[Zeno/Braelin/Cheswick]
- The Monster, The Wolf, And The Golem -
This would be a familiar scene to but a single woman with a head full of blonde and a heart smothered by the filth of the abyss. Zeno did not send out tapes of his personal research inquiries often, each was considered works of art and were cataloged meticulously in one of his many archives within these castle walls. The one sent off to Chance however, that was a particularly special day; a moment he'd remember till his final hours, and one he hoped not only the Vereaux but Fortune would have engraved in the back of their skulls. Either way, he was getting himself lost down memory lane. Leather tapped along the cold stone floor of a hallway lit solely by torches, not a window in sight. Perhaps this would be because of the location not sitting in the castle itself, but far under the mountain that it resided on top of. Certain, how would he put it, "projects" required several tons of rock to be dropped down on them as security if something happened to go awry. This has yet to be a measure implemented more than once, quite a few centuries ago. Again, a day to remember, as not only was his home all but demolished, but Zeno lost a sizable portion of his reservoir of souls, and in turn life-force which fueled his form. Mistakes were made, but that was one not to be repeated.
A small camcorder in hand which was not yet running the abomination stopped in front of a large door, presumably some kind of metal or alloy several inches thick if it were to be based on the size alone. His free hand dug through the pants pocket on that side to pull out an unassuming silver key which would then be stuck inside the only hole on the solid plate of gray and turned in one swift motion. For a good minute, tumblers would fall out of place, bars shifted from their stiff positions, and mechanisms far too intricate for what was essentially a lock on a door wound down. All of this pomp and circumstance was necessary though, for if one were not to have this key and attempt to barge into the room. Well, the mountain, above mentioned earlier would come crumbling down. Not only that, but otherwise inert explosives that lined the entire underground complex would be armed and subsequently detonated. No one stole and or fucked with Zeno, and if that meant leveling an entire mountainside along with his home, then so be it. He had others, and he had all the time in the world to gather his possessions back. Nothing wasn't replaceable.
Silence falling upon the area, Zeno finally pushed open the thick entrance and let what little light there was to be had to bathe the room which had been nothing but darkness seconds prior. Unlike the space that contained a one Fortune, sister of Chance, the walls were left marred and blackened, foot-long chunks several inches deep blown out of the solid stone here and there; along the floor remained stains of some fluid or another, probably several, but none of them red or dried brown to denote blood. Scattered around the sealed area, perhaps twenty by twenty feet lay strange humanoid shapes. Less than a dozen, all immobile, failed attempts at golemancy by Zeno. In the middle of the floor rest, or rather hung his prize. "Braelin." The cold voice rang out but received no response that was it any other person they'd rattle the chains binding them in fear. This one though was most certainly beyond that point. A broken toy that never managed to amuse the owner past the unwrapping. Here it rests, abused and tossed into storage till a use could be found. Even now, there was really no pleasure to be taken from this. The fun part of breaking the sentient golem had since passed, and now had moved on to study just what made it tick, to learn just how to recreate and duplicate a perfect weapon out of him.
By the door rest a stand for the camera, to which Zeno set it up diligently and flicked the switch to the on position. The lens focused on Braelin to show off an intricate setup to bind him. One had to be careful when your prisoner had the ability to magically rip apart matter at the atomic level with its bare hands. Chains were hooked to clasps around the small boy's neck, likewise would be the case around his waist and wrists. Along the restraints were sigils meant to limit the mana output by him, and by limit, he meant nullify. Of course, "meant to" did not always hold true, but thankfully this always happened whilst Zeno was messing around with Braelin anyways, so reapplying the prison wasn't too much of a hassle. It had to be like this, the golem ran on mana, through a battery of an impressive capacity that seemed to replenish itself to some degree, and one that he could not study without ripping it out of the golem and ending his odd existence. If Braelin could not bring his weapon to charge, there was no threat to be had, so his mana spent most of its use repairing the damage done by Zeno, and of that, there was plenty to be had.
Tattered rags, that is what the outfit of Braelin ended up as. His figure itself remained, for the most part, indifferent since he'd been taken from Cheswick. The artificial structure didn't function as most life forms did; it ran off of magical energy, as had been mentioned, and as such wouldn't appear emaciated from a lack of sustenance. Bruises, burns, small nicks, and cuts all healed relatively fast without marring the flesh, but some of the larger injuries, where Zeno had torn the boy limb from limb in attempt to better "study" Braelin had marred him with jagged pale scars where appendages needed to be sewn and magically fused back together. By the hanging youth stood a table where a fresh vessel lay cold, an empty golem serving whatever purpose it might have.
Beside that table would be a desk with various instruments, tools that served some cause or another in the horrific endeavors. What Zeno went to was none of these, just a book. Old and worn, long fingers carefully opened the hardback journal and flipped it to the last entry. "Day three hundred seventy-nine, trial twenty-seven." This was all for the records, spoken without a care as this had been done for more than a few times prior. In addition, such notes were written down on the empty page before parchment turned to a section towards the beginning. "Today I shall try yet again in imitating the strange concept that is my subject, Braelin. The past trials have been disappointing at best, but hopefully, this time around I might make some process in weaving soul and mind together into an artificial body. Currently, I still have no way to sustain any magics that might be used by the golem. We'll take it one step at a time." Letting out a sigh, the abyssal monstrosity had resigned himself to probably failing this instance like the others before. Zeno was no golemancer, though he understood the arcane arts enough to be able to grasp the concept and follow instructions. He could manipulate souls to his heart's content, and when the mind was mixed with along with a container, everything should fall into its natural place. Putting these theories together did not bear the fruit he desired, unfortunately.
Back to the lifeless husk presented in the most unglamorous of ways, a cold, flesh analog on top of a similarly chilled stainless steel plate. By now he'd memorized the incantations necessary to perform this rite, the words never being the bearer of complications. Always, the process itself, how he crafted the trio of metaphysical materials together. Still, the recitation did drag on, and came out dull as the sayings were in a language dead, and archaic. At the end of it all, Zeno's fingers were beaming a white-hot blue hue. To even lay eyes upon it would blind and the drab space lit up in kind, overpowering the fixed lighting easily. Unscrupulously, but with the precision those digits ablaze dug into the chest an inch deep and began to carve the circular pattern required to act as an insertion point. Finished, the incisions left by his personal tools were painted in a coloration of the spells etching, leaving the energy along with it. From the desk a small pale crystal hovered over to before him; this would be the mind for him to place. Out of his chest, a singular ethereal wisp seethed through; a soul, naturally for his use in this experiment. Taking each in a separate hand he wasted no time in plunging the two into the arcane circle on the chest, like a target for him to quickly place what needed to be inside, but not for his own person to linger. Exiting, both extremities were coated in that same bright blue, and this is where Zeno carefully adjusted the individual energies of each, where he also juggled jump-starting the golem into action. The latter was a constant, but couldn't happen too soon before the process was ready, lest the experiment fail before getting off of the ground. Face taut, concentrating far harder than he ever enjoyed, Zeno gave his best effort to align what he thought to be the perfect balance between mind and soul. Unfortunately for him, when he let loose all of his control over the magics to see if it was a success, Zeno was instead greeted with a whine that sounded unpleasant even by his standards.
In an instant, the golem was no more. Without time to react the body detonated and sent everything in the room hurtling away from the center of the explosion that wasn't bolted down. Braelin was violently shaken and lightly singed by the event, but still safely chained for Zeno's sake. The camera landed on the stone floor on its side surprisingly intact while an arm twitched in the lens's view. Zeno without much of a huff pushed himself to his feet, taking this time to right the camera so it could continue recording unobstructed, not that there was much but remains to capture. "What a bitch" He groaned as he stretched out his limbs, the joints popping off one by one to remove some stiffness.
Covered in the byproduct of a soul demolished, a hard feat to do, and fine particulate of the inanimate golem. Zeno let out a sigh before giving an empty stare at Braelin. This was by no means a success, but it was an improved development in the end. In a little over a year, he'd managed to get the reaction going. Now he merely needed to find out the right ratio and stabilize it. Easier said than done, but this meant his pawn had no need to be here any longer. Plenty of amusing scenes to be performed on his own accord away from this castle in the mountains. "Lucky you, boy. Back to your furred friend I'll have you go." There was dark humor in that statement, what plans were to be had he couldn't say. Right now though, Zeno would clean himself up.
Perhaps an hour or so later dressed in a white long sleeve button up, the top few and the cuffs left loosened as per usual, along with a clean pair of slacks, the caster prepped Braelin in the same chamber as before for their trip. The redhead, however, seemed wearied and motionless as he was handled, despite clearly in the know that he was going to be taken somewhere away from this horrid confinement. Then, Zeno was gone off to where he was least expected, Cheswick's room at The One Night Stand.
===========================
In the wolf's den, Zeno looked around with muted disinterest. He was only here for the sole purpose of dropping off what he had been taken from the Garou, not that it was hers to begin with. If he could taste the atmosphere it would probably delight him. Sadness welling with pain and loneliness, just a dirty hobble too small for most to live comfortably with a pile of rags in the corner which he assumed to be the bed since the actual piece of furniture laid there bare. "Shifters." He muttered under his breath. The irony of this was that his own makeup was in a constant state of flux, that he had eaten their kind and had the same blood running through his corrupted, complex abomination of a body. Holding out an open palm of one of his hands, a puddle of darkness opened up in a free spot on the floor. From the black depths rose a crate large enough to house an individual if they were to be standing. In the middle of the room Braelin found his way home with a little help on Zeno's part of course. Inside the box he slept in a steel cage by the will of his master, and only to be woken by Cheswick. Battered and abused, with but scraps for clothing, body marked in ways not dissimilar from his pack-mate. On the exterior of the box would a small key hang as to unlock the cage inside the crate. "I'll see you later, my tool. Enjoy your vacation, you've earned it." Zeno wasn't done with Braelin, not by a long shot, but he did leave the artificial magi alone as he vanishing back to parts unknown with a grim chuckle. These parts were not so mysterious as this fiendish fellow could not simply let it sit at that. The silver wolf was not too far off and he planned to harass her, if just for a bit before giving her a kick in the right direction.
Wherever Cheswick wandered did not matter, for one could not escape the inevitable plans set in motion. Once you were pushed into the machine you had no choice but to be ground up by the gears and spit out the other side. Aimless is how Zeno viewed her, ripping through the space in between worlds to slip himself where he needed to be; at this point the mage would be inline with the Garou's pace of movement rather close to her side, but careful as not to touch her in any way. It was an unceremonious entry, barely disturbing the air around him. "Mutt, you look well." The grin of a devil on those lips, not even bothering to place those oculars of ice blue on her tall form which nearly matched his own. His seemingly needless disdain for her seethed through his lips. Zeno was not here to torture her, physically anyway, perhaps for another time, though such an event had barely any gains to it. Emotional pain always suited him more than one's senses could ever feel. "I come bearing a gift. One that I truly think belongs to you more so than me." Kind words fell awkwardly from a man like him, especially when laced with more than a little sarcasm. He did not lie in this case though, the man did come with a present, and truly he felt like the object in question belonged in her hands more so than his own. At least at this point in time.
Stretching out one of his long arms out before her chest, he made to stop her movement, turning to stare into those pained eyes of the wolf. Features trying their hardest to display one of understanding, not a cocky overbearing mockery. "Wolf...I mean Cheswick, you look like you've hit a rough patch in your life. These eyes have seen too much, and in yours I can tell that you are hurting in ways unfavorable. I do hope what I've left in your room helps ease some of this." Nothing more to say to her, he lowered his arm to his side and let her be, though he'd not leave until she left of her own accord.
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