Page 12 of Unaware


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From here, they had to be very careful. She had no idea which other members would be waiting along the way. This was dangerous territory, unfamiliar to her.

"I'll go take a look first," she whispered to Gabe.

She crossed the room as silently as she could, making for the door at the other end where the masked figures had gone.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The ceremonies were starting.

He knew all the signs, and he was familiar with their rhythm. The preparation of this ritual was onerously time-consuming. It was wearying to watch it, and he felt his legs setting into stone as he nestled out of sight, in an upper balcony, behind a pillar.

It was cold and uncomfortable, but the masked man knew that discomfort was simply a part of the job. After all, patience was important, and never more so than when planning such an intricate task. This was a test of his own skill and resolve over the might of a flawed, secretive foundation.

He was going to make sure tonight that he claimed another soul for himself to set the balance right. But it all had to be properly planned.

Sitting back against the stone pillar, feeling its coldness seep into him, he allowed dark thoughts to flicker through his mind. In this stone place, with the weight of centuries around him and above him, it was no wonder that his thoughts roamed to past deaths.

So many had lost their lives and were mourned here for so many different reasons.

Plagues, causes, clashes, wars. When he tuned in, it felt as if he could hear all their souls screaming in a cacophony of sound. That was what being here, in the presence of this building, made him feel.

It was deeply chilling.

He closed his eyes, and for a moment, he had a bright, clear vision. A woman was standing below him, sobbing, kneeling on the stone, her hair a bright red, spilling over it. And behind her, stern-faced and uncompromising, stood a priest. He watched the woman without any expression nor any show of emotion, but the masked man thought that if there was an emotion, it was a swell of contempt.

The woman cried and cried, and eventually, her sobs lessened. The priest stepped forward and raised the weapon he was carrying. It gleamed in the faint candlelight, the metal pointed and sharp, and the masked man gasped.

The priest lowered the weapon, and he heard the sharp click of blades.

It was a pair of scissors. Her red hair was falling like water, tumbling onto the stone, spilling down as her head was shorn, as the priest worked in an uncompromising rhythm.

Then, the masked man's eyes jerked open again.

These visions. They kept coming, thick and fast, but never more intensely than when he was in a place like he was now. He wished he knew if they were real or not. Were they actual fragments of history? Was he seeing something in his mind's eye that had actually occurred in the past? Was his own mission - the quest he had now embarked on - allowing him to see more clearly into previous times?

Or was it just his own imagination presenting him with a scene as clear as a jewel?

He had no idea, and he shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Now was not the time for such distractions. He had a job to do, and it required his full attention.At least the vision, weird and intense as it had been, had taken up some time, and he could see preparations had progressed and the throngs were starting to gather below him.

The air was thick with the scent of incense and candle wax, and he could hear the low murmur of chanting coming from the crowd. This wasn't the real ceremony, not yet; this was still the preparation. He could tell that from the pace of the chanting and the size of the crowd, which was still small. As the night wore on and the time drew near, it would increase. It was still low and slow, but soon, it would increase in volume and speed, becoming musical and then becoming frantic, breathless, a crazed blend of voices.

The masked man shivered, and not just from the cold.

He knew that with each ceremony, the stakes grew higher. This time, he was determined to make it count. He knew their weaknesses, their vulnerabilities, and he was ready to strike.

It was his own weaknesses and his own vulnerabilities that were still more hidden away, and that made him shiver again, harder this time. All he had was himself, his strength of will, his cunning, and a few items that were essential for him to carry out his plans. And so far, they had been successful. He had completed his mission, and his tasks had gone the way they should have.

Only he could do this. Breathing in the choking air, he acknowledged that fact with an emotion that was not quite pride but more a sure certainty of himself. Only he could do this.

He adjusted his mask. It was necessary, of course, but he had to make sure that it fit perfectly so as not to interfere with his vision. He needed to see every movement, every shadow that was cast, because only through stealth and patience could he achieve his goal.

As the chanting grew louder, he slipped out from behind the pillar and made his way down the narrow back staircase. This was where it would get very dangerous.

The masked man could feel the heat of the preparation, the fires of the candles, the energy building to a fever pitch. It all felt so familiar to him, this ritual, the way the energy built, the sense of purpose and desire that manifested itself from the crowd as if thoughts truly could become alive. And it made him afraid. Sensing the cult's power was like being pierced with a dagger of fear.

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and his hand trembled slightly as he pulled out a small vial from his pocket. He uncorked it, and the strong scent of lavender and chamomile filled his nostrils. It was a concoction he had created himself, a potent blend of calming herbs that he used to soothe his nerves before each mission.

He took a few drops and let them dissolve on his tongue, feeling the calming effects almost instantly. His heart rate slowed. The feeling of fear that had consumed him retreated, and he breathed out in long, calming breaths. He would need to remain steady-minded and focused if he was going to succeed tonight.

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