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Lately, Peter's dreams had been turbulent at best. Filled with visions of flames and floods, it was nearly impossible to tell if they were warnings of things to come, or memories of horrors already experienced Peter wasn't getting much time to sleep, but when he did, it was hardly restful. It seemed like Peter was getting a reprieve on Wednesday morning. He was dreaming he was in a large, almost palatial room. There was a sense of serenity about it. But he was about to find out what the cost of serenity was.
Peter walked into the room quite glad to be rid of the visions of flame and floods that had haunted him for so long. Until he was joined by Dragonetti. A Templar. Peter's face twisted into a sneer as Dragonetti neared him. "What are you doing here?" Peter hissed.
Dragonetti glanced around and then he arched an eyebrow at Peter. "How dare you question me, Antichrist? This building is the domain of The Church. And you are simply here because it is better than having you out there."
Peter was confused for a moment, and then a sharp pain in his back brought him to his knees. Peter hadn't realised he'd been flanked on either side by Templar as well. He grunted and glared up at Dragonetti as they tied his arms behind him. "Whatever you're doing, it won't work." Peter hissed. It couldn't work. The Templar had to fail. The alternative was too horrible to contemplate.
"We are aware that it is pointless to try and kill you." Dragonetti drawled, stepping ever closer now that Peter was restrained. "We have made other arrangements." He looked towards his Templar brothers and gave them a nod. "Cardinal Holden would like you to bring this creature to his new living arrangements."
Cardinal Holden. Terrence Holden a Cardinal? "You'll never be rid of me!" Peter yelled.
"That's the idea." Dragonetti said with a smirk as he turned to walk away. The world had gone to Hell. And, as Peter was about to discover, that was very true. The was practically carried to a cell, down so many flights of stairs, he lost count. Down where the air was cold and stale. And then the Templar untied him, and they locked the door behind them, leaving Peter alone in that miserable place. A sad little cot lined the wall, and there was nothing else in the room. Peter shivered and he took a deep breath, trying to keep calm. He had friends out there. His friends would always come for him. They would get Thomas and they would charge in like the bloody cavalry to bring him home.
The images hit him like a kick right in the balls. Peter's eyes widened as he saw his wife being taken hostage. His children being raised by Templar. Stuart was killed in public with poor Abby looking on, for being a traitor who left the monkhood to marry. Liz was burned on a funeral pyre for marrying a woman. Peter saw Jean wearing the black robes of the Templar, and his best friend Emilio, who was gay, begging for mercy. People were burned in the streets for showing love, or refusing to accept the Catholic faith. Attendance at mass was mandatory. Angels and demons were wearing some sort of arm band...his Deirdre could hardly go out in public anymore without being threatened with torture. Kat and Alessa were separated, Kay was gone and Tamm was hardly a shell of his former self. Pain was commonplace, and everywhere. People were afraid and suffering. Spectre the angel had been nailed to a cross, guitar cruelly nailed to his chest for spreading blasphemy in his music and being homosexual. Crowds flocked to visit him in the Glasgow town centre. And then Peter saw the most horrible thing of all for a father to see. His precious little angel, Anna, nailed to a cross as well, right outside St. Peter's Basilica in Rome.
Peter woke from his sleep, and immediately, he rushed into the bathroom and he vomited up the contents of his stomach. After getting to his feet, he stared at himself in the mirror, a look of abject terror on his face. He knew the dream had been a warning. There could be no doubt in it.
He had seen the world the Templar wanted to create. A world without free-will. A world full of fear and obedience. A utopia for people who simply wanted to be followed blindly. People would be too afraid to rebel. Hope and love and everything they held dear, that was what they stood to lose here.
They were standing on the very precipice, teetering on the edge. And the Templar were poking them with a big fucking stick.
Well. They were just going to have to poke back.
Peter walked into the room quite glad to be rid of the visions of flame and floods that had haunted him for so long. Until he was joined by Dragonetti. A Templar. Peter's face twisted into a sneer as Dragonetti neared him. "What are you doing here?" Peter hissed.
Dragonetti glanced around and then he arched an eyebrow at Peter. "How dare you question me, Antichrist? This building is the domain of The Church. And you are simply here because it is better than having you out there."
Peter was confused for a moment, and then a sharp pain in his back brought him to his knees. Peter hadn't realised he'd been flanked on either side by Templar as well. He grunted and glared up at Dragonetti as they tied his arms behind him. "Whatever you're doing, it won't work." Peter hissed. It couldn't work. The Templar had to fail. The alternative was too horrible to contemplate.
"We are aware that it is pointless to try and kill you." Dragonetti drawled, stepping ever closer now that Peter was restrained. "We have made other arrangements." He looked towards his Templar brothers and gave them a nod. "Cardinal Holden would like you to bring this creature to his new living arrangements."
Cardinal Holden. Terrence Holden a Cardinal? "You'll never be rid of me!" Peter yelled.
"That's the idea." Dragonetti said with a smirk as he turned to walk away. The world had gone to Hell. And, as Peter was about to discover, that was very true. The was practically carried to a cell, down so many flights of stairs, he lost count. Down where the air was cold and stale. And then the Templar untied him, and they locked the door behind them, leaving Peter alone in that miserable place. A sad little cot lined the wall, and there was nothing else in the room. Peter shivered and he took a deep breath, trying to keep calm. He had friends out there. His friends would always come for him. They would get Thomas and they would charge in like the bloody cavalry to bring him home.
The images hit him like a kick right in the balls. Peter's eyes widened as he saw his wife being taken hostage. His children being raised by Templar. Stuart was killed in public with poor Abby looking on, for being a traitor who left the monkhood to marry. Liz was burned on a funeral pyre for marrying a woman. Peter saw Jean wearing the black robes of the Templar, and his best friend Emilio, who was gay, begging for mercy. People were burned in the streets for showing love, or refusing to accept the Catholic faith. Attendance at mass was mandatory. Angels and demons were wearing some sort of arm band...his Deirdre could hardly go out in public anymore without being threatened with torture. Kat and Alessa were separated, Kay was gone and Tamm was hardly a shell of his former self. Pain was commonplace, and everywhere. People were afraid and suffering. Spectre the angel had been nailed to a cross, guitar cruelly nailed to his chest for spreading blasphemy in his music and being homosexual. Crowds flocked to visit him in the Glasgow town centre. And then Peter saw the most horrible thing of all for a father to see. His precious little angel, Anna, nailed to a cross as well, right outside St. Peter's Basilica in Rome.
Peter woke from his sleep, and immediately, he rushed into the bathroom and he vomited up the contents of his stomach. After getting to his feet, he stared at himself in the mirror, a look of abject terror on his face. He knew the dream had been a warning. There could be no doubt in it.
He had seen the world the Templar wanted to create. A world without free-will. A world full of fear and obedience. A utopia for people who simply wanted to be followed blindly. People would be too afraid to rebel. Hope and love and everything they held dear, that was what they stood to lose here.
They were standing on the very precipice, teetering on the edge. And the Templar were poking them with a big fucking stick.
Well. They were just going to have to poke back.
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