06-25-2009, 05:17 AM
2)
Never before has victory tasted so sweet.
Tiberius stood there gazing, not only at the marvels withing the chamber, but at the magnificence of the chamber itself. The walls glistened in the pale shimmer of the lamplight revealing strange curves and textures alien to anything he has ever seen. It was as black as his soul.
Countless were the books that lined the myriad bookshelves along just one wall of the room, and the jars and bottles of things strange and exotic were along yet another wall. Surely decayed by now, he thought. But as he glanced at the wall, something jumped from within one of the sealed glass containers.
Curious, he approached the shelves until he could see what moved. Within the jar was a minnow. It flopped about continuously within the glass prison, unable to breathe the air and unable to escape its hell. Impossible. But try as he might, Tiberius came to one inescapable conclusion: it couldn't die. Until now, no one had ever stepped into Balthus's sanctum for generations and it didn't die.
Immortality!
Whirling about, he faced the expanse of the room. All the laboratory equipment, the research materials, all the obscure devices within were his. At long last, everything was finally his.
He laughed and tears began to trickle down his face.
Leisurely, he strode to a magnificent desk near the center of the room. On either side were lit brass lamps with a blue-green oil. They gave off a strange light. He sat down in the plush throne-like chair, sighing with delight. Unable to still himself, he gazed from one end of the room to the other as he took in every inch of the room. From the strange vein-like texture on the walls to the shiny black surfaces on each and every piece of furniture within. From the gold filigree on the spine of every book to the scattered pieces of black and white marble on the floor nearby. At last, he muttered as he closed his eyelids.
However, he couldn't.
It annoyed him that he couldn't close his eyes, almost as if they were glued open. Raising his hands to his face, the scabs and scar tissue covering his exposed skin alarmed him. He shot up from the chair, or he tried to. He couldn't will himself out of the seat. Bending down, he saw the festering stubs that used to be his legs. Blackened ash surrounded his legs as the cloth that covered his now exposed legs slowly burned away.
No!
He grasped at the armrests and threw himself out of the chair only to land on the soft sticky floor. Pain now enveloped him as he struggled to move but couldn't. He grew cold as he grew light-headed and nauseous. He knew what that feeling was. He was bleeding out while his skin was on fire.
He couldn't move his arms as they were fixed to the floor. Fixed to the sticky floor.
Eaten alive by the room itself.
Never before has victory tasted so sweet.
Tiberius stood there gazing, not only at the marvels withing the chamber, but at the magnificence of the chamber itself. The walls glistened in the pale shimmer of the lamplight revealing strange curves and textures alien to anything he has ever seen. It was as black as his soul.
Countless were the books that lined the myriad bookshelves along just one wall of the room, and the jars and bottles of things strange and exotic were along yet another wall. Surely decayed by now, he thought. But as he glanced at the wall, something jumped from within one of the sealed glass containers.
Curious, he approached the shelves until he could see what moved. Within the jar was a minnow. It flopped about continuously within the glass prison, unable to breathe the air and unable to escape its hell. Impossible. But try as he might, Tiberius came to one inescapable conclusion: it couldn't die. Until now, no one had ever stepped into Balthus's sanctum for generations and it didn't die.
Immortality!
Whirling about, he faced the expanse of the room. All the laboratory equipment, the research materials, all the obscure devices within were his. At long last, everything was finally his.
He laughed and tears began to trickle down his face.
Leisurely, he strode to a magnificent desk near the center of the room. On either side were lit brass lamps with a blue-green oil. They gave off a strange light. He sat down in the plush throne-like chair, sighing with delight. Unable to still himself, he gazed from one end of the room to the other as he took in every inch of the room. From the strange vein-like texture on the walls to the shiny black surfaces on each and every piece of furniture within. From the gold filigree on the spine of every book to the scattered pieces of black and white marble on the floor nearby. At last, he muttered as he closed his eyelids.
However, he couldn't.
It annoyed him that he couldn't close his eyes, almost as if they were glued open. Raising his hands to his face, the scabs and scar tissue covering his exposed skin alarmed him. He shot up from the chair, or he tried to. He couldn't will himself out of the seat. Bending down, he saw the festering stubs that used to be his legs. Blackened ash surrounded his legs as the cloth that covered his now exposed legs slowly burned away.
No!
He grasped at the armrests and threw himself out of the chair only to land on the soft sticky floor. Pain now enveloped him as he struggled to move but couldn't. He grew cold as he grew light-headed and nauseous. He knew what that feeling was. He was bleeding out while his skin was on fire.
He couldn't move his arms as they were fixed to the floor. Fixed to the sticky floor.
Eaten alive by the room itself.