Date: Wed, 11 Jun 2003 22:27:30 -0700 (PDT)
From: Liam Barnes <pagangamer@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Awakening: Chapter 10
This is a work of fiction involving the relationship of two young men (late
teens to mid twenties), both physical and emotional. If you are made
uncomfortable by such subjects as gay sex, magic and the supernatural, then
please stop reading now. Likewise, if you are below the age of 18, please
stop here.
This story uses elements from White Wolf's World of Darkness series of
games. Mage: The Ascension, Magadon Pharmaceutical, PsychDiv, Cult of
Ecstasy, Euthanatos, New World Order, Freak Legions, Werewolf: The
Apocalypse, Pentex, The Traditions, The Technocracy, Wraith: The Oblivion
and similar elements are copyrighted by White Wolf Game Studio 2003. This
work of fiction is not meant as a challenge to existing copyrighted
materials, and no profit is gained by its publication.
Kate Sanders, Aaron Barry, and Stefan are the intellectual property
of Don Bassingwaite and White Wolf Fiction. For a more in depth treatment
of these characters, and a great read, pick up a copy of SUCH PAIN from
Harper Collins.
All other characters and story elements belong to the author.
Constructive criticism is highly appreciated; flamers and hate mail
will be ignored. Write me at PaganGamer@yahoo.com with Awakening in the
subject heading.
Also published on Nifty by the author:
Shame of Caine -- Science Fiction/Fantasy
** I have also published this and the previous chapters in an MS Word
format on the Gay_Fantasy_Fiction group at Yahoo Groups. I have started
placing artwork depicting scenes and characters from the story there as
well. Give it a look, or upload your own Sci-Fi / Fantasy stories. It's
totally free. http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Gay_Fantasy_Fiction/ **
The Awakening
By Liam Barnes
10
When It Rains
May 23rd, 2002
9:12 p.m.
G.S.C., Financial District, San Francisco
The melodic ringing of a cell phone broke the near sterile silence
of Kate Sander's office. Though it was late, she was determined to find out
what was going on, both with Magadon Pharmaceuticals and Agent Preston. She
didn't really suspect any connections between the two, but she wanted to
find where the Iteration X operative had received his information. So far,
every trail led to a dead end, as if the information had been created and
dumped into the system.
She picked up the phone, seeing Stefan's number flash on the ID,
and answered. "Have you got anything for me, Stef?"
There was a hesitant pause on the other end, and then Stefan
answered. "Are you near a TV?"
That brought her up short. "I'm still at work," she offered,
alluding to her location. "But I can pick up any channel on my monitor
here. Why?"
"Turn it to KRON," was all he said.
Curious, she clicked the computer monitor on and switched it to
television mode. Flipping quickly to the suggested channel, she gave a
small gasp of surprise. She recognized the man being interviewed by the
press; Charles Ledescu, Andrew's father. Listening in, she felt a growing
sense of apprehension. The video showing the Cult of Ecstasy mage, Marcus,
shooting the missing daughter of the Magadon researcher; the father's
declaration of his wife's murder and son's kidnapping; and finally the
admission of the `F.B.I.'s' involvement played across the monitor.
"What in God's name is going on?" she sputtered. Then, as if in
answer to her rhetorical cry, he appeared, lurking in the background; Agent
James Preston. Why was he still there if this just happened, she wondered
silently. Surely, his investigation had not taken so long that he would
have remained there for more than two hours. Unless. . . .
"Hold on a moment, Stefan." She clicked a button on her
desk. "Mr. Davis, did Agent Preston ever report in or call?"
"No, ma'am."
"Thank you, Mr. Davis. That will be all." With that, she pressed
the button a second time, ending the call. She glanced at the monitor just
as Mr. Ledescu was making his impassioned speech. The Iteration X operative
stood in the back, a smug look on his face. She tsked and mumbled, "Sloppy
work, Preston." Then, in a louder voice, "Stefan, are the two young men
still there?"
"Yes, and Kate, they've been with me all afternoon. That couldn't
have been Marcus on T.V."
"I figured, I think I know who is behind this, or at the least
involved somehow."
Stefan continued speaking, a bit of panic creeping into his
voice. "And Andrew saw his mother only a few hours ago."
Kate held a hand to her forehead and bit her lower lip in
frustration. She could sense things spiraling out of control as numerous
random factors began to converge. Chaos would surely be the only logical
outcome unless she was able to re-establish some footholds of stability
into the equation. "Keep the boys there, Stef," she began before he could
continue. "I will be there shortly. Try to keep them calm and out of
sight. Have any of the youths there seen them for anything longer than a
few moments?"
"A couple," he answered. "Why?"
"We are going to need to alter their memories of the day. . . "
"I don't think that would be a good idea. Some of these kids are
fucked up already in the head. I don't want to make things worse for them."
"Trust me, Stefan. The Procedure is very gentle. Besides, do you
really think one of them would turn down such a large sum of money just out
human compassion?"
The Euthanatos was silent for a moment. There was a quiet sigh, and
then, "No. You're right. I will be waiting."
May 23rd, 2002
9:30 p.m.
Magadon Pharmaceuticals, Financial District, San Francisco
Roland Jouas stood looking over the darkened city from his office,
high above the crowded streets. He watched the moving lights of cars
traveling through the narrow streets, musing how they made him think of
blood coursing through the veins of some monolithic creature. In a way, it
was true. The city was alive, and even had a spirit of sorts. And I, he
figured, am the cancer that is eating that creature from the inside
out. The thought made him smile.
He had watched the conference from the sterile comfort of his
office. Seeing Charles Ledescu give a near over the top performance,
tearfully beseeching his son to `come back to him' had been a special
treat. He secretly was betting on whether the executive would send his fag
son the way of his mother, or not. Jouas was hoping not, as there were
plenty of uses he could be put to. Thinking of which . . .
Jouas pulled a small crystal pendant out from his shirt, the stone
glittering darkly in the lights of downtown San Francisco. The shard seemed
nothing more than a typical quartz pendant that could be bought at any New
Age or head shop, but Roland knew its secret.
Staring at his reflection in the window, the misshapen man
concentrated, feeling the wall between the real world and the spiritual
one. Suddenly, he felt himself `step sideways' from one side of the
Gauntlet to the other. The spiritual reflection of San Francisco lay before
him, basking in the light of a nearly full Luna. Where steel and concrete
made up the city in the real world, here myriad strands of webbing
stretched for miles around; the work of countless Weaver spirits working
tirelessly to maintain form from chaos.
Basking in the glow of the Umbral moon, Roland Jouas began to
change. The air filled with the loud popping of cartilage and cracking of
joints as his body began to grow. Wiry and matted black hair began to cover
his exposed limbs. His clothing misted away as the changes continued; his
body stretching by a few feet in height. His head flattened as his nose and
mouth extended. Finally, the thundering bass of a howl erupted from his
lupine maw, causing the glass elementals trapped within the building's wall
to tremble.
The room quieted except for the heavy breathing of the now
monstrous Jouas. Roland wanted to shout in joy whenever he changed back
into his natural man-wolf shape, called the crinos form among others of his
kind. He was a Garou, commonly known as a werewolf in popular culture. Most
Garou were either human or wolf in their natural shape, but Roland was one
of the rapidly growing members of outcasts born from two Garou parents.
Metis, as the products of such blasphemous acts were called, rarely
lived long in werewolf culture. The Litany of the lupine society spoke
harshly against the mating of two werewolves, as the children were always
sterile and misshapen. With the race nearly extinct, the Garou needed as
many reproducing members as it could get.
Roland seriously doubted his own parents were concerned by their
breach. In fact, he knew they weren't. Most of the Garou tribes saw
themselves as the defenders and warriors of Gaia, the great Incarna spirit
of the Earth. They fought the depredations of the Wyrm and Weaver, as the
two Triat entities fought to destroy Gaia, or lock Her into a static and
sterile form. His parent's tribe wasn't so altruistic, however.
They belonged to the Black Spiral Dancers, an entire tribe of
werewolves that revered the Wyrm in all of its horrid forms, and sought to
spread chaos, corruption and destruction with all the zeal of fanatics. No
taboo was sacred to the depraved tribe when the final fate of Creation
rested upon their twisted shoulders.
The crystal pendant was glowing brightly, and as though in the grip
of some unseen hand, floated five inches in front of his neck. The twisted
creature's mouth contorted into an approximation of a smile. The stone
contained within it a fragment of a powerful spirit. Roland had taken it
from a jaggling of the entity which was protecting it. Consuming the
minion, he took the shard, and has been in search of other pieces to the
Umbrood. If he could bring the spirit to Malfeas, the infernal home realm
of the Wyrm, he could have it brought beneath the will of the Triat of
corruption.
He had sensed a powerful piece of the spirit nearly awaken the night
before. Following the stone, he had arrived at Fort Funston
beach. Clustered in a small grove were hundreds of spirits of shadow,
enigma and death, their ephemeral voices singing in greeting to the
powerful Umbrood's arrival. Strangely enough, the entity never showed in
the Umbra, meaning that it had somehow managed to manifest in the physical
world. Peeking through the veil between worlds, Roland saw the Cult of
Ecstasy mage, Marcus, rutting with Charles Ledescu's boy.
Somehow the spirit had bound itself to his soul. He could tell that
it still slumbered within him, but once awakened it would be too powerful
for him to handle on his own. It was then that he decided he wouldn't kill
the youth to get the spirit. No, as long as the spirit remained bound to
the boy, it would be unable to use its full strength. He would bring the
boy to the Wyrm somehow, and the spirit along with him.
Walking to the window, he brought his black claws to rest upon the
body of one of the glass elemental's crystalline form. Viscous green fluid
welled up from the tips of the talons, eating away at the spirit. The
elemental cried out in a voice that sounded like breaking glass. Soon
nothing was left of the spirit, leaving an opening out of the building.
Perching on the edge of the opening, Jouas spread his hairy,
muscular arms wide. Thin flaps of skin stretched between his arms and
thighs, like a flying squirrels. Then, he leapt from the opening and glided
on the Umbral winds over San Francisco's spiritual reflection, hunting the
night for where his prey had gone to roost.
May 23rd, 2002
9:45 p.m.
Somewhere in the Castro District, San Francisco
James Cross sat in the dark, listening to the poisoned words of
comfort offered by the voice. Across from him, tied to a rusty metal desk
with his own socks, was the youth he had picked up earlier. After the
initial meeting, he had lured the boy into the alleys behind the clubs, and
into a derelict building. There, the voice had given him enough strength to
over power the youth, and do whatever he wanted.
Now, the boy laid crumpled on the floor amidst the tattered
remnants of his clothing. An occasional whimper was the only indication
that he was even still alive. James had lost interest when the boy had
stopped crying out or resisting, so he left him upon the floor as he
pondered on what to do next.
His glance slid over the welts and bruises that coruscated in
complex patterns along the boy's bale back and buttocks. He smiled as the
voice whispered its praises.
"Now," it hissed. "Kill him. He'ssss of no usssse to usss now. No
more fun when he doessssn't sssscream."
James hesitated at that. While raping the boy had been fun, he
wasn't really up to actually murdering him. The voice appeared as a shadow
at his side, it's gangly form wrapped nearly around him.
"What if he tellsssss?" the bane whispered harshly. "What then,
masssster? They would lock you back up, back where the othersss are; to be
forgotten and kept from anything fun!"
Memories of the juvenile detention center hospital ward clawed
their way through the mire of his mind. Flashes of pain and anger exploded
in his mind. The assault of his past ended almost as quickly as they
started. The other voices began to stir; a quiet cacophony that hovered
just below clear perception.
"I won't go back," he spat out viciously. Across the room, the boy
began to stir.
"Then you mussssst kill him!" the figure insisted. "You musssst!"
James reached down and picked up a rusted out chair leg laying on
the floor. He swung it around a few times, testing its heft out. Satisfied,
he walked over to the kid. He looked down at the huddled mass and
sneered. How pathetic, he thought in disgust. He deserves to die.
The young boy looked up just as James raised the leg. His dirty
face, streaked with tears and sweat, suddenly appeared to shift to that of
someone else. The voice hissed for the disturbed youth to land the killing
blow, but he remained transfixed by the sight of his own face staring back
up at him. Again, memories swam through his head: a pasty skinned fat man,
stinking of filth and alcohol; the sounds of leather hitting flesh; the
sharp pain of broken bones.
"Kill him!" the voice screamed. "Do it!"
"No," James mumbled. He walked over to the tatters of the boy's
clothing and rooted through them until he found a vinyl wallet. Inside was
a student I.D. with the boy's picture, name and home address. He removed
the plastic card and tossed the wallet back onto the floor.
He squatted down and pulled the kid's face up so that he could see
his eyes. "I know who you are, Grey. I'm gonna be keeping an eye on you,
and if I find out you've said anything about what happened here tonight,
I'll kill you. Understand?"
Grey nodded his head. James could feel waves of fear radiating from
the youth as though it were a palpable aura. He basked in the sharp emotion
as though he were lying in the warmth of the sun. Despite having been
disobeyed, the voice made a quiet, pleased sound as it too soaked up the
emotion.
James stood up and walked out of the cluttered room. He stopped
outside and looked around the empty alley. Spotting a dumpster, he tossed
the chair leg in and made his way back to the youth home.
May 24th, 2002
12:12 a.m.
Somewhere Beneath Woodward Park, Tulsa, Oklahoma
His hands gliding through the stale air, Marius van Dressen chanted
in a guttural tongue over half decayed bodies of the corpses arranged
before him. The hollowed out limestone room glowed with a dim
greenish-yellow light, but with his preternatural sight everything was lit
as bright as day. He finished the ritual and the corpses began to move with
false life. Dried tendons snapped and flakes of molded flesh crumbled to
the floor as the newly created zombu lurched to their feet.
Marius gave a dismissive gesture with a pale, almost pearlescent
white hand. The zombu turned and walked out of the room, wandering off into
the dark stone halls beyond as they began their new lives as guards to the
necromancer's underground haven. With a grace born of hundreds of years of
practice, Marius himself turned to make his way back to the more familiar
confines of his parlor.
He was just stepping into the warmly lit room, filled with stacks of
dusty tomes and racks of antiquated equipment, when he felt the arrival of
a servant. He paused and scanned the room with black, passionless eyes that
were like twin holes in reality. They came to rest upon the translucent
body of a street kid, kneeling on the floor.
"What is it, Rusty?" the tall, elven-looking necromancer asked, a
slightly bored tone coloring his voice.
The youth pushed his tattered ball cap up and stood, straightening
his bloody shirt as he did. Phantasmal drops of blood fell from multiple
stab wounds in the boys gut, vanishing soon after hitting the stone
floor. Not able to meet Marius' unblinking stare, he shrugged his misshapen
shoulders and looked at one of the dim walls.
"Uh, it's Cassie. She told me to tell you that the flactry . . ."
"Phylactery," Marius corrected patiently as he approached the
wraith.
Rusty shifted nervously. "Yeah, that thing. She said it was doing
something, and that you would know what that meant."
"Did she now?" Strands of black hair, as light as spider silk,
wafted before the necromancer's angular face as he lithely moved off to a
side passage. Unseen behind him, the young ghost sunk to the floor with a
sigh of relief.
Small motes of green light appeared along the passage as Marius made
his way through its winding halls. He had spent decades molding these
tunnels with his own hands, and could navigate them in pitch darkness had
he wanted to. The will `o the wisps appeared more from unconscious habit
than any true need. He stopped before a bare section of the passage that
was undistinguishable from any other section. A bright tracer of blue light
followed a delicate finger as he traced a glyph on the wall. The stone
seemed to melt out from the glyph, creating an opening into a small
chamber.
Inside was a gaunt looking woman with aged, parchment-like skin that
was covered in arcane characters. Her silver hair was pulled back into a
bun which only served to emphasize her hawkish features. She was sitting in
an antique chair with only a stone pedestal for company. Something was
glowing brightly upon the stand, casting flickering shadows across the
sandstone walls.
Marius entered the room, swiftly moving towards the table. His
delicate hands hovered around the light, seemingly held there by an unseen
force. "How long has this been happening?"
The woman never moved. "Since this morning."
The necromancer's head whipped around to face her, black eyes
narrowed and bluish lips drawn thin. "And you waited until now to have me
informed, why?" His voice was quiet and level.
"You were slumbering during the day, and once night fell, you began
working on a ritual. I told the Lemures to inform you as soon as you were
free." Something akin to a smile creased her ancient face. "I know how much
you hate to be interrupted, my liege." She added the title after a slight
pause, though no hint of insult laced her words.
"There are nights, Oracle, that I find myself almost sad that you
are already dead, else I might be tempted to kill you on mere principle."
His face never changed expression.
Still smiling, she replied, "You are free to cast me into the
nearest nihil if I truly upset you so. Or you could always send me straight
to the Oblivion . . ."
Marius turned his attention back to the light, a cold smile on his
face. "Perhaps were you not so valuable to me." He reached into the light
with one hand and picked the source up. Dangling from a silver chain, a
small perfectly cut diamond wrapped in silver wire glowed with the
brightness of the full moon.
"The time draws near, but how close is it?"
Cassie made a slight shake of her head, eyes staring unblinking at
him. "I would need to do an augury to know anything specific."
The elvish looking man replaced the phylactery back on its silver
holder, and then straightened up. "I cannot just hand over one of my
wraithly servants to you for an augury, Oracle. For some reason beyond my
ken, they might take issue with being sacrificed like that. Besides," he
waved a hand dismissively, "I cannot afford such a waste while dire
happenings are afoot in my domain."
"A drone, then," she suggested. "Or a plasmic? There is no need for
a sentient soul to perform the augury."
Marius contemplated the phylactery for a moment, as well as what
was all at stake. "Very well. I am sure the Stone Guard can retrieve a
suitable subject for you."
May 23rd, 2002
10:12 p.m.
Mike's Home For Youths, Castro District, San Francisco
Kate set the small hypo-spray down onto the parlor desk. The
content had been injected into both Andrew and Marcus, and was designed to
alter their bodies' superficial features just enough to prevent anyone from
matching them with their true identities. The effects were only temporary,
but should last long enough for the group to figure out what was going on.
Stefan was in his own room, performing a ritual to subtly alter the
memories of those in the house. They, being Kate and Stefan, had thought
hard on different avenues of protecting Andrew and Marcus from being turned
in by one of the home's youths. In the end, the memory altering was the
most effective.
The two mages who were the root of all the activity were currently
sitting on the parlor couch, holding each other. The newly Empowered youth
was clutching the Ecstatic with a death grip. He had not spoken since she
had arrived thirty minutes ago, and from what Stefan had told her, since
hearing of his mother's death. None of them had felt like forcing him to;
it had been a very traumatic day for even an experienced mage, much less a
new one.
Stefan entered the room, his eyes baring dark circles. "Well,
that's done. With one exception."
"What?" Kate asked, almost afraid of the answer.
He shrugged his shoulders. "It's nothing bad, just one of the boys
was missing. He probably snuck out. I'll get him when he gets in."
Curiously, Kate asked, "Which one?"
"Hmm? Oh, it's James Cross."
"Are you sure he didn't go to the police or something?" Marcus
asked.
Stefan shook his head. "No, but James is always slipping out late
at night. And if he had, I'm sure they would have been here by now."
Marcus seemed to let it go at that. He laid his head against
Andrew's. He could feel the absolute desolation within the youth, and was
frustrated by his own inability to do anything about it. Grief was not an
emotion he was capable of handling; in fact, it was one he usually tried to
avoid completely.
"So what now?" the Ecstatic asked quietly.
The Euthanatos and Technocrat looked at each other for a
moment. Finally, Stefan answered. "We know that somehow Agent Preston is
involved with the events. Well, we think he is at any rate. Also, whatever
is going on at Magadon is connected.
"I say that you two lay low, and we wait until the V.A. can break
into Preston's internal C.P.U. Once we find out if he is involved, we can
progress further."
"I'll try to keep the Union focused on Magadon, and away from
Stefan and you two," Kate added.
"And what about Andrew's father?" Marcus noticed that the teen
didn't even react.
Kate sighed. "I think, for his own protection, no-one should
contact him. Doing so could put his life in danger, as well as potentially
expose us."
"One more thing, Kate," Stefan added. "I'm going to contact Aaron,
and see if he can help us out."
"I'm not sure that's wise, Stef." The agent shifted uncomfortably
in her chair. "Aaron is probably very busy with his own things, and this
could put him in jeopardy, too. Besides, do you really want to involve more
Traditionalists in this matter?"
Though he was wasn't really thinking about it, Andrew listened in
on what the mages were discussing. Until yesterday, he had been just a
normal kid. Now, he was Awakened and his whole life had fallen apart in a
matter of a dozen hours. His mother was dead, and it was all because of
him. His father's life was screwed up as well, also because of him. He felt
like he was falling into a vast abyss.
Suddenly, he felt a ripple of power wash through his soul. In a
weird way, it reminded him of when he had first felt Marcus through their
spiritual link. Sitting up, he looked around. He ignored the questions of
the others as he stood and walked towards the window. The feeling seem to
originate from just outside it. He pushed the curtains to the side but only
saw a few cars pass by on the dark street.
He was about to close the curtains when he noticed that it wasn't
his reflection in the window staring back at him. Nox's doll-like face
regarded him as he heard her voice in his mind.
<THINK UPON MY LESSONS. YOU WILL SEE WHAT YOU SEARCH FOR.>
It took his mind a moment to process the statement. Finally, he
pulled his thoughts out of the mire of sullenness that had engulfed him. He
focused his sight, not on the window or the scene beyond, but through
them. He tried to relax and feel what lay beyond, relying upon the fate
sight that Nox had taught him earlier. The scene outside the window changed
as if someone had turned on a light. Instead of a dark street, he found
himself staring eye to eye with a monstrous wolfish face, its snout nearly
pressed against the glass.
Not knowing what else to do, Andrew screamed.
<Yes, yes. I know it took me a while to get this chapter out. I deeply
apologize. I had been working six days a week and dealing with other fun
stuff that prevented me from writing. Hopefully, that will not be happening
anytime soon, though, as my schedule has freed up once more. ^_^
The next chapter is on its way and the plot thickens. Will our
heroes get out of this unscathed? And what of young Mr. Cross? Has he began
the path to redemption, or merely delayed his inevitable plunge towards the
dark side? And who is this freaky Marius guy halfway across the country to
involve himself in this story?
The end of Book One of The Awakening rapidly approaches. Stay Tuned!
P.S. To all of you who have also been reading my Shame of Caine series, I
am almost down with part 2, so hold on. It will be out soon.
Love
Liam>