|The Awakening of Dakese Antheles, and the Flight of the Abnormal
||[Nov. 17th, 2005|08:54 pm]
He did not have a cloak on, and what clothing remained upon him was in tatters, or in dust. He had a glowing crown upon his head, his eyes bagged deeply, and he was silent, and very, very still. But depite that, four million millenia had done little to Dakese Antheles.
There was nothing around him, save darkness. He sat in his throne, this black, majestic chair upon a pillar that reached so far down its bottom could not be glimpsed, so where it stood cannot be known. He was a black figure upon a black chair, that stood against a darker background. Everything was one, and melded with each other, but everything was clearly sketched, angularly drawn so that every movement could be seen. So when his chest starts rising, and when his form stirs finally, we can see every millimetre he twitches.
"Hmmm...?" he says, waking for the first time in twenty decades. His eyelids rise slowly, slower than a turtle's pace, rising to uncover his eyes like the Sun rises to reveal the day. His blood starts to flow again, however slowly, and his lips start to protrude, and the ever growing familiarity of speech returns to the Angel.
"It's still... quite dark up here, my friend." he says, fumbling his words, binding them together clumsily, as a newborn babe would. As he raises the clay jar to his face, he taps it lightly with his finger. A ring comes off of it, echoing in the nothing that surrounds them. The First Fallen looks below, squinting his dark eyes.
"It sure has changed in just... What is it now... Two hundred years, eh Orlando? The surface is all grey now. What do you know, hmm? You'd think Men would have figured it out by now to stop fucking up their own home."
The jar is silent.
"You rattle on and prattle on, but all I hear is ash. But then, what would you expect from a jar of dust?" He smiles. "If there's even that much in there anymore." The dark face gives a hearty laugh, and winces as his skin breaks, and blood trickles down his chin.
Sighing, he resumes his former expression. "Crazy things are coming, Orlando. I woke, first of all. But there's something coming. I can feel it."
The jar rattles.
"Ah yes. That." He closed his eyes. And, despite the red cracks that appeared in his taut face, he smiled widely. "It will be good... To see Shasta again..."
He ran, for all his might, ran faster than ever have been concieved. He ran for long days, and longer nights, ran from prying eyes and blinking cameras, ran from the noise of barter in a Dome Market and ran from the quiet whirring of Drone patrols. He ran, and ran, and he did not stop, nor did he tire, nor did he even blink. What remained of his medical robe, the stark white seeming gray across his albino skin, flapped in the air as he sped from anything and everything he could see. He could not be imprisoned again. could not be touched again. He had to be free.... But he had to be alone.
He was starting to fear the suburban neighbourhood, and soon made a left, ran several hours past ever taller buildings until he came upon a bustling market. The people stared at the barely clothed man, white tattered robe on white skin. They stared hard, not because he was an Abnormal, but the rapid crisscrossing of his legs, the lok of panic, of ever present fear upon his face. Murmurs rose, and died as a faint "Must've missed an appointment" echoed thorugh the agreeing masses, and soon the troubled face left their minds as hastily as the man himself had run along the road. Save for one man, who discontinued his bartering and continued to stare after the Abnormal. Shajn wondered why he looked so familiar, but shrugged, and went back to the price of synthetic orange flavoured balls.
His cold palms were not sweaty, and he made a quick calculation in his head. He had been running for two weeks, three days, 12 hours, eight minutes and 3 seconds. Counting. He had not stopped. He had not slowed down, he had run. He knew not by what force drove him to this, he knew even less about the fear that commanded him to run so, but he knew one thing, one clear, crystal command and objective that could not be failed nor comprimised: He must be free. Eventually, he drifted off, his eyes closed, but the inner drive carried him on... further... Out that market and into the projects, his bleeding feet pitter pattering against the already bloody street.
He slept, but he still ran... runs...
He could smell his blonde hair singing as the plasma bolt flashed past his head, and hitting the wall behind him. He felt more pain as metal boots struck his ribs and hands grabbed his unsinged hair.
"Listen, punk. The world's gonna die, we all know it's coming. There's no room for rebirth, there's no more time left for this universe, there will only be one road before this is over, and that road will lead to the End. Why go out of existence as slaves to our own creations?" The brown haired rebel smiled a gap toothed grin. "Why not take what we have here, and show those tin cans what humans can really do? See, right now, it seems all we do is begging and groveling for the right to patrol ourselves! That is truly bullshit." Once again, the dismantled and reconfigured plasma rifle (it looked like a Drone-2's arm) rose to the blonde haired man, skinny, shivering, and quivering with fear. The twoother men with the brown haired man stood at attention with their conventional automatics, obviously homebuilt.
The blonde choked, as green vapours began rising form the floor, and that was when the four men looked to see the giant hole that earlier blast had created.
Collected and calm, one of the four men with Brown Hair called out, his voice disturbingly monotonous. "Shajn. Prior plasma discharge has breached Dome wall. Finish what you are doing. We are done here."
The brown-haired Shajn sneered, and shot three more shots into the wall, widening the hole, blasting through three feet of metal, glass, concrete and circuitry. He grabbed the blonde by his collar, and dragged him over to the hole, and soon even Shajn had to put on his gas mask. "Well you had a chance to join what will become the greatest thing since hydronically grown meat. Too bad you missed it." His voice sounded eerie and inhuman, and the blonde choked on the green mist spilling from the gap. "Goodbye, You who shall not be named."
And after Shajn threw the skinny man into the whirling "Outside," he ran, footsteps beating to the rhythmic screaming that could only come from a man drowning in poison.