! WHAT THE FUCK!"
He yelled loudly into the small space of the room, bucking over in pain as a sliver liquid pooled from his leg he swore under his sobs.
"∂⊼≈₪, ♊ ≈♊ىىƺ∂, ♓ƺ༢ƺ λƺ‡ ≈ƺ ‡༢ɏ ⊼⊼♊₪."
:Translation:
"Damn, I missed, here let me try again."
He spoke with an almost comical laugh in his voice.
"ƺ‡ ⊼∝⊼ɏ ζ༢σ≈ ≈ƺ ɏσμ ϡىɏҁ♓σϡ⊼‡♓!"
:Translation:
"Get away from me you psychopath!"
Word Count:
2793