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The World Pharmaceuticals Commission should have been honoured by Muller’s presence here in their central office in Rome. They would be nothing without his research programmes, and he took precious time from his busy schedule for a detour to a little important matter such as this.
Yes, they would be nothing without him, but they stood far below the top on his list of priorities.
Why then, after he graciously presented the latest findings of his research, couldn’t they show the barest respect and make his stay in the city more… interesting.
Not thrilled by visiting the local botanical gardens when his own collections stood superior in every way, Muller decided to indulge himself in a much different way: Rome, the capital city of an ancient empire, the remnant of a greatness not many civilisations in the history could match. He could let the atmosphere bring forth other glorious images. An inspiration, a vision to how the world would be reshaped once Meister Eckhardt’s work was done. When Muller and the other faithful would receive their gifts – immortality, power, unending worship.
Muller walked the streets in slow, confident strides and inspected his surroundings with a critical eye. The white marble statue with fine details, surely he would get many such tributes in his own image. Or perhaps more stylised ones, to depict the innate superiority of his glorious being.
Next, a relief on one of the buildings he was passing by: A group of individuals he didn’t care to recognise, but one clearly in charge, emanating power by his posture and position. Yet the others, subservient as they were, held themselves with great pride as well.
Yes, Meister Eckhardt and his loyal followers would be honoured just this way. But more. With larger-than-life images and sculptures, and attributes raising them above the dredges of mortal beings.
That was when he saw it. A beautiful thing in every way. Majestic, powerful.
“Magnificent,” he whispered, craning his head to drink in the marble dragon statue with his eyes. Yes, that was how Meister Eckhardt would be perceived, invincible and flawless in his reign.
“It is, it is! Right?!” a voice with an Italian accent tore Muller from his awe much like a cold shower. He glowered at the dark-haired man that had appeared at his side.
“I doubt you can recognise the majesty it portrays.”
“Oh I can,” the newcomer crowed, a stupid grin on his face as he stared at the piece of art. “It reminds me of someone I know. The greatest man to ever live. And the world will see it soon as well.” His voice lost some of its mirthfulness, sounding almost reverent.
Muller almost pitied the poor mortal, blinded by another mortal whom he worshipped so foolishly. “The greatest man to ever live?” he straightened and gave his best condescending look to the other over his glasses. Yes, the other man was significantly taller, but Muller had practice staring down taller scientists. “I highly doubt that.”
“Of course you would,” the man waved his hand, “you have not met him, you do not understand, you do not believe.”
“Is that so?” Muller puffed up. “I do know the greatest man to even live–” until he becomes so much more than a mere man, oh the glorious day it will be! “–and he would never waste his time with the likes of you.”
“Hmm,” the man cocked his head, staring Muller down that much more easily, insolent mortal, “I doubt we speak of the same man, therefore you are wrong. But it’s your lucky day,” he continued before Muller could object to such ridiculousness: “You may finally open your eyes and see the truth! You can pledge your loyalty to the only man worthy of the most glorious fate!” The man again looked up to the statue.
“I pity you, truly,” Muller drawled, “the only loyalty I hold is to Meister Eckhardt, who will usher a new order to the world!”
“Ha!” the Italian threw his head back. “Whoever that is could never reach the greatness that was bestowed upon Marco Bartoli!
“Whoever that is?” Muller quoted, appalled, and felt his hands curl into fists. “You do not know only because you are too insignificant to know!,” he hissed. “And the man you speak of, just as pathetic as you, will die when Meister Eckhardt brings forth a new era!”
The much taller man step ped closer, their chests – or perhaps his chest and Muller’s head – nearly touching as he glowered down. “You won’t talk about Marco that way.”
The man was speaking of his false idol with nothing but a first name. That showed how little he believed his own delusions. Muller could never call Meister Eckhardt in such a disrespectful way. But he would be more than happy to disrespect this Bartoli however he liked.
“I shall call a worm a worm,” he pronounced, fully composed and proud of his place in the world. Other people were watching now. Yes, they must have recognized the exalted man who had graced them with his presence.
The man leaned further down-
-Muller gasped as a large hand grabbed his neck and flung him to the ground.
“You shouldn’t have said that,” the man sounded amused again, but oddly cold, and Muller noticed an actual old-fashioned tommy gun in his hand.
Composed and not even slightly panicking, Muller reached towards his pockets to see if he kept any vials of poisons in this suit.
Then there was the shouting, and the other man startled too. Not that Muller was startled.
A policeman was running towards them. Luckily, he incorrectly assumed that the taller man was the biggest threat here. No matter, Muller would let them all live this once. Yes, yes, the foolish man better hide his gun and run. From the police? Possibly, but he couldn’t even imagine the horrible fate that would have befallen him if Muller had the opportunity to attack.
Muller stood up with a natural elegance as he let the appropriately subservient humans around pull him to his feet. Ignoring their inane questions about his health, he once again glanced at the majestic statue.
The man had run, but he couldn’t run forever. When the world was in the Cabal’s hands, everyone would see which one of them was in the right.