1560 Linchpin
Ttak!
Ttak!
Ttak!
The rhythm is steady, unrelenting
Despite his best efforts, Boris couldn't silence the nagging premonition that gnawed at the edges of his consciousness.
He felt as if Death itself was drawing nearer, its approach marked by the unyielding footsteps that echoed like a grim harbinger.
The tapping seemed to reverberate through the walls of his cell, resonating like an unspoken evil omen
Boris' fingers clenched involuntarily, his palms moistening with a sudden dampness.
The smile he wore, a mask of defiance, seemed to waver imperceptibly.
"I don't want to die today" he thought to himself. Boris is the Right Channcleor of the Republic.
While he do not want to die, if he is supposed to die today, he would surely not die like a coward.
The sound of the footsteps grew unnervingly close, each echoing beat resonating with an almost palpable tension.
"It's here," Boris thought to himself, his heart racing in tandem with the approaching presence.
His gaze, steady yet expectant, lifted toward the small opening in the front of his cell door, an anticipation hanging in the air like an unspoken question.
Abruptly, the footsteps ceased, plunging the surroundings into a heavy silence.
Boris breath seemed to catch in his throat as a profound stillness settled over the space.
Then, a sound—a subtle yet distinct sound—pierced the silence
Slowly, as if teasing the boundaries between revelation and concealment, a presence materialized at the threshold of his cell.
Boris gaze fixed on the silhouette that stood before him, an ethereal figure cloaked in a nebulous haze.
The contours of this figure seemed to blur at the edges, merging seamlessly with the obscurity that enshrouded them.
It was as if the very air around this person held a veil of mystery, as if the shadows themselves had woven an enigmatic shroud around their form.
The details remained elusive, hidden within the shifting dance of light and shadow that embraced the figure.
"Concealing magic" Boris thought in his mind
Boris eyes, narrowed with a mix of apprehension and intrigue, locked onto the silhouette. His mind raced, grappling to discern any defining features, any glimpse of identity within the foggy outline.
And yet, even as his senses strained, the figure remained tantalizingly obscured
But, there was something he is certain of the moment he saw that person.
Then Boris heard the sound of his cell door being unlocked and Boris eyes narrowed.
"Shit!" he cursed
Boris fought against the unrelenting grip of the shoulder lock, agony coursing through his body with each strained movement.
Yet, his determination remained unwavering, his muscles taut with resistance, his face a mask of fierce defiance.
Each attempt to break free only seemed to fuel the searing pain but he keeps trying to move.
The chain rattles as Boris struggle to get out
But he could not stop trying to struggle.
From the moment he saw that person looking at him from that opening on his cell door, he could tell that person is not coming here to save him
Because when their eyes met with each other.... Boris could feel it. Boundless killing intent directed at him
This person breaks into the prison to kill him!
....
In Tartarus, there is chaos but outside, the world seems like there was nothing wrong
There is a lone figure perched upon a weathered boulder, near the opening of Tartarus.
his demeanour a stark contrast to the volatile surroundings.
The air itself seemed to acknowledge his presence, carrying an aura of tranquillity that belied the imminent eruption of the boiling geyser nearby.
Beads of sweat remained conspicuously absent from his brow, his form untouched by the searing temperatures that is around him.
Even the creatures, fierce and wild, gave this place a wide berth, as though an invisible boundary had been drawn around this person.
There is space time fluctuation all around these areas and even titanic beast learns to avoid this kind of place
As for this mysterious person, he seems to be lazing around on the boulder.
Concealing formations, intricate and arcane, traced their patterns around him, weaving a tapestry of protection and secrecy that warded against prying eyes and meddling energies.
Upon the ground beneath him, an arrangement of stones revealed itself, a pentagram formed by their careful placement.
Each stone occupied a specific point, aligning harmoniously to create the geometric symbol when viewed from above.
At the heart of each stone lay an energy source, their radiance infused into the very fabric of the formations that cocooned the area.
These energy stone powered these formations.
Within the protective embrace of these intricate formations, an array of curious and arcane objects lay scattered
Among the collection, a feather rested delicately, its once vibrant hues now dimmed as if touched by the passage of time itself.
Nearby, a bowl of blood exuded an eerie aura, its crimson vitality slowly succumbing to an unseen malevolence.
13:40
A lifeless chicken, its form frozen in a permanent state of demise, occupied another corner, a symbol malevolence.
A lifeless chicken, its form frozen in a permanent state of demise, occupied another corner, a symbol of sacrifice.
Its feathers, once resplendent, now appeared muted, as if drained of the vitality that once animated them.
Adjacent to the avian remains, the tail of a giant lizard extended, its scales seemingly dulled
Completing this peculiar tableau, a solitary blue fish lay suspended in its final repose
Its cerulean sheen had dulled to a ghostly pallor, a spectral echo of the vibrant creature it had once been.
Yet, as the seconds ticked away, an insidious transformation gripped these artifacts of power.
A malevolent force, like a creeping darkness, manifested within the very heart of the formation.
Its corrosive touch turned once-potent elements into dust, an unholy erosion that seemed to consume their essence with each passing moment.
The feather, the blood, the chicken, the lizard's tail, and the fish—all met the same fate, dissolving into particles that mingled with the air, lost to an unrelenting maleficence.
Within the protective embrace of the concealing formations, this disintegration played out in eerie silence
Perched atop the weathered boulder, a figure of distinct refinement commanded the scene.
Clad in a meticulously tailored suit that whispered of old-world elegance, the enigmatic man sported a bowler hat that lent an air of timeless sophistication.
His lean, statuesque frame seemed to effortlessly exude an air of authority
Strands of obsidian hair cascaded down his neck, elegantly bound in a tidy manner
To those versed in the secretive realms of intelligence, the figure's identity is no enigma.
He is known, feared, and whispered about across the clandestine echelons.
Mister Moscow, the cryptic moniker by which he was recognized, served as the representative to the Red Table
Veiling his countenance in a tapestry of intrigue, swathes of black and crimson fabric concealed his visage, each fold seeming to possess a life of its own, an unnerving vitality that occasionally writhed and stirred as if imbued with a sinister animation.
Behind this shroud of mystery lay the sharp mind of a tactician, an orchestrator of schemes that spanned the shadowed depths of political machinations.
In a hushed murmur that brushed the edge of audibility, he spoke to the tempestuous air around him.
"The Magician is playing with fire,"
And he sighed
But what the world doesn't know is his other person
Another persona lay hidden beneath the veneer—Senator Alexei, a man of the Republic who expertly maneuverer the currents of power within its hallowed halls.
In this moment, perched upon the precipice of intrigue, Mister Moscow's intent is clear.
His presence here is no accident
He has the key.
Specifically, the key to the Northern Gate of Tartarus.,
And here is the northern side of the Geyser area.
A site where Tartarus is hidden in plain sight
Amid the tumultuous events that unfolded within Tartarus right now, he stood as the sentinel, ensuring that the ripples of chaos would not breach reality and that it would not alarm the other guardians,
The Rat wanted to kill Boris. And he could guess why.
Killing Boris would create an international incident.
Snared in the intricate web of geopolitics, every action held the potential to set forth a cascade of consequences, and Boris situation is no exception.
The very notion of his demise held within it the seed of an international crisis that the world, still weary from recent conflicts, could ill afford to endure. no(Ve1USb,c-o/M
Death Monarch, a figure who straddled the precipice between guardian and manipulator, stood as a staunch sentinel against the resurgence of global warfare, a determined hand working to avert the calamity that a large-scale conflict would undoubtedly unleash.
Yet, in the intricate plots and schemes of power, there existed a delicate equilibrium that could be easily upended.
The prospect of Boris' death, should it be orchestrated under the cloak of the Senate's imprisonment, bore the potential to unravel the tenuous balance that had been so arduously maintained.
The very act of extinguishing his life within the Senate's clutches held the potential to ignite a maelstrom of retaliation and vengeance that could spiral into a cataclysmic chain reaction.
If such situation where Boris is killed under the Republic imprisonment, Katarina, driven by the fires of vengeance, would not be content to let her brother's demise go unanswered.
Katarina would want revenge.
The tendrils of Death Monarch's favor, woven through the tapestry of their relationship, would not act as a barrier against her pursuit of retribution.
And knowing how Death Monarch favors Katarina, even if he would not support her, he would not obstruct her.
his tacit acceptance of her path would, in essence, be an endorsement that would galvanize her cause.
And in such situation, The Senate surely had to choose to fight
That would then bring Jean into the forefront. And if Jean comes to the front, then Death Monarch also have to stand up
With the stage set for a clash of titans, the world would inevitably bear witness to the fight between Death Monarch and Jean
Death Monarch, positioned as both observer and arbiter, would be compelled to intervene in the spiralling turmoil, the same for Jean who is the Left Chancellor of the Republic.
the Rat and the Magician, shadows shrouded in enigma, stood to gain from the unfolding chaos.
The very fabric of stability that the world had begun to yearn for would be threatened anew, the tendrils of uncertainty and conflict reaching far and wide.
The looming spectre of a world plunged into a devastating war, orchestrated by the intricate
machinations of puppet masters, remained a dire threat that could not be ignored.
Amidst the silent turmoil of this complex tableau, Boris stood as a linchpin—a pawn whose fate could tip the balance and usher in an era of chaos and upheaval.
And the Rat and the Magician would like this situation to happen.
