Chapter V - Brimstone

[TennyoCeres84]

"I'd say that Arkham could be laying the foundations for what could turn into a cult of personality," Aspasia noted. "With his wanting to renovate those areas to bring back old memories of nostalgia, he'll be looked upon favorably. In the instance that Void Weavers come forth publicly, he could capitalize on that."

Flicking her eyes toward where Delmar was seated, Meris listened to his commentary and added, "An old mentor of mine has told me that there are no other entities known to the Void Weavers beyond God, the Architect, and the Others. The scenario that we're looking at is completely unknown. What Arkham is doing could potentially destabilize the Loyalists while also posing a threat. As for my personal viewpoint on the situation, I'm reminded of a small sect within Neopaganism that uses pop culture icons as spiritual figures to fuel their spells; in this situation, Arkham may be trying to lock in on that logic and use it to elevate himself, possibly in the manner Aspasia mentioned. There's still too many unknown variables, and we need more information."

Aspasia nodded in agreement. "That's what we were going to delve into more, but the impromptu meeting of the minds took priority," she explained, then surveying the assembly. "And I think that sums up the current status of the Void Weavers and the potential problems they could cause in Hope and in nearby areas."

Her eyes then landed on Valefor. "From my perspective as a strategist, any moves to allow the Abominations through the Hole Riona's guarding would be opening Pandora's box. Their sheer numbers could overwhelm your men and leave them vulnerable to the Black Speech. I doubt you want to take the risk to yourself of your officers to see how you all would fare against it. Not to mention, by those creatures being released, you may be helping to prop up a pseudo-god who has unknown plans up his sleeve."

[IamLEAM1983]

Valefor's ire looked like it had died out somewhat. "I'd know it if you were acting out of cowardice," he told the assembly. "What concerns me is the matter in which you're handling that fear of yours. If I didn't know any better, I'd almost recognize Wrath's better side in you all..."

Tom nodded. "You'd understand our concerns personally if you'd left Hell more often. A single mortal lifespan isn't enough to grasp the extent of the Void Weavers' depredations. Read enough, speak to enough people and travel enough - like Meris and I have - and things start to form a clear picture. The only reason I haven't been rendered insane over the past twelve hundred years is because I never let anyone with an obviously fractured mind get too close."

That caused Wrath's envoy to smirk. "Yes, we've heard of your little stint during the Spanish Inquisition, notably. You infiltrated the zealots' ranks and spent sixteen years in Spain, trying to get close enough to curse Torquemada...
- You don't have that kind of zeal if you're sane," countered Magnus. "I've seen faith's beauty, as much of a demon as I am - and also what happens when you twist it out of shape. All of Asmodeus' children know what it's like to labor under insane expectations. You don't get up in the morning and think you're going to purge Humanity of all sin - nobody has that kind of power."

Three nodded. "So we know fear and we know madness when we see it. Punching a hole through a Banshee's barrier's spell is exactly that. Madness. You can consign your own men to pain the likes of which none of us here can imagine - or you can act tactically and think beyond your obligation to Pride. Self-preservation isn't a flaw, Valefor. Besides, if Pride even temporarily takes the mortal plane, the other Vices are going to fall in line. Neither of us will receive any kind of consideration."

Valefor fell silent again, for a long while. "We cannot unilaterally ally with you," he then said. "Wrath is the province of us all in this conflict. Demon, angel, mortal. One of my kind embodies rage, Wrath taken to desperate extremes. It will be let loose in the conflict, as it has in all wars and battles - always in spirit, and now in flesh. Once it is girded, you can defuse this trump card; this weapon Pride credited from us."

He then looked back at Aspasia. "This is Wrath's last concession, Aspasia Robertson. We will lay the first of your afflicted ancestors before you, on the field of battle. His name is Azazel, and he is the Scapegoat, Heir to Resentment and Rage. As you are mortal, you have the weapon needed to defeat him. Many have tried to wield it, most have failed."

Raguel nodded. "Forgiveness, right? Absolution?"

Riona wheezed from her screen. "A people, their sins like stones in their chests. Wise man, Warlock or fool; one of them ripped these stones from their bosoms. A weakling, a desperate thief - chained and covered in devilry. Sin after sin after sin, pushed through flesh and bone, tendon and sinew, mind and heart. A people, freed. A desert goat, impotent wickedness dripping from his mouth. A sad wretch now, a Thing That Hates. Vessel for all evils - except those of his own. That is the Scapegoat." 

[TennyoCeres84]

Aspasia's amber gaze drifted over the screen Riona had spoken from and then slid back to Valefor. "Alright, it's a a date, then; I'll be waiting for Gramps," she answered in a strangely wry fashion, surprisingly calm despite the threat of facing this foe.

The way she spoke seemed to convey that she knew the weapon she had within her, but the fauness didn't feel the need to divulge what it was. The gleam in her eyes was her knowing, rather than misplaced arrogance.

[IamLEAM1983]

Surprisingly, it was Herbert who seemed to be particularly put off by Azazel's disposition. "This seems... needlessly brutal, to put it lightly," he said. "I understand the last Fauns were desperate following Morgana's curse, but why take it all out on a single one of their numbers?"

Gabriel sighed. "It's... one of these instances where even I wished I'd had the balls to fly down here, do the whole booming-voice-and-flaming-sword bit and apply a bit of the old supernatural fixer-upper. In the tail ends of Morgana's lasting effects on the Fauns, a drought fell across the Middle East. Famine followed, naturally. People did desperate things to survive. I didn't meet many honest sinners in these days, but plenty of desperately guilty individuals. Thieves, murderers, liars and cowards - all people who'd only worked to feed their bellies or those of their loved ones. Most people went on with their lives once rain returned, but some few villages in Galilee were filled with people who couldn't shake the weight of what they'd done.

There was this Warlock from Judea, a man who practiced the old Greek art of Sin Eating. He tried to gorge himself on their mistakes, but realized there were hundreds of manses across the plains, all of them filled with festering poison. It was too much for one man, too much for someone with one remaining foot in the mortal condition. All he needed was one desperate and starving Faun and his own knowledge. Thousands of small stones became imbued with the locals' self-loathing and regret, and those stones..."

One of the other accompanying angels opted to finish for Gabriel, sensing how troubled the Archangel was. "Those stones were fed to him like bread loaves, enchanted to turn soft and pliable - just enough to pass his teeth and gullet. He was chained, marked and force-fed for months. The villagers, however, were freed of their burden."

Three sighed. "Goddamnit. Hadn't they heard about personal accountability?
- Try telling that to someone who's probably killed newborns to feed their remaining eldest," soberly reminded Coach. "Better yet, just ask Jeb Buck. There's things nobody wants to shoulder, Aidan - even if they need to be. If you can't accept your own mistakes, your only hope is someone's gonna come around to forgive you for them."

[TennyoCeres84]

The fauness listened to the recalling of the events that had led to the creation of the Scapegoat, looked over to the side, and scoffed sadly. "Damn, this conversation brings back memories of how much culture shock I and the rest of the Chimeras went through. Paradise has a million different deities with a million different names, and none of it really filtered into the daily happenings there. Crime is a way of life there, and that's just the way it is. With the Yakuza, you mostly get influences from Buddhism and some Shinto, but their actions just went along with that general mindset. Justice is meted out by revenge or by the Dusters, just as an effort to keep the place running so they all can survive," she observed, then turning her eyes to the angels and demons there.

"If any of you have ever passed through there and were known you for what you are, I imagine that the inhabitants there would be puzzled or just laugh at your angst and then wonder what are you up to, given the regional paranoia," she noted with a sigh. "Your justice systems and the strong influence your main monotheistic religions had baffled me. I obviously had to go through the trials and serve the time for the crimes I had committed."

Brows knitted together, she then closed her eyes and shook her head. "However, those memories stayed with me, and I knew once I was pregnant that I didn't want to my child to have a sugarcoated view of me. Once she was old enough to understand, I told her of the events of the monster I had been and the journey I had been on to find myself and to do better for myself, her, and this city," she recalled, then looking over to Coach as he would have remembered that discussion as well.

"I know you weren't particularly comfortable with the topic being discussed with Miranda back then, but I wasn't about to let her go through life without realizing you have to own up to your mistakes, even if they're really minor. I wanted her to understand that you can't blame others for your problems; you have to face them head-on."

She then set her eyes on Gabriel and sympathetically said, "I know it's hard to think about those times, Gabriel, but I hope we Blues can do better than our forebears; own our mistakes and learn from them."

[IamLEAM1983]

Gabriel shook his head. "Nothing your ancestors went through was their fault," he clarified. "The only mistakes made were those they made to survive, once Morgana stripped them of their Mantles. Imagine you're one of the lucky few out of generations of stunted births or crippling defects, and with no via or technology to sustain you, the physical aspects that make you what you are become more of a detriment than an asset. The last natural Fauns I met could barely walk, as Nature re-established its hold onto your people's physiology. Their pupils were made for high altitudes and wide vistas, and they were forced to live in darkened corners of the world. They had sharp minds, but nothing concrete or constructive to turn them onto."

Three nodded. "Boredom and impotence. I can see how that'd lead to criminality. Add their new creditors to the mix and you get volatile stuff."

The Archangel nodded. "Some almost equaled Hyperborea's old Warlocks - Siberia's old god-kings.
- I doubt they pulled a Quint, in any case," noted Tom. Gabriel nodded in assent. 

"That's what worried me most," he said. "Take a species of hardened survivalists with an uncanny ability to see the bright side of things, and strip them of that last boon. You're left with an apex predator, even with their bodies having been crippled. Infernalism saw to it that the last few Fauns to eke out an existence on Earth natively were virtually demons born in the flesh."

Archie scrutinized Aspasia, as if trying to imagine her with her features warped with evil relish, with the dirt of a Bronze Age slum and the blood of innocents on her. "Luckily for us," he then idly commented, "the upgraded article no longer fits the bill, I'd say. I doubt even Rendell would encourage wanton butchery. His is too Classical a mind to entertain such brutish notions."

[TennyoCeres84]

Aspasia let out an audible snort and rolled her eyes in the direction of the ceiling. "That wasn't on his agenda, no. Classicalism mixed with programmed egotism and megalomania," she answered. "I remember the old Elysium HQ; think high tech with an ancient Greek overlay and then Rendell TV playing on the screen, if we weren't reading or practicing some form of art or training."

She then considered the more elusive aspect of herself. "The one time I came into touch with my Fae side; all that seemed to be was hyperfocus on getting the job done. Flitting from tree to tree, shooting with an even higher accuracy than I'm normally capable of, and then healing Lord Urakawa with some song I don't recall learning elsewhere," she described. "He said there was the main difference of my ears being more red-tinted and a difference in my countenance."

[IamLEAM1983]

Three nodded. "I'm not surprised; you're basically one or two alleles away from the Gruffs. You've seen Sir Percival."

Coach smirked at that. "I doubt my wife would make much of a walking tank, Aidan," he said. "My understanding is that Fauns were excellent at reconnaissance and used harassing techniques, when forced to confront a bigger opponent."

Herbert looked briefly confused. "You're saying they employed quips and jeers?" he asked, which made Three laugh. Eyes glinting, he chimed in.

"Well, it's not that much of a bad idea, actually. If it works for Spider-Man, it could work for Aspasia! Jokes aside, harassing a target in the tactical sense means you're keeping the pressure on, but you're also keeping a distance. You're giving yourself options while keeping the benefits of active target suppression. I could, say, shoot Aspasia to force her to tip one of the tables over to use as cover, and then try and keep her pinned down with cover fire. If I keep my focus on her despite her attempts to disengage or switch targets, I'm harassing her in the military sense of the word."

He winked at her. "We still need to see you try out for the Nerf War, this Christmas. That's if we get a Christmas..."

[TennyoCeres84]

Her expression turned from amused to thoughtful. "Try to keep in touch with the spirit of the season, at the very least," Aspasia mused. "Echoing the idea of having a sense of humor on the battlefield to throw off an opponent, you need to keep your morale up. The Goat's going to put us through the wringer, no matter how much we plan. More obvious notions of gift-giving and decorating might have to wait, but embodying something of the jovial spirit of Oberon's court might not be a bad idea," she noted.

Meris tapped her chin thoughfully. "It isn't a bad idea. It again taps into what you just referenced, Aidan. Maintaining high spirits in what would normally be despair and turmoil. That shift in attitude could throw the Goat off somewhat," she said.

[IamLEAM1983]

"That's up to each of us on an individual basis, however," reminded Tom. "We need Sloth and all willing Vice representatives to learn to focus on the human aspects of what they represent, on the sometimes positive roots each Vice has, before it's taken too far. Pride needs self-assurance, Wrath needs focus, Sloth needs comfort and safety. Once you've got some part of this, humor becomes more easily manageable.

"And what is yours, Warlock?" asked one of the juniors.

Tom smirked and raised his hand, a few tongues of flames coming to life along his fingers. "Love is mine," he said. "Love, friendship - and focus, at long last. What's love, after all, if it isn't Lust made patient and kind? It's not because Aislinn's freed me that I've stopped lusting for her, I just..."

He hesitated and looked back to the demon in a young woman's body. "Imagine Pride as a jewel. You've only seen its glare so far, and not its refracting facets. The moment Aislinn freed me, I saw Lust in its noblest form, all of its individually beautiful facets. Love and patience enough to wait, to gird my appetites, to welcome the stillness and quiet... The sound of her tattoing needle's motor humming is a quiet mantra to me, now. I don't need, so much as I appreciate. I don't need to grasp her hand right now or to kiss her. I don't need to run my snout along her skin. I don't need to say anything recklessly direct or profound in this public meeting - she knows I love her, just as I know she loves me."

He smiled. "Imagine feeling what Pride feels like if you didn't always need to protect it, if it didn't always feel so brittle, like raw iron. Imagine knowing that some people around you know exactly what you're worth and will never question it. Imagine what it feels like to open up to someone else, to accept criticism and to feel like it's warranted, that it makes you an even better person."

His gaze went from the junior to Belphegor and Valefor. "A mortal that feels safe feels exactly that, and they feel for their spouses or loved ones the way I feel for Aislinn. That old hunger I carried then becomes something intimate you choose to keep for your closest fellow travelers."

Herbert looked confused. "I've tried to share in my Pride, before. I've never succeeded.
- You can't force anyone to feel anything for anyone else," explained Magnus. "Nothing is lost, nothing is created. Everything has to come from something, in this plane. Others won't be proud of you unless you give them a reason to be, just as the only reason an inkling of Sloth can be passed on voluntarily is if it's taken willingly."

Belphegor snored and grunted. "Shelter first, then safety. Then, comfort...
- What you've imposed on your vassals isn't comfort," explained Gabriel. "There's comfort in productivity, in sensing that your place is assured. Mortals can't just be expected to drop everything, Belphegor - that's what I first tried to argue with you over all these millennia ago."

A heavy eyebrow twitched. "So, then..."

Archie nodded. "Your Sloth will only ever matter once you'll act, old chap," he said. "You've forgotten the warmth of exertion, the lull of rest after a day of taxing work. That said, if your plans are followed through, you're bound to rediscover that on your own."

The cat hesitated, then nodded mostly for himself. "We know where our power comes from, then. We can now act on it. If I'm to begin, we should discuss mortal affairs further..."

Sloth sat up laboriously, grunting as its midriff was relieved of his own weight. Now sitting with its back placed upright, it gestured with a hand. "How are the refuges coming along? This coil's nose still smells early Midwinter sweets, its ears still perceive the crinkling of wrapping paper, the chiming of registers citywide... Many are still oblivious."

Three nodded. "It's either that or widespread panic. We can't push folks to the safe houses without putting civilians on the street or tipping off our enemies. We can either do nothing and stay stealth or show part of our hand and save people from the initial incursions - all the while losing our advantage."

The cat chuckled and snorted noisily. "Leave that to me. I'll need your help, my good Karthian," he then said, looking at the alien, "along with rooftop access to one of your tallest structures. I'll get to work once Ephesian's summation begins. The day grows short and the Counselor needs to prepare."

Coach sighed. "So we're done, then. You're off to check on Sophia and the circus freaks before we're all called to our battle stations..."

John Smith cleared his throat. "Not exactly. I haven't disclosed what Goliath is willing to offer. Weapons, first. After the war, we'll consider other avenues. Employment aid, genetic and immune therapy, cybernetic or nanite-based augmentation..."

Gabriel quirked an eyebrow. "And in return?
- Your genetic material," calmly replied the mammoth. "Resurrecting old Wyldfae genes did wonders, but we never could sequence angelic or demonic material. There could be more for us to unlock."

Gabriel regarded the mammoth coolly. "You mean more to profit from. The world's done well without super-soldier serums so far. I don't need another Azardad, just as I'm sure Aidan doesn't need another case for a dramatic origin story becoming a commonplace occurrence."

The mammoth merely blinked. "There's no Ruthven to steal this from us, Archangel. Not this time."