Chapter V - Brimstone

[TennyoCeres84]

Despite being the moderator, Aspasia buried her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "From what I know of banshees, they're tougher than steel. And with being a hermit, Riona would have to be the very model of self-reliance..."

While Tom and Belphegor were amused, Meris had the expression similar to a cat casually biding its time. "Not to mention, brine pools are relatively quiet, unless there's something or someone directing traffic through it or attempting to... They're eerie enough, but surprisingly mundane without eldritch whats-its creeping through."

[IamLEAM1983]

"They're mundane," agreed Tom, "but Riona's particular portal is shadowed in the mortal plane by the same marshlands that took Zebediah's son. Thomas Quint wasn't much of a biologist, but I recall him noting that something was causing minor, if unusual mutations in the local wildlife. As an Infernalist, he was interested in all corrupting forces - and I've given more of a serious look to local elements than he has. It's not just any brine pool - it's the Others' expected beach-head  into our corner of the physical plane. It's the very root of the horrors that ultimately destroyed Nikolaas Buck's mind. I wouldn't count on this particular portal to just stay nice and quiet. I can't risk tapping into it to assess its stability, and neither can any other practitioner here. You don't need this body to end up possessed by another mad spirit - especially not one with my abilities. You also don't need a budding Archmage like Aislinn to lose it for the same reasons."

Raguel frowned. "So what's the sitch?
- Riona's strong enough that she stood as the single bulwark against the Hole being ripped open - and now she's gone. Until Pride restitutes her or we get her back, we need to set up a Celestial detachment near Buck Manor's shade in the Shadowlands."

Valefor grunted. "I would contend that seeing as Riona is currently one of our assets, my own people should be left to guard the Hole. We could easily replace Pride's stationed Knights and hold the line until the Goat would choose to attempt to force his way through."

In the meantime, one of the juniors walked over to Tom and handed him a piece of paper. "Here," he said, "this is the Enochian cypher you'll need as part of your scrying spell. Otherwise, you won't be able to tune in to Riona's chambers in Pride's Halls of Majesty."

Tom nodded his thanks. "You've headed back to the old fortress, I see. Has your boss complained about his being forced back to Bronze Age living standards?
- Time may be infinite in the Pit," replied the junior, "but our Lord's patience is not. "He desired action, not mere renovation. Sacrifices were required."

Tom cracked his fingers and whistled. "That's about on-par for Bleatface McEgo... Can't wait to see Mammon's bill, once this'll blow over."

Another possessed clerk was about to spit something unkind that Magnus held out a hand. "Later, sweetheart - focusing that much of a distant point into immediate view takes a lot of focus... It's all in the mnemonics."

He then carefully looked back to Coach, looking like holding a particular concept in mind felt like handling canisters of nitroglycerin. "Silas, mind if I irremediably destroy one of your LCD panels? I'll cover the replacement."

The lich shrugged. "It's not like I have a choice."

The warthog then walked over to one of Silas' sports-broadcasting panels and lightly touched it. Red motes flew out from his fingers and seemed to burrow through the screen's rear vents. The electronics whined, via spiked as the protective measures inlaid in the panel's motherboard flickered to life, and the image shifted to that of a stone-hewn chamber covered in the pelts of various hellbeasts, with narrow slits in the wall letting the Pit's lurid light flash through on occasion. Braziers and candles made up most of the light, a sallow thing clad in mid-seventeenth century garb raising her head from the pillow she'd been offered. Her dark hair fell in front of her face, her Fae ears poking through like dagger points, her face narrow and wild - her eyes like twin, glittering cataracts that still focused on her own projection of the mortal world with what seemed to be feral cunning.

"A conclave," she said, her voice low, "a Moot! The Pit's gentle-folk, come to break bread with Wing-bearers and the sons and daughters of our Soil!"

She crept closer. "Vows broken and binds clasping, Gentile Evil believes the Soil is not without its warp and weave. I am blind, and yet I See. Belphegor of the Turgid Wastes, Prince of Sloth - your doom comes. The wick of Genius is lit and eyes will open to witness its light. Your Binds have wrought their work, cruelty has turned congenial, empathy rules you over weak pretenses of corruption..."

Riona smiled meanly. "Sloth will crown a new Prince. The pall may never leave you - but live, you shall. Tremble, Scion of the Pit. Drink and be merry, Old Philosopher. Your precious curse ends soon."

Tom seemed a bit flustered. "Er - Riona? How are you?"

She focused on Tom as though she were in the room. "I am free, as ever I have been. One of the Bànfaith cannot be contained by mere stones or the eddies of the Real. The Black Goat holds my weary, age-worn coil - but not my Sight. Even here, so far from all that is for me to protect, I see all. I See you, Fire-Wielder, you  who has traversed so far into darkness that he has carried the Light out of its depths. Victory rests its laurels upon you, love weaves its sweet web ever stronger - but victory remains costly. Who will you become, I wonder? The living pyre, a guiding light for all awakened Damned, or another haughty conqueror, motivated by perceptions of goodness?"

The warthog looked like she'd spoken Chinese. "I - I just wanted to know if you were alright. Can you hold on?"

Riona cackled dryly. "Hold on, he says, when I have held on to embers of hope while huddled away in a shack of darkness and permeating sorrow. The Dutchman's curse took my mind, that I know - but not my Sight. As long as I will See, I will resist Her pull with the ease of a lynx striking the ground with its paws. She is the Unending Scream - and I have no need to hear Her to carry out my duties."

One of the juniors couldn't resist. "Will we succeed?"

Riona's features turned, pained empathy stretching her lines. "Yes. Yes, you shall. Fail, you shall, as well. Your damnation will end - only to be resumed. Pride will touch the sun - and burn. All will burn, all will be remade - and in the end, your victory shall be as a whisper unheard in a crowd. You will all die your final deaths, far from the Maker's arms. My heart breaks for you. If only you could See, witness the glory standing before you! Alas, thou art of Pride, and Pride goeth as Pride goes."

Her sorrowful expression gained a sliver of hope, and she timidly smiled through her mop of hair. The corner of an eye glinted in Herbert's direction. 

"Except where Pride finds side-paths. Sometimes, the coin falls on its edge. Pride holds hands with Wisdom. Something... new is born."

[TennyoCeres84]

The glimmer in Riona's eyes reminded Aislinn of the future Herbert she had seen and understood what the old banshee's words meant without any clarification. Also, she figured they didn't need to delve into what she had meant, given Wormsworth's exposure to the future as well. She neared Tom and looked up at the screen, wanting to know how they could get through this as smoothly as possible. "What else should we know? How can we get you back without rousing the Abominations?" she asked the elderly Fae woman.

[IamLEAM1983]

Riona looked like gazing upon Aislinn had opened new sights for her to absorb, but visibly reined herself in. The resulting strain was obvious in her taut features, the roane's simple question looking like it asked all of the banshee's mental fortitude to consider amid the unending rush of prophecy.

"The young fools have given you what they will; a sight of me," she said. "A gaze, a glimpse. If I speak of this, the future will be known and your efforts quashed. Your finding me must remain as it is, in the dark mire of the Possible."

She eyed the juniors, smirked meanly and looked back to the roane. "Let them bring me forth, in their own time. The Hole cannot be opened from here, so the city's black heart shall know its keeper once again - in due time. You will know to save me by the horrors I will unleash and by the blood of star-spawn upon your blades."

The smile turned slight, even kind and encouraging. Scrub Brimstone dust away and make the banshee's features gentler, and she might even have appeared nurturing, in that moment. "You are so few, Heroes of the Soil. Do not bend blades or block swings that would cripple you. Your blood is too precious to spill. Fight, you will, to fall and rise again - only to fight. Let Pride's crimes unfold; pay their price if you must. There can be no justice without sin, no retribution without injury."

She slowly raised an index finger against her chapped lips. "Do not answer me, child: when is Pride at its weakest? Think. When wisdom finally blooms, you shall know how to strike Pride down."

One of the female juniors scoffed. "Bullshit - Pride isn't weak, it'd be anathema to its nature! We've worked too hard to be undone by some old hag spitting nonsense!"

Herbert looked at the banshee as though the point between her eyes were some sort of latch he could unlock, to let his desired answers loose. "Hours and centuries ago, I perhaps would have agreed. Now that my egotism is asked to turn to self-reflection, in the light of all that I have seen..."

He closed his eyes and grimaced, a hand going up to his temple. Riona again looked possessed of eerie empathy. "The rigid mind moves, atrophied muscles clench. Pain comes...
- I'd call it confusion and exasperation combined," quipped the demonic lawyer, "but at least I am learning to add patience to the mix."

Riona cackled softly. "Good. The riddle will yet be solved."

Belphegor gestured with a hand, starting with another snoring breath. "You claim Herbert and I will change. Our curses are linked to Lucifer, who forbade them from changing."

The banshee looked like a debate club leader egging someone on to a realization. "Yes...
- And yet, you claim we will both be freed. By whom? By whose hands?"

The blind seeress grinned eerily. "Yours, O Prince. If shackles were placed on demons by the Lightbringer, one whom you know seeded you with freedom. Dark soil always holds the brightest shoots," she said, glancing at Tom.

Valefor rolled his eyes. "This isn't germane to the discussion. Riona, we're wasting time-
- No, I'd like to push further," countered the cat. "Could you be referring to Lilith?"

Riona didn't respond. She only stood there, leering into her own Eldritch camera. Valefor couldn't repress an indignant snort. "This is such a stretch - we haven't seen or heard from the Assyrian midwife since a scant few centuries after the Fall! She seeded the world with the undead and then vanished! What proof do we have that Lucifer would've given her dominion over our curse, leave enough for her to free us?"

The cat grunted. "For us to free ourselves, you mean," he reminded. "It's clear as day that some of us here don't wish for our burdens to be lifted. I've already made my curiosity towards new experiences rather clear.
- Says the man who's only going to stain new pillows with the same old drool," replied the reconstituting corpse.

Belphegor managed a slow, laborious working of his shoulders - a slow-motion shrug. "Sloth moves, Envoy of Wrath. It only happens to move at its own pace. For now, Sloth stands... intrigued."

[TennyoCeres84]

The young Archmage didn't reply to the banshee and only thoughtfully looked at the group of juniors. Like Herbert, Aislinn realized that patience would be needed to see the ceasing of Pride's triumph and their own victory.

Meris raised an eyebrow at Valefor and Belphegor. "I have only heard stories of Lilith, but I would imagine that there were things spoken between them that your ears have never heard, Valefor. So, unless you were a fly on the wall during those private moments, you likely only know some of what transpired. And with regard to your redemption by your own hands, a continued exposure to us pithy mortals can be contagious, Plague need not apply," she noted with a smirk, recalling her own effects on Nereus. "What form this will take remains to be seen."

[IamLEAM1983]

"If you're a Pitspawn and a Prince," asked Three, "why are you so amenable towards us, your enemies?" 

The big feline again slowly tossed his head and shoulders upwards, a smirk giving character to his slumbering features. "Sloth is like Greed: it needs company to thrive. Mammon might be his Vice's all-consuming end-goal, he has foisted the sympathetic ends of accruing wealth onto souls not unlike Melmoth's. In giving himself wholly over to his Vice, he has ensured that in time, someone else will take its crown. I haven't done the same, despite appearances. If I had, there would be no thoughts or dreams for me to entertain, no concepts to fuss over in the corners of my mind. I like Sloth agreeable, mister Drake. Comfortable, if you would prefer. It is easier to expect of you mortals to fall under my sway for a few hours at a time than to imagine I will one day swaddle the Earth in my bed sheets."

He steepled his hands together. "What gives value to your hours spend idling?
- The hours I spend not doing that," immediately replied the soldier.

The anthro nodded. "My point exactly. My Vice would lose its allure if you all fell in lock-step with me. My colleague, on the other hand, is convinced Wrath is a sustainable state."

Coach nodded. "That brings us to what you expect of us mortals during the conflict. Raguel?"

The former guardian angel nodded. "Right. We'd like it if the HPD collaborated with us. I mean, angels, specifically. I don't think it'd be safe for Belphegor to go around wearing a laminate on the battlefield, saying he's actually on our side.
- I never said I was," countered the cat. "There is a difference between seeking a sedate answer to a problem and capitulating. I would, however, be open to compromises."

Gabriel reviewed the situation. "Pandemonium is already a conscientious objector by default, and you'd be on the battlefield. What's your plan?"

Belphegor sniffed. "Infernal Peace Corps, as it were. Sloth will not lay a hand on Hope's civilians. Instead, I would use my own accrued capital to provide immediate relief efforts and protection.
- You'd still need to push back against Pride," noted the Archangel. "Who do you have who could manage that?"

The cat leaned back and again threaded his fingers together atop his gut. "I would. My rest had turned cheap of late; it'll be good to know I'll have found a means to deserve my slumber, for once. My followers will be roused," he said, jerking his chin back to refer to the sleeping mob, "and they'll be given orders. Orders not to interfere in Heaven's work and to provide support until Celestials reach problem areas of the city. We'll keep the streets clear, make it easier for you to gun or cut down whatever horrors the banshee will free from their pit."

Valefor looked about ready to strangle the feline. "Belial had hoped to hear terms of compromise from the mortals and the Celestials," he reminded. "I've heard nothing of the sort so far - only my turgid friend's all-but-complete defection to the enemy!"

Archie then raised his voice. "Then hear this, Valefor: as a fellow soldier, I pledge that all diplomatic envoys will be given full immunity from the conflict. If one of your own or Pride's enters my demesne looking hungry or thirsty, they will find food and drink in quantity. As long as they behave in accordance to the expected détente of political meetings, we will behave as cordial hosts. I assure you, we all are gentlemen here, and ladies of good standing."

The corpse glowered. "That's a start, at least. Hopefully it's loosened a few tongues."

[TennyoCeres84]

Having otherwise remained quiet so far, Crystal looked to Belphegor and Valefor. "Even if you're not wearing a laminate, we cops still need some signal that you're here to aid in some way. If there is conflict happening, the situation may be too chaotic to tell who is doing what. You don't have to come up with it on the spot, but that needs to be done soon," she opined.

Aspasia glanced between the group of angels and demons, "I'd say that's a fair suggestion. I'd also suggest that all extraplanar individuals should use it, regardless of their plane of origin. People aren't expecting demons or angels to just pop in and fight off dissidents. Additionally, this will accustom them to your presence, especially when the time comes for integration. They'll have an idea of who's on their side,"

Abdiel nodded in agreement to the fauness' statement. "I believe that this could be a good measure in the meantime. Would you say that it could be disposed of once the major conflict settles down?" she asked.

"I think so," Aspasia answered. "It's just a means of identification, much as volunteer groups have designations within your more typical conflicts."

[IamLEAM1983]

Three didn't seem entirely onboard. "I don't know - remember armbands and stitched yellow stars? Our new neighbors are going to have a hard enough time adjusting, I doubt they'll appreciate being asked to wear something that says I'm okay, I'm just your Friendly Neighbourhood Underworld Native! I like cuddles and hate my Monday morning commute as much as you do!"

Herbert canted his head. "Drake has a point. I would much rather my deeds spoke for me; being asked to wear some tacky label could be seen by some as the first step to imposed Infernal ghettos on the mortal plane, as opposed to naturally-forming diasporas.
- Yeah, but battlefields don't make for the best environments to assess someone's character," countered Raguel. "You'd all be free to go on a Disney tirade about freedom and self-discovery or some shit once the wind turns - but in the immediate?"

Tom gave it some thought and then stroked his chin. "Here's an idea: most demons that poked or prodded philosophers and artists around - people like Bob - are usually called Socratic demons. I guess that makes me and my friends part of that club, if you think about it. Aislinn's a tattoo artist by trade; she'd probably be able to stencil something like a trace of Socrates' bust. With a little help seeing as she's never done this before, she might be able to conjure that as part of a localized aesthetic effect. A kind of removable neon armband or something, linked to a removable item - like a ring. It wouldn't be too hard to get it to print and glow on various surfaces, like biceps or forearms, the chest or someone's back. Make it bright and vivid, so it pops out in the middle of the surrounding chaos.
- You'd need the Sammaelites to agree to its use," reminded Belphegor, to which the Warlock shrugged.

"It shouldn't be too hard - we have good connections in Pandemonium."

[TennyoCeres84]

Crystal gestured to Raguel as he made his counterargument. "That is the point I was trying to make. The police, EMTs, and firefighters each have a symbol to show what their purpose is, so having that would be useful. Nobody here wants to evoke the days of Nazi Germany," she lightly groused with a sigh.

"As long we could get their permission, I could certainly come up with a stencil in such a design," Aislinn responded with a somewhat optimistic smile.

"I think that would be a good option," Aspasia said with a sigh. "I'm all too familiar at how battle can cloud people's judgement when they're just trying to stay alive and protect their families. Items determining identity and affiliation can go both ways, but having a removable item like a ring or pendant would give the wearer the option to remove it as needed."

Abdiel looked back to Aidan. "Does that relieve some of your concerns, Mr. Drake?" she asked.

[IamLEAM1983]

Three looked uncertain. "I guess, but there's nothing stopping the more sensitive types from feeling prejudiced."

One of the juniors chipped in. "You mortals act like you're above cruelty. The fact is, some of you will waste no time in devastating those few idiots who'll thrust themselves into your arms for want of safety."

Herbert shrugged. It's unfortunate, but Que sera, sera. Telling me that some mortals are worthy of reproach is nothing new, and I hope mister Magnus was not so naive as to instill his cohorts with promises of open arms and boundless tolerance."

Tom scoffed, choosing not to take it personally. "I wasn't, Wormsworth. I've been pulled through the wringer more than once, especially in those thousands of years before I learned to keep my libido in check. I simply didn't let those rebuffs and reproaches get to me. Being who and what I am, I had time to learn and time to adapt. We'll have to teach Humanity it needs to have patience, especially towards transplants from the Pit. I won't let my tower or the immediate neighborhoods turn into the local supernatural ghetto, you can be sure of that. As soon as war leaves the picture, I've got plans to make a semi-permanent home in the mayor's office lobby. I can't keep the refugees from both planes safe if I don't have more than just the HPD's collaboration," he said, looking at Crystal. "People like my own Benedict, Volker or Sophie aren't going to be safe from harm unless demons join the Vienna Accords and unless a strong statement discouraging the hiring of slayers for the purposes of removing them is made."

Gabriel nodded and looked to Belphegor and Valefor. "You missed our earlier talks, but I'm in agreement with Magnus, here. Even the Host's numbers that could choose to live here could be adversely affected; there's plenty people around who think the will of God matches their bigotry that we'd end up with mortals harassing beings who'd have no need for that kind of attention - much less the power to stop it effectively," he said, looking at Raguel and Abdiel.

Valefor scoffed. "As if you've never punched anyone before, Lightbringer... Come on. You know for a fact that plenty of your cohorts are going to see this as a second Fall; the final and complete rendition of your state of Otherness to mortal proclivities."

To that, the general only shrugged. "Mortals don't need winged snobs convinced of their superiority; they need guardians. It's hard to guard what you don't take the time to understand or appreciate."

That left the corpse blinking. "You'd tolerate some of your forces Falling?
- It's a likely outcome of the brewing conflict," confessed Gabriel. "Humanity's influence isn't just a pleasing dash of empathy," he said, looking at the cat, "it's also a sprinkle of arrogance, a pinch of cruelty and barrels worth of horror and monstrous tendencies. Lucifer didn't just have a tendency towards arrogance, he met mortals that nurtured it in him. I didn't learn to kill effectively from other Archangels; I needed mortal hands to show me how to wield a sword. Abdiel had no words to describe thermodynamics, back-blasts or tectonic shifts until mortal scientists provided her with them."

Belphegor grunted. "I see it as a twisted, if effective way of maintaining balance. Here I am, Sloth pondering on the exact amount of force and speed needed to save mortals from weaponized Light and Hellfire, while some in Heaven's circles are even now looking upon Magnus' and McConmara's entirely new world to come in both fear and disdain."

He chuckled. "Demons Rising as angels Fall... Up is down, down is up. The center, as the Buddhists and Renewal's own Buddha tend to say, cannot hold."