“You Are Not Like Most.” As Much Had Been Clear To Her From The Moment That August First Felt Compelled

The qualms of humanity, are ever-present, even within the living dead and she's quickly reminded of the fatal flaw of emotional connection as Valentina conjures to a near-corporeal form beside a rotting headstone. "I've taken much from you?" It's a haughty reiteration of such a claim, the saccharine curve of her lips unmistakable as she shakes her head in mild disbelief. "The shock factor that you lot cling to, it's exhausting. Truly." It was always, you've taken this, you've taken that - and never, look at all the things she'd made possible for someone like Valentina. Kaan - all those who revered her as the ultimate betrayer. "Kaan is the one who took from you, Val, darling. Now is not the time to misplace your feelings." Though, the challenge is there. "The price of betrayal has never been something I've kept close to my chest. Kaan understood the risk and took it anyway. Did he stand as your friend when he made the choice to turn his back on everything I've given him? Everything I'd given you? Knowing he would never succeed."

who: @fxllenpythia where: The Graveyard

Pythia was dangerous company to keep and Valentina didn't dare invite her within her sanctuary that the Narcissus estate was, most days she rarely unlocked the doors for the witches to leave unless they promised to return -- not wishing for the Estate to be a prison but the Wraith could be an dangerous spirit at times and she was controlled by her empathetic abilities, becoming emotional made her gain power and lose control. Python was a demon that had kept her company in life, she had split her palms to conjure magic and she dallied with the blood of others in ritual, it was pure luck that brought her back as a spirit instead of an accidental sacrifice. The leylines ran underneath the tombstones and made her stronger, more vivid in appearance as she stood in front of the fallen Seraphim. "You've gone far, you've taken much from me. Kaan is nowhere to be found in the spirit realm, I don't expect you to have a heart but there was once a day where I considered you a friend." Bitterness strained her voice as she was a fool then and miserable now.

Pythia understood very well, that the greater number of Seraphim would undoubtedly take the chance to end her should the opportunity arise, she’d long since sought to take an ounce of it personally. However, something about the understanding spoken between them now made the hollow darkness in her chest ache. “It’s been a long time since we’ve held onto all that we deserve, Astaroth,” if there were another way, perhaps, she might have sought it out but the truth was, the human race had been allowed to run this realm into the ground for too long and by the time her invocation became rather permanent, far too much damage had been done. “Since anyone considered us worthy of even an ounce of what we were promised. I only seek to attain a sliver of that.” Albeit, her way came with the promise of casualties and more collateral damage than should ever have been necessary, if anyone could deliver on such a promise, it was undoubtedly Leviathan. “For our siblings.” A spark of nostalgia flickered in her eye. Although gone was the once compassionate seraphim, once full of passion and love, she would burn the skies down to return to them those they had lost; regardless of the cost. “Should you see the others,” their kind - the other fallen, siblings that she’d not fared too close to recently, uncertain as to whether their reparations of her would be as lightly given as his, “Give them my love.” Oh, the irony.

          Far closer in their efforts, he vied to believe it was an understatement, though Roth understood far too well the lengths Michael and Uriel would go to contain the siblings that they had deemed unruly. Serpents once ensnared this realm, sulfuric air and ash making it uninhabitable; he could attempt to relate to the idea that what was since created from such malice was worth saving, but Roth would not stoop to such merciful ideals. No matter how hard Uriel attempted to ally those who he’d once scorned, Roth would rather sit by with his pride intact than to allow themself to abandon their principles. Their wrath was what allowed them to quite literally jump from grace for the divine realm could no longer serve them if they were meant to bow to creatures weaker than they. Roth once figured it was that which unified he and Pythia, that they’d not belittle themselves for mortals, yet it was clear her time locked within the Inferno had morphed that ambition into something else entirely. “I hold the same sentiment for you, dear sister,” he didn’t pass off the promise with vague sarcasm or blase indifference, Roth made it perfectly clear that they would both accomplish what they must if it all boiled down to it. Ulthar had made blades and scribes, not a family, though Roth found amusement in her final sentiment, “I’d like to see you try.” Tacitly expressed care was there, embedded in scorn and bitterness, but the faint wisps of a smile allowed any insight to Roth’s emotions in this moment.

It’s about as much as she suspected, and rightfully, she could have trifled through his thoughts to establish as much, but she’d known Seth for long enough to offer him the courtesy of asking. “How lovely to know that some still hold onto some semblance of common sense then,” anyone who thought to look to the senate was foolish. It only served to curb the realities of the world as it was. Were creatures given the respect they deserved, the world would have fallen to the chaos she so desired to see it in. “And what do you look towards now? Has your outlook and desire for more swayed?” Again, actions speak far louder than words, but she doesn’t intend to be burned by one of her own while the Asphodel stumble closer and closer to their goal. “Is this your way of speaking for him?” Pythia muses with an ounce of amusement, already rather familiar with the vampire that he speaks of. “You wish him to remain.. untouched?” She’d spent some time within the mind of the former leech, undoubtedly, the thought of drawing him into the fold had already arisen in recent memory. “Would he swear to it? Or would you?”

          The Pythia was once an entity in which he worshiped, each sacrifice among the concrete altar providing sustenance for the book in which the Senate and Archdruids attempted to impede. They had separated the book, plucking away it’s spine, the cover, the contents; pulling them to different places within different realms and still, they had failed. Believers such as Seth, practitioners of the infernal magic locked within each book, were the living proof of such potent beliefs that would keep the book from being null and void. Though he no longer had magic adeptly reigned at the fingertips, Seth’s knowledge of what once was, was vast and limitless. She’s to be respected and yet the Criminal laughs at the asinine nature of her question. It’s a fair question though Seth has never been technically rational; the Necronomicon had blackened his soul and the descent which he’d taken within vampirism had only fragmented his mind further, “The Senate doesn’t serve me, I don’t look towards them.” Normally, he’d disregard his progeny and yet somehow, one in particular had found their way back, “I do have one progeny here but the others, well, the only thing we share in common is our bloodline, nothing more.” He thought of Dominic, once branded as Felix the Leech, but said nothing on the matter.

The rise of his voice - a moment of frustration and anger was one of the only flickers of conviction the Pythia had seen of Eric in some time now. Hollowed out by his own discomfort - his choice to stradle the line between this life and the next would be his downfall. Unable to choose until all that remained was the pitiful indecision to return to a world that had already cast him aside once. "You should have spent these months learning to secure your own fate instead of wallowing in self-pity, abhorrence or expecting someone else to do it for you." A serpent's hiss rounded out the snap of her own fangs, the glimmer of hues daring him to test another bark in her presence. Still, she softens - smiles, and shakes her head gently, "I never needed to make you a monster, Eric. You've been one since birth - and everyone, including your mother, knew it." It's flippant, haphazard, the way she speaks. As though every word she spoke were facts well known. "You were exiled long before the pack turned it's back on you, and it seems you're itching to experience that all over again."

"If all you see here is destruction, you've not been looking hard enough." The asphodel - the Necronomicon, was wrought with the creation of all things frowned upon. To stop death in its tracks, open realms beyond this one, and bring about a world that no longer saw those with such an affinity banished to barren lands. Eric had yet to see the totality of the destruction that she could wrought and as she wove the intricacies of power around her finger, the once regaled seraphim condemned the volatile to a life of bridled pain. A shortened life, beyond the safe haven of those willing to do anything - his body would seek to reject the hearts granting - long life, and strength beyond all else. Rue the control he sought being safe - the fire within him deserved so much more. The spark of a flame ignites and the blackened candles surrounding the room cast long shadows across the room. "Your troubles are your own, Eric. I offered you opportunity, and you squandered it. Perhaps the harbinger won't mind another disappointment."

fxllenpythia​:

“What difference does a pack of wolves have to a coven? A court?” She waved a hand rather flippantly, the subdivision of species was a rather dull tactic to take when it came to the route of survival. Overdone, overworked and predictable. Centuries could pass among any of them before a spark of change, of life could pass through and reinvigorate the masses. “Do you not heed my voice in your mind as a beta would an alpha? Do you not feel protected? Safe?” Did they not know, that Pythia would burn the world down for those devoted enough to help see her through this? That Lucretia, August, Bastian, Levent, were now the closest thing to family she’d known in centuries - locked within the inferno after being fought and brought down by her siblings and gods alike. She had raised hell on those who’d betrayed her in the past, and she’d been far more forgiving as one of the blessed. “You have a mind, and will of your own. I understand the premise of what the Asphodel stand for, but we are for all those that have never belonged - been cast aside for daring to satiate our own curiosity.” And perhaps, his would be his own downfall this turn. Laughter blossomed on cherry tainted lips, “I don’t need weapons, Eric. I’m one of the fallen, risen from the inferno. There is nothing like me within this realm or the next.” Not yet, “Those that choose to follow me deserve far more than their lot in life, perhaps you believe you’re only ever meant to be one of many.”

          She spoke, an effortless command that was fit to seek out reason and not insight fear but it still made the inner child within them tremble. They always resounded that their bark was far worse than their bite, the Exile always falling mercy to sabotaging situations because of their indecisive nature. It was what wrought this collision now, him and a fucking fallen angel turned greater demon and though his jaw was clenched in that spasm of anxiety, Eric wouldn’t wilt under the idea of submitting to this creatures flawed tactics of unleashing evil upon the world they secretly, deep down, cherished. “No, I don’t feel fucking safe,” it was barked out with a rueful laugh, their face scrunched as though the Pythia would smite them for the mere admission, though the statement was paired with a haphazard shrug. One of many, that could resound another hollow laugh, but they bit the action back, instead nodding grimly. It was true that their cowardice had simmered them to this creature which lacked a back bone and only lashed out when backed into a corner; it was how they’d survived so long. “Yeah, I’m certainly more of a follower than a leader, carving out some wicked path of destruction, you got me there.” There was no sarcasm for it bore a sad truth for the lycan, “I’ll be a bit happier keeping my hands clean from all your troubles,” for once they’d stood their ground on an opinion instead of skulking towards what everyone else had done; what August had done. He often thought of the necromancer, their only friend once upon a time who they now no longer recognized as a dull malfeasance took over August’s gaze.

“Everything comes with a price,” an utterance that had gone unspoken for so long between them. Python had never seemingly had to warn August of what would come of his venture with her and the Necronomicon. Even still, it was only ever the stout of heart that remained when the truth of such a statement was embedded into the very marrow of harrowed bones. “They’d claw their way down for the ultimate power and yet refuse to pay the ultimate price. Fooling themselves into believing that being mediocre is a good enough gift in return for mindless servitude and laws.” All that the other side offered in her mind would retain the shape of a cage, no matter how she looked at it. Stemming from the very will of Ulthar himself - and his decree that the seraphim were to allow the humans the world promised to them - to protect and serve from above; entwined by the consequence of free-will being their own undoing. 

“More will leave,” she started, “allow some of them to believe they’ve done all they can. The time will come when they will pay what we’re owed.” We; as if everything she’d ever beholden to the world was also given to him. “Were they bold enough to have a single thought of their own, they’d understand that there are other ways.” True death. With no way back - no way to reverse the loss of a soul. A price that none expected, and one she refused to warn them of. She’d needed the numbers to begin with, the souls to grant her the power to invoke such a spell; to bring about the death of a God. Now, their souls belonged to the book - to her, and where they ran, she would always find them. “Narcissus betrayed us. Revealing our location to the Senate. We should pay them a visit.”

@fxllenpythia​ location: Necromanteion notes: finally in his unhinged era

Immortal, with the stained hands of one who’d helped to slay a God, divine ichor had run over the Asphodel and August found that there was nothing quite so addictive. Bebe was gone, Eren was gone, Eric too was leaving. Weak, each and every one of them. There had been a time when he would have counted them as traitors but if their resolve was so fragile then August thought there was little need for them. The Asphodel had grown powerful, the necronomicon was swollen with the divine essence that it had been fed, and whatever had remained of The First was now scattered to the infinite void of the accursed pages. 

August understood what was to come next, demonic freedom, the gates of the Inferno flung open and terror so unspeakable that the world would be reduced to ash. Good. Gods could bleed and they could die and the necromancer looked forward to further staining his hands, this realm would fall, then they would advance onto the next. Elysia would crumble and any who’d stood against them would come to understand the error of their ways. 

“More acolytes left in the night,” August explained, marked fools that thought they could outrun death. “I brought them back.” More fodder for the necronomicon, their souls lined within its dark pages. “Sometimes the best thing a person can do for us, is die.” 

@arakhor

Another triumph, underlying the return of the fellowship that had set out some time ago. Whispers had sought their way back to her on the wind, through the shadows and in the thick of each soul spilled to the book. Heroes that would stumble upon a broken crown and all the instability that would come with it. It spun its way through her entire being as an ultimate high, she almost missed it. A tremor that worked it's way into her fingertips and the promise of an oath not sworn in blood or souls, etched within the very celestial bones of what she'd once been, alerted her to something beyond the dissipating stretch of space between her and what she would bring upon this world. Her form filtered into a darkened mist, each speckle of darkness a black hole that emanated how rotten she was to the core, and when her hand slipped over his shoulder, the corporeal form following, she drew him into the heart of the otherworld. The chambers of the Asphodel and the Necronomicon echoing with centuries of silence and distance that never once left a mark upon what existed between them "I knew this lifetime would bring you back to me."

“Oh, but it does.” She quipped back rather happily, “I have not had to take everything I have, despite what you and the others may seek to believe.” Numerous, were the number of those who had handed over their power to further bolster her own. The book and all they offered was not all tainted. “Why should I not be confident, brother? You are in a tailspin, and the fact that you can only lecture me now is more than enough proof.” Saccharine, her tone fell, thick and sweet as honey as it dripped; lacquering each word like tar. “And yet here I stand, despite it.” Despite the inferno that her own siblings had left her to, “I have not suffered forgiveness nor mercy from you for an eternity, I certainly don’t seek it out now, nor shall I. Who exactly are you trying to convince, Uriel?”

fxllenpythia​:

“Undoubtedly.” Pythia quips with ripe confidence, “I couldn’t very will bring all this about and not ensure you all received and invite to the main event now, could I?” It was inevitable. As always. Wherever Leviathan went, whatever cracks in the surface of the world she and her following created, they would find her. One way or another. Destruction would remain the only thing that ever brought the seraphim together - for war, nonetheless. An enticing display with an uncertain end. “What are you to do, Uriel? I’ve already been cast to the depths of hell and crawled my way out. Do you truly believe I could not do so again?” As long as the book remained, Leviathan would linger in the very folds of the world, forever whispering of the gifts she could offer - the power that would forever tether her to this realm. 

“I daresay by now, you’d have already found a way to be rid of me and yet…” Here she stood. Centuries had passed while she pieced together each and every facet of all that would tether her to her immortal state; void of the dangers that might linger the higher she rose to power. “And yet, you hold onto empty threats in the hope you’ll find a way to stop me. How does it feel? To know you’ve fought all this time, and it will amount to nothing at all.”

☨

“You gathered power that does not belong to you.” Uriel shook his head. “Of course you stand there with such unwavering confidence, sister. The other choice would be to be painfully aware that there is only so much time you can spend running and desperately grasping on the strength of others for your own survival.” He scoffed. “You reek with too much arrogance, Leviathan, far too much for someone who has been unsuccessful before.” he sneered. “You are nothing but a parasite. Just as you were before, you will lose and there will be no forgiveness or mercy for what you have wrought on this world. My brethren and our allies will personally ensure it this time.”

One of the flaws of all mortals was their impending ability to lose sight far too quickly. So adept to instant gratification that the eons Python had spent piecing together each path of intentional destruction was so quick to doubt in their minds. Their wishy-washy desires formed of self preservation, rather than the desire to claw for everything they had. One did not seek out the powers of infernal darkness without getting burned in the process. The disappointment was wrought, but that was nothing new. The book was gone, and yet, that didn't dampen Leviathan's spirits. All she had to do was reassess. "Don't I always?" The maniacal leer to her tone is unforgiving. However bad it may have seemed - there are far worse fates to suffer, and the archfiend intends to see it through to the end, over and over again if they must. "Whatever it is they suffered you, Bastien, their forces do nothing but pre-empt their own by constantly fighting it. Regardless, we'll see it through. The books destruction is nothing if not history repeating itself - they're fools to think this would squander our intentions."

where. wherever this hoe be hiding who. @fxllenpythia

The Necronomicon had been destroyed. After thousands of years, he could feel its loss so keenly. As if a piece of himself was gone, lost forever. Which is why he could understand how Pythia may be feeling in the moment. After all their plans had been ripped from their hands, shredded before their very eyes. Bastien had been imprisoned for his connection to the Asphodel, had not questioned his loyalty for even a moment as his mind fractured within his cell. So now, he felt as if he did not know what to do. Did not know what direction to point himself in. "Do tell me you have a plan already forming."

@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.”