Dark Omega

CHAPTER 5 - THE GREAT ARCHITECT

In response to Haides's call, a man stepped into the ring of light. He wore the robes of a senior savant: dark blue vestments over a pure white cassock, heavy with golden embroidery extolling his many fields of expertise. His dark brown almond eyes were those of an old man, but his tanned skin was smooth and young—new skin grafted on top of old flesh. Neatly done, but I can still tell. It was especially apparent where the skin met the chrome-plated graft covering the back half of the man's skull.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Master-Savant Vernissimon de Veridia de Archangelos. Vern for short." He made a formal bow and scrape.

Marcus was familiar with Archangelos. It was a world famous for the scholars and savants it produced. More recently, it had been the linchpin of the Archaic War, a conflict as brutal and bloody as any in the history of the Coalition. The University-City of Veridia was one of the eight major colleges, renowned across the Dominion. Or was. The war left it weakened, eclipsed by less prestigious schools. But this was all long after your time.

"In life, I was the architect behind all of this—the Chimera and its psychic archives, the infrastructure that makes this meeting possible. I was Quaestor Samael's senior savant—and in the capacity as his chronicler and chief archivist, I continue to serve even in death."

"I am honored to make your acquaintance Vernissimon de Veridia de Archangelos. I am Prefect-Legate Marcus Aurelian of the Ordo Draconis." Marcus made to rise, but Vern waved him back down.

"Please, do call me Vern."

The Prefect-Savant had moved to stand next to Marcus. Up close, he looked tall, half a head taller than Marcus, and uncommonly broad of shoulder.

"Exoskeleton. Made according to my specifications. Started out as locomotive assistance, but subsequent additions have added to both functionality—and bulk." Vern's hands slapped against armor plates hidden under his voluminous garments. "A man of my age needs all the help he can get."

The fleshy parts of his head were perfectly hairless, undoubtedly artificially induced. He wore the Eye of Horus proudly, tattooed over the right side of his face. I've seen many such displays of zeal—not all of them genuine.

Vern frowned. "For much of my life, I was a man without faith," he said, stepping closer. "I professed to be amongst the faithful, but I was not. I went through the motions, prayed my prayers, made the offerings, and observed the holidays. But I did not truly believe." He made the sign of the Pantheon, two hands in front of the chest, palms showing, thumbs and index fingers touching, in a rough approximation of a pyramid, the sacred symbol of the collective gods of the Dominion.

"Not until I was saved by Him. I was saved when so many others were not. He put His radiant mark upon me, and the foul spirits of the Abyss feared to touch me. That is why I carry the Eye upon my flesh, so that I will be forever reminded of my faithless years and what we all, and especially I, owe Horus-Who-Is-Ra."

"Have I passed another checkpoint? Is this the Second Circle, or am I still in the first one?"

Vern fell silent, regarding Marcus intently. "Perceptive of you, Marcus. Very perceptive," he finally said.

"Thank you." Marcus felt unreasonably pleased with himself, almost like a student receiving rare praise from his otherwise so stern professor. That was quick. At this rate, reaching the final circle shouldn't take too long.

"The chimera doesn't just offer up her secrets to just anyone. You've made a good first impression, so to speak, but we must go through the motions nevertheless."

"I see." Marcus nodded for Vern to go on.

"Are you familiar with Dante?" Vern said.

"As in Dante's Inferno?"