Shadows played along the walls, reflecting his image in twisted patterns amidst the painted eyes of the Saints and the Savior. Their pictures somehow seemed more sinister when the cathedral was closed. The darkness, the shadows, colored everything with a somber tone.

"Yeah," he thought. "Somber. That's what this feeling is. Not rage--certainly not. Rage would imply losing control." He took a deep breath, staring at his hand. It clenched, seemingly of its own will. He cursed, and the walls trembled slightly as he smashed it into a bare spot.

"Never losing control," he whispered, eyes closed, hunched. "Never."

Another breath and he stood, straightened, and fixed his clothes. Grey belt? Check. Formal jeans? Check. Casual button-down shirt--austere black with white pinstripes? Check. Tow line straight--"To hell with it." He pulled the shirttail out and unbuttoned it, letting it flare out around him under his grey leather duster.

He nodded--much better. "Bastards..." he thought, continuing on. The hallway was better-lit as it approached the offices, and light shone brightly on his golden hair. Not blond. He ran a hand through it, making sure his bangs were down and his sides were back, a disorderly look, but one he wore well. Noble cheekbones were framed aptly by short hair.

His footsteps were silent, and the hallway was empty. Small blessings-his body was already unusually tense, his aura burned with fury. Any additionally intimidating factors would've pushed a casual observer into fight or flight. Nickolai was aching for the former.

His right fist tensed reflexively again, and he hissed, just slightly. No one would've noticed. But then again, after any time spent with Nickolai, one quickly learned to watch for the small things.

He reached the end door, and as much as he wanted to calm down, think logically, act according to his situation, he couldn't.

His life, his pride, demanded otherwise.

He paused, inches from the huge double doors, looking at their imposing engravings. Gold and red were so intimidating. They filled the observer with a sense of power those within held.

Nickolai smirked, the expression somehow twisting into one not of fury, but of painful disdain.

No knocking.

His palms struck the doors.

The men within turned. Shocked faces silhouetted by the dim lights of too many candles, framed by an open doorway.

In this place, with these people, no one could miss how divine the intruder appeared, standing, solid, in the doorway. Head down, arms outstretched, palms out, doors flung wide.

His head began to lift, and as his eyes dissected the men around the table for the barest of moments, silver hair to his chest framed a face that decried their arrogance. That cast down their high-handed power. That threatened them with fates worse than death.

"Gentlemen," he said softly, letting his arms fall to his sides. "I trust I'm not late. After all, it would be a shame if I was tardy after you all so kindly informed me of this meeting." His expression hadn't changed--they understood. None had leaked, they couldn't have. How had he known to come?

"Nickolai, you know you're only on this council on a provisional basis..." began Alexander, the oldest of the men.

"Yes," he responded, beginning to stalk into the room, towards the grand table set in the far middle. "But I so appreciate the foresightedness of this council in always including my...youthful voice." He grinned. "I know how you all value my opinion." His grin turned deadly. "I know how you all...respect my viewpoint."

Alexander managed not to back down, but he was still too shaken to continue. The torch had passed from him.

"Now, child," began Jonathan, another council member. "There may be occasions where our meeting has nothing to do with you." A hush fell over the already-quiet room. A tactical error. Admitting to not informing Nickolai. To his credit, Jonathan managed to avoid worsening his blunder by showing weakness, but now there was blood in the water.

"Oh, I'm sure," said Nickolai, walking slowly and languidly to the end of the table-vacant and seatless-closest to the door. "You all are involved in such important decisions. I would never presume to be able to keep up. After all, what's a young man's constitution compared to that of an elderly one?"

He leaned, knuckles on the edge of the table, and the man closest, Nathan, felt his heart beat faster as he counted the veins on Nickolai's hands.

They stood out like streams of blood on his pale skin.

"Yes," he continued, looking up to scour each man's eyes with his own. "Yes, important decisions--very important decisions, no?" His voice rose, ever so slightly.

Nathan wasn't alone in his alarm now. They tried to hide it, but inside all seven knew that they were in the same boat. Nickolai did not make idle chatter. If he wanted to talk about an important decision, he meant the important decision. The gentlemen of the Church Council had made their prime objective keeping him in the dark. It was, quite literally, worth their lives to keep it that way. None had betrayed the others.

How Nickolai wanted to toy with them! These games of cat and mouse--so delicious. He could hear their heartbeats. He could smell their fear. Anyone like him could--those who thrived on the manipulation of others could sense when their prey was weak. Vulnerable. He was known for his almost-sadistic love of making people drown in their own mistakes. The Council expected his subtlety--his sarcasm. Feared it.

His fists smashed on the table, and as before, the room rocked.

The men scrabbled for their cups and papers, fighting off pale complexions. Who was this man, this demon?

His head had fallen again, and they could see his shoulders heave. Manuel, the youngest full council member in his thirties misconstrued this. He felt a temporary easing of his fear. Was Nickolai--showing weakness?

Eyes wide, Manuel seized the clandestine moment to glance around, hoping for similar expressions to bolster his confidence.

He saw terror. Abject terror.

"Yes--decisions." Nickolai's voice was quivering, low, raspy--so unlike his soft velveteen croon of before. "So easy to pass judgment." He struck the table again. "So easy to decide fate when God is on your side."

Such a reference should've gone unnoticed in these halls, but Alexander caught it. Pulled back, ever so slightly, lips forming "no" against his will.

"So easy," Nickolai whispered. A moment's pause.

His face twisted, his body tensed, and then he exploded.

"Damn you all--answer me! Was it easy to condemn my brother to death!" The table and floor screeched in wooden protest. The candles flickered. The councilmen jerked from their chairs as Nickolai grabbed the edge of the table and shoved with all his might, sending coffee mugs and documents flying in a rain of disorder.

"Nickolai!" bellowed Alexander. "You can't be serious! Control yourself, now. Your bindings will only hold as long as you--"

"As long as I want them, fool!" The candles continued to flicker, and now the shadows seemed to play along everyone, distorting their perceptions. Was his hair silver? Were his eyes black?

Faster than thought, Nickolai had leapt onto the table and was now crouched, resting on the balls of his feet, balancing on the edge, coat around him like wings. In his grasp he gripped Nathan by his throat and lifted him off the ground.

Nathan looked down, fingers frantically, futilely scrabbling at Nickolai's forearm and wrist. "No..." he whispered. He wanted to say more. He had enough air to. But his eyes had been sucked into Nickolai's, and he fell into the shadows. The madness.

A moment, and he gave a little moan, a gasp, and passed out, going limp and collapsing to the ground as Nickolai stood and turned, towering above them all.

"Alexander Montgomery, Deacon, holy man, friend, father, husband. I condemn you." He took a step towards him.

The old man's eyes widened, and he lurched forward. "No, child--you can't be serious! You can't undo them here! Not now, not with everything that's going on!"

The others looked confused--they, too, had been lied to. Now, though, was not the time for questions. Now was the time to stand, frozen, like rodents before a serpent's glare.

"Oh, yes, Alexander," whispered Nickolai. "Here. Now. You meet your maker." He took a step forward and...