This is when Malik snapped back to his senses, though the horrors of what he heard and saw were still vividly clear in his mind. He jerked away from Altair’s grasp, trying to surpass the awful shutters that ran up and down his body, trying to keep down the bile that rose in his throat.
“Sick fuck.” He said, taking a step away, because he wanted nothing to do with Altair right now. He wanted to get away and take a bath, though he knew no amount of scrubbing would ever cleanse his mind of what he had seen. Those images would stay with him forever, keeping him up at night, never to let him sleep in peace again. “You—sick fuck!” He said, louder this time, more assured of his words. Because everything about this was wrong. It was awful, disgusting, terribly, utterly, wrong. For a moment, Malik was at a loss of words, trying to figure out exactly how to describe his outrage, as there seemed to be too many words stuck on his tongue now and too little that described all the wrongs justly. After a few minutes of muttering and shaking with Altair sitting calming looking at him with those dead eyes, Malik’s tongue snapped to attention and returned to the sharp-forked weapon it was supposed to be.
“Bastard.” He began, hand curling into a fist as the shaking turned from being caused by fear into that caused by hate. Pure and utter hate that he had not felt for a long, long time. “How dare you say such things? That—that—“ He pointed a trembling finger at the Apple sitting on the desk, not finding the proper word for it (he considered ‘monster’ but felt that was more so Altair then the Apple itself). “That thing is evil.”
This caused some sort of reaction to stir in Altair’s eyes as his gaze sharpened and narrowed at the Dai. “The Apple shows the truth.”
“Blasphemy!” Malik snapped, feeling strength return to his body. “You go against the Creed now? ‘Nothing is true’, remember that Altair? Or has that device destroyed your mind so much you forgot who you are?”
Altair’s body tensed. His own fists curled. “I know who I am.”
“Are you sure? For the past few months almost no one has seen your face. And those who have earn scars for doing so! The novice’s believe the ‘Great Altair’ to be a ghost—some story of legend! You do not step out of this room anymore. I am the one that keeps the Order going; I’m the one that people are looking to for answers now. They claim me to be a Master! And you!—You don’t eat or sleep—you have not seen your family in months! For god sake, Altair, your own son thinks his father is dead! He does not even know your name anymore! All you do is watch nightmares using that Apple. It’s poisoning you!”
The angry rant came to a stop, leaving Malik panting and out of breath. Both men staring the other down, refusing to let up or give in. And they stayed like this for a while, though time was irrelevant, until, finally, Malik lost the fighting stance and let his shoulders slump.
“Give me the Apple, Altair.”
These were not the right words. This was the farthest thing from ‘right’ Altair could think of. To simply give up the apple? How could he? Amber eyes flashed, gaze turning towards the golden orb sitting on the desk, only a few feet away. It pulsed a little faster, hummed a little louder. The look on Altair’s face grew distant, and Malik knew the Apple was drawing him in once again.
“I’m not letting—“
Altair was in front of him, standing between him and where the Apple sat, a dark look crossing his face.
“I will not ask again. Give me—“
“No.” Then Altair moved. He moved much faster than Malik remembered he could—much faster then he recalled any normal man could. In front of him, then behind, gripping his shoulders and shoving him back. Malik hit the nearest wall, bracing himself to push off until a weight pushing him back against the hard surface, strong hands forcing him still. He felt lips press against his ear as Altair spat out, “Neither you nor anyone else will take away what is rightfully mine.”
Visions of Eden [4/?]
“Sick fuck.” He said, taking a step away, because he wanted nothing to do with Altair right now. He wanted to get away and take a bath, though he knew no amount of scrubbing would ever cleanse his mind of what he had seen. Those images would stay with him forever, keeping him up at night, never to let him sleep in peace again. “You—sick fuck!” He said, louder this time, more assured of his words. Because everything about this was wrong. It was awful, disgusting, terribly, utterly, wrong. For a moment, Malik was at a loss of words, trying to figure out exactly how to describe his outrage, as there seemed to be too many words stuck on his tongue now and too little that described all the wrongs justly. After a few minutes of muttering and shaking with Altair sitting calming looking at him with those dead eyes, Malik’s tongue snapped to attention and returned to the sharp-forked weapon it was supposed to be.
“Bastard.” He began, hand curling into a fist as the shaking turned from being caused by fear into that caused by hate. Pure and utter hate that he had not felt for a long, long time. “How dare you say such things? That—that—“ He pointed a trembling finger at the Apple sitting on the desk, not finding the proper word for it (he considered ‘monster’ but felt that was more so Altair then the Apple itself). “That thing is evil.”
This caused some sort of reaction to stir in Altair’s eyes as his gaze sharpened and narrowed at the Dai. “The Apple shows the truth.”
“Blasphemy!” Malik snapped, feeling strength return to his body. “You go against the Creed now? ‘Nothing is true’, remember that Altair? Or has that device destroyed your mind so much you forgot who you are?”
Altair’s body tensed. His own fists curled. “I know who I am.”
“Are you sure? For the past few months almost no one has seen your face. And those who have earn scars for doing so! The novice’s believe the ‘Great Altair’ to be a ghost—some story of legend! You do not step out of this room anymore. I am the one that keeps the Order going; I’m the one that people are looking to for answers now. They claim me to be a Master! And you!—You don’t eat or sleep—you have not seen your family in months! For god sake, Altair, your own son thinks his father is dead! He does not even know your name anymore! All you do is watch nightmares using that Apple. It’s poisoning you!”
The angry rant came to a stop, leaving Malik panting and out of breath. Both men staring the other down, refusing to let up or give in. And they stayed like this for a while, though time was irrelevant, until, finally, Malik lost the fighting stance and let his shoulders slump.
“Give me the Apple, Altair.”
These were not the right words. This was the farthest thing from ‘right’ Altair could think of. To simply give up the apple? How could he? Amber eyes flashed, gaze turning towards the golden orb sitting on the desk, only a few feet away. It pulsed a little faster, hummed a little louder. The look on Altair’s face grew distant, and Malik knew the Apple was drawing him in once again.
“I’m not letting—“
Altair was in front of him, standing between him and where the Apple sat, a dark look crossing his face.
“I will not ask again. Give me—“
“No.” Then Altair moved. He moved much faster than Malik remembered he could—much faster then he recalled any normal man could. In front of him, then behind, gripping his shoulders and shoving him back. Malik hit the nearest wall, bracing himself to push off until a weight pushing him back against the hard surface, strong hands forcing him still. He felt lips press against his ear as Altair spat out, “Neither you nor anyone else will take away what is rightfully mine.”