A/N: Forgot the title in the first part! Terribly sorry! It’s right above this one.
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“Altair?” There was a question in the name, as if asking if Altair was actually there. No movement came and those eyes did not glance away for a minute. Again, he called out to the man. “Altair?” His voice grew sterner, because this was all such nonsense. It was completely ridiculous that such an insignificant little thing, even if others claimed it to be a wonderful instrument of the gods, could do such a thing to Altair. In truth, it was pathetic, and Malik was fed up with trying to keep the Brotherhood in Order. “Altair?” He asked, one more time, irritated, but polite. He waited a few more seconds only to have the same reply of nothing answer him just as before.
“God damn it, Altair, snap out of it!” He yelled, reaching out to grab the glowing orb, but before he could reach it, a hand snapped out and grabbed his wrist, crushing it in a grip that almost resembled a piece of what the Master Assassin used to be. And, for a second, Malik saw that old spark again, as those eyes finally turned towards him in a sharp, undying, glare. It disappeared just as soon as it came.
“What do you want?” Altair said. His voice was dry and cracked, probably from lack of water and so little use in such a long time. At first, it didn’t even sound like him. Just an empty shell of what the man used to be; everything his mind left behind when it left.
Malik yanked his hand back, but the grip did not give in and only tightened further, threatening much more then simple bruises. Even so, Malik did not show the slightest sign of pain and only returned the hard glare that was given to him. His seemed more solid, because Altair’s eyes seemed to be shifting, back and forth, looking at something past Malik that only he could see.
“I said, ‘What do you want?’” The Master barked, refocusing on Malik and the topic at hand. The Apple was still held tight in his other hand, humming and pulsing with every word spoken.
“I want you to let go of the Apple.” Malik simply snapped back. Anger was a good emotion; Malik could deal with anger. Most of his life had been lived in anger, a great deal of that directed at the man now staring him down. “Stop playing this game.” He demanded, curling his held hand into a fist.
Such an answer did not seem to go over well in Altair’s fogged mind. For a moment, the mist cleared and he looked down at the device, quizzically, as if wondering what exactly Malik had been talking about, then he looked up again, that clouded look came back in his eyes (death. That’s what it was like, the look of death) and Altair smiled. This, above all else, set Malik on edge. It was a surprising reaction compared to the anger before and, for a second; Malik became frightened by the look, taking a step back. Altair let him go, the hand falling from his grasp. His gaze turned down towards the apple once more.
“Do you know what this is, Malik?” The voice was soft, distant. It froze Malik’s feet to the ground, enabling him to move from that spot. A soft bout of laughter emitted from Altair’s throat. It was short and sickening, sensing chills down Malik’s body, making him shudder. “It’s a beautiful little thing, you know, and I think I’m finally figuring it out.” Altair’s head snapped up; Malik saw insanity in those eyes. He cringed. That smile grew even wider. “Would you like to see what I have found out? I’m sure you’ll love it.”
He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breath, and Malik did not want to know what that apple did. He simply wanted to take it, wrap it up, and hide it away so Altair may never find it again. It was driving the assassin to the point of breaking—if not, he already had.
“It shows me things, of the future, I think, things not written down yet…” That’s when Altair shifted, he was moving, rising from the desk to walk over to Malik, still frozen in the middle of the floor, jaw clenched shut, trying so desperately to say ‘no’, but failing on every attempt.
The Master Assassin was in front of him, still smiling that wicked smile and that unnatural golden spark in his eyes. The apple still glowing in his hands. He was smiling. Smiling. And then he laughed. “Here, let me show you.” And forced the apple into Malik’s open hand.
Visions of Eden [2/?] (First part above!)
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“Altair?” There was a question in the name, as if asking if Altair was actually there. No movement came and those eyes did not glance away for a minute. Again, he called out to the man. “Altair?” His voice grew sterner, because this was all such nonsense. It was completely ridiculous that such an insignificant little thing, even if others claimed it to be a wonderful instrument of the gods, could do such a thing to Altair. In truth, it was pathetic, and Malik was fed up with trying to keep the Brotherhood in Order. “Altair?” He asked, one more time, irritated, but polite. He waited a few more seconds only to have the same reply of nothing answer him just as before.
“God damn it, Altair, snap out of it!” He yelled, reaching out to grab the glowing orb, but before he could reach it, a hand snapped out and grabbed his wrist, crushing it in a grip that almost resembled a piece of what the Master Assassin used to be. And, for a second, Malik saw that old spark again, as those eyes finally turned towards him in a sharp, undying, glare. It disappeared just as soon as it came.
“What do you want?” Altair said. His voice was dry and cracked, probably from lack of water and so little use in such a long time. At first, it didn’t even sound like him. Just an empty shell of what the man used to be; everything his mind left behind when it left.
Malik yanked his hand back, but the grip did not give in and only tightened further, threatening much more then simple bruises. Even so, Malik did not show the slightest sign of pain and only returned the hard glare that was given to him. His seemed more solid, because Altair’s eyes seemed to be shifting, back and forth, looking at something past Malik that only he could see.
“I said, ‘What do you want?’” The Master barked, refocusing on Malik and the topic at hand. The Apple was still held tight in his other hand, humming and pulsing with every word spoken.
“I want you to let go of the Apple.” Malik simply snapped back. Anger was a good emotion; Malik could deal with anger. Most of his life had been lived in anger, a great deal of that directed at the man now staring him down. “Stop playing this game.” He demanded, curling his held hand into a fist.
Such an answer did not seem to go over well in Altair’s fogged mind. For a moment, the mist cleared and he looked down at the device, quizzically, as if wondering what exactly Malik had been talking about, then he looked up again, that clouded look came back in his eyes (death. That’s what it was like, the look of death) and Altair smiled. This, above all else, set Malik on edge. It was a surprising reaction compared to the anger before and, for a second; Malik became frightened by the look, taking a step back. Altair let him go, the hand falling from his grasp. His gaze turned down towards the apple once more.
“Do you know what this is, Malik?” The voice was soft, distant. It froze Malik’s feet to the ground, enabling him to move from that spot. A soft bout of laughter emitted from Altair’s throat. It was short and sickening, sensing chills down Malik’s body, making him shudder. “It’s a beautiful little thing, you know, and I think I’m finally figuring it out.” Altair’s head snapped up; Malik saw insanity in those eyes. He cringed. That smile grew even wider. “Would you like to see what I have found out? I’m sure you’ll love it.”
He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breath, and Malik did not want to know what that apple did. He simply wanted to take it, wrap it up, and hide it away so Altair may never find it again. It was driving the assassin to the point of breaking—if not, he already had.
“It shows me things, of the future, I think, things not written down yet…” That’s when Altair shifted, he was moving, rising from the desk to walk over to Malik, still frozen in the middle of the floor, jaw clenched shut, trying so desperately to say ‘no’, but failing on every attempt.
The Master Assassin was in front of him, still smiling that wicked smile and that unnatural golden spark in his eyes. The apple still glowing in his hands. He was smiling. Smiling. And then he laughed. “Here, let me show you.” And forced the apple into Malik’s open hand.