His fingers lace along the lines of the Right.
In his mind, he can remember how it felt to use it.
Cold metal encasing his fist, crackling in his hands with raw power; the power to bend stars to the will of men. A power he utilized today to rid the universe of That Woman.
Two birds with one stone fist.
And it is inside its case now.
It is safe.
Omega’s other dangerous toy.
Slowly he draws himself away from the placid object, humming in its clear glass box.
Away from the lines.
The circles of rhythm and care, carved into its silvery architecture.
The articulate clockworks of a limb not severed.
He removes his feet from the inset foot panel and steps back into the dark of the small and vaulted archive room.
He raises his head, feeling the shadows trickling along the old walls like a hermit feels his dirt.
Suddenly, the expectation of a crunch... to interrupt the calm and smelt the dark and somber appointments of grey and red and gold lining the walls into something trying hard to be monstrous.
It could be mildly fascinating, he thinks, trying for self-honesty and attaining something similar.
He does not look.
He never looks.