Chapter III: The Fall

Completed chapters of the serial storyline are stored here after completion.
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter III: The Fall

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The twins felt the heavy and oppressive air permeating the room. Tom hadn't been lying when they both felt the urge to bolt from the room. However, they knew they were perfectly safe. Rather than hyperventilating, Aislinn and Ciaran padded to the area where the incubus stood and took deep, calming breaths. The tattooist took a few moments to drink some water and then sighed. Meanwhile, her brother loaded his gun and got into a covert position that would lend to his invisibility,

"I think so. Let's go and turn this creepy as fuck atmosphere into something beneficial, hm?" his fellow conjurer suggested with a smile.
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Re: Chapter III: The Fall

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Mary's self-confidence was such that the suffocating negativity only gave her a prolonged bout of uncertainty. "Whatever," she muttered, "let's fuck shit up."
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Re: Chapter III: The Fall

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"Alright," replied Tom, who sighed and allowed his shoulders to droop a tad. "You're going to be tuning into something that's more volatile and more dangerous than via tapped straight out of Sophia's main ley line, so you need to prepare. As with anything else involving magic, that preparation is primarily of a mental nature. Burnouts like Quint don't care, but proper warlocks and necromancers know you have to deflate your ego before inflating it."

He took a few steps out of the circle. "The only active elements of the ritual will be Aislinn and myself, but you're both welcome to chime in if the process ends up stoking your own fire. Considering, I'd recommend you join in for this as well. It's nothing too complex - just a little breath preparation and prior meditation."

Magnus closed his eyes and bowed his head, his fingers joined in a steeple in front of his chest. "Take a minute or two to push past the vibes of this place, past what we're going to do, and listen to the tangibles: the low hum of the air conditioning system, the way one or two lights in here are buzzing slightly. Gently slide your feet from side to side, and listen to the way the concrete grinds under your soles...

Go deeper. Listen to your breath, to your own natural pattern. Don't try and alter it. Just - feel it. Feel your own heartbeat, any twinges or twitches across your spine or your limbs. For the one among us with bio-ports, feel their exact location. Don't reach out to touch them, just assess their location and sensation from your mind. Assess things. Don't judge them. Accept that the ritual we're going to carry out is the ritual we're going to carry out. Infernalism comes with its own brand of chaos and imponderables and only truly goes out of control once control is forcefully applied. Aislinn and I can only direct the flow; it's an impetuous river, not like the local ley lines' orderly streams. The most successful warlocks understand that there's a kind of Zen to the art of bending Hellfire, to reaching that specific point where command over dark forces and maintained awareness of the Self go hand in hand."

He slowly exhaled. "Now, Aislinn, I need you to dig inside that stillness, and find what makes you proud. Don't verbalize it - just dwell on it for a few moments. Appreciate your craft, your accomplishments, or your situation - whatever it is you've picked. Realize how lucky you are. Grasp that pride, while keeping an eye on that meditative state we entered earlier. We need to take that object of your Ego, and strip it of any doubts, of any fears. Realize you're the only one in this room who does you in the way you do. Know thyself, Warlock. Know thyself, traceuse. Know thyself, Shade."

Then came a deep breath. "Breathe. You're the only ones who know yourselves, aren't you? Just as I'm the only one who truly knows what it's like to be Tom Magnus... Be proud. If it helps, imagine how the Vice of Pride feels, every single day. Here is a man, and a pitiful one, who was born crippled in the fires of Hell. Why was he born crippled? Because he cannot doubt. He cannot concede. He cannot bargain. For this ritual, make these weaknesses your strengths. What hampers him makes you stronger, and you're already strong, aren't you? There's no doubt of this in your mind. There can't be any. You won't doubt. You won't concede victory. You won't bargain. Why, the very thought of it sickens you, doesn't it?"

He was standing taller by now, slightly puffing his chest outwards. "Be proud. Focus now on those that disgust you. Focus on those you'd destroy, if you could. Feel how superior you are because of that, and also because you have the magnanimity of reaching out as a scholar would, rather than as a barbarian. You are to conjure and curse - not strike and kill. You have control, and they do not. Weak and pitiful, all of them. Without understanding, without morals, without cause or conscience, wielding strengths they don't understand... Those who die might be physically weak, but the true mortals are those without passion. Without cause. If you have a cause to fight for, you functionally are immortal in the eyes of those who fight alongside you, a titan among titans. The others, the bigots, the judgmental or the fearful ones? They're weak. Disgustingly weak."

Tom's tone shifted, evoking haughtiness and contempt. "Now, Aislinn... Do you hold power? Convince me of it. Show me your lack of fear, your lack of doubt. Show me how better you are than those puny, pathetic mortals who crawl these streets like the dung beetles they are. Show me your pride, your contempt for the rabble and your loathing for the self-righteous who would judge your craft!"

The warthog having more or less aroused himself, he couldn't repress a loud and fairly lascivious snort as he grasped one of the roane's wrists. "Show me," he groused, lust charging his words. "Show me I've finally found my equal." 
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Re: Chapter III: The Fall

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Each selkie closed their eyes and breathed deeply, focusing away from the uneasy setting around them. They could hear the pulse beating rhythmically in their ears and the rise and fall of air in their chests. The faint hums of electricity could be heard by their keen ears, and subtle rustle of clothing were picked up as well as they shifted. Random thoughts were casually dismissed, while the ritual that was about to be performed became the focus, the sole focus. Ciaran and Aislinn understood that the required energy would flow freely. Tom's assessment of the Vice of Pride also added to the meditation. He was inflexible, tethered by his own self-deluded pride. He was alone, alone in a teeming mass of obedient yes-men. He had no sense of kinship, no true loyalty.

After a few moments, they drifted off into their own evaluations of their selves.

Shade. The word brought up a series of characteristics that Ciaran had not previously given much thought to. Traits he realized he should be proud of. Unlike his sisters, he was the only one who could fade away and move where he wanted without being noticed. His abilities could be light and shadow in such a way that he could feasibly do anything. Go where he wanted, take what he wanted, if his goals desired so. However, that was not the case. Instead, he used them to aid those in need, whereas others might not. He could sneak up behind someone and end them, but he had the strength and will not to. Where all others would seek to take advantage, he would remain steadfast in his views and actions. He was immovable but also fluid. He was like a ghost in his movements, the whispering voice in the dark who could send chills down your spine and dread in your heart. Ciaran knew he was the greatest, the most badass spook there ever was.

Warlock. The term would typically bring up disgust and disdain. Not with Aislinn, however. Instead, it instilled in her ideas of power through kindness and right. She had the ability to tame Hellfire and call forth demons to do bidding. There was deftness and talent in her artistry; she was unparalleled in her passion for bring art to life on people's skin. Her mind was quick and her tongue sharp. Her wit could easily wound others as much as her telekinesis could. Yet, she knew temperance and mercy. She was a scion of Meris, one of the greatest archmages who still lived. She carried that potential and would see it through to just as great or even greater goals now and in the future. She looked at others who would use these abilities for their own gain with disgust. They were truly pathetic, gormless worms who didn't have the true knowledge and prowess to wield them expertly. She did. How dare these insignificant bastards think they could hold a candle to her might and skill? She was Aislinn McConmara, the best in her trade, the best in her craft, the best to illuminate the dark depths of Hell.

As a display of her equal footing with him, Aislinn locked proud eyes with the incubus' crimson ones, filled with her gathered strength and power. She fiercely grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him to her. She locked lips with him and passionately conveyed her keen mind, her blazing heart, and her formidable arcane mettle.
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Re: Chapter III: The Fall

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Tom's arms more or less melted around Aislinn's shoulders, a deep and low grunt of pure tumescence escaping him. His pride touched hers, his already clear understanding of her capabilities bloomed in his mind and heart, and grew into a bright fire at the heart of his Hell-borne and darker spirit. He'd already tasted of the roane's confidence - but her pride? Aislinn's pride was nearly overwhelming. An instant passed that saw him feeling weak in the knees, suddenly taken with the agonizing desire to drag her down to the floor with him where finally, surrounded by marks of clear arcane focus, they would join together as one.

Alas, there was work to do. A few more fevered liplocks, a second or two spent inhaling the scent of her freshly-washed hair, and he then forced himself to push her away from him.

"Yes," he groused, "oh, yes - you're ready... I can feel it! Now close your eyes again, and push down to find the roots and channels of via under the tower. Once you find some, take hold of it like you would in order to imbue a tattoo or a ward - and push deeper still. Ignore all conventional warning signs, skip past the danger - and touch the Dark. Find Hell, Aislinn. Find its purest expressions - judgement and vengeance made manifest, free-flowing power the self-righteous of this world foolishly ignore. Find Hellfire. It espouses the shape of what you love, emboldens your passions, invigorates your joy and bolsters your pride - that wonderful, wonderful pride - and makes it manifest..."

Still holding one of her hands, he closed his eyes again and drew in a shuddering breath. "Follow me. We'll find that which is nepenthe for us and a plague for our enemies. We'll find what emboldens Mary and terrifies the Sin Seven's foes, what quickens Ciaran's draw and terrifies those who fail to see him in the emptiness, in the shadows... Hellfire is everything to us Infernalists, Aislinn."

He sighed. "For now, bask in this. The warnings will come later. For now, Hellfire is your sword and shield, your tattoo gun and inkpot, your tracing paper and your pens. Hellfire is your family, your accomplishments, your hopes and dreams. For me, Hellfire has long been my hope - my single, desperate hope - that I might belong here one day, and share in that sense of belonging with all those worthy of it across all planes of existence. Hellfire is all the love I'll express with the abandonment of a thirsting man finally given a glass of water. It's my pride, my pleasure of serving here with you three, my longing for a Jazz quartet in the lounge, upstairs...

Touch Hellfire with your mind, Aislinn, and realize that there's no evil in Hell that is natural. What was placed there by God in its inception is Want, Desire, Need. It's passion, lust and the desire for justice. The Goat, and Lucifer in his earlier days? They misunderstood God's intent, and so many Infernalists still do today. The Dark Arts aren't dark because they're evil, they're dark because they have their roots in the most primitive affects of Humanity and beckon to our simplest, most direct urges. The best Infernalists acknowledge this, and forge these urges into plans and spells with the dedication brought on by their waking minds. So do necromancers, and even those enemies of the Void Weavers who would use the Black Speech to bolster our cause.

Hope is primitive, Aislinn. To have hope in something is to experience something primal, something profound. If you have hope, it defines the root of your identity, the crux of your choices, the fulcrum point of your ideology. The Dark Arts can and do feed off of the best of Humanity - always remember that. Once you have Pride in your work, you can feed it with joy, with laughter or with song. There would be no Dark, Aislinn, without the Light."

He raised a hand, a tiny bead of what looked like magma having appeared in its exact center. The bead grew, bubbled and frothed. It gave off heat, but Tom's hand seemed unaffected by it, even as the concrete sizzled once it started to drip onto it.

"Reach down," he said. "Make it manifest in your hand. Once you have some, move your hand to your right and look down. You'll find a small drain I had the crew drill. It connects to the pentagram. Let your Hellfire drip down into it. I'd normally be waiting with an athame in order to add some of our respective blood, but this is too large a summons for you to work on while injured, even voluntarily. Once the Hellfire finishes dripping, make sure you're still in that exact mindset, and then spit into the drain. Saliva is less effective than blood on the arcane level, but it's still fundamentally a piece of you. It'll do just fine for our purposes."
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Re: Chapter III: The Fall

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Closing her eyes once more, Aislinn focused on pushing for the via beneath them and felt how it connected like a series of interconnected vines or even synapses, all alive with the World's Breath. She sensed when it collected in her mind as though she were about to imbue words or a piece of art and continued further downward for a distance that seeming felt like eternity. She searched for the purest and most primitive of desires.

Then, she felt it, a hot well of justice, vengeance and the innate desire to do good in the world. Tom was right. It didn't share the same foreboding and toxic feeling that the room had. It was passion in its basest form , all that which life sprang from. With it, came hope. Without hope, that boundless potential that stood at the heart of Hellfire would become aimless. That explained why so many Infernalists and Pitspawn used it the way that they did. They had no hope, apart from those in Pandemonium or sympathizers and rebels like Tom. She realized it was an analogue to her motivation to create, Ciaran's strength to conceal himself, and the bravery of Mary and her friends in the Sin Seven.

The baby Infernalist strove to pull some of the raw Hellfire to her. Over a few minutes, the others would see a glowing, red-orange glob the size a small handful emanate from her. Opening her eyes, she shifted her head toward her right and let the strange substance empty from her hand and into the drain. Aislinn watched ever bit of it seep from there down to the last drop. After it left her hand, she spat into the drain.
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Re: Chapter III: The Fall

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Over the next few seconds, the grooves in the ground sprang to life, Hellfire's magma-like properties soon bathing the circle's immediate vicinity in a warm red-orange glow. The overall character of the room seemed to change, the negativity of earlier shifting by degrees, burning away progressively as the circle used it as fuel to start its own reactive process. What replaced it was purpose, tightly-coiled joy, flitting pangs of lust and the warm glow of two warlocks' combined pride and surety of purpose. Tom also spat in the drain, the channels reacting by glowing a little brighter.

"My friends' working names are Dancer, Eyes, Warrior, Littlest and Patience. I gave them these titles in accordance with what they displayed the most over the last few thousand years. Try and imagine what each of these names seems to suggest, and frame it in the Pit's context. You're looking for beauty and empathy in a place where none can be found. That's Dancer. Eyes watched over the group and ensured they remained safe, focused and dedicated. He was the one the others could talk to if I couldn't be reached in the immediate. Warrior sprang to action if attackers needed to be repelled, and taught them to defend themselves. The Littlest was made young by our father, Asmodeus, and we did what we could to safeguard her childlike personality, her hope for better days. She might not be aware of it, but she is our future - a young Pitspawn with the best possible chances of understanding the virtues and privileges of the mortal plane. As for Patience, she was the most stunted of us all in Asmodeus' harem - a succubus burdened with compassion for her victims. She wouldn't have survived a thousand years without us. I showed her that her weakness in the Pit would be an immense strength among mortals."

He looked to the circle. "I'll let you start, since this is your first time. They don't know you, so they'll need coaxing and reassurance to come forth. I told them to expect another signature than mine on the day they'd be freed, but I made sure they'd understand I'd still be close by. This is why I think you'd be perfect for this, Aislinn - this particular summons needs both your pride as a warlock, but also your compassion. As for me, I'm sticking behind so I can act as your first line of defense or support, if anything goes wrong."

Tom smiled. "Be strong, be bold - and have faith in yourself. You can do it."
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Re: Chapter III: The Fall

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The roane smiled in return and nodded. She then focused her intent upon the magical circle and took a deep breath before speaking. She announced determinedly and boldly, "I, Aislinn McConmara, daughter of Cole and Sedna, sister of Ciaran and Neasa, descendant of Meris of the Orcades, call to the the friends of Tom Magnus, rebel incubus and warlock! I call them with my mastery of imbuing life into my designs, my passion to seek justice, and my desire to see them here safely, and my hope that they are happy in their new home! May their arrival spit in the face of those who think that incubi and succubi cannot find acceptance and belonging; may they find refuge from those who do not want them to live freely and to their best potential! May they learn what their ignorant and foolish counterparts cannot even comprehend! I laugh at those who think they can thwart our endeavors!"

Chuckling darkly, Aislinn then searched for each of the emotional signatures that matched their epithets.

"I call Dancer to this circle! May she be welcome here and bring with her beauty and happiness!" she said warmly, imagining a woman who embodied empathy and beauty. In her mind, she saw her as a woman with kind features and who could light up a room with her mere presence.

"I call Eyes to this circle! May he be welcome here and may he continue to watch over his family in their new home!" she continued, envisioning a dark-skinned man with a warm yet vigilant gaze, loyal and dependable.

"I call Warrior to this circle! May he be welcome here and provide protection for his family and those who seek his aid!" she announced, visualizing a lupine anthro with strong and fierce eyes and the martial prowess to go along with it.

"I call Littlest to this circle! May she be welcome here and find hope and joy in in her new life!" she called, picturing a young lady who was lovely and innocent, yet still held a bright outlook for the future.

"I call Patience to this circle! May she be welcome here and discover that her compassion is respected and cherished in the city called Hope!" she cried lastly, seeing a sweet if shy young woman who had a heart in a realm where such things were treated with callousness.

In turn, the five demons would sense the person summoning them. She would feel soothing and kind, a reliable friend who would be there as they learned their way in this new and unknown plane. They would see her power and expertise, all targeted toward helping them escape and pushing them to experience lives of peace and safety.
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Re: Chapter III: The Fall

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Typically, Aislinn would've sensed her power either flit to and into her designs, or surging upwards to canvas any desired areas. Now, however, it felt as though her own connection to the World's Breath were influenced by a powerful attractive force located deep underground. The pull was irresistible, warm and comfortable, and the sensation of via opening the path for Hellfire would prove to be a strangely pleasant one. For all of the corruptive properties attributed to Hellfire, it felt as though a part of the roane had been born to carry such a power, as if a corner of her soul had been adequately tempered. Where someone like Thomas Quint might have felt the tainted ore of Hell reach for their mind and drench it in a surge of wild and feral energy, Aislinn would find that the root of her connection to Hellfire seemed to stay low inside her, as if her gut were where her body naturally resonated with the World's Breath, before transmitting to her mind and limbs. The buildup and discharge seemed constant, the palms of her hands free-flowing with small trickles of further Hellfire.

Tom couldn't repress a dark chuckle at the sight of that, his eyes twinkling with wonderment's grim twin. "Yes, friends," he began, also reaching down to touch Aislinn's drawn hook into the Pit, "sense her power, taste it! For millennia, I've labored in the task of finding someone who would understand, someone who would appreciate our revolution, our most sacred charge. Again and again, I was rejected. Again and again, I was confronted to what was missing, to what needed to be acquired. Trust, first. Empathy, second. Then friendship, and-"

He shivered in anticipation. "The last one, so close, so deliciously close! We are at the cusp, at the dawn of our glory! Demons freed of their burden, basking in the sun's warmth! Angels liberated of their hubris! Gabriel's witnessed wonders open to all, Humanity now defining each and every one of us! The false regalia of the Princes, torn away - and Heaven's college reformed, remade in the image of Creation's true purpose, as witnessed by the Archangel! No more lies, no more stories, no more coddling! All planes, witnessing what was Made, and its essential character! Life witnessed by all, lived by all, whomsoever should choose to live it!"

Tom smiled, even as tears of happiness made his eyes shimmer. "I asked you to open the ritual, Aislinn, because I am not alive. Not like you are. You're mortal - you all are," he said, looking to Ciaran and Mary, "and the glory of this universe is yours. I thought Iram would show me the craftiness of fellow incubus apostates, the ingenuity of the djinn or the wisdom of angels. I thought my travels would lead me to someone like me, who would have walked the same footsteps before - but I was wrong. For the longest time, I was wrong. Wisdom was all around me, nestled in each mortal life, each hardship and victory. When I saw this, I knew without a doubt that I'd never be able to go back. You might feel individually weak, or even ignorant at times - but together?"

He'd paced over to where Mary was, and without leaving the circle, gripped one of her arms to feel one of her bio-ports. "You did this. Humans did this. Anthros did this. Mortals did this. You can change yourselves, Mary, and you can change the world as you see fit. Not even the Void Weavers with all of their power can boast of so much freedom, so much capability."

Magnus drew in a shuddering breath. "Perfection lies in self-actualization. Angels believe they're perfect, but they're only permanent. Demons believe their loathing of the mortals defines them, but it's a mere prescriptive point - it's folklore, at best! The Sammaelites prove it, the Cambions of this world prove it! Only mortals are endlessly becoming what they were meant to be. The rest of us are... statues. A simulacra of Mankind, a read-only snippet of the real thing, prevented from being recompiled, updated and revised.

The Goat thinks he'll win if he embraces chaos. He's only half-right. Chaos can be beautiful, but only within the realms of Man. Only here could any angel or demon fully appreciate the wonderfully, ridiculously small odds of things being exactly the way they are now - and that's what my nature as an incubus so cruelly latches onto!"

He looked to Ciaran. "I used to think you were beautiful. Over the past weeks, however, I've come to realize it's not the set of your jaw I'm enamored with, Ciaran... It's you. You, always so quiet, so present, so dependable and observant - what were the odds of Cole and Sedna producing someone exactly like you on their shared bed? Have you ever wondered? The smallness of it - the fragility and preciousness and strength of it all - if there's one concept I can love, as of this moment, this is exactly it."

Tom then went back to Aislinn. "There's so many people down there, Aislinn, who deserve to see how unique you all are. When I saw what made Gabriel fall to his knees in tears and vow in his own blood to protect you all to his very last breath, I knew what I had to do. I knew what we would have to do today."

Through it all, power had surged through the Infernalist's impassioned words. "So now, friends, Aislinn McConmara and I, Tom Magnus, apostate son of Asmodeus, Prince of Lust, bring you to life. We bring you to beating hearts and racing minds. We bring you to pain and hardship. We bring you to victories and celebration. We bring you to regret and shame. We bring you to accomplishment and self-discovery. We bring you to missteps and broken bones. We bring you to the warmth of healing and the cool of respite!"

Tension rose in the air again, but dread wasn't involved, this time. It felt as though they were standing directly underneath a live pylon, the low and loud hum of an immense electrical current filling the air. An eddy picked up a few loose bits of concrete, and soon turned into an interior gust of wind strong enough to push Tom's jacket back. Fingers curled into grasping claws, he raised his hands in the air.

"Black Goat of the Sabbaths, Prince of Pride, Usurper of the Dark Arts - I curse thee! We, Aislinn McConmara and Tom Magnus, we Ciaran McConmara and Marianna Jameson, curse thee to witness our joy! For every day we shall see, may you spend a hundred in darkness! For every song, may you hear silence! For every clarion call on the battlefield, may you hear the gurgling of your dead scions! I curse thee to witness our victory, to witness the life of our endeavors as they soar higher than your wretched tower! I curse thee to lose to the very man whom you have wronged! Leonard Ephesian, may your wrath be boundless and without mercy, in excess of the count of your years! I grant you his strength, bestow upon you the adversary's confidence! On the day of days, may your wrath seal the pretender in indignity for a thousand generations!"

By now, the lights were wildly flickering, the AC power meters spinning wildly in the antechamber. Tom couldn't repress a long, fairly Machiavellian cackle, his intake of air sounding like a wheeze. "Friends, seize upon my spite, grasp our hatred of the Enemy, and reach for us! Your seats await - a world of wonders awaits you!"

One of the pods produced a warbling noise, a distorted error code flashing on the LCD display. Tom didn't seem to have enough presence of mind to worry, his eyes wild and his face frozen in a jubilant expression. More pops and other sounds of malfunction began to be heard from the other pods. 

"Live," he whispered.

Volker's pod was briefly jostled, as if something had kicked on its lining from the inside. 

"Live!" seethed Tom, packing all the wild, desperate joy he could in that single word. He'd pushed every ounce of stamina he had into the summons, his facial features streaming with perspiration.

A faint moan was heard from inside Patience's pod, along with a few rattling sounds. The device, sensing the body had autonomously reanimated, clicked its pump on to flush the chamber of its gaseous freezing compound.

"LIVE!"

Dancer's pod flew open, the blonde-haired woman within almost flying out of the compartment thanks to sudden surge of adrenaline and what had to be the agonizing sensation of life ruthlessly returning to a previously dead husk. She fell in the center of the pentagram on her feet, but stumbled and immediately dropped to her knees and hands, where she further collapsed. Choking sounds were the only thing that escaped her for a few moments, only for her to flop onto her back and exhale in what resembled a newborn baby's first scream. There was agony in that sound, but also rage, determination, and very palpable relief. The agonized scream turned into a sob, the woman's limbs shaking as she gripped one of Tom's shoes, her hands clawing as she worked her way up. The warthog met her halfway as he put a knee down, his own features trembling.

"D-Dancer?" he chanced, the blue-eyed woman with the few flecks of greenish rot in her hair and her faintly Slavic features meeting his red ones. A hand came up and haltingly brushed his cheek. She tried for a smile, possibly tried to push words through, but the combined shocks of sudden corporeal existence and of reanimation still needed to be processed. She collapsed against him and resumed her loud sobbing. By now, Tom had quietly joined in, adding faint rocking motions. It looked a bit like he was attempting to console a traumatized relative of his. Not a former lover, as his species would've indicated, but perhaps a sister.

Crimson and tear-streaked eyes looked up to Aislinn. He didn't even realize when the Black man's pod flew open, a gagging and sputtering mass of ebony muscles falling out of it. He used a free hand to squeeze Aislinn's as hard as he could.

"Thank you," he whispered through his own sobs. "Thank you, thank you... Oh, thank you..."

Dancer's breath stabilized after a minute. While she was still sobbing, she managed to get a few words in.

"I - will be fine! Help the - others!"
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Re: Chapter III: The Fall

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The highly charged and emotional situation had caused the selkie to shed tears as well, but she was also aware that the new arrivals needed help. Smiling, she squeezed his hand and whispered a quick "You're welcome" to Tom. Dancer and Eyes had gotten out, but Warrior, Patience, and Littlest seemed to still be having some issues getting out of their pods. Aislinn took a visual assessment of who was doing what and aided them by prying open the pods with her telekinesis. There was still the slightest bit of caution to her movements as she checked on the wolf, the Black man, and the young woman, hoping things had gone off without an unexpected hitch.

"Eyes? Patience? Warrior? Littlest?" she chanced a calling out of their temporary names.

Seeing that they were still in the confines of the circle, Ciaran relaxed slightly and waited to see if the coast was truly clear, keeping his invisible guard up. He appreciated Tom's inclusion of him and Mary in cursing the Vice. The warlock's stirring words had nearly caused him to start crying, but doing so might give away his position. He understood that there would be time for tears of joy once they had gotten everybody to their feet.
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