PHOENIX. [sequel to 067]

21. the gods.

it takes sylvia a few moments to return with a small wine glass full of red liquid, which you presume is blood. the glass is cold to the touch, but the pounding in your head is unavoidable. within just a few seconds, the glass of blood is brought to your lips and you chug the living hell out of the refreshment.

the cold blood slides down your throat with ease, and you slowly begin to feel yourself feeling more hydrated. the pounding in your head, the dizziness, all of it is no more.

     "shall i get you one last glass, sir?" sylvia questions with the silver platter, which held the glass earlier, close to her side.

      "please," you ask as you hand the glass back to her.

she leaves, once again, and leaves you to your own thoughts and accord. you could spend time questioning, and over thinking, about what zandik could have possibly meant with the tsaritsa ; or about this hidden name of his, but would it ... truly matter? it's no use to waste all of your time and energy thinking about such a thing when you can spend your energy investigating the various amounts of experiments in the room.

surely, learning more about zandik's experiments would help you see more into his past - or into what he busies himself with during the day. he is rather secretive, after all, and there's nothing stopping you from going through his things in here. the only, small, hindrance is the darkness of the room. however, there's surely a source of light in here - the tsaritsa wouldn't have a single room without one, would she?

you run your hang along, what you think is, the wall of the room. it moves over several small things, and what feels like metal, like a small ... case? maybe? or maybe it's a shelf. it's not as if you can tell, anyways.

after a few moments of this process, your fingers run across what feels to be a switch. to be sure, you move your hand in up and down the object, and when you feel confident enough; you flip it.

a small light emits from the center of the room, and it barely lights the room. but it's better than how it was. it allows you to see some of the room and it's objects, and they all look vastly different. there's a small casing of just different shiny liquids, another case of several weapons, and some small trinkets and stored things on a metal shelf. nothing ... screams interesting to you, but...

but, there's this one ... thing, off in one of the corners of the room - where the light doesn't hit. however, when you squint your eyes, you can make out the silhouette of something hunched over. you can't make out on specific details, beyond something that looks like ... a ball joint?

     "fair lady, why is he off in the closet, again?" he questions his goddess, of whom he's supposed to be loyal to. his face hides behind his infamous mask, however, his eyes can't help harshening behind the accessory.

the lights above the wooden table shine brightly against everything in the room. it doesn't require much effort to see anything; especially not the handful of archons in flashy attire of to the side of the room. they're all signing something, as dottore overheard, and it's most likely a peace contract. or a temporary one, for this specific moment.

the archons, from his knowledge, are required to come to a meeting such like this; it's supposedly sworn by celestia and the all knowing one. it's not much of a surprise as to why each archon showed up, willingly; celestia would have their heads. literally. their sense of godhood would be striped from them. all of their power, beyond just the gnosis, would be taken. they'd become mortal, or perish, as most deities prefer in that outcome.

     "he is being shown off, for our plan, understand? you will speak of how you are able to revive loved ones with the power of an archons' gnosis to lure them in, manipulate them, you're good at that," the tsaritsa speaks in a hushed volume. her tone's soft and her eyes seemingly light up at the small jab to him that she made. of course she had to speak of the whole ... manipulation thing.

     "seriously..? that's how you wish to go about getting the rest?" he sighs, hands crossed across his chest as he speaks.

    "of course, it's how we got the others - practically, be respectful and hopeful, lord."

in a few minutes, the group of archons - the six of them - make way towards the long table and take their seats. there's a few whose gnosis' have already been taken from, who were invited: the main three. barbatos, morax, and baal. all have already had their gnosis taken from them, but it would be suspicious to hold an "archon meeting" without all of the archons present. gnosis haver or not, though, morax was stepped to have stepped down from the role. so why he's here is up for debate, in the eyes of dottore.

the main three, the originals, all seem to keep to themselves. all while the "more newly appointed" archons seem to be more chatty; especially the smaller one, kusanali. she's busy speaking with focalors, about some odd trivial dispute.

     "hello, everyone, a feast shall be held in your honor as we speak and discuss our matters. i know there will be some things of interest to you all."