Proof Once More, That Those Among Mortals - Humans And Creatures Alike, Remained The Hypocritical Downfall

"Get me Augustus' body." It's said without much thought, but neither do her plans grow too bold just yet. With her numbers dwindled - even with the souls of those beyond Rome, Pythia wouldn't strike again without having everything in check - not for the likes of being blinded once more. "Dead or alive." Undoubtedly, the archfiend held some sentimentality towards the former necromancer, but waste not want not. The ties he held were worth splintering in the same ways the Asphodel had been, "And find out where Lucrecia is hiding, I'm not nearly done with her." By choice, or otherwise; Leviathan was the very embodiment of violence; and her wrath would befall all of those who no longer served her purpose. "Kill whoever you have to."

Bastien's birth had only been for the power that his parents could garner, to create a coven where one had not been. He had been taught nothing aside from what he could do for his parents. That is, until Pythia had begun to whisper in his ear. Of the power that he could harness for himself, of the magic that lay dormant within him. It was the greater demon that had guided him to the forest, to the animals within and the visions that he could pull from the hands of the Graeae. And it was since then that his loyalty had been cemented, given over freely and without fault. Even when he had been imprisoned, when he'd been left with nothing but his visions. Even when others had fallen, had felt fear and fled from the ranks of the Asphodel. And even now, as his mind fractured, as a part of it weighed so heavily upon a certain elf, Bastien had remained with Pythia. "Ask of me anything that you wish, it will be yours freely," he affirmed, cementing his loyalty that much further to their cause. To the power that would be Pythia's, and subsequently, his own once a new book had been crafted. Once they had finalized what they had long since been working towards.

Içerde / Melek Duman

It was irreverent glee that carved the saccharine smile upon her features. As selfishly driven as the greater demon may have been, even Pythia understood the feeling of pride when one of her own converts found gain and pleasure upon the covens resolves. "Undoubtedly, there'll be more to come," a glass raised, the blood of her brethren, "I wouldn't worry too much about that. Suffering, we have plenty of, and should all our plans come to fruition, there'll be no end to it for those like Octavian."

"Hell yeah, I'll cheers to that." And she really had nobody to thank but the Pythia for helping her with this. Lucretia had felt lost for a very long time before the aspect had spoken into her ear of the necronomicon. Power was something she had always been desperate to have. And now here she was wielding it with no real drawbacks. Hell, she'd been able to steal power from Octavian, too. It sure didn't get better than seeing him just a vulnerable man. "That would be nice, but I'd love to see him suffer here just a bit more. Male suffering gives me energy coffee could only dream of giving to me."

It was a wonder any of them believed they could breathe within the confines of the coven and she wouldn’t know about it. The entirety of the Otherworld now beneath the ruling of Levithan and Ayi’ig left little to be considered, and yet, she’d allowed Eric to continue believing that his intention existed within the darkened confines of his own mind, that alone. The heated drink she held in her hand - something otherwise wickedly sweet where bitterness existed in the very fingertips that burned with it, a small comfort in an almost domestic setting for her. “You’re going?” She sat up a little straighter, a crease forming between narrowing brows, how bold of him. Better had he tried to slip out unseen; perhaps she might have even commended him for such gall. “Where will you go, Eric?” Where will you go that I can’t find you? “There’s still so much more to do, don’t you at least want to see the next step come to fruition before you tuck tail and run?” While innocence lacquered each word, it was impossible to miss the subtle venom that existed beneath. “I’d hate for you to regret your decision.”

          a gift for @fxllenpythia​,

notes: honey you’ve got a big storm comin’

          Eric’s anxiety and inquietude tended to push them to do regrettable things. Joining the Asphodel had been one of them, but announcing his departure to the Greater Demon ruling over said coven? Astronomically one of said decisions. They had few remnants of their personal items hanging around within the coven, those were all moved away discreetly after returning from Knossos and feeling that palpable sickness in their gut at what had went down. Reliably, loyally, sworn to the book in their own way of obligation they’d done what was expected of them and were now rife with guilt and the need to flee. A typical and rather visceral reaction of the Exile. “Hey, so, I don’t know what I expected but, I’ve done my part and it’s time for me to get going,” their words are embedded with flippant sarcasm, especially in the face of a venerated creature who was strengthened by the sacrificial blood of others, Eric couldn’t find it in themselves to tame their fear-induced lip.

As her name flit through the mind of another, Pythia cracked out the ache in her neck with a rather jarring twist of her jaw. All in a days work, she supposed as the pull towards the other became something ethereal. A plea more than anything, as were all those seeking her out so reverently. Nobody chose to walk the path towards her without wanting something dire - power, revenge; death. It bled from their every whim and just as she’d expected, the air was so thick with it, she could taste the sweetness in the air. “Then you’ve been missing out for your entire life, Abel.” Ire doesn’t beseech her in being summoned this time, there are some who call to her who are hardly worth the price of their own soul, and yet - she knows that this one will cater to the necronomicon and herself in time.  Laughter splits concerning lips and Pythia presses her shoulders into the wall she rests upon, drawing herself to full height as she picks at dust within the air, “I’d argue that you’ve needed my help for a very long time, yet you’ve never quite made it this far before, have you?” Always toeing the line so readily blurred by those of his kind. The destruction so often molded from the skeletal foundations of blood magic only satisfied by those who could talk their way out of it’s damnation. Confident steps drew her closer until she could draw the chair out opposite him, plopping herself into it like a child as she lent forward and placed her chin in her hands, the sickly scent of his blood permeating satisfaction within her. “Tell me everything and don’t leave out a single detail,” she paused, hues narrowing for a moment before a saccharine grin split her features, “I’ll know if you do.”

          a gift for @fxllenpythia​,

          Abel’s relationship with the Pythia was complicated. He’d offered sustenance for the magic that kept them present in this realm a myriad of times in his adolescence, bad decisions spurred on by a mentor who was drunk off of the potent blood magic that the Pythia had devised. He hadn’t touched it since his last Sovereign had been taken out and it had taken a lot out of Abel to have tapped into such channel again to save Cain form the pits of the Inferno after he’d been banished on Halloween. The guilt feasted upon him with ease, this pitfall effect that opened doors that had once been brandished shut. Blood magic had this innate pull and ever since the seraphim had transformed his familiar into a human, Abel had already been attempting to delve into such magic again; a dark path that he only hoped would salvage Cain. Some believed becoming human would be a blessing but Cain had been a demon so long he figured Cain would not vie to be bound to such a mundane life once more.

A summoning of the Pythia was easy, light work considering all that Silas, his former sovereign and pseudo-parent had taught him. The Pythia used such potent magic to amplify their presence on this mortal plane but like any demon, he could note the ways they leeched off of emotion and need, too. “I’ve been avoiding this my entire life.” It’s started off the moment the summoning proves successful, Abel drumming his fingers on the table he sat in front of, a cloth now covering his bloodied hand. “But I think I might actually need your help for once.”

The presence of another seraphim breeching the otherworld didn’t surpass observation. The subtle feeling that lingered somewhere within the very marrow of her bones as he approached quickly subdued as creatures among them alerted her all the same. He was hers - to torment for however many eternities would allow them, and beyond the reproach of Michael himself, none other dared to wander too close. For whatever fate he may bring down upon them, or to avoid her own wrath; it didn’t matter. He wasn’t welcomed so much as he was lured further into the realm that now belonged to Ayi’ing and Pythia now. Shadows of the forest held her within cold embrace as she watched him call out. Repent the name in which he deserted her so easily, an embodiment that suffered the betrayal of those so willing to cast aside their own brethren for the creation of mortals. “I was wondering when I might next be seeing you, Michael.” Her voice sounds from all directions, an echo that surpasses being as she materialized some feet away from him, “Always so bold. Do excuse the mess, we’re still... renovating.” 

@fxllenpythia​ location: The Otherworld notes: sibling talks

It was foolish to tread so close to Pythia’s temple, to the spires of necromanteion that the aspect knew to be just beyond his reach. This was the Asphodel’s territory, shared with and saddled next to the court of Drow that had come to take over. Beneath his feet Michael could feel the magic of this realm waning, felt it crying out as the drow pillaged the world of the unseen. Michael had been made from the cosmos, crafted for the mortal world, he did not know what sort of repercussions these efforts could have, only that there would be. Still, that was not the purpose for his venture, he’d failed Pythia once - Lucifer along with the others. If he’d been more adamant, or more understanding, perhaps there might have been a way to persuade them. At the time Michael had only seen their treachery, if he had any hope of saving this realm he would need to persuade them to step down, or stop them for good. “Leviathan!” Michael called out into the pitch of the forest, “I know you’re there.” He said, quieter this time. 

First one's free.

It was a strange thing, to be so connected to so many. To hear so many thoughts and feel the tremor of even their deepest, darkest emotions. However deeply buried they might have been, she felt them, a distant tremor in the base of her skull that she could so easily diminish. To reach out and pull at a single string and watch the entwinement of all who belonged to her and the book unravel within the palm of her hand. Too often, it left her giddy. “Tepiltzin, I was wondering when you’d find your way back to me.” They always did - it wasn’t often that one could experience all that she could offer and find such an infinite way to sever themselves. Greed was a rife poison that lingered in even the most well-rounded of creatures. Without second thought, she moves; each step neither too prominent nor inaudible as she finds herself within reach, fingertips shifting the flesh of his upper lip until she can press the pad of her thumb into the fang that elongates under the will of her own thought, “I’m not sure I like you better this way, but I suppose we shall see, won’t we?” Her vessel bleeds, a bead of crimson growing until it spills onto his lip. Even as one of the fallen, the power she carries stains that of the being she possesses, offering him but a menial taste of what he’d once had. “Is that what this is about? You want to join the band of God-killers?”

          a gift for @fxllenpythia​,

note: kisskiss, love a beca

              The Necronomicon and, tethered by that, the Pythia had once consumed his druidic life. When Seth had come forth a vampire, progeny of Mars, life was so drastically transformed that he thought little of his former proclivities, relished in wreaking newfound havoc with new abilities, lost sight of his former pursuit of necromancy. What worth was it to a vampire? Seth had never once aligned himself with anything or anyone, every ambition or desire claimed was for his own selfish gain, but the Asphodel had killed the First; a God. That was worth it’s weight in gold, it was something he could see his own former smarts within necromancy, his power now as a vampire, embellished by. “Remember me?” He’s emptily teasing, the Pythia had so many under their command, the Criminal couldn’t imagine they’d know each and every one, still there was flattery in recognition and Seth pitifully held out silent hope. He’s casual, like some louche predator despite the fact the Pythia is far more influential and menacing, Seth leans on the wall behind him, grinning as though they’re old friends, “Whatever God is next on the list, I’m interested.”

Awash with the sense of his own weariness, Pythia struck and drew the very air from his lungs, the heat of hellfire rippling against his insides; it’s a flicker of irritation, but one she doesn’t cling to and quickly it dissipates. “You grow weary of questions, and yet you have barely lived through a single life. Spare me the dramatics, would you?” There’s something buried within the tone of her voice that coveys everything from the inferno; a depth of gracelessness that offers him only one chance to redirect his patience. “No, sparky. I’m not talking out of my ass. Perhaps you’ve not truly thought this through. Does tearing the Eye down not draw all of you directly into their conniving arms, Serkan? You cannot hope to pick them off one by one, there are too many. Destruction of such a far-stretching and interwoven institution does not come easy, and it certainly doesn’t come from one who was little more than a lab rat. All he offers you is anger.” Of which, the wolves already had far too much of. “I’m aware of what they do. I also know that changelings are not exactly a delicacy that is easy to come by, and charging your way into the otherworld is only asking for trouble.” She should know - afterall, the creatures the drow held control over and the asphodel themselves sought to fortify the other realm in ways none would ever see coming. “But, should you require more than a mere handful...” Hues rolled into the back of her skull and a blooming laugh flit from her lips like butterfly wings - soft and gentle, “Were I to make an enemy of you, you’d already be dead so, choke that bark of yours right back down and work with me.”

fxllenpythia·:

“I suppose we’ll see how true that really is, won’t we?” The air of disbelief that caught the edge of each word as purposeful as ever, hues of near obsidian eyeing the wolf as if she wasn’t entirely certain that he wouldn’t bend the knee so readily. “Perhaps you’ll yet surprise me.” Though, she wouldn’t hold a proverbial breath. Useful, he claimed, and she had to wonder exactly where he found such use in the lead of a man none of them could truly know. Torture and callous treatment could change the very molecules of a man; of a creature among them. “My point is, that nothing happens in Rome that isn’t premeditated. Do you believe that your new alpha escaping the clutches of the eye just in time for your little wolf-fest is little more than coincidence?” She didn’t expect such a thought to sink beyond surface level, in truth - she wanted to find out exactly where the former alpha stood. Their alliance with the fey a rather tricky thing to navigate. “You pander to all that must be hard won, instead of seeking the path of least resistance. The hearts of changelings, no?”

A sigh left his mouth at the words leaving her mouth. He was tired of it. There was always someone questioning his choices, always someone telling him he could have done better or that he could still be alpha if he did just one thing differently. Serkan was one for living in the past, but this was one time he just wanted to move past it. He wanted to get rid of the questions. The Pythia was someone he barely even knew and yet here she was questioning his choices. What the fuck was in the air in Rome? He took a second, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he listened to her. “So you think Alek is under the thumb of the Eye? The guy that made it known he wants to tear them down? That Alek? I see you’re talking out of your fucking ass now.” Another sigh. “Changeling hearts make it easier for us to shift. I’m failing to see how that would be a problem.” He shook his head. “Look, burn down Rome for all I care. Just leave us lycans alone. We’ve got no real problem with you unless you make an enemy of us.”

@adatiiel​

The smiley face was a clever move, one that brought a hitch of a smile to Adatiel's mouth even as their search turned up empty. Being the angel of death meant that she reaped everyone who fell, allegiance didn't matter when their days came to an end. She wasn't to fight, her hands didn't call for violence as she was the result of whatever came to be. Adatiel often satisfied her whims, whenever she wished to see someone she did. It was why she felt that a conversation with her wayward sister was long overdue. "Are you happy with the wraiths that you trapped within your walls? Spirits that remain and grow in vengeance can become a dangerous weapon. The spirits are very angry with you."

_

Was she? Happy? As if to make crystal clear, Pythia's smile grew to maniacal proportions, the feint giggle that slipped between her lips eerie at best, and horrifying in the shape it took. "Sister, don't take it so personally. If anything, you should be rather grateful that I led you right to them. The pesky little things." Those that lingered within the walls, wraiths that screamed endlessly, clawing at every sense of humanity that remained, every ounce of their blood riddled empathy had risen as a symphony in the halls of the Asphodel. "Angry? At me?" The pout that settled against porcelain skin feigned innocence that would never look quite right, "Then consider their anger a gift, in the efforts you and the rest of them should make to try and stop me. I daresay, you'll need it."

_

"I don't need your help to find the dead" what ego but Pythia did always carry one, spirits have always beckoned her and she is the angel that is there in the last moment of life. Adatiel was to not be confused with a guardian angel as she did not protect nor decide who lived and died, merely knew when their time had come to an end, when the hourglass had finally run out. Those that died while being tormented or moments of great emotional impact became wraths. As someone who holds death and life in equal care, it is difficult for the seraphim to accept such cruelty. "I wish to hear it from your lips sister, tell me how you wish for this to all end. Do you really wish for darkness to blot out the world?"

_

“No? You’ll have to forgive me for my lacking faith in your.. abilities.” For a millennia, so many of her kind - their kind had done little more than squalor their potential. Bending to the whims of a father who cared for lesser creatures before his own children. Sighing heavily, something more of contentment than anything else, the Pythia smiled quietly to herself. “And why shouldn’t it?” Tongue clicked against her teeth and the brunette eyed the other with irate mischief, cold and calculating - unyielding. “Because daddy dearest said so? They’ve done little but squander the world given to them. Destroyed and plundered a place they’ve never sought to earn. I say, - burn it all to hell.”