“Subject 113, Seneca...” uttered a shrill voice from across the Round Table. An enormous blue circle jutting from the ground. Heavy, metal, with studded sides and bolted feet. Each figure sitting along its side had placed a blade before them on it, each pointing towards the center. There were twelve seats, only eleven were filled. “This particular Revenant has proved to be... exceptionally powerful. We have been unable to kill him.” The man slumped forward into the light of the table. His rippled face and greyed hair revealing a man of age. His nose jutted forward in a crisp, sharp fashion and was complemented by a furrowed brow. He wore a tightly buttoned grey shirt, messy collar. “At least, until last night. We managed to pinpoint and raise the temperature of his bloodstream to such high temperatures as I’m sure few people have ever experienced in earth’s history. He is nothing more than a fried pulp, now. But we are still keeping heavy watch on him, just in case. What say you, Helvont?”
A man across the table leaned forward. He was ruddy looking, with grizzly black hair and a scruffy face. A wide-brimmed hat topped his head, casting slight shadows over his face. Several silver chords of skin marked a large scar jutting from one end of his face to the other. He sported a thick leather coat with an animal pelt thrown over his shoulder. Likewise, his hands were encased in leathery black gloves. The man cupped his hands together on the table before him and inspected the elder sitting across from him. “That’s all fine and well, Janus, but what information did you get from him?”
“Well...” Janus began, “We are more convinced of the existence of a new Revenant Order. However, he gave us no solid proof...”
“And you killed him?” said Helvont, scowling across the table at him.
“I mean, we assume he’s dead...” Janus said, “but sir, we had no choice. It was only a matter of time before he escaped again. Seneca, he’s a real threat. All these other Revenants are amateurs, easily killed. But Seneca... he plays no games. He knows what he’s doing.”
“Regardless,” Helvont began, “We are running out of time. If this Revenant Order is assembling, we are growing weaker by the hour. We have been given word that Seneca had apprentices. If that is true, we are in incredible danger. The safe zones would stand no chance against them,” he added. His eyes narrowed into Janus, watching as the old man’s gaze drifted to his hands. Helvont’s fist slammed to the table, rattling the blades. “Damn it, Janus! Are you not taking this seriously?”
“I am, sir,” he growled, his eyes darting back to Helvont.
“Are you not forgetting about his suspected involvement in the death of Ivory?” said Helvont, jutting a deliberate finger towards the empty chair rimming the gargantuan table. “My sister-in-law is dead... and Seneca killed her! My wife has never been this heartbroken. Her bond with Ivory was inseparable, and now she tells me she feels like part of her has died. I’m not going to sit idly by while your foolishness corrupts what we stand for. Trust me, Janus, trust me... I long for Seneca’s death with all of my heart, but I must first know why... why her. Why did this have to happen.” Helvont said, his teeth gritting as he gripped the end of the table, viciously.
“Well, Jon,” Janus started, “I see you are still emotionally not well. I will dismiss myself from this meeting and tend to things for you, then. Goodbye,” he said, standing to his feet and grabbing his blade from the table. He clutched the long semi-automatic rifle leaning up against the back of his chair and vanished through the door. It clicked closed, and Helvont rested his face in his palms.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Tip. Tap.
Janus’ sleek, freshly polished boots clicked against the hard metal floor. He stepped off of a large, rounded transportation mechanism. It was similar to a train, used to transport workers and soldiers to and from this facility. In this case, from the White House, as Janus had come. The platform which he joined was lit with many bright white lights, many sliding metal doors opening as men in suits and some in armor, moved from place to place. Janus grimaced, tapping further down the platform as he passed individuals walking to and fro. The sound of their boots filling the air with taps, aside from the usual chatter already present.
Janus stopped at the end of a wide corridor, shaped in a slightly stretched hexagonal fashion. Two guards stood at the door, both carrying enormous guns and equipped with high grade military gear. Janus saluted, before handing them a long silver ID, which was swiped through a receiver. The metal doors abruptly slid open as Janus took the card back, then quickly walked through.
Janus’ beady brown eyes scanned what we before him as he made his entrance into the enormous dome-shaped room. The ridges of the room were supported by metal pillars, while the center housed a large containment cell. The metal frame of a giant box sat in the midst of the room, shaping walls of white energy. Within this box was an elongated leather chair. The leather was pearl white, though desecrated by the scourge of scarlet. It was soaked in blood and fluids, dripping it onto the floor in endlessly expanding puddles.
Sitting nonchalantly atop the chair was a man in a grey jumpsuit. His body looked famished, gaunt, and slender. His skin was of an albino pigment, slightly pinkish, but white. Jutting out like snowy daggers were his cheek bones, and likewise, his eyes were a silvery white, ringed with black sclera. His long hair was the color of snow and fixed back into a tight braid, though with many messy stray threads ticking out across his head. He had a straight, narrow nose and a chiseled jawline, with full grayish lips. A few black and violet bruises were painted across his skin, stretching from his face and descending in a spiral down his neck. Even his hands, tipped with their thin fingers, were darkened from the bruises and burns.
“It’s impossible...” Janus said.
“Is it?” Seneca asked.
“You were nothing but charred flesh only last night!” said Janus, “You were declared dead!”
Seneca sighed, “Don’t pretend to be so surprised, Janus. You know full well what a strong Revenant is capable of.”
Janus crossed his arms. “Well, I suppose it’s not such a bad thing. Made a fool out of myself at the Round Table today, delivering the news of your death. Turns out we have more use for you than I had calculated. Thankfully, you’re just too immortal, isn’t that right?”
“No one is immortal,” said Seneca. “No one.”
There was silence. Janus, scowling, paced forward several times. He finally stopped just before the surface of the transparent wall, staring into Seneca. “You best cooperate. I am losing my patience with you. And it is only a matter of time before the others storm through here and spend all your lives.”
Seneca reclined, crossing a leg over the other and interlacing his hands in his lap. His head leaned back against the headrest of the chair, his body letting out an exhausted sigh. “I do not fear them,” he said.
“Perhaps not,” said Janus, pressing a hand against the wall. “But I know who you do.”
“He would not venture here,” said Seneca, sitting up slightly.
“Never predict his actions, you know better. After all, I hope you don’t forget, this place is underground. You’re lucky he hasn’t already stopped by.” Janus groaned, stepping away from the cell. “I suppose I will leave you be, Seneca. But remember what I said,” he added, as he made his way back to the door. They slid shut behind him, the grey-haired wretch disappearing behind the sheets of metal.
“Maybe.”
