EHYEH-ASHER-EHYEH (I AM THAT I AM): An Elena Duran/Corazon Negro
Vi Moreau (vmoreau@directvinternet.com)
Mon, 23 Sep 2002 09:39:04 -0400
Ehyeh-Asher-Ehyeh (I am that I am) 18/34
Julio Cesar divad72@prodigy.net.mx
Vi Moreau vmoreau@directvinternet.com
Aylon was ragged. Much of his face was burned away, and his chest and
clothes were in tatters. But the potent force that feed him was still strong
enough to hold him together, to pull him back from the brink of the abyss.
As the Hunters attacked him, Aylon, with a simple gesture, sent the tendrils
of darkness hurtling toward the terrorists who were dogging him. The Hunters
shifted their fire. The bullets shredded one of the snaking black tentacles,
but several others found their marks, knocking Hunters aside, crushing some
of them against the solid walls.
The chamber was full of smoke and gunfire. Some Hunters reloaded the
shotguns and fired another burst. Aylon charged in behind the blast. He
jumped out of the way-no, not jumped, hovered. The Old Man of the Mountain
floated in the air, hanging there as if suspended by a cable. That small
moment of unexpected floating was enough to throw the Hunter's timing off.
They tried to dodge, but Aylon's huge scimitar raked across their heads.
Aylon landed, sword in hand, wading into the fray again.
But then Methos yelled, "Use the fire again, Myrddin!" His voice sounded far
away, distorted by the unnatural darkness. "We need to find Vlad!"
Aylon looked at Myrddin a cross the chamber. Balanced on the Druid's right
palm was a ball of flame, a fire conjured from thin air. Methos dove as the
Druid hurled the fire. It passed right over Methos, shot across the room,
and landed amidst a new group of Hunters. The fireball erupted into a true
inferno, burning terrorists. Amidst horrible screams, smoke filled the
chamber, growing thicker every second, threatening to use up any breathable
air.
And more Hunters were pressing the attack. Myrddin and Methos advanced in
front of the blazing rifles, apparently looking for Vlad.
At that time Aylon gazed at Zarach. The bullets were striking the
two-colored eyes Immortal, driving him back half a step every few seconds,
but the entry holes were closing over as quickly as they appeared-and Zarach
merely smiled.
Myrddin launched another ball of flame. Some Hunters flung themselves aside,
but others weren't so quick. The flame struck them and burst into a great
conflagration. They whipped around and flailed madly, but the fire raged,
burning away clothes, hair and flesh.
Then Aylon eyed Vlad. He had sensed him and another presence since the
beginning. Vlad launched himself to the ground. But the fire was hotter than
he could stand. As soon as he landed, he jumped away from the ground as if
it were now burning. The Voivode screamed, a panicked, terror-filled sound.
He slapped at his legs, his chest, his face, trying to put out the flames.
That was all Aylon saw of him because at that moment more Hunters attacked
him. But the Old Man of the Mountain was moving also, blasting away
everything in his way, ending all with his scimitar, practically ignoring
the hail of Smart-Pulse-Rifle fire from the terrorists. Aylon had remained
totally calm throughout the fight, despite the seemingly long odds he faced.
Now that most of the Hunters were dispatched, he took on an almost
demonically gleeful aspect. His eyes shone with delight seeing his enemies
destroyed, seeing the broken and burning bodies. Now he was preparing to
finish the job.
They needed to do that quickly. The darkness around started to disappear.
That could mean only two things: Lilitu was losing her powers; or the
Headless Children in charge of the assault were dead, or escaping.
========
Zarach clearly heard Heru-sa-aset. "Dangerous? I think, bastard, I have seen
your best trick, but you have no idea what I might yet reveal to you."
The Son of the Endless Night turned just in the right instant to watch the
Egyptian Prince tearing apart Rasputin's body. At that very moment Methos
yelled. "Use the fire again, Myrddin!" His voice sounded far away. "We need
to find Vlad!"
Zarach eyed Myrddin spreading his balls of fire, and Vlad jumping on the
ground, trying to avoid the flames. Then the Voivode disappeared in front of
Zarach's eyes.
Now was the time, and Zarach knew it. The Headless Children attacking the
United Nations were defeated, and Lilitu's powers were fading away. Now was
the moment for the Son of the Endless Night.
He looked at the Hunters in front of him. "Are you ready?"
As the Hunters moved closer, Zarach changed. Not merely his attitude, or his
bearing. His form itself changed, grew taller, darker-as if the smoke and
shadows filling the chamber were drawn toward him, drawn into him. The room
was growing brighter as the darkness was sucked into Zarach. He was growing
shadowy, pools of obscurity seeping into his many wounds, as if his body
could contain the darkness of the night.
The Hunters fired again. Some of the bullets passed through him now; others
seemed to disappear into the darkness around him. None hurt him. At some
point, Zarach's arms became no longer arms, but spiraling black tentacles,
obsidian cobras poised to strike. All this was shifting among the smoke and
deepening dying shadows. Nothing remained clear except Zarach's two-colored
eyes, glowing bright and fierce.
Then the Hunters realized: this was more than a mere Immortal. The fiery
eyes, the blue tattoos on his face, the pure darkness disappearing through a
man-shaped portal from hell. This was a demon that would subjugate them all.
The power within Zarach answered. The fire that was hatred and anger,
violence, rose up inside him, took hold of his limbs and gave him strength.
His enemies down or immobilized, Zarach charged. The first blast from his
two sai-his Chinese trident-like weapons-ripped apart four Hunters. The
second strike three. Finally, Zarach sank his blades into the chest of one
last man.
Then the shadows finally contracted into Zarach's body, seemed to wither and
crack, and a moment later, light returned to the chamber.
========
For a moment there was total silence. Zarach stood at the very center of the
carnage that had been the interior of the Security Council Chamber. All
around him stretched a wasteland of smashed chairs, broken glass, puddles of
mingled gore and fire-retardant chemicals. And the dead. Sighing, he
surveyed the full scope of the devastation. Interior walls had been
violently reduced to rubble. The entryways portals were toppled and
trampled, badly scored by fire. World leaders, their staff, the viewing
public, and reporters, black-clothed Hunters-so many had died! So many!
Fifty-five seconds. The whole battle, the massacre, had lasted only
fifty-five seconds.
Zarach's gaze traveled uninterrupted around the vast chamber. Nothing above
knee-height remained standing, save Aylon, Heru-sa-aset, Myrddin and
himself. Zarach, however, could not long dwell upon this tragedy. There was
still far too much at stake. He looked at his comrades in the Ancient
Gathering. "Where is Methos?"
"I think he went after Vlad," Myrddin announced, his gaze opened wide by the
devastation in front of him.
"We must go after him. And be quick about it. We don't have the leisure to
stand here all night discussing the matter while the mortal forces come and
find us. Let's move," Aylon said starting to walk.
Zarach was distracted by the soft but unmistakable sound of stifled sobbing.
He instinctively moved toward the noise, not entirely motivated by sympathy.
After he removed the debris, Dr. Ann Ford emerged from what was left of the
podium. "Oh my God! What happened? Who are you?" she asked, holding the hand
Zarach was offering.
Zarach caught her with his bizarre eyes. "No one," he whispered. "Relax," he
suggested her. Then he looked at his brothers-in-arms. "Join me. We must use
the Voice all together at the same time to erase our presence for the minds
of the survivors. We must hurry."
All of them nodded and closed their eyes, gathering all their combined
strength to use the Voice upon the mortals inside the room.
========
The fog of war. It had been so long, but Methos still found it revitalizing.
But he knew it was impossible to keep the mortal forces away completely,
even if the Ancient Gathering carried the night. And there was no guarantee
that they would triumph. As word trickled back, it was becoming evident that
Lilitu was fighting as an Immortal possessed.
The hell with this, Methos decided. He dogged behind a car, scanned the
darkness for the Immortal presence, felt it, and moved forward. The street
seemed like the last chance to hold the line. The battle inside the United
Nations was over. However, helicopters and sirens filled the area. While it
was still dark enough for him to hide, Methos raised his sword. That
motherfucker Vlad might be nearly invulnerable, but stealthy he was not.
There. He heard the plodding footsteps. Vlad was also quick, but he wasn't
going to get away from Methos. He gauged the distance of the footsteps, and
then sprung up.
This time Methos had a second trick. Seven .44 magnum slugs into the
darkness. Nothing. Maybe he hit him. Maybe. He popped out the empty clip,
slammed in a full one. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw something like
a smile in the blackness. "Oh yeah? Well, fuck you, buddy."
He opened up again. This time the darkness staggered, stumbled a step,
hesitated, but kept moving. "You like that, motherfucker? You want some
more?" Methos held his ground, ejected that clip, and slammed in a last one.
Seven more shots into the
darkness, now within ten yards.
The Immortal's presence moved behind him. "What are you doing?" said a
familiar but out-of-place voice, intruding upon Methos' thoughts.
Methos whirled and leveled his Desert Eagle gun-at Aylon. The Old Man of the
Mountain wasn't smiling-he almost never smiled-but just like the darkness
yards away, there was something about him, his manner, which suggested
danger.
Aylon tapped the Desert Eagle, still aimed at him. "I wouldn't bother
pointing out that since you just emptied your gun." He nodded toward the
darkness disintegrating in front of them. "If you're trying to lure the
mortal forces to you, you're doing a good job. We must go."
"What about Vlad?" Methos asked angrily. "We can't let him get away,
dammit!"
"We'll get him another time. We must go to the airport and leave this city.
Martial law will be declared. We need to find Lilitu. Vlad is unimportant
for now. We must go before the bridges and tunnels are closed."
Methos narrowed his eyes, furrowing his brow. He was angry. Angry about how
brusque Aylon was, as if nothing had happened. But this wasn't the time to
bring it up. There wasn't the time, with Mother still on the loose. So
Methos said the first thing that came into his mind. "This whole mess sucks.
Like the Yankees, man."
Aylon cocked his head. "You lose money on the Mets or something? Let's go."
As they walked, the other members of the Ancient Gathering joined them.
Methos gazed at them. Their faces were icy-cold. They were all recovered
from their multiple wounds. Indeed they were powerful!
"How many? How many died?" Methos asked.
"Too many," Zarach replied, shaking his head a little.
"Okay," said Methos. "If you guys are finished, let's get the hell out of
here."
The other four Immortals looked at him. There they were again, standing as
if nothing had happened, like if the United Nations, and the world, weren't
being decimated by Lilitu's war.
Methos thought for a moment. He remembered hearing the screams of pain
inside the United Nations, but he'd been absorbed in his own fight... Then
he looked more closely and saw the blood on his hands. Blood dripping. Not
his own blood, either. In his mind, he could recall vividly the bastards
who, a few minutes before, had been Hunters, dying under the power of the
last Horsemen, the one called Death.
========
DUEL OF THE FATES
"And the righteous one shall arise from sleep,
shall arise and walk in the paths of righteousness,
and all his path and conversation shall be in eternal goodness and grace.
He will be gracious to the righteous and give him eternal uprightness,
and He will give him power so that he shall be endowed with goodness and
righteousness.
And he shall walk in eternal light.
And sin shall perish in darkness forever,
and shall no more be seen from that day for evermore."
Book of Enoch 92: 3,5
Apocrypha
Island of Nod
Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean
March 29, 2013
Lilitu walked through the rain-slick shadows. The cave towered above her in
colossal glyphs of pitted stone. The jungle of arcane signs and sigils that
assaulted her senses seemed haphazard. The cave's ground was piled high with
half-forgotten ambitions rendered in mineral and raw altitude.
This was her reign, a dragon's graveyard-the place where lumbering souls of
Immortals came to die. Lilitu could feel the weight of old sins, ancient
whispers looming over her.
She ducked through a low stoned-archway and found herself in the midst of a
vaulted colonnade of rib-like rocks. Each of the gently curving monoliths
was grooved and pitted through long exposure to her mere presence. She
absently ran a hand down the nearest pillar. Its surface was encased in a
nearly invisible envelope of cold water, tricking over the pocked surface in
dozen of miniature fountains, cascades, waterfalls. As if of their own
volition, her fingers searched for and traced out the letters in the arcane
language-the sacred name that the faithful had carved into the obelisk all
those centuries before.
The New Goddess.
She smiled at a distant memory. After only a brief contact, her hand fell
absently to her side and she moved on. In the rigors of the hunt, there was
little room for nostalgia.
Through careful scrutiny, she began to discern that hers was not the only
sign of life among the ruins. She was amazed that the castoffs of thirteen
millennia of avarice and ambition were not content to lie still and be dead.
All around her, the darkness of the Dream manifested itself, clawing its way
upward, trampling upon the shadowy sinews in its rush. The blackness seemed
to shift under her gaze, as if made of liquid,, flowing upward toward some
unknown sea in the night. Experimentally, she put one hand out and broke the
mirrored surface of the nearest tendril of darkness.
The tingling was not the expected rush of cool feelings, but something
different-the insistent, irritating scurrying of thousands of tiny legs
across her skin. They were the touch of the new Dreamer.
The vision shifted abruptly as the attack of her Headless Children erupted
all around her. The United Nations suffered under the wrath of her warriors.
A heap of combustible material rose like a great pyre all about the
building. There were figures among the flames-long, lithe, gibbering
figures. They danced through the primacy of the flames. They were-the
Ancient Gathering.
She smiled a little, remembering her own credo. In the beginning, there was
the flame. And the flame was with the Goddess and the flame was the Goddess.
The same was in the beginning with the Goddess. Through her all Immortals
were made; without nothing was made that has been made. In her was life and
that life was the light of Immortals. The light shone in the darkness, and
the darkness comprehended it not.
Lilitu could feel those flames reaching out to embrace her, to engulf her.
Her eyes became narrow slits as she threw an arm over them to block out the
light and heat. They bore into her skull.
Immediately there were hands beneath her arms, steadying her. The ancient
chant that formed the chorus of Vlad's ritual reasserted her. The distant
voices rose to a worried crescendo. Although the singers were all miles
away, secluded within the walls of hell, the voices imposed themselves upon
the vision. She could see the individual voices, distinct and radiant, like
strands of colored light. They wrapped themselves around her, supporting,
caressing. Where they touched her, the pain burned away.
She recognized something familiar in the bright but tentative strand of
amber light-it was Zarach. Lilitu smiled. She felt the blond Immortal
fighting against an unexpected tug from no discernable source. Lilitu could
almost see her most beloved two-colored eyes Immortal combating wildly
inside the United Nations, trying to catch his balance and momentarily
losing the rhythm of the chant. The amber light flickered and vanished, but
immediately there were five more to take its place.
Her eyes narrowed again. She was exalted, bathed in their light. Her
previous disciple, Kadosh, the one known as Methos nowadays, was a pillar of
smoke and fire, rallying and guiding the chosen ones. Though Kadosh was now
fighting against her, Lilitu could not quite stifle a smile of amusement and
pride in her former protege.
But where was Aylon? She took a quick headcount of the forces. There he was!
Along with Myrddin and Heru-sa-aset, killing her children. Rasputin was
gone. Vlad was still fighting. A small matter. Her plan had worked
perfectly.
Lilitu gathered the varied and multicolor strands of light to her. She
stroked each one reassuringly, drawing from their strength. Her entire body
thrummed like a taut string, twisting, turning. There. She was again in
perfect pitch with the pulsing lifelines of the eternal night. The Dream was
almost hers.
But even as the Ancient Gathering closed upon her, she was already conjuring
up her defenses. A vast pyramid of hate and sin was taking form around her
soul. The vengeful thrust of hell crashed against the sides of her essence.
Nothing could avail against it.
Lilitu broke from the press of voracious feelings like a predatory bird
rising above a forest canopy. Suddenly, she could see for miles in every
direction. Any minute now... Where was the Dreamer?
She needed to find him, now that the main forces of the Ancient Gathering
were distracted in New York. The Dreamer was alone, unprotected. She sighted
every Immortal in the world along the burning river of her vision and
swooped down upon them. She could now pick out individual figures capering
through the flames. Her prey was there among them. The Son of the Wolf.
Corazon Negro.
A blaze of incandescent red erupted in front her. The light pulsed and
beckoned like a pillar of fire. It was almost immediately joined by a streak
of ethereal silver light. A pillar of smoke. She recognized it as incense...
near a cabin.
The Dreamer' soul shone like a prism. A dozen searing strands of colored
light shone through him. The air was filled with liquid melody. It coursed
over and through his body.
Lilitu felt heat, worry, responsibility, all burning inside Corazon Negro's
heart before the purity of that searing light. Damn him. Damn his power and
damn him to hell! The acrid black smoke blinded Lilitu. And when she fought
her way back clear of the deadly cloud of holiness, the shadow was there for
her. Patient, tenacious, reproachful.
She had seen the future. She knew where the Dreamer would be. Her eyes stung
with salt and smoke, and her ears burned with the echo of her own distant
laughter.
========
The electronic voice of the PC broke in upon Torquemada's morbid reverie. He
checked a start that nearly precipitated another avalanche of books and
papers. From his perch atop the precarious throne of books, he could see the
PC.
Even here, within his sanctum sanctorum in the island, there were implicit
perils and poisons. With exaggerated care, he descended. Despite his
precautions, a small wave of papers broke in his wake. He seemed for the
moment a classical figure emerging from the sea and shrugging off a mantle
of foam. Before the cascade of papers had subsided, Torquemada was struck
with more than a vague premonition that the news was not good. From long
habit, he braced himself for the worst.
It is New York, was his thought. Rasputin and Vlad had failed.
It was not the two Headless Children he feared for. He knew them too well
already, and they were lost, damned-a casualty of the ongoing massacre that
raged through the entire Immortal world. What bothered Torquemada was that
the Ancient Gathering was crashing over the bulkhead, as inevitably as the
tide. There was hardly any point in denying that they were, even now, firmly
in control of the world.
It was not a reassuring thought.
Damn it. This could not have come at a worse possible time. It appeared that
all had already been decided further up the chain of command. He had no
choice but to shore up the defenses as best he could here on the island.
However, there was always opportunity in such high-profile assignments. The
trick was, of course, to avoid an equally high-profile demise.
Events in the council chamber had taken a dramatic and unexpected turn for
the worse. He had been caught badly unprepared. He had not anticipated such
opposition from Vlad.
Livia's claims had been patently ridiculous, of course. Torquemada was a
keystone in the Headless Children pyramid. One simply did not rise to that
level of influence without learning some hard lessons. It was, the
Inquisitor realized, exactly what the others might expect of such an
influential and unscrupulous Immortal powerbroker.
However, he needed Cartiphilus to fulfill his personal agenda. For now, at
least.
========