Chapter VI - Asunder

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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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Near the front entrance of Magnus Tower, Ariel still defended the area against the creatures begotten from Amaxi. Slashing blades cut through their flesh like a knife through butter. However, her brethren's cries in the park rung in her ears, and she directed some of her focus and power to aid them.

She repeated the chant uttered by Cuthbert and the other angels, adding to it the humming energies of seraphic music:

"Thou, O Lord, art just and powerful
O, defend our cause against the face of the enemy.
O God, thou art a strong tower of defence to all who fly unto thee;
O save us from the violence of the enemy.
O Lord of hosts, fight for us; that we may glorify thee!"


Given her element, her voice amplified the chants' properties greatly. Her aid would be audible to those in the park and aid them in their efforts considerably.

The young Warlock was indeed starting to tire against the masses of demons, but she felt strengthened by Cuthbert and the angels' shouts and efforts to create a buffer zone between the enemy and the Tree. However, she and her doubles continued to toss blessed fireballs and deliver psychic blades against their numbers.

Inside the Tree, Ciaran had picked up the sword intended for Sophia and held it defensively, in case some demonic Knight would try to make it through to her. The dryad frowned uncertainly at his actions and tapped him on the shoulder, which caused the selkie to look back at her. "They're strong and they might just hold off the Goat's forces for a while longer, but I wanted to give this to you, in case my end will have to be done quickly without much time to speak to you."

She slipped off a silver chain with a green seaglass leaf dangling from it. He easily recognized it as the gift he had made for her months ago. He frowned sadly at her, hoping her demise wouldn't be inevitable. She put around his neck. "If I pass and have to regrow, return this necklace to me when we will see each other again."

He grimly nodded and tucked it underneath his t-shirt, tears beading at the corners of his eyes. "I will."

***

Crystal didn't bother saying anything to Ezemial or Matriel other than a quick "See you soon" and hurried to get into Nergal's van.

Given a flash flood's uncontrollable nature, Matriel created a wide enough path for the vehicles to pass through, while he continued the stormy onslaught to keep Beelzebub and his insect minions away from the others in their escape.

After Ereshkigal and the others would have headed for the vehicles, Matriel quipped loudly at Lord of Flies, "It appears she earned his mantle quite nicely and easily, Beelzebub!" If the ginormous fly tried to attack the Throne, the violent lightning and harsh winds would making doing so rather difficult.

***

Meris-as-Morguse sadistically eyed the heckler before sending a short lightning arc at him, which would fry him brutally. She sent a challenging glower to the other gathered demons, daring them to say anything negative about their accomplishment. She puffed out her chest and dramatically turned with a swish of her cape before following after Marquis Gusion.

The Chimera channeled her former obeying self as she played the role, understanding these soldiers had no compunctions of killing these prisoners or anyone in Hope, like her daughter. With a cruel smirk, Aspasia-as-Gressil swiftly proceeded toward the questioning Knight and sliced clean through his throat with a knife she had carried on her. She cleaned the bloodied blade on the unfortunate demon's armor before glaring at the Knights and sheathing it.

"Any further questioning of His Lordship, Knight Morguse, or myself will find your carcasses as my new set of armor! Line those prisoners up on the double! Get the banfaith out of her cell now, you feckless gits! Get me a barrel of salt so I can preserve this hide!" she bellowed in a manner that befitted a commander.

With an authoritative squaring of her shoulders, the satyress joined the selkie and Pride demon as they entered deeper into the keep.

***

Nami initially did bristle upon Mr. X's appearance, and she looked back at him with a scoff and a roll of her eyes. "I'm sure they'll miss you, too, but we have bigger things to be concerned with. I'm sure you'll find plenty of swooning ladies once we're able to ensure peace in this timeline, first we need to deal with the cheesy gameshow host/supervillain! Also, I'm pretty sure Meris will want to know you made it out safely with Hammerhead at some point!" she reminded.

She glanced down at her attire, and the silk blouse and leather pants from the club were looking a little worse for wear. A quick cloaking with her wings caused her form to shift to a more armored one. A black chestplate covered a leather bodysuit with neon violet streaks going down the sides. A stark contrast with the comparatively wholesome attire of Golden Age superheroes and supervillains.

***

Abdiel smiled. "I look forward to seeing that time, as they've used it for far too long," she replied, then lightly scoffing. "We all have plenty to learn, Mel; all we need is time. Let's ensure that we get it!"
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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Were they accomplishing anything, here? What was the point of waging combat against a literally endless enemy? Hell, even the moat created around the Tree wouldn't last as long as they had bodies to throw down and fill it up with! And always the thought of those vengeance collars, or whatever they were, potentially flying around the battlefield looking for someone's neck to clasp around.

Marius glanced about himself. His other selves had fallen back along with him when Tom gave the call, and many of them looked thirsty. "Can we get some blood over here, please!" he called out to Tom and Lucien. That was before Cuthbert showed up and appeared to turn the tide, of course. Would faith alone overcome the thirst of the blood curse, though? He turned to his fellows, and they all agreed; the more drained of them would abide and wait for some blood to restore themselves, the rest would keep up the fight, and they'd switch out once sustenance had been received.

Glad to be in such agreeable company, he and roughly half of his copies took to the field again, while the rest held back and waited for blood to come. Or for some sign that they'd have to find it themselves, either way.
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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Marius might have harbored doubts, but their efforts seemingly wavered between success and failure at every passing second. One of the Lucians encased one of the smaller portals inside the space of a large boulder he'd lifted out of the park's soil, proving that infinity could still be treated like any other Newtonian mass. Stop the demons' ingress, and you'd force them to relocate. Having more than one Tom and Aislinn around also enabled the group to pre-emptively seal forming rifts, to the point where the advance they'd almost lost only moments ago began to seem more certain.

Solving the issue of the Vlastoses' blood supply was something the collaborating Celestials and Infernals kept in mind. A few moments after his musings would've passed, Marius would see a gleaming halberd cut through an advancing Fiend before he could react, one of the members of the Legion of Burning Suns lightly clasping his elbow.

"Yourself and the more drained of your peers are recalled to the rear guard," the demon said. "Some angels have spent enough time here for their blood to be sufficiently humanlike. We only ask that you do not kill them - banishing their corporeal forms and allowing them to reform in living flesh would be tactically unsound, at present. We've similarly asked of Magnus, McConmara and Rothchild that their numbers be put in rotation; the enemy might still attempt to open rifts closer to Sophia's demesne."

This brief interlude would make it clear that progress was apparently being made. Slowly, the outpour of Damned was lessening in its volume - and Vlastos would finally catch sight of the Goat, having elected the rooftop of one of the surrounding buildings as a vantage point. He, Akoman's emissary and their closest guard all loomed over the battlefield, keeping their eyes not on the greater scope of the conflict, but on a single figure that was desperately trying to claw its way back to the Fiends' rear guard.

Azazel didn't want to fight, that much was obvious. The marching demons jostled and slapped him away at every turn, with a few worried Toms putting up defensive measures as he approached.

"Don't come any closer!" shouted one of the warthogs, "you don't deserve what I'd do to you if you came close! I know it's not your fault, but we can't stop your curse, right now!"

Teeth clenched, Azazel held back a sob and looked for someone - anyone, really. "Help me," he said, his voice creaking with exhaustion and growing frustration. "Please, won't somebody help me?! Let me through your front lines, at least, I'll be safer!"

One of the Lucians paused after seemingly reverting gravity's pull for a handful of soldiers and effectively tossing them into the sky. "You know as well as I do that this is a risk we cannot take, my boy. Travel along our line, if you can - and try and reach the park's westerly edge. From the Black Goat's line of sight, you will be at the back of the mob. Reach the street, and you may yet hide in one of the buildings. Pick an uninhabited one, the spite you inspire in others would do you no good."

Another one of the Squids apparently hadn't been so lucky in its version of the last few hours. Its clothes were similar, but he looked more haggard, with a grimmer look of resolve burning in its one remaining eye, the other one having been crudely bandaged.

"The Architect's gift of compassion is wasted on the likes of him," he said. "The swiftest mercy would be death.
- Kill him," replied the first Lucian, "and you will lose all distinction with our true foes. All of our Selves shall scorn you.
- I always suspected I may have been too soft with my grandchildren. This war may be an occasion for us to atone, to stake our claim to this Plane of existence in all of Humanity's name!"

Tom Prime shouted at the trio. "Hey, snap out of it! We don't have time for this, and you maybe just gave some of Wrath's collars a good bead on a few decent targets, now!"

He looked back to the closest Marius. "Alright - you and all the other thirsty ones, head back to Sophia's! Don't overdo it with angel blood, and once they pull you back and say it's done, then it's done!"

As he finished, a reddish blur of glinting steel cut across their lines, throwing a few vampires, angels, demons and selkies to the floor, arced upwards and banked back towards their group. One of Wrath's collars, actively questing for a wearer. In seeing this, Tom glanced back at the arguing group.

"Remember Rothchild's Peace-word! This thing's trying to home in on one of us, none of us wants that!"

* * *

Both vehicles transitioned from Lyman's offered coasting glide to burning rubber and full-throttle forward force in a few moments, desperately trying to increase the distance between themselves and the forming waves. While Beelzebub focused on Matriel and worked on using his bloated and hardened abdomen as a spiked bludgeon, Zeke only grew further in size - and strangely enough - in fragrance. Overpowering even Gluttony's now-encroaching  sweetness, he smelled like the most decadent post-meal morsel you could've imagined, something like an unholy mix between powdered sugar, raw fructose, chocolate, honey and rosewater - so much so that even Eustace would find himself grasping at the van's rear push-bars and wondering if there maybe wouldn't be away for them to turn around and sample some of that unnameable deliciousness...

Not that it was destined for them, obviously. Beelzebub's flies took the bait, however, and descended into and onto Lyman with renewed furor, the Hell-Hog merely standing there with his mouth opened and arms held out in invitation. Between Matriel's downpour or Zeke's apparent nepenthe, the minor Fiends had no compunctions against throwing their lives away as they sank past linen and flesh alike - never to re-emerge.

Zeke kept growing, now standing about on par with one of the Pit's distant mountaintops, the remote peaks of Leviathan's unchartered and tortured domain. Even with his voice kept at a conversational level, it bounced and reverberated against the Plane's lurid cloud cover like thunderclaps in a storm.

'"Desperation and petrichor," he said, alluding to Matriel's produced deluge, "such an intriguing combination! I sense notes of joy, as well - and rising, righteous fury. A memorable taste if there ever was one."

The righteous fury he'd mentioned would soon become obvious, as Beelzebub's closest allies surged past the Hog and Matriel, working to delay both vehicles and to seal their fate in the Throne's own torrential waves. Envy's thralls screeched after them - but Ereshkigal felt every ounce of Zeke's surprisingly quiet and private joy. It reminded her of her years of active worship, recalled the old thrill of battle and bloodshed she'd long since put aside for more constructive pursuits...

Nergal's spouse had always looked human, since Archie and Crystal had first met her. In fact, it was a bit of an enigma Archie had wanted to eventually crack, seeing as Nergal so openly wore his own nature. Not that he'd need to ask, however, as the quiet plips of dripping blood on polyester seats were soon heard.

"Are you alright, miss Galbraith?" he asked, hesitating perhaps just a tad too obviously. That earned him an almost literally steely glare from the rear-view mirror. When Erin smiled, her teeth now were shaped like dagger tips, her eyes turning to a sickly blend of bright green and vivid yellow. Varicose veins bloomed from her temples, even as what looked like thin metallic fronds pushed their way past her hair.

"Never better," she said, something to her tone chilling Archie to the core. She turned to Nergal, who guided the van into as straight a line as he could before looking away to exchange a dangerously long liplock with his wife. To Crystal and Bob, the van's air had gone from the wafts of Lyman's self-indulgence to aggressive, inhuman notes of tumescence.

"Hey," shouted Bob, "less making out and more steering us! Who's opening that damn portal, already?!"

Erin parted from Nergal with a snarl that quickly recomposed itself into a disappointed moue. "That's on me," she said. "The thralls are on us - Nergal can produce anything you'd need. On my cue, fling the van's doors open and unload everything you've got on the fuckers! We'll be close to the city's front lines and we can't let a swarm of Envy Thralls get to Walpurgis!
- What about Ezekiel and Matriel?" asked Archie, to which Erin smirked back, almost murderously.

"They'll take the scenic route out, if Matriel doesn't mind sweeping Hostess Godzilla back into the mortal plane!"

* * *

They'd barely entered the bailey that shouts were already heard relaying Herbert and Aspasia's instructions. Pride was apparently serious about using the skin of under-performing Pitspawn as leather, seeing as "Gressil"'s request was immediately relayed. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Herbert thought this amusing, seeing as he'd always been of the more indolent or corporate-inspired persuasion of Evil. He'd never needed that kind of posturing before, but was beginning to understand why those Pride Knights he'd worked with in the past had never questioned him...

Followed a few minutes of keeping an eye on the growing rows of retrieved prisoners and slaves, waiting for the keeper's signal before inspecting the lot. Aspasia and Meris would therefore have plenty of time to take mental notes on the structural weaknesses of Pride's usual beach-heads - and there were plenty. The front gate was the most bombastically secure point along the outer perimeter, obviously. Pride could be expected to treat moats, portcullises and massive double doors as tactical "money shots" of sorts, while using shoddier masonry along the rear-most curve of the keep and a single iron grill. It still had wards reinforcing it and would have shrugged off a mundane tank, to be certain, but Aspasia and Meris' respective experiences came complete with several other  displays of concussive force that would've been cheap enough to procure and effective enough at either punching through the weak bricks or the lone rear grill.

Of course, Elysium-era hover-tanks had been dismantled or put up for display in various museums around the world, but technology had continuously improved, nevermind like somehow of Amazo or Meris' stripe would've found it easy to conjure a massive shaft of horizontal force to punch through obstacles. If they could seize the local artifact allowing for the creation of rifts, they'd be able to cut off the Pit from Earth for at least a few minutes, and maybe reverse-engineer a way to hop over to the other surrounding keeps.

Eventually, Herbert's self-aggrandizing banter with the keep's blacksmith was interrupted by the keeper, a slightly stouter Pride Knight who looked a little too banged-up for front-line duties. "The wretches await you, Milord," he said, his voice dripping with obvious suspicion.

Out in the bailey waited fifty souls of either anthro, human, Fae or Void Weaver origin, all of them brought to their knees and all of them shackled together in a single, bending line. A few manacled demons also speckled the lot, something to their torn clothes suggesting they'd tried to rebel or had once been part of Magnus Tower's hopefuls. They'd maybe been lured outside following the recent attack, the least combat-ready ones having been quickly captured. The Squids had been outfitted with chokers that glowed with Infernal power, likely rendering their wearers mute.

Herbert felt something... new stir in his chest, like incipient guilt. He knew they wouldn't be able to save everyone, but his professional standards had had months to be slowly, steadily reshaped by human morals. He wanted to ask the keeper to send the whole lot through the rear gate in a procession he'd lead, only to slip out of the Plane with the entire lot as soon as they'd be out of sight. He also knew they couldn't risk it.

So, he started by scanning for Cacus, whose humanoid and dragon-like physique he spotted after a few rows. "This one," he said, pointing. "Bring him to us."

Cacus apparently saw through the Veil, but had mere seconds to go from disbelief to a beaming smile, before the keeper slapped a backhand across the back of his skull. "Stop gawking, you old goon, and go to new masters!" he said. Cacus took a few spat-covered steps, only to turn back and gesturing towards his neck. He also couldn't speak, and wondered if they wouldn't mind letting him loose. That earned him another slap.

"Like I'd let you part with your old friends; you'd have them at our throats again in an instant! We've learned, old man - and the Goat should've never gifted you with cognition, much less speech!"

Picking up the tattered remains of a tam o' shanter and with a torn kilt that earned him jeers from the Knights he passed, Cacus shuffled towards Herbert, Meris and Aspasia, now consciously trying to look as pitiful as possible. He looked a bit like an anthro dragon of smaller size and of a vivid crimson tint, with a formerly immaculate ring of facial hair having now been left to grow into scruffy and uneven patches along his jawline, and a three-piece sweater vest combo that had definitively seen better days. Meris wouldn't recongnize any specific clan's tartan in the demon's kilt, even if the thickness of some of the lines and their disposition looked a bit like Clan Fraser's or Clan Macleod's - both of them having had chapters on the Isle of Skye and having lived in close proximity with Western dragons. There wasn't much in the way of blue or green to it - typical tones for a kilt - Cacus having instead gone for a profusion of reds, burnt oranges and earthen browns. A few of the guards couldn't hold back a guffaw as a gust of wind pushed the fabric against the demon's thighs and exposed his backside to his former tormentors.

Once his face was out of sight, Cacus raised a finger at his collar, shrugged apologetically and winked at the trio, after which he dipped his shoulders again and did his best to look as apprehensive as could be.

A few more seconds passed, Herbert forcing his regrets back down as he pointed at a peculiar group of Squids. They hadn't been separated, but all of them were gagged, with a few of them wearing what would probably look like Oxford University blazers again, after five or six Brimstone-removing power washes. One of them was a little taller, with medium-length tendrils pressed into a straight line, fear obviously pushing them all to suppress their tentacles' usual myriad of small involuntary movements.

"What are expatriates doing so close to an American Rift?" he asked. The keeper shrugged.

"They're stubborn types - they tore through eight squads of ours in trying to escape. We caught them in the airport's terminal, just outside Providence. Some sort of musical theory symposium or convention, what have you - they were set for a departing flight to London, before we tore the East Coast open. They'd put a waiting lounge's gaggle of mortals to sleep and then did a number on those eight successive squads I mentioned.
- What was their payload?" asked Herbert. "Standard insanity?
- If you can call it that," snorted the older Knight. "Anyone that heard their... song, if you like, simply - changed, turned into one of the traitorous lot back outside, with their insultingly polished armors and capes. I only heard echoes, myself - but I've never heard anything like this coming from Void Weavers. They usually sound like the shriek of the Damned paired with something offensive, like gurgles or - whatever else, really. We've all seen what happens when one of us gets too close and catches an earful - but these ones? They were singing old hymns, believe it or not. Gregorian ones, I think."

Herbert narrowed his eyes. Squids from Oxford who sang in a Gregorian formation... How strange, he thought.

"Was there any faith to their hymns?
- If faith is what turned our brethren into the so-called Legion of Burning Suns, then I'd say so, yes," finished the keeper, adding a desultory spit towards the ground. "If it weren't for them, we'd still be holding the airport terminal. Now the Legion has a holdout outside of Hope."

Arranging his features into a moue, Herbert glanced at "Morguse" and affected a bit of a sadistic grin. "I think you'll have fun with these ones, my dear..."

Taking that for a request, the keeper had the group brought forth. One of the Squids was taller than the others by a good two inches and had something close to the pallor of the Architect's own chamberlain that Meris had met. If anything, he looked surprisingly like the idea Lucian and the other rebels had of their ancestors, before their corruption. The smaller ones looked haggard and ragged, but he held another one by the forearms and guided him forward, keeping his eyes on the group.

Not knowing who Morguse truly was, the Squid sustained her gaze with his head held high, as if daring her to harm him. Anyone could see he was the other three's leader, or at least the one among them who hadn't been too seriously abused. Beyond a few bruises, he looked like that same glance of his had been enough to dissuade most Knights from doing more than occasionally yank on his chains.

* * *

Nybbas scoffed at that. "Wow, that's a blast from the past! Or future! Whichever."

Shaking his head, he poofed out of existence and reappeared right beside Moloch's head, hanging upside down. "Hiya, Moloch!" he said, grinning as though the goons hadn't turned back around to trail their guns on him. "Still wanna grind your way to an untraceable Ascension ritual, eh? You do know it'd be easier if you just gave up on all this, went back to regular old demonic evil and, well-"

He couldn't finish, as he was grabbed by the shirt and ascot tie and pulled in closer, which resulted in a choking sound. Moloch kept the same cheeseball tone even if his grip obviously was the stuff of someone who'd been aggravated by Nybbas before. "You know," said the bull, his tone conversational, "it really is a shame that Mab's taint didn't stick to a few Fauns, post-mortem. You Fell, turned all nice and feral - and then Solomon got it in his fool head that he'd need a courtier. You might've made it back to something close to your old ancestry, Nybbas, but you're still the same old annoying runt as before."

Moloch raised his other hand and conjured an arc of lightning in it. "Who's up for barbecued mountain goat?"

Moloch also couldn't finish, as a defiant shout rang out from one of the rooftops across the street, followed by a loud grunt of effort - and a gray-colored cannonball arcing down from the rooftop, in the form of Wallace Doherty delivering an acutely-placed elbow drop in the bull's ribcage. Despite his girth, he half-slid and half-stood off of the bull in almost the same instant, gripped him by the lapels and tossed him towards his own goons. Standing up, they'd see Doherty had probably managed to crack Nickar's warding formulas with some help, and now wore period-appropriate gray linen, paired with a fedora and domino mask. A lapel pin waiting against his breast, shaped like a set of double-H initials rendered in a flat and dynamic angle, one of the two H's horizontal bars evoking a handle. Only then did he notice the others.

"Well," he scoffed, his beady eyes glaring at them from the mask, "I'd say it's about damn time, isn't it?! Help me with this buffoon, and then we're heading back to where there's smartphone service!"

He didn't have time to sit and wait for replies, the smooth muscles on the sides of his bulbous head shifting as he heard gun hammers being cocked. Snarling, he tossed his entire weight into his own legs and barreled towards them, bullets merely bouncing off of flesh that seemed to behave like solid and shaped rubber. 

Previously, Doherty would've retreated to the corners of whatever public space he would've been in, only to later excoriate any involved superhumans and supernaturals for being disruptive. Despite his police force record, he'd never been an extraordinary combatant. Now, however, he moved the way only seasoned fighters knew heavyset opponents could move - and that was blindingly fast. It wasn't balletic or even exactly graceful, but it had the pull-no-punches quality of an MMA fighter with no restrictions about which part of the body to use to strike, or which ones to cripple or immobilize, coupled with the ability to soak in damage in a way Lucifer or even Haraldson wouldn't have seen in that many people from their contemporary timeline.

Manifesting his trident, Lucifer advanced and did his best to try and cover for Wallace, while Magnus took post in front of the dropped vault, Aldergard's old axe drawn. Having stood up, Moloch started for his pilfered loot and stopped at the Draugr's sight, smirking.

"I've got enough arcane capital at my fingertips to tamper with the likes of you, Guardian. The story goes that old Odin asked Hela to act regardless of her spite and to grace Scandinavia with protectors, if the Black Dog ever were to grow absent for too long. Have you ever seen what happens to dead flesh like yours when it's exposed to a healing spell?"

Magnus' stance shifted slightly, but didn't falter. Moloch's right hand glowed with a golden light and he extended it forwards. "Cold, dead flesh depends on its own status to maintain itself. If I were to reintroduce the warmth of life in you, you'd start sweating blood, spinal fluids and brain juice within moments. It's like thawing out an old steak - Lilith never planned for one of her proudest creations to leave its position in the circle of life."

The vampire gritted his teeth. "You talk too much," he muttered in Norwegian, after which he glanced back at Nami, and did his best to mutely direct her attention to the mob's cars. They weren't exactly high-tech fixtures, but maybe Nami would still be able to get something out of the two BMC Minis and the single Edsel Moloch's group had used...

* * *

Abdiel had only just spoken that the usual footsteps-as-gunfire rattle of a Supernatural barrelling down a hallway at top speeds was heard. The auditorium's double doors were slammed open with perhaps slightly too much force, and a trailing gust of wind pushed loose papers into the room along with a few eddies of dust. Matthias d'Aubignier stood in the doorway, labcoat on and stained glasses awkwardly perched on his nose, his reinforced Guildmate's fingernails making quiet squeaking and scratching noises against the doors' glass panes. Only then did the one who'd exposed vampires to the world after a long and illicit career as a scientist capping centuries of monastic life speak, and it was as awkward as you could've expected.

"We have them!" he said, blinking as the stunned men, women and other creatures only blinked back.

"Have what, Monsieur d'Aubignier?" asked Amaterasu, sounding like she'd been there before and had oceans of patience still left.

"The Gates," he replied. "All of our operatives along the Ways post as green, a few of them notified us to their possible tardiness. Hell's auditors are everywhere, and finding fifteen spare minutes for unsanctioned Gate travel is nearly impossible, but they all did the best they could. Starting now, and for a variable amount of time, nearly every Gate across Europe and some thirty-seven of the major ones in North America - all of them are pointing towards Hope. We have three Gates for Russia, a single one for China and two for Japan."

There came a single second of shocked silence as this was digested, followed by the assembly exploding. Pericles clapped his hands and motioned for silence.

"We will only reach Hope in time if we proceed cautiously. There's no need to jostle anyone or trample one another - we'll leave here presently, and you'll all recover your belongings. We'll then reconvene in Sidhe Affairs' portal room and make the trek in small groups. We all have fifteen minutes to return home, gather our troops and head out for Hope, so we'll need to think on our selections as we go..."

Pericles kept going even as he followed his own example and gathered his things. In the meantime, Enlil lightly pinched Abdiel's elbow. "You should both travel by Gate ahead of the others," he said. "Pride probably knows to expect your own translocation abilities, and I'll want to reconnoiter ahead. Some of us are old and powerful enough, but still lack guidance on the battlefield. They'll do better if I scout ahead with you."

Nodding, he gestured for Melmoth and Abdiel to follow him. No matter how sane they'd become, the Jabberwocky were still eccentric, and a fair few of them clearly couldn't wait to storm back down to their quarters to think up a few things to ruin the Pitspawn's day...
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

Post by TennyoCeres84 »

Aislinn warily eyed the crimson blur speeding around in the vicinity and looked back to the quarreling Void Weavers with a frown. She added to Tom's warning, "Stay focused on the Peace-word, please!"

She ventured closer to the haggard-appearing Lucian and sighed, "I don't know what happened to the Meris in your universe, but I know the one here wouldn't want you to lash out at Azazel! Attempting to kill him wouldn't be a mercy; it would be a bloodbath for us all! Meris wouldn't want that!" she implored.

***

To counteract Beelzebub's attack, Matriel had shed his flesh and blood appearance for something more elemental. He still retained a humanoid shape, but the gigantic fly's beatings only caused ripples and temporary disturbances to his form.

Given that his hardened belly was exposed, the Throne directed an enormous arc of lightning to strike his exoskeleton, to burn and tear into him. The bolt acted like a searing hot blade slashing at him.

Crystal grimaced slightly at Erin's sudden transformation and looked back at the angel's retaliation of the Prince. "Ready whenever you're giving the signal!" she responded, drawing her rifle that she had been supplied.

***

The sight of the pallid, defiant Void Weaver that reminded her of the Architect's Chamberlain made her brows rise lightly, as she didn't want to cause too much of a stir with her reaction. She didn't bother to do anything to him other than sustain his gaze before smiling meanly. "That's an interesting trick for these wretches. I'm sure we'll either have fun with them or make good use of them. Maybe turn them over to that Chamberlain fellow, if they get too troublesome," she mused with a lurid glare at the Squid.

Aspasia had spent the time the keeper had been discussing the Void Weavers to discretely survey the perimeter. The back wall was obviously the most vulnerable, judging by the quality of the bricks and mortar in contrast to the strongly defended front. She gently provided an image of the rear of the fortress being demolished to Herbert and Meris.

Meris responded with her own plan by depicting them leaving with Cacus, the Void Weavers, and Riona. Another mitt-like transport carried them to the rear. The sight of created microphones being given to the dragon-like demon and the Void Weavers followed with the sight of the other prisoners rising up and the fortress' walls combining with their combined vocal presence. The guards' dark armor became bright and highly polished, effectively turning them into more support for the Legion of Burning Suns. All of this was conveyed quietly, in order to not grab the demons' attention. From there, they could gain control of the Elysium hover-tanks to either shut down the portals or use it to hop elsewhere.

Gressil proceeded to look for Riona in the line of prisoners, curious to see what shape the old banshee was in.

***

Nami took note of Magnus's glance and eyed the three vehicles. She quickly wondered over how she could override them and use them to their advantage, an idea coming to light.

The horns of each vehicle began to blare loudly, while the Nephilim began quietly uttering Enochian until the angelic words fused with the high-pitched squawks. Molloch and his minions would start to feel disoriented, the bull particularly so. He would find it increasingly difficult for him to retain his focus over his magic and control of the arcane artifacts. The warmth the vampire felt emanating from the anthro's hand would start to dissipate and leave their foe open to attacks.

While they would have found their minds feeling scrambled, Nami launched forward and slashed at the bull with her remorse-laden sword.

***

Feeling her inner fires start to be piqued for the coming re-entry to Hope, Abdiel followed after Enlil with Melmoth. "What have the Jabberwocky been working on that would aid us in our return to Hope?" she asked.
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Karl the Mad
 

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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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Marius Prime nodded his thanks, and waved his duplicates onward to find their sustenance. The various old men swiftly made their way to the rear lines, where the angelic donors waited, and went about feeding with efficiency and gratitude. Since there were enough volunteers, he reckoned all of him ought to refresh themselves, and when the current lot went back at it he had the rest duck back as well.

One of him, who had been singed across his face and still held tight to a blackened enemy spear, gestured at the building and grunted; peering up there, he saw the Goat and his attendants, and glancing to where their attention was directed, saw the Scapegoat. "What is the deal with that mewling coward?" he said to himself, "why is everyone giving him such a berth?" The singed Marius only shrugged and grunted again, and peering more closely at him, Marius Prime noticed ancient scars across his neck and throat; this one, apparently, had his throat cut shortly before dying, and thus could not speak.

"...I guess we all have our stories," Marius Prime said sympathetically, to which the mute one nodded and mimed laughter. "What should we do about the Goat, then?"

A third Marius finished feeding and approached them. "Go after him, maybe? All this seems pointless to me, and I know the others are in agreement."

"No, it might be a trap." Marius Prime sounded decisive. " We need to stay focused, here. Ignore the Scapegoat, focus on disabling the portals and harassing their spellcasters. Turn their weapons and powers against them. And for Lilith's sake, stay away from those collars. Remember the old man's brainpeace thing." There was some grumbling, but they knew that acting in accord would win the day, so they went back into the fray with all the rejuvenated mojo they could muster! As before, they focused on disabling spellcasters and turning their Hellfire against the enemy, or to shutting off the portals as fast as they were summoned up. And of course they put their blinding speed and punishing strength to use in hit-and-run assaults, acting as strikers and assassins in the midst of the chaos.
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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"We obviously don't share the same Meris," groused the bandaged Lucian, who tightened his jaw before pushing Azazel's elbow away. "Get him out of my sight while you still can. If you start to feel his curse's pull, you can't say I won't have warned you."

Lucian Prime, looking both worried and disappointed, managed to catch Azazel's attention. "Alright - go, now. The westerly edge, in one of the abandoned buildings.
- Why won't you help me?!" replied the caprine demon, who'd probably been expecting something more substantial.

"We are helping you," the Squid replied, as quietly as the surrounding din allowed, pausing to push back a wave of irrational resentment he felt welling forth from some shadowed corner of his mind. "The sooner you leave us, the sooner we will avoid unfortunate repercussions.
- That won't work," replied the demon, "he's planned for this! Even alone, even when I know they're not looking, I feel eyes on me! I feel the blame and the hatred - and it never stops."

Rothchild's temper flared, but he caught himself before belting out more than an impatient "Now, see here-!", carefully exhaled and joined his hands together in supplication. "We are doing everything in our power, at present. I understand that your predicament makes torture out of your very existence, but we both know your lashing out would do no good in the immediate. If your curse is to be lifted, you must remain in our allies' good graces. Aislinn, Tom and myself would only ask that you subtract yourself from any and all such situations which may aggravate you, until such time as we can help you in earnest."

Azazel looked like it took everything he had to avoid hugging Lucian. Rothchild then placed a hand on his shoulder. "Now, slip past the front guard and follow their backs. Keep them to your left, and you'll reach the street. Avoid unnecessary contacts, and try and use what you can, once across the street, to set your mind elsewhere. I know nothing short of freeing you shall alleviate your pain, but in the immediate, dulling it will have to suffice."

Azazel slowly and reluctantly turned away, looking back to the group in mute supplication every so often. It was hard to keep track of his progress with the added need to confront the enemy, but Tom Prime eventually was able to place a hand on Aislinn's shoulder and to point off towards the right side of the park.

"He's made it!" he shouted over the din. "Let's hope his emotional pressure cooker lasts for more than a few minutes!"

As for Marius, the flow of battle had taken him to the largest portal to the rightmost flank of the enemy forces, where he'd catch sight of a few oddly familiar-looking Fiends running some sort of review process in the keep's bailey... The portcullis was drawn and the gates, opened - which would make it easy for him to see if a more concerted strike against the enemy's point of ingress would be possible.

* * *

Erin lowered her side's window and slipped out of it, sitting on its edge while Nergal used a hand to keep his wife stabilized. After a few seconds spent testing her balance, she felt confident enough to let go of the van and raised both hands to her side, as if embracing the wind that buffetted her hair. She gathered her power and Lyman's borrowed joy, sensed it coursing along her limbs, and finally opened her eyes. She threw her arms forward in the same motion, screaming as she did - and the sound she produced had nothing human to it. It sounded like a thousand swords clashing, metal scraping on metal in some cavernous, steel-lined space and reverberating with the furor of the once-powerful Damned. The air rippled around her outstretched arms, a myriad of swords, knives and daggers seemingly manifested out of thin air and surging further ahead of the van. The wave of steel seemingly cut into Reality itself a few yards ahead, opening a vaguely conical gash that let out familiar smells. Desert rain and descending heat, radiating concrete and gasoline - Walpurgis was just ahead of them, now. Still, Erin wasn't done.

The waves of steel she'd conjured didn't simply pass through into the material plane, but instead arched away as they made their cuts, flowing upwards and away from the van, reaching for its rear and then surging towards Matriel and Ezekiel's respectively massive forms, slipping past them with the din of flying ballistic projectiles displacing air. Taking this to be the signal, Bob kicked the van's doors down and opened fire on whatever Thralls Matriel's downpour, Ezemial's hunger or Ereshkigal's furor didn't decimate. Eustace and Archie might've been silent gunmen on average, but there was something to the fallen goddess' scream that spoke to something righteous and primal they both happened to share. It felt as though Nergal's wife were wordlessly denouncing the sheer arrogance of those who thought to stop them, even the usually guarded spy finding something to it to connect to. How dare anyone presume of his native realm's destiny, much less that of the city he called home?!

And so Bob screamed, and so did Archie and Eustace, spitting as much hot lead, guilt-charged projectiles and excess heat as they did imprecations and curses.

Obviously, they were too far off to reach Beelzebub, with the big fly being largely Matriel and Zeke's shared target. Their picking off the swarm, however, allowed Zeke to focus on the Prince - and to keep growing. As he did, so did his overall confidence in the situation, blasé laissez-faire turning to casual focus - and then to mild aggravation. As this overtook him, Zeke found himself gripping Zebub by the throat with a single hand.

"Honestly, dear Prince," he said, "I'd pity you if you weren't so beneath me. All the hunger in the world has no value if it has no color or texture.
- I'M THE ONE WHO SHOULD BE LEAVING HERE," replied the fly, "NOT YOU!"

Zeke shrugged. "You can't leave if you're sated. Let's do just that, hm?"

Having said this, he plunged the fly into Matriel's waters head-first, keeping the Prince under the water line even as he thrashed. Gluttony incarnate couldn't exactly drown in the Waters of Creation, but it could drink its fill - drink of part of the stuff of Life until all needs were extinguished. Thousands of years ago, God had asked Matriel to intercede in the favor of a seemingly anodyne Nazarene, someone with dreams of peace worthy of being conjoined in Heaven's constantly-revised design. He'd hacked a simple clay cup, had turned it into a boundless vessel filled with the purest extract of life-giving water in the known cosmos. 

To someone without any particular needs, that water was just that - water. To someone with aching and desperate needs, the Holy Grail would've been Nirvana in a cup, the termination of all torturing desires, the essence of Stoicism in drinkable form. The Christians had conflated this with immortality, but they'd been half-wrong. Having no needs, if you were a mortal, simply freed you to act in your own best interests, and in the community's. It freed you to enrich yourself as an individual. No angel would've delivered eternal life on a platter to Mortalkind - this was more Lucifer's province - but quietude was something Matriel was free to impart. 

The catch was, of course, that mortals could know peace. As a consequence of their own choices, however, the Princes couldn't. If you satiated Gluttony, you ended it. Ezemial was provincial enough to appreciate the finer points of excess, but his former creditor had no such luck. Zebub's abdomen swelled, his limbs thrashed, his compound eyes gleamed as his facets took nothing in except torrential currents - and he eventually surrendered.

* * *

Aspasia wouldn't need much to realize that the Knight out in front hadn't lied: Riona wasn't currently in the keep. She'd catch sight of a lightly-armored messenger leaving from the rear with Herbert's message in tow, heading for the larger structure they'd spied on, earlier. The bànfaith wasn't here, but the Goat was already confident enough to put her only a short trek away. With the Goat's seals having been used to give weight to the message, the transfer was bound to be expedient. 

Of course, the risky part of their gamble involved the use of said seals of authority. If someone relayed these sham orders to the Goat, he'd obviously realize he'd been played. That was neither here nor there, however, and the Squids and Herbert's old boss both came complete with their own perks that might mitigate this.

For the moment, however, Herbert handed the handpicked slaves' chains to Meris. "Step aside for a few moments," he asked of her, "check on their overall condition. I know how much the hardiness of your servants matters to you, Morguse. I will spend a few moments to check on the others."

Obviously, he intended to facilitate things for the others' eventual extraction. Taking stock of who could walk, who could run or fight, and who would require assistance only made sense in the grander scheme of things.

Once taken aside, however, the taller Weaver softly motioned as if to prevent Meris from checking on his collar. His tentacles lightly bristled as his mind touched hers. She'd catch imprints of Oxford's Medieval campus, of stained-glass windows and equations scribbled on acid-etched glass that served as a whiteboard, the smell of old books and the sound of a ticking metronome-

The Void Weaver's mind had a light Received English inflexion, more modern than Lucian's, if less flexible - the sort of accent you would've found across English university towns across the last several decades. A bookish set of thirty-something years, then - but no sense of his having ascended from Dalarath, strangely enough. It could be that the Squid was merely being a little guarded - an understandable approach in this situation - but something did feel a tad off.

"It was smart of you to rely on your demonic friend for concealment," he said. "I sense you wouldn't have needed the help, however."

A flash of the Dobson Organ in Merton College, bathed in a shaft of sunlight pooling in from the chapel's windows. A lectern carrying a modern fake-book for choir ensembles, notes in a bespoke neutralized variant of the Black Speech passing for illegible chicken-scratch on the back of a few pages, sharing space with more equations and several geometric doodles.

"I was called Penfield by those who found me. Penfield Hilliard. I believe you are who I was laid to rest in order to wait for."

His eyes narrowed slightly as his mind caressed her own. It didn't exactly feel the same way Nereus or Lucian used to establish telepathic contact, but it felt similar - like a different gesture that accomplished the same function as a handshake, like a squinting of the eyes offered by Inuit natives to someone who would've expected a bombastic Western grin. Surprise and puzzlement flickered across his features, which he quickly recomposed.

"So it's true," he said, his tone evoking simple acknowledgement rather than awe. "Merath was reborn."

Cacus' own mental presence didn't so much slip in as it barged in, as if someone had kicked in the doors to Merton College's chapel and let in a weird mix of aromas, like sulfur and peat moss, cold stone and tobacco - quiet respect and reverence stepping aside to let a more boisterous presence take its demanded space. Cacus didn't feel too bothered by his latest travails, and felt the type to even express outrage and the desire for revenge with a great, big grin plastered on his face.

"So that's your ploy, huh? Break us out and slip away with the Banshee in tow? Bold, lass - very bold! 'Course, it might get'cha killed, but it'll at least make for a fun story... I'd lend a hand right now, but I was one of Pride's first real subalterns and we hadn't figured out how to project our own Ego. Bertie's a youngster compared to me, he's got a deeper bag of tricks than I do. I'll only be of any real use to this if you find some way to let me speak."

A fourth presence crept in, Herbert almost daintily casting a glance across the disturbed English mindscape, his usual suit re-tailored to fit wide shoulders and a narrow waist, his gestures looking almost mincing. 

"If I might, most of the prisoners seem physically able, but I've noted a few who will require assistance. Some would not survive an assault from our allied troops. Seizing this place for ourselves would be more tactically sound, on the long term. I suggest we relay our findings to Magnus and McConmara, once we step back into the mortal plane. Hopefully, Drake and the others will have been able to repel the front attack-"

Cacus didn't let him finish, however. "Herbert Mallory Wormsworth, what in Phlegeton's churning mud are you doing with that kind of muscle mass on you?!"

Herbert tried to affect a vaguely ingénue-worthy smile. "Oh, this? I thought I'd test the waters, so to speak. How would Hope's disenfranchised supernaturals feel, in being represented by a native of Pride in peak physical form, I wonder...
- Ye look more ridiculous than I did the last time I had to possess a dead Celt and run naked into battle!" retorted Cacus, "And I'm the one who enjoys kilts! The mortals might swallow mild athleticism, but after Allocer, the last thing a good chunk of people are going to want to see is a muscle-bound Hellspawn in a tight-fitting two-piece!"

Meris would then witness a more contained application of Cacus' own power, as the old cabinet chairman's features became almost brazenly sympathetic, even if she'd feel that the unspoken call to lower all defenses and trust him implicitly wasn't directed at her. There was something to his projected muzzle, the ring of facial hair that lined it at the bottom, the visible teeth, half-lidded eyes and arched eyebrows that felt as though a sleazy car salesman had had eons to become a master at their craft, abandoning all cheeseball affectations and growing dangerously convincing, when it came to imparting others with a measure of self-confidence. Even his voice suddenly oozed with a sense of gently placating Reason, as if Cacus were Herbert's wizened elder and had to quell the youngster's flights of fancy.

"Come on, now - you've never needed two hundred-and-some pounds of extra muscle to close cases with some of Uriel's best friends, now, didn't you? Save yourself the hassle of having everything physical retailored, I gather you've already got a blown-out penthouse to renovate. Let's be sensible, hm?"

Herbert hesitated, as it was obvious he'd tasted of Cacus' inhuman charisma in the past. His own mantle of Pride briefly flared. "I believe I could better help those people I've chosen to represent, if I looked like this!"

Cacus clicked his tongue, effectively chiding him without adding a word. "The Goat's never needed muscles before," he then said, as a sort of self-interjection. "What does it say about your own charge of Pride or your own cabinet, if you feel pressured into adding literal bulk to your courtroom presence? There's a reason as to why we let the Knights flaunt their washboard abs, my boy, and as to why we flaunt the leaner silhouettes of the clerical world."

Wormsworth tsked. "Leaner silhouettes, my eye. If I recall correctly, you're the one who's sported a paunch since the Scots discovered grain alcohol...
- I'm a demon, boy - I'm allowed my moderate vices. Now, then; don't make me ask our friend the Archmage in disguise to deflate you like a balloon once we'll be out of sight."

Pouting like the defeated snob he was, Wormsworth adjusted his mental projection back into his usual lankier self. "I suppose it's good to see you in such high spirits, then, Cacus. Should I notify my colleague of your assuming the cabinet's Chairman responsibilities?"

Cacus looked out of the manifested church's doors as though Hell were outside. "I'd rather do what I can for now and then be placed on retainer. I've had my fill of taking orders from preening popinjays and their lackeys," he groused, which made Herbert hesitate.

"Bune did not assist you in this rebellion of yours?"

Cacus was silent for a mite longer than would've been comfortable, looking off into the mid-space between Aislinn and Penfield as though those few feet held answers to existential questions. "Bune sold me out, lad," he replied, his burr sounding rougher than earlier - more wounded, perhaps.

* * *

They were decades before the rythmic blasts of electronics-based car alarms, so the jalopies shouldn't have been able to honk repeatedly like they did - and it effectively terrified Moloch's goons, who dumbly turned and blasted their own rides, before the repeated noises would prove to be just as overwhelming to them as they were to the passer-bys on the streetwalk across.

As for Moloch, his efforts to try and overpower Magnus were effectively halted, his hands flying to his smallish ears as he grunted in pain. "Blasted angels!" he seethed, "so sanctimonious, so proud when they're no-shows!"

He obviously wanted to redirect his power into something offensive, but had been prepping a healing salve to use offensively against the Draugr. That forced him into a few seconds' worth of added lag - long enough for Haraldson to close the distance and try for a slash across the bull anthro's recoiling arm, and for Nami's own attack to add another slash from the opposite angle. Haraldson's didn't connect as intended, but he still managed a slash across Moloch's tuxedo shirt, staining it with blood. The self-styled villain obviously didn't appreciate. From shock, Moloch turned to seething rage, and then to a sadistic smile.

"I'll have fun getting your numbers, chums," he crooned, reaching into his pie-tailed jacket to fish out something from it - or a handful of something. A few pebbles escaped his grasp, unknown runes marking each of them. "We're leaving, boys!" he called, raising a hand to protect himself even as Lucifer tried pelting him with bolts from his trident.

Moloch - or at least, some version of him - was native to a universe Amazo knew well. "It's a porta-portal!" he yelled. "Single-use; it'll activate if all the stones touch the ground in close proximity! Prep our exit, Nybbas!
- It's Mister X, while we're here!" shot back the caprine demon, who more or less Nightcrawler'd his way out of sight. A few heartbeats later, the onlookers gasped at the sight of a roughly man-sized slit in Reality forming in the middle of the street, the modern day's Brimstone dust and flitting cinders sweeping out into 1959's pristine asphalt, the two color palettes bleeding together garishly.

Wallace, in the meantime, held one of Moloch's goons by their collar and looked back to Nami with a mostly blazé expression. "I keep telling him someone who has no registry on any Census records doesn't need to bother with an alias, he doesn't want to hear it."

Nybbas' voice sounded from the modern side of the new portal. "But who's the one who's got Arachnea's number, huh? Who's the one who's got the gossip magasines all fired up?!"

Allocer did what he could to try and get within reach of Moloch, to try and either prevent the bull from throwing his stones, or to prevent the stones from falling too close to one another. He felt a bit like a rear-defense player in a basketball team trying to keep the opposing team's shooter from landing a hoop. "We'll compare our social creds as soon as we get out of here alive, people!" he reminded them.

* * *

Enlil shrugged. "It's anybody's guess, but they've always had a yen for bombing runs. A lot of them are peerless chemists when their brains don't latch onto something meaningless for altogether too long. The narcoleptic one, Theobald Seward, pioneered a line of low-toxicity anesthetics out of a synthetic version of a Jabberwocky's glandular extracts. It dissipates quickly, and he considers it a first step in genetically altering himself so his endorphin receptors aren't so sensitive, and so his brain doesn't knock itself into REM sleep at the first signs of stress."

He glanced at Abdiel. "You've made him sane, however, and there's no telling how much of his drowsiness was some form of disassociation."

Melmoth kept along, following as they took an elevator up to what the LCD panel labelled as the JSSC or the Joint Sidhe Security Council. "You didn't answer her question," he noted. "We all know the Jabberwocky began life as bombers with the Wyrm, but what's left of their martial heritage?"

The Carmilla elder sighed, stepping out of the elevator wordlessly. Without prompt, a pointed-eared pale man with almost corpse-like features and Winter's characteristic chilly countenance handing him a Bullpup rifle he tested and assessed as they walked. "Honestly," he then said, "they still have the morbid desire to find out what would happen to the Pitspawn if they were pelted with glass globes filled with Burble gas. We can expect arcane triggers preventing just about anyone else from being affected, but the other dragons already know to add relief to the front lines' medical supplies. We'll have N95 masks distributed ahead of our advance, just in case."

Melmoth grimaced lightly. "Demons gone bonkers... We'll be fine if it involves the brunt of them going koo-koo for Cocoa Puffs, but if there's more severe derangements on the plate, well... I just wish you having made 'em sane means we'll only have to deal with peculiars and not psychopaths..."
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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Aislinn watched Azazel move farther away from them and quietly hoped that he would be able to maintain his composure when by himself. She watched as a group of her various selves kept their distance away from the demon and walked up to her, getting ready for a rest before they would return to the battlefield. "Are you sure that's wise?" asked an Aislinn, looking somewhat older than Aislinn Prime. Her hair was in a ponytail, and her right arm was a cybernetic prosthetic that had been fitted for aquatic environments.

Aislinn Prime sighed. "It's the best bet we've got at the moment. Not only is this battle a conflict of numbers, but it's also of ideals to an extent. The Goat probably took Azazel under his control at his most vulnerable time, after his death and makes a mockery of everything by forcing the idea of blame onto one individual, when that's not the case."

That Aislinn grimaced at what they were up against and went with the other selkies back to the safety of the tents. Aislinn frowned at Tom and said, "I hope we can deter what the Goat has stacked against us," she said as she watched more selkies slice through the demons with telekinesis and others burned them away,

***

Upon Erin's signal, Crystal fired with the offered rifle and unloaded all of her focused anger in the form of bullets and heat. She swore at the chasing flies and showed them her fury.

With Beelzebub having surrendered, the currently elemental Throne looked over at Ezemial, while he sent a few arcs of lightning at the bugs chasing Ereshkigal and the others to speed up their demise. "Once they're through, I think we can coast along on this flood and wipe out Pride's numbers in Walpurgis. It'll certainly make for a memorable entrance," he said.

***

"So the Goat was sorting the wheat from the chaff, in his mind? Sorting out those who he deemed to be truly loyal to him? And Bune just decided it was worth throwing you aside so he could gain in stature, I take it?" she asked.

"Also, my plan was to have us escape, approach the fortress in secret, and then blast through the rear wall, since it's the main weak point in the structure. I think I could free you and Mr. Hilliard from your collars with a bit of Black Speech. We could take the fortress by getting your friends to overthrow the solders there, along with some singing from you and your friends, Mr. HIlliard," she suggested as she looked back at the Void Weaver.

The Archmage placed a hand on her hip and curiously raised a brow at him. "Who found you, though, and told you to wait for me? I have to say that you remind me of the Void Weavers' appearance before they were tainted by Amaxi's influence. And from what I hear of your singing abilities, it's more on par with them as well.

***

Nami gritted her teeth at the sight of Allocer attempting to block Moloch from throwing the stones and knew that the bull's tenacity would probably win out. She then recalled her trick back at the club of disintegrating the demons. Moloch would probably survive such an attack, as powerful as he was, but that didn't mean he was entirely invulnerable.

She sent a set of Enochian words through the prosthetic at the base of her skull to amplify, as it was the one piece of modern tech that she had on her. The high-pitch screech and whine pulsed through her mind and reached toward her throat. Simultaneously, she sent a quick image of Allocer ducking to the Pride demon himself in order to keep him from getting hit.

The utterance she emanated from her mouth was brief, but strong, angelic linguistics funneled into a piercing sound directed after Moloch's hand and wrist. The unfortunate bull would see his fingers and hand disintegrate, along with the porta-portal stones.

***

Abdiel sighed and shrugged at Enlil and Melmoth and shrugged. "I can't say for sure, but I hope my adjusting of their curse turned their efforts to something more lucid and kind, rather than aggressive and heartless. If nothing else, a strong sedation spell would cease erratic behavior, should it actually happen," she mused as she followed along with them.
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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Marius noted absently that Azazel was off the board, at least for now. Which was a good thing, he guessed? Well, whatever, he had better things to focus on. Like tearing his way through the endless ranks of the enemy, keeping the other old men in line, and in the back of his head, gnawing at the Peace Word that Lucian had detonated on them like some kind of anti-bomb. Maybe one of his other selves had encountered it before, though?

Before he knew it, he was back at the largest rift, and the prison castle was visible once more. An inspection seemed to be happening, though, and the watchmen were... distracted. Interesting, he thought to himself, casually disabling yet another attacking demon. Perhaps they could mount an assault while those in the keep were looking inward? He reached out to his Tom, Aislinn and Lucian and conveyed what he was seeing, and what he thought they could do, using the same instantaneous imagery as before; the keep standing open, and a number of them dashing through to attack it while things were down.
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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Marius would sense Tom's sudden interest, a flash of distraction as some other Pitspawn stole his attention - then followed by keen observation. One of the Lucians had covered him, giving him time to fully focus on Vlastos' offered information.

"Wait, isn't that-"

He'd sense Magnus' incredulous amusement as though it were his own. "Oh, Lucifer; Wormsworth's on the battlefield - and that armor! Who does he think he's-"

A pause, as a few things sunk in. Meris, Aspasia and the lawyer were plotting something. They already knew this front-line keep had supply lines and logistics travelling between it and the main keep, where Riona was being held. Tom could only assume that Meris would know enough not to miss such an opportunity. If they simply left under short-term pretenses, the locals would eventually put two and two together - and if this reached the Goat, any and all efforts into securing the bànfaith could be rendered null and void. They still had the Tree to defend, however...

Closer to the Tree, however, one of the refreshed Mariuses might catch sight of the Goat's head suddenly whipping to the side to bark orders at some of his fellow observing commanders. Someone had relayed information, apparently, and something pertaining to one of the other distant battlefields in the wider world had drastically changed. Whatever that change meant, it altered the demon's posture significantly, stress entering its composition.

* * *

Lucian chimed in, as telepathically polite as the surrounding mayhem allowed. "If I might, if we kept our assault force to our core group, we could conceivably capture the keep defenders' attention. We would need more to effectively storm the place, but if the aim is to simply allow Meris' party to retreat without interruptions, simply pressing their defenses would suffice."

Zeke didn't exactly reply, but instead reclined back into Matriel's offered plane of water and stuck his hands behind his head, his casual whistling bouncing against the stormy cloud cover like thunderclaps. The terrain past the crater his body had occupied allowed for some measure of flowing motion, giving a starting kick to fluids Matriel could've coerced into moving despite the lack of elevation. The Hog's weight and the Throne's currents both surged towards the portal, distance still allowing the two vehicles from slipping into the mortal plane.

The shock was manifest, honestly, as Gluttony's siren song abruptly dissipated from the backs of the group's respective heads, cooling Texas blacktop, predusk skies and sparse desert offering a reprieve from Hell's tortured vistas. The immediate relief wouldn't last, however, as gunfire soon erupted - telltale signs of one of the Army's front-line posts entering a scrape against the Damned. Far off to the west, Walpurgis' own battlefield looked like a field of votive candles on the horizon, swords clashing and portable explosives detonating, the occasional human or demonic scream barely reaching their range of hearing. The human screams, at least, seemed to echo more determination than agony, with Crystal's keen ears allowing her to grasp that most weren't shouting in English. The Valkyries and the Einherjaren were hard at work, dying and rising up over and over if it meant the encroaching horde's infinity could be held at bay. They'd barely notice Zeke closing the portal Erin had opened, and would be too far off to see him reopening it several miles westward, almost right on top of the enemy lines.

They'd still the result, however: a massive, golden slit tearing the sky open across several miles, out of it pouring water enough to evoke the mythical Deluge, white froth swallowing the reds, blacks and ochres of the Damned, raging like the open sea in a storm. Riding the waves was Zeke's massive form, like a passenger in a theme park's flume ride - if you could somehow ride a coaster while looking supremely unconcerned. He simply stood up and began trundling across his former comrades' numbers, picking up battalions the way you could've snatched dried raisins by the fistful in a large bag or container - and tossed them back, chewing on them as though demonic bones and flesh had no real consistency for him to feel. The effect was immediate, as the demons threw themselves back at the remaining US Army corps and their supernatural allies, only to be beat back just as ruthlessly. Either they died by the hand of someone who seemed to act as though there wasn't much of a difference between killing Pitspawn or picking berries, or they were mowed down by mortal ordnance or supernatural steel.

As the back doors of the van were still flapping, they'd all have more than a decent view of the spectacle; Bob letting out an uncharacteristic holler as the second-largest Infernal staging ground turned to complete disarray. Behind them, Belial lifted two fingers from the side of his driver's window in a boy-scout salute and then shifted lanes. Walpurgis' surrounding highways and overpasses were an intentional maze, the flowing beds of concrete following the pattern of Nergal's arcane baseplate, the empty spaces between the whorls here giving way to industrial, commercial or residential plots - all turning and flowing back towards the central plaza of the city's core.

* * *

In the physical aspect of the Infernal plane, Cacus kept to a nicely quiet and submissive pose, letting Meris poke and prod him as she'd like, inspecting him for apparent signs of abuse or disability. In their shared mindspace, however, he gripped the back of one of Penfield's suggested church benches and bowed his head, sighing in frustration. 

"That's the practical answer, yes. The truth of it is Bune's a coward. Between being captured and ruined at my side or respecting Pride's laws, he chose the professional outcome, the one I'd have chosen if I didn't have my own pride to respect. I wasn't made to be subservient and for generations, the Goat accepted my challenging him if it helped forge his Vice's identity. He accepted it until it became inconvenient."

He snorted lightly. "What good is Pride if it doesn't give you a backbone to lean on?"

Hilliard gave Cacus an odd glance; neither entirely empathetic nor calculating, but containing aspects of both. "Your plan seems solid," he replied, looking back to Meris, "but we'll require support for the first few minutes. My colleagues are still in training by my former brethren's standards, and they'll need a while to build up to the effects I'll ask of them. We regrettably had to rely on the airport terminal's traffic to protect ourselves, before being able to overpower the British advance's Knights and their supernatural mantles."

Next to the tall Squid appeared one of the shorter ones, closer in stature to a Dalarath native. His mental projection was a little chunkier than his physical form, a skinny-fat type with lean arms and a narrow chest, but a slightly hanging paunch held in place by a dress shirt and rather drab gabardine pants.

"We're independent anthropologists that spent the last several years scouring Europe for traces of an old Void Weaver legend. Merath and her Augur wanted to store a trump card aside, in the advent of their downfall. They'd seen the Betrayer's tearing at the foundations of our native language mind after mind, and knew the world would eventually need as pure a cipher to the Architect's tools as possible - an untouched mind, hidden away from the Others' worshippers."

He hesitated. "It didn't exactly work as intended. Penfield's grasp of the Tools is pure, but the zealots' assault on our very fabric was so complete that even sleeping or sheltered minds were affected, in the days of our downfall."

Penfield joined his hands together. "My knowledge is fragmentary, but seems reliable. My studying your Medieval and Gregorian musical histories allows me to reinterpret what is still identifiably mine. I've learned of the Gentlemen's own efforts, but have deferred contacting them for the moment. What would emerge could be nearly complete and workable, but this would be too powerful a boon to wield openly, in times like these."

The smaller Weaver nodded. "We found him deep underneath the Church of St. Martin, in Kent. DNA testing confirms he predates even the local Celtic remnants; some old stories suggest he was a gift from Manawydan, the object of an oath of safe-keeping from the local clans to the Knights of fab Llyr. As we have it on record that some Celtic clans referred to us as such, it might be that our ancestors entrusted him to a tomb in the surface world, after Speaking sleep and permanence upon him."

Penfield nodded in assent. "My memories of this last day are fleeting, but I remember the gist of it. I remember volunteering, some fleeting images from my last night with my bond-mate... I remember we treated the Betrayer's first victims like sufferers of a plague and had turned one of the Word Houses into a sickhouse, to quarantine them. We'd taken precautions, even rendered ourselves deaf using air-compression chants. I used to be one of those who wrongfully believed we could simply treat them, eradicate the rooting corruption from my language..."

It was Cacus' turn to offer him an empathetic glance. Hilliard looked away, vague sadness marking his features. "I remember when the first screams and cackles reached our neighborhood. I remember my bond-mate's brother entering my home, knife in hand, his pupils quivering, tentacles shaking, drool staining his robes..."

He didn't continue, but obviously didn't need to. He'd run back to the palace for safety, in all likelihood, ears plugged, eyes wide and tendrils quivering like a cat's whiskers at the slightest change in air pressure. He'd watched while the Augur and his Consort mounted their last stand, possibly only vaguely aware of having been spirited away to a stone corrack and from there, to England's shores, shock having turned the entire sojourn into a dreamlike haze. 

* * *

Allocer ducked in time to save his own hide, but not the tip of his right horn, which was cut as cleanly as though Nami had used a laser cutter. He didn't seem to be in too much pain, however, possibly owing to the fact that while his horns were innervated, the nerve bundles only went so far down the single curl's length. He didn't miss Moloch's body arching back from the sudden shock of seeing his tool-holding hand turn to ash, the bull's showmanship and bravado turning to a glint of rage the former Knight Commander knew not to leave to fester into another series of attacks. Needing something more economical than pulling out one of his guns, he simply turned his ducking gesture into his picking up the length of keratin Nami had cut off and thrust forward with all of his weight, tearing a deep gash into what remained of Moloch's right wrist and forearm. Murderous fury turned to shock, Allocer knowing better than to leave the bull time enough to prepare another strike. Again, he conserved his momentum and simply veered left in the same gesture - he, Doherty, Magnus and Lucifer forming a sprinting single-file through Nybbas' portal.

Nami would've just barely passed through that the smaller demon flashed a sardonic smile. "Bon voyage, Moloch," he called, "see you in seventy years or so!"

They'd only just catch the beginning of Moloch's wordless howl of rage before the portal closed, the Eisenhower years returned to the fog of time and the present still looking dire. The walrus, in particular, had had more than enough time to set his mind elsewhere. Returning to the ruins of his last days as a mundane political official likely felt revisiting the scene of events that had occurred lifetimes ago. Bleary-eyed at the devastation of the exact same street, stunned by the uncomfortably close din of the open war in Centennial Park, he could only remove his domino mask with a shaking hand, the same appendage stopping to cover his mouth.

"I'd forgotten," he  said, in a voice that was too quiet to be customary out of someone as boisterous and blustery as he usually was. "I'd forgotten how bad things would turn out to be..."

His voice was quivering as he looked back to Nami. "I- I feel I should apologize," he said, "for the way I treated Holden Hall. Your colleagues deserved..."

He caught himself, swallowed hard, and began again. "Your colleagues deserve more than my suspicion, more than my scrutiny. More than my closing my eyes and thinking the Deputy Chief's presence would keep things contained. I know that, now. I've done what you do, now, and I can understand. The everyday sacrifices, self-effacing so that the city's problems take precedence, even if it means implicating loved ones..."

Lucifer dusted himself off, opening with a deliberately blithe tone. "So how's it feel to be your own grandfather?"

Doherty's glare softened as quickly as it had appeared, letting him sigh. "I know I'm the reason why I turned out to be such a bully in high school, at least," he explained, chuckling out of self-deprecation. "I needed decades in there, to appreciate the way superhumans find different means to stay sane. As strange as it feels to say, I understand Aidan Drake's defense mechanisms, now - the needling questions and geek trivia, the refusal to look Death in the face without blowing a raspberry first - I just emulated the square-jawed supes I'd grown up with on television, myself. Soon enough, sprinting after small-timers or pursuing hired ninjas felt casual enough for me to comment on things like I did with Moloch's thugs."

Another weak chuckle. "It's insane to think that I've become the exact same thing my first few adult years taught me to hold in contempt. It's at least gotten me past the training phase, and I won't slow the rest of you down if we have to, well..."

He clicked his tongue at their surroundings. "Save the town, more or less. Again."

* * *

Enlil parted with a reassuring smile. "Unless the Fire Throne is bugged, I'd say we can assume that's what you did. We saw the nice and eccentric ones speak out, but we don't know if we have a few well-intentioned, surface-level eccentric mad scientists in the midst."

He slipped on a Kevlar breastplate. "I've spent three lifetimes in the art restoration business, before this. I spent days removing varnish from old Van Eycks with a tiny knife, using my gifts to emulate Van Gogh's brush strokes down to the smallest details, to sublimate cracks and damage..."

He paused and gave Abdiel a flat look. "The Nazis torched my workshop in 1943 because I, as a registered German Catholic, had the audacity to buff down and varnish the lectern for a Berlin synagogue's copy of the Torah. It took me everything I had to avoid ripping the jaws off of the agitated mob that had run my storefront through, but I at least learned an important lesson, that day."

The vampire adjusted his armor's fastenings. "Being prepared for the worst always pays off." 
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

Post by TennyoCeres84 »

Crystal heard the Scandinavian-sounding languages and realized that they were far from losing as they died and rose again to fight against the regional force of Pride. She howled as the demon horde was flooded by the deluge and forced to either drown or fight the opposition,

Matriel had followed after Ezemial through the golden portal and maintained his elemental form. He directed the flowing waters to eat away at the Damned's numbers in order to lessen the threat the mortals, Valkyries, and Einherjaren would have to deal with.

***

Noting Pennfield's more reserved nature, Meris opted to gently rest a hand on his shoulder. "You did what you could with what was available at the time. I'm sure Merath would understand, and I'm glad to have found you here at this time and this place. I only learned about the origin of my soul from the Architect and spoke with her briefly before the incursions began. However, I know from her that, in due time, things will be happier for Void Weavers and everybody. They won't have to dwell in the dark depths forever under Amaxi's influence. It won't be a utopia, but it will be better. We'll just have to work through the obstacles, the Goat and Akoman being a couple of them," she stated with some hope in her tone.

***

Nami smiled gently in a reassuring manner to the walrus and sighed. "Apology accepted on their behalf, but I think you got the experience you needed to understand what it's like for Shield; that's all that anybody can really do to empathize with others, regardless of their background. I think you'll be able to keep up just fine, since we're going to need everyone to topple the Goat from his obsidian tower and stop Akoman."

The Nephilim eyed the conflict in the nearby park and grimaced lightly. "Though, we need some kind of plan. We've got the Scapegoat to contend with, along with those circlets of Wrath's. On top of that, their ultimate goal is to kill Sophia and decimate the Nexus. Unless there's some backup plan, we've got a lot to handle."

***

"Oh? What did you restore that helped you to prepare for the worst?" Abdiel inquired as she watched him finish adjusting his armor's straps.
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