Post by Vladimir on Apr 22, 2014 10:46:57 GMT -5
Day 1, Midnight
It had taken Vladimir quite a few hours until everything had been prepared: to be exact, it took about three in order to clean out the jail decently, another three to investigate the site and perform an investigation, a half an hour to flip through the Executor’s notes. They had proved to match up with the data he found out once the investigation had been performed but he would have to run additional diagnosis on them, as well as finish the ‘cleaning’. Her notes contained lists of death, who had forgotten what, and what the deaths had been modified to, plus some minor things. After all this, additionally, there was the fact that he had to set up the jail as his workshop, a task that would take far longer than the two hours left till midnight, when his power would be at its highest. In that time, he actually found a uniform in his size.
Not nearly enough to setup a proper defense network and optimize all he could, but enough to create one solid bounded field over the workshop itself, in an effort to block out the resultant lightshow, prana wise and alert him if someone had entered the lower levels of prison, where the high security cells were – empty now. The previous visitors had never went this far, and the criminals that suffered were on an upper level. This level had was a corridor of solitary confinement cells and an office for the control staff for this floor. He’d redistributed them to the upper floors, using the fact that it had been nearly empty as an excuse, and that the more crowded levels had to be guarded more closely. After a some thought, he decided that the original idea of leaving a puppet as Warden had been a bad one: just like he could have went in and overwritten the layered programming created by others, so too could others do the same to his work.
To that effect, he had the head Warden – once he had been properly revived and patched up – introduce him as one Sergeant Major Nicodemo Orso of DIGOS (Divisione Investigazioni Generali e Operazioni Speciali), the head an investigation unit that belonged to a special ops team. His arrival was explained as one to grasp better control of the situation, and establish proper procedure in an attempt so that such situations never happened again. After this, the Warden weakened and had to be given a chair – he had anemia and a concussion, among other things that Vladimir helped plant – like fake dementia. He had him shipped away to his cottage in the country, as the story went, but in reality, the prison’s maximum security cells have simply gained an occupant. Disposing of him would have been simple – an accident was arranged easily enough when you could manipulate a car driver into hitting the right man, for example… But he could still be useful, and he would have to be restored to his post once the war ended anyway. For now, he’d been put to sleep in a cell nobody would even have access to.
It was better this way. Leaving absolutes behind was the telltale sign of an amateur’s work. Deaths would be questioned, as would disappearances of figures with high standing. The man had no family, relatives, were dead, so the only thing he had to worry about it someone trying to visit him… Which could be taken care of easily but such information was not public knowledge anyway. He could be disposed of later, if necessary. He took care to plant some dislike for the original warden in select individuals he modified. He also ran across a few who proved exceedingly difficult to brainwash, as if their mind was overwritten by something stronger… That would have to be taken care of at one point. But for now… the time drew near to create his newest tool.
The office had been a small room, leading into a small area which was supposed to have been used as a guardhouse – the office had been where the officer would be staying, while the lower-ranked policemen had room in the larger area – it was outfitted with beds and lockers, as well as a few tables, clearly for emergency purposes as none of the items seemed to have had much use. After he had issued the high alert procedure to the guards, however, the beds on levels above would most definitely see use. He had declared to two or three higher-ranked officers that there may have been collaboration from someone within the jail – otherwise, how did the riot begin, with no weapons and no means of assault or breaking out possible. Two had decided it had been logical, while one seemed to believe but was greatly conflicted at having to distrust his comrades. The jail continued its day to day operations as usually, nothing changing in the routine except people growing more paranoid. He had instructed the gate guard to not simply shoot at anyone who approaches, but instead phone him and describe them to him, and verify entry. Other than that, the facility entered a state of lockdown.
The large room as well as the office had been carefully covered in the bounded field Vladimir had set up to conceal or at least dampen the effect of the summoning ritual which he would perform once the clock stuck midnight. The circle had been drawn up neatly and meticulously, copied straight out of the research notes, and slightly enhanced by the blood he’d obtained from the warden – it had been an amount large enough to cause anemia, but not nearly enough to be harmful. After all, applied properly and carefully enough, he didn’t need nearly as much as the author of the notes estimated. For additional potency, he would add some of his own, once the ritual had been well underway. Taking a look at the clock, the bearded Enforcer concluded it was time at last, stepping forward, standing upright, arm stretched forward in a commanding gesture, prepared to shed the blood required.
A heavy droplet of crimson blood separated slowly from Vladimir Kurakin’s hand, falling upon the summoning circle, lighting the room with a blue flame, as the magi’s calm voice resounded throughout the chamber. The catalyst - the shred of cloth - had already been place in the center of the summoning circle, and should have worked as described in the ritual to forge an artificial connection to the Spirit being summoned. It was a shame he had not had more time, but skipping another day was out of question. Tools were required for any job – what sort of carpenter tried to do any work without a hammer or a saw? Any profession had their tools. To attempt to go about without them had been foolishness. Thus, he would simply obtain the tool required.
Drivel. But the sharp pain in his arm had announced that his effort had not been in vain, after all, as a crimson mark of curious design had begun to spread there.
It had taken Vladimir quite a few hours until everything had been prepared: to be exact, it took about three in order to clean out the jail decently, another three to investigate the site and perform an investigation, a half an hour to flip through the Executor’s notes. They had proved to match up with the data he found out once the investigation had been performed but he would have to run additional diagnosis on them, as well as finish the ‘cleaning’. Her notes contained lists of death, who had forgotten what, and what the deaths had been modified to, plus some minor things. After all this, additionally, there was the fact that he had to set up the jail as his workshop, a task that would take far longer than the two hours left till midnight, when his power would be at its highest. In that time, he actually found a uniform in his size.
Not nearly enough to setup a proper defense network and optimize all he could, but enough to create one solid bounded field over the workshop itself, in an effort to block out the resultant lightshow, prana wise and alert him if someone had entered the lower levels of prison, where the high security cells were – empty now. The previous visitors had never went this far, and the criminals that suffered were on an upper level. This level had was a corridor of solitary confinement cells and an office for the control staff for this floor. He’d redistributed them to the upper floors, using the fact that it had been nearly empty as an excuse, and that the more crowded levels had to be guarded more closely. After a some thought, he decided that the original idea of leaving a puppet as Warden had been a bad one: just like he could have went in and overwritten the layered programming created by others, so too could others do the same to his work.
To that effect, he had the head Warden – once he had been properly revived and patched up – introduce him as one Sergeant Major Nicodemo Orso of DIGOS (Divisione Investigazioni Generali e Operazioni Speciali), the head an investigation unit that belonged to a special ops team. His arrival was explained as one to grasp better control of the situation, and establish proper procedure in an attempt so that such situations never happened again. After this, the Warden weakened and had to be given a chair – he had anemia and a concussion, among other things that Vladimir helped plant – like fake dementia. He had him shipped away to his cottage in the country, as the story went, but in reality, the prison’s maximum security cells have simply gained an occupant. Disposing of him would have been simple – an accident was arranged easily enough when you could manipulate a car driver into hitting the right man, for example… But he could still be useful, and he would have to be restored to his post once the war ended anyway. For now, he’d been put to sleep in a cell nobody would even have access to.
It was better this way. Leaving absolutes behind was the telltale sign of an amateur’s work. Deaths would be questioned, as would disappearances of figures with high standing. The man had no family, relatives, were dead, so the only thing he had to worry about it someone trying to visit him… Which could be taken care of easily but such information was not public knowledge anyway. He could be disposed of later, if necessary. He took care to plant some dislike for the original warden in select individuals he modified. He also ran across a few who proved exceedingly difficult to brainwash, as if their mind was overwritten by something stronger… That would have to be taken care of at one point. But for now… the time drew near to create his newest tool.
The office had been a small room, leading into a small area which was supposed to have been used as a guardhouse – the office had been where the officer would be staying, while the lower-ranked policemen had room in the larger area – it was outfitted with beds and lockers, as well as a few tables, clearly for emergency purposes as none of the items seemed to have had much use. After he had issued the high alert procedure to the guards, however, the beds on levels above would most definitely see use. He had declared to two or three higher-ranked officers that there may have been collaboration from someone within the jail – otherwise, how did the riot begin, with no weapons and no means of assault or breaking out possible. Two had decided it had been logical, while one seemed to believe but was greatly conflicted at having to distrust his comrades. The jail continued its day to day operations as usually, nothing changing in the routine except people growing more paranoid. He had instructed the gate guard to not simply shoot at anyone who approaches, but instead phone him and describe them to him, and verify entry. Other than that, the facility entered a state of lockdown.
The large room as well as the office had been carefully covered in the bounded field Vladimir had set up to conceal or at least dampen the effect of the summoning ritual which he would perform once the clock stuck midnight. The circle had been drawn up neatly and meticulously, copied straight out of the research notes, and slightly enhanced by the blood he’d obtained from the warden – it had been an amount large enough to cause anemia, but not nearly enough to be harmful. After all, applied properly and carefully enough, he didn’t need nearly as much as the author of the notes estimated. For additional potency, he would add some of his own, once the ritual had been well underway. Taking a look at the clock, the bearded Enforcer concluded it was time at last, stepping forward, standing upright, arm stretched forward in a commanding gesture, prepared to shed the blood required.
A heavy droplet of crimson blood separated slowly from Vladimir Kurakin’s hand, falling upon the summoning circle, lighting the room with a blue flame, as the magi’s calm voice resounded throughout the chamber. The catalyst - the shred of cloth - had already been place in the center of the summoning circle, and should have worked as described in the ritual to forge an artificial connection to the Spirit being summoned. It was a shame he had not had more time, but skipping another day was out of question. Tools were required for any job – what sort of carpenter tried to do any work without a hammer or a saw? Any profession had their tools. To attempt to go about without them had been foolishness. Thus, he would simply obtain the tool required.
“Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut.
Five perfections for each repetition.
And now, let the filled sigils be annihilated in my stead!
Set.
Let thy body rest under my dominion, let my fate rest in thy blade.
If thou submitteth to the call of the Holy Grail, and if thou wilt obey this mind, this reason, then thou shalt respond.
I make my oath here.
I am that person who is become the virtue of all Heaven.
I am that person who is covered with the evil of all Hades.
Thou seven heavens, clad in a trinity of words,
come past thy restraining rings, and be thou the hands that protect the balance-!”
Five perfections for each repetition.
And now, let the filled sigils be annihilated in my stead!
Set.
Let thy body rest under my dominion, let my fate rest in thy blade.
If thou submitteth to the call of the Holy Grail, and if thou wilt obey this mind, this reason, then thou shalt respond.
I make my oath here.
I am that person who is become the virtue of all Heaven.
I am that person who is covered with the evil of all Hades.
Thou seven heavens, clad in a trinity of words,
come past thy restraining rings, and be thou the hands that protect the balance-!”
Drivel. But the sharp pain in his arm had announced that his effort had not been in vain, after all, as a crimson mark of curious design had begun to spread there.