Chapter CDX: Orchestrator ~Multehx

In its translucent veil upon the peak of a mountain, in the Lofty Mountains, the estate house loomed. It was more ghostly an image than concrete yet, the fencing foreboding and rusted enough to give it the illusion of actually being real.

Inside the double wrought iron doors, on either side stood a gargantuan beast; a gargoyle, with muscles hard as steel, an immense broadsword clutched in their hands, tip to the ground as they stood motionless but for the movements of their chests. The immense foyer was carpeted in a lush, blood red, extremely regal looking rug, and a carpet of similar make lead up the long wooden staircase that split into two that lead in opposite directions. From a doorway at ground level that led into the main foyer, Alfred Nsvem stalked, moving with a purpose indeed up the stairs. He took the left one and continued for what felt like an interminable length of time indeed.

But finally, he found himself in a long passageway with hard wood floors, bare of the carpeting. On either side sat several doors, all closed and with their own unique guard standing vigilantly, wordlessly in front. Some were electraphorms, others rather towering hulks of mechna knights, still others...seemingly just statues of a variety of gruesome and ferocious beasts of the night.

Alfred payed none a moment's heed as he progressed onwards. Running a hand through his rather flat hair as he went, upon releasing it snapped back into its usual manner; wildly, with no rhyme or reason. He stopped in front of a door rimmed with ornate carvings upon the frame, of ancient sigils, intertwining serpents, various beasts of darkness, and at the head, the monogram of the master; three cursive letters, fancy, flowing, with a border that drew the eyes straight to them.

~~~~~

~S. P. H.~

~~~~~

Straightening his bowtie, he reached out to knock. The door opened deftly, and without wasting a moment, he proceeded inward. The room was longer inside than it seemed physically possible for the house. A trick that distorted the physics of perspective that even fooled the mind's understanding of reality, he knew. All a product of the mind he respected more than his own.

Up the long, plush, velvet red carpet he walked. The room was dark, but dimly lit by the flickering of flames upon their torches, heads in glass bowls, mounted strategically along the wall. The floorboards would creak occasionally under his steps as he went.

The further he progressed, the darker the room grew. And, odder still, the darker the flames grew. Finally, all about was pitch black, save the eerie black and blue flames that danced in their glasses. Just ahead were a small line of them, up a few steps that ascended to a dais, upon which sat an oaken chair with intricate and highly ornate designs carved into the sides and arm rests. It sat upon four legs, carved into gnarled claws.

It was padded with a dark green, plush material along the back and the seat, and in it sat a figure. His face was only slightly illuminated by the odd dancing lights; the strange metal of his purple helmet seemed to gleam with the reflection of them, as did the cold, iron bands of metal that laced upon his boots.

"You're worried."

He didn't ask, simply stated. Then he shook his snifter, the brandy sloshing about in the way only a connoisseur knows how to accomplish.

Alfred snorted. "Of course I am, sir."

"-And with due reason." The figure nodded slightly. "Yes, yes, I know. We've been here a long time indeed." He sighed. "I'm growing weary as well, but we shall not make appearance until I deem it time to."

The wild blond hair sparked as a bit of the natural charge that flowed strongly through its owner was discharged in frustrated distraction. "I wish you'd put a damn move on it, sir," he muttered, but realised in shock what he let slip even before he felt the icy chain about his neck and a sharp prick upon his neck. Swallowing, he blinked. "I...I'm sorry..." he quickly apologized. The figure crossed a leg, leaning on one arm of his chair.

"For what?"

Alfred exhaled quietly. "For..for..forgetting. Forgetting that...things have been rough...that...we're all irritated...especially you...that you haven't had your fun with the usual innocent victims in ages. I'm sorry...my tongue is...sometimes faster…than my consideration."

The suspended man winced as he felt burning pain. Indeed, though he had no face, just suspended eyes, mouth below, and his wild hair, the blade of the Noch Thalt cut a thin line upon against the air where his neck would have been. A thin red line formed, and slowly leaked a few drops.

Pseudo chuckled, the blade stopping, the kama releasing the professor and dropped him to his hands and knees, where he grasped his throat. "I like you, Alfred. Not only are you closest to understanding me, but you know just when you've screwed up."

Alfred rubbed his neck, getting to his feet.

"It's admirable, really. People with power often get too cocky to know how to submit to their superiors." He waved his other hand, in a reversed beckoning gesture. "I believe Malus and Spiite will require your presence in the basement, with the 'acquisition' you made."

Nsvem coughed, frowning as he got to his feet, turning and promptly heading off.

The Twilighter smirked as he heard the door close. He raised the snifter, gazing into the contents as he sloshed them about in just the right way. "Just like life," he smirked, "stir right, and the essence of flavor rises throughout." With a smirk, he downed a sip, revelling in his most sage choice for this evening's drink.