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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Nov 5, 2007 17:19:50 GMT -5
What began as a modest drizzle somewhere at the beginning of the evening has escalated into a full-fledged onslaught from the skies by the time the Porsche pulls up next to the ACW arena. Without hesitation, though, the doors fly open and Echo darts out into the downpour, charging towards the arena as fast as her legs can carry her. Alicia follows close behind, and the creature they picked up at the stronghold slithers her way out of the backseat and dashes after the two of them, catching up to and nearly overtaking Echo in a matter of seconds.
They skid to a halt outside door marked with the ubiquitous EXIT sign and look up to the roof. An occasional fork of lightning traces a jagged trail over the night sky, and not a star is in sight: clouds have begun to swirl around the top of the structure. Echo voices what’s on both their minds.
Echo: He said to meet him on the roof…looks like we’d better hurry. Elevator?
Alicia: No, it’s on the other side of the building. There’s a set of staircases on all the major halls; if we head in from here and go left---
The demon is apparently not in any mood to wait; with a gutturally-hissed imprecation she dives onto the wall and begins rapidly scaling it, all four claws pistoning in and out of the stone as she skitters up towards the roof. Alicia and Echo briefly stare in amazement, but the urgency of the situation punctuates itself with a crack of thunder overhead, and they scurry through the door.
Alicia: Watch your step, floor’s probably still wet--
As she turns into the stairwell it becomes obvious that Echo’s learned this already, and has narrowly saved herself from faceplanting. A quick grab of the handrail saves her, and with judicious use of same they vault up each flight of stairs, one by one by endless one. Even in top physical condition, both of them find themselves panting slightly by about the eighth flight, and Echo actually pauses on a landing once to catch her breath before taking off again.
Echo: What floor’s the roof?
Alicia: Ten.
Echo: And we’re on?
Alicia: …Four.
There’s no real response; Echo simply swears under her breath, loudly enough for it to resonate all over the empty stairwell, and starts up a new path. The air is beginning to feel heavy around them, and the stairs above darken as light bulbs begin blowing out one by one with a clatter of falling glass.
Echo: Not much time…
Articulation is, by necessity, stolen by the fact that she’s just about out of breath, but the rooftop is near and Echo pushes on. The walls on the eight floor landing have begun to ripple slightly, black veins cutting a spider web down their sides and throbbing with unchecked energy. A faint hint of static permeates the air, slowly increasing in volume as the pair come within sight of the door to the roof; Alicia shoves it open without breaking her stride and she and Echo spill out onto the roof to find…
…silence. The bizarre, peeling distortions of reality are clearly at their nexus up here, but the static, the thunder…even the rain have come to a complete stop. Everything is perfectly still.
At the center of the corruption is Joachim, head lolled forward in concentration, hastily manipulating some object in his hands. The cuts he sustained earlier have clearly gone untreated, and every shift in position from him splashes slightly in the puddle of claret slowly forming under him. A book lies discarded to his left and the group’s erstwhile demonic acquaintance, back arched warily, perches on a piece of scaffolding to his right. Alicia and Echo hurry to him, and Echo manages to get the first question out in between gasps for breath:
Echo: Are…are we on time?
Joachim: Barely.
He sounds distant, distracted, as if his connection to consciousness were growing weaker with every passing second. Alicia glances at the object he’s frantically working on, recognizing it as the abacus they took from the stronghold earlier. He’s busy attempting to arrange each individual bead in the order of some kind of pattern, or number.
Joachim: You’re just in time, though. Another minute and it would’ve been too late.
Echo kneels down and examines the book lying off to the side. It’s forbiddingly thick, and bears a familiar name on the cover, which she murmurs to herself.
Echo: Crowley…
Ah. So this is what’d happened to that copy of the book he’d mentioned in the letter. Her head swivels to look at the nearly-entranced Joachim.
Echo: ‘Chim, what’re you doing?
Joachim: Shhh. I’m almost finished.
Underneath them, the roof begins to tremble, as if in anticipation. The clouds swirl overhead in a black funnel not entirely dissimilar to a tornado, faster and faster as he continues moving the beads…and then Echo’s heart sinks at the familiar “whoosh” sound heralding a descending pillar of light. It crashes onto the roof, dissipating instantly, and Zaphkiel steps forth with his sword unsheathed and a look of disbelief on his face.
Alicia: Speed it up, he’s here!
Joachim: Can’t rush it…almost…
Zaphkiel: What in perdition’s flames are you doing?!
His eyes are wide in horror, staring at the abacus. Echo blinks, not having quite expected this reaction out of the unflappably-cold archangel.
Zaphkiel: Imbecile, where did you GET that?! This wasn’t part of the agreement! You’ve let the demon loose and now you’re toying with that thing? Damn it, you promised us vengeance, and I intend to have it!
Finally, Joachim raises his head, marred somewhat by the streaks of blood running down his face, and grins at the raving angel. It’s an entirely unpleasant grin, more like a cadaver’s grimace than any expression of joy, and the unease is accented as he holds up the abacus. One bead remains out of place.
Joachim: I always keep my promises, m’dear Zaphkiel.
Echo blinks, whirling on him. Her shock is palpable.
Echo: …Wait, you know him? What the hell haven’t you been telling me?
He ignores her, lifts the abacus over his head with a triumphant flourish, and slides the final bead to the end of its string. It clicks into place with a crash of renewed thunder overhead, and the vortex of clouds lashes into the roof with a column of eerie blue light, baptizing Joachim in its otherworldly glow. As he raises his eyes to the sky in a gesture of reverence, that vicious, needle-toothed grin splits his face once more.
Joachim: Oh yes, there will most assuredly be vengeance…and it begins now.
Faster than the eye can even react, the vortex over the roof lights up from end to end and opens up within itself like a trap door, starting at the connecting point with the pillar from the abacus. The light from within its confines is blindingly bright, forcing Alicia and Echo to shield their eyes and look down to the roof, and so they almost miss Joachim throwing both hands aloft, screaming his last words to the sky amidst a wild, spine-chilling cackle.
Joachim: Ah, ha ha ha ha ha ha! My life is yours, supreme one!
A deafening shriek of grinding metal is the only warning; like a legion of striking snakes, a thousand barbed chains lash down from the vortex. The hooked ones latch onto an arm, a jawbone, a pectoral, any body part they can reach, while the spined chains slither lightning-fast over as much of him as they possibly can, but all of them zero in on Joachim with single-minded purpose and dig into his body. They hang there for a second, lingering…and then jerk backwards violently, effectively ripping him to shreds in a symphony of crunching bone and tearing flesh. Blood splatters all over Echo, who recoils in shock and actually screams, falling back in an attempt to scramble away. Alicia freezes with a gasp and is nearly bowled over by Echo’s retreat, but both of them have their attention immediately stolen by the events surrounding them.
The ear-splitting grinding sound heralds another surge of hook-chains; these bury themselves in the roof, effectively bridging the gap. Blood, incongruously enough, spurts from the entry wounds in the arena roof, and a ripple of energy courses up the chains into the vortex, from which descends a human figure.
Echo: …’Chim?
It’s Joachim in the face, the hair, and the figure, but the resemblance ends there. Ghastly pale and horribly mutilated, the creature bears more similarity to some revenant than a human being. His body is sparsely clothed from the waist up, giving view to a thousand depravities visited on his flesh: it seems almost as if the front of his torso has been stapled together, with numerous metal rebars periodically inserted all the way up his chest and stomach. A pair of hook-chains run from the back of his neck and into his biceps, pushing deep into the muscle as if to feed the entire network of chains through his arteries. At the base of the creature’s neck, where they connect, the chains extend their grasp into some kind of spiked clerical collar, maintaining their anchors in his body by means of vicious spines and hooks.
His face is almost untouched, save for a jagged diadem of chain and barbed wire that circumnavigates the top of his head. Whether crown of thorns or profane halo, it, like the rest of his adornments, stays on him by virtue of penetration of the skin.
The being descends further, coming to a halt a meter from the surface of the roof. He remains suspended in the air from a massive, almost phallic tentacle that stretches downwards from the vortex‘s maw. It feeds into his back just under the shoulder blades, and pulsates obscenely as it twists and turns to accommodate the direction of his hovering.
?: Ah…exquisite.
The voice has a watery tinge to it, and seems to fluctuate in sync with the vortex’s movements, but it’s definitely Joachim’s voice. Echo looks shellshocked to the point of incoherency; Alicia, rather badly shaken herself, raises her eyes to the figure and puts the obvious question forward.
Alicia: Joachim? What’s going on?
A familiar cold smile curves the creature’s lips, revealing a glimpse of freakishly sharp teeth, and the tip of his tongue briefly snakes out to run over their edges.
?: If you want to be proper about it, you may address me as ‘the Hierophant’…and “what’s going on” is the end of all creation as you know it.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Nov 5, 2007 17:20:46 GMT -5
One person remains untransfixed by the entrance of the mutilated creature. Zaphkiel, hoisting his broadsword up onto one shoulder, stamps a booted foot into the roof hard enough to crack its surface and roars in fury.
Zaphkiel: What do you think you’re DOING?! The arrangement didn’t call for this!
Ignoring him, the Hierophant raises his hands once again to the vortex. It heaves with a loud, pained sigh, and a flickering mist begins to descend from the skies, blanketing the arena and everything around it with a wall of static and fog. One by one the lights in the parking lot blink out of existence, starting with those on the very outskirts and then rapidly shooting inwards towards the nexus of the fog: the ACW arena.
Echo: What the fuck is that?! What’s going on with Joachim?
Zaphkiel: That abomination is the Hierophant of the Gash. Supreme, almost papal, among cenobites, hanging there in the center of his web like a filth-gorged spider. He answers only to the horrors between the stars…it was a mistake to ever think he wouldn’t attempt something like this. Damn his eyes, damn them!
As it reaches the center, the fog continues to short out everything in sight. The lights visible from windows in the arena cut to black, the speakers cease action and begin spewing a stream of blistering static, and the camera feed abruptly cuts out of existence. It’s blessedly happened at the end of the show, so those watching at home wouldn’t suspect anything anyway, but that’s the farthest worry from Alicia and Echo’s minds right now.
Hierophant: Mmm…there. Everything is in place.
He lowers his gaze to the defiant archangel. The observant onlooker might notice his irises spasm and ripple fairly regularly, giving his gaze an almost liquid feel to it.
Hierophant: ….Are you still here?
Zaphkiel: You unleashed the Miasma, you imbecile! You’ve betrayed us all!
The hook-chains strung along the Hierophant’s arm clink against each other as he shrugs.
Hierophant: Fair enough. So I have.
Alicia looks between the two, their forms about as stark a contrast as one could expect to find anywhere. She feels a surge of outrage swell up in her at the idea of her “protector” working with anything this loathsome-seeming, and takes the opportunity to voice it with a glare at Zaphkiel.
Alicia: You were working with him? Why?! He’s a…whatever he is, he looks pretty damned opposed to everything you stand for.
Zaphkiel’s head swings around to face her, and his wings flare out behind him with a burst of light. He snarls back a rebuke.
Zaphkiel: Do not presume to question me. My motives were purely--
Hierophant: ---purely self-motivated, as always, little angel.
With a tinge of agreement (at least to the hostility), the demon hisses at Zaphkiel from her presumably safe vantage point; the presence of the Hierophant between them seems to bolster her courage slightly.
Zaphkiel: How dare you? What kind of chicanery have you begun?!
Hierophant: Ah, good of you to ask. Allow me to elucidate.
He descends slightly, nearly touching the roof, and turns his gaze on Echo.
Hierophant: Echo, m’dear, when you visited my colleague down in Massachusetts I assume he explained the process of evocation to you?
Echo, still looking slightly shellshocked, blinks, rising to a standing position. She eyes the Hierophant with something stopping just short of fear: it’s clearly the Joachim she once knew, but his recent changes have made him the type you wouldn’t want to casually address.
Echo: …You know about that? I didn’t tell you I was going.
Hierophant: Of course not. That, however, did not stop me from knowing. Now then, evocation?
Echo: Yes.
Hierophant: Good. So originally, when I approached our gullible friend here, the proposition was this: we would settle a, er, shared vendetta of sorts, with the Smoldering Count.
Echo: Who?
Alicia: He means my brother.
Zaphkiel: He’s not--
Hierophant: Be silent. Yes, of course, our mutual friend is Vhal’kanis, son of Asmodeus, patriarch of the House of Ashmedai and Exalted Count of Phlegethos. We would obtain the necessary materials and I would evocate a planar portal to his domain, and once there, Zaphkiel would take something very, very important to him and drag it back to this pitiful realm.
The demon has taken up a spot behind Echo and Alicia now; it growls at the Hierophant at the mention of Vhal’kanis.
Hierophant: With it, we would lure him into the material realm and from there, Zaphkiel would avenge the Mikladim, slaying the son of the archdemon who struck down that holy order and finding respite at last for his crazed vengeance trip.
He grins again, sending a sharp feeling of unease down Echo’s spine. She shifts uncomfortably.
Hierophant: Unfortunately, the plan has changed, or rather, it’s been different this entire time. You see, I have no intention of letting you kill Vhal’kanis, my deluded friend. Quite the opposite, in fact.
The archangel’s eyes flash with fury, and he brings the sword down, looking like he’s about to charge across the roof and start the fighting then and there.
Zaphkiel: Calumnious monster. You’d choose the hellspawn over us?
Hierophant: I choose, thank you very much, our side. Believe me, I intend to let you try to kill him, certainly, but I can assure you that you’re no match for him, nor will you ever be under any circumstances.
Zaphkiel: Try me.
Hierophant: I won’t. When we’re done summoning the Count, though…he will. He’ll tear your spine from your body and ram it through your head, if I remember him well enough. And then…what? One of the Seven murdering an archangel? Do you have any idea what kind of repercussions that will have?
For the first time, Zaphkiel hesitates. His sword lowers, and he takes a step back a bit, eyes widening. For something to be giving him this much pause, it must be of near-cosmic gravity.
Zaphkiel: No. You…you’re mad. You’re out of your mind.
This draws a full-on laugh from the hanging Hierophant, a maniacal gurgle tinged with diabolical glee.
Hierophant: Oh, yes, archangel, oh yes. You’re certainly not the popular type, and I imagine Jibrel’s been preparing your replacement for the last decade or so, but make no mistake, you are important. And when word gets to the Tetragrammaton that one of those “filthy hellspawned dogs” has assassinated you, do you think it will hesitate or attempt to reach some kind of diplomatic solution?
Zaphkiel: You can’t possibly--
Hierophant: No, it’s going to roar through Metatron so loudly they’ll hear it in the Abyss. It’ll call down the wrath of every angel in the Empyreum on that “nest of vipers”; they’ll swoop down and be met halfway, and all the glories of heaven, all the nightmares of hell, will crash together…in one last, beautiful Armageddon.
He spreads his hands in a benediction-like gesture, tilting his head back to let a satisfied sigh escape, and looks satisfied to near post-coital levels.
Hierophant: So much blood, so much death, so much chaos…and in the end, only we will remain. Within the hour your little cold war will turn so hot it will burn itself out, and that will be the end of that.
Zaphkiel, by contrast, looks absolutely stricken. Sweat beads on his brow as he stares unseeing, mouth open, at the monster hanging before him. It’s as if he’s seeing the entire world fall apart in front of him…and to an extent, he is.
Zaphkiel: No…no, it can’t be. You can’t have engineered this whole thing…
Hierophant: On the contrary, twenty years in the void has provided a remarkable window to plan things out. Now then, to business--
The archangel roars, flaring up anew with a surge of holy light. All the anger of his frustrated attempt at revenge, plus the burden of possible celestial holocaust he’s brought on, come screaming to the surface, and his very skin seems to burn with flashing sunlight. His mighty wings explode out behind him, glowing a painful gold and making him seem even larger as he rears back to charge.
Zaphkiel: TREACHEROUS WRETCH!!! I’ll cut your lying tongue from your mouth!
Hierophant: Ah. If that’s all you want…
A pair of scythe-like bones burst from his wrists with a “snikt” sound, arcing up and outwards in a wickedly sharp angle. The Hierophant’s long, gray tongue protrudes from between his lips, and he raises the a blade to his mouth and begins cutting through it, much to the horror of Alicia and Echo (the latter of whom nonetheless watches transfixed). Black, steaming blood pours from the steadily-growing wound in his tongue as he forces the blade up and down, amidst the rubbery sounds of meat being relentlessly sawed, and dribbles down across his bare torso, dripping over the staples and down to the roof below him. Alicia gags slightly at the last cut, a tearing motion that fully severs the end of the Hierophant’s tongue; he rips it free and holds it up for the very-nonplussed Zaphkiel to see…as the mangled stump still protruding from his mouth swiftly regenerates.
Hierophant: …far be it from me to deny you. Catch.
He launches the severed piece of meat through the air, much faster than anyone can hope to react. It strikes Zaphkiel full in the chest and knocks him back against the wall to the stairwell, already starting to bubble and spread over him. By the time he drops forward to the asphalt, face down, the severed tongue has turned into a kind of bloodied, fleshy restraint that wraps around his entire body. It pins his wings to his back, keeps his limbs fastened to the roof, and barely lets him raise his head. To his credit, Zaphkiel struggles violently, thrashing against his bonds with all the force he can muster, but they keep him secured tightly to the roof.
Zaphkiel: Heretic! When I…argh…when I escape this…
Hierophant: When you escape that, the Count will be here, and that will be the end of you anyway. Now, be good and stay there until I’m finished tracking down our hostage and performing the evocation. Let’s see…
His eyes wander the roof for a second, finally landing on the crouched demon, who snarls several imprecations at him when their eyes make contact.
Hierophant: Ah, there you are.
Echo heads him off, stepping forward. The question’s been burning in her mind all through this exchange, and even if she doesn’t think she’ll like the answer, she has to ask it.
Echo: …Joachim.
Hierophant: Hierophant.
Echo: Hierophant. Why us? Why did you latch on to me of all people, and why did that angel kidnap me? And why’d you drag Alicia into this whole thing? You couldn’t have wanted to use her blood for the evocation, because they’re not technically related---
Hierophant: Astute as always, Echo. No, you are correct, Alicia’s involvement was a coincidental matter of convenience. I aimed to use your blood.
A hush falls over the roof. For a few seconds, even the static doesn’t seem as loud as the uncomfortable silence that dominates after that statement. Echo trembles slightly, then bites her lip and takes the question that triggers a fateful step through the looking glass:
Echo: …Why mine?
His lips pull tight in a smile that looks like a knife wound, and the freshly-regenerated tongue briefly trails across them.
Hierophant: Echo, m’dear…do you know what an avatar is?
The chained angel bellows loud enough to make Alicia jump, resuming his thrashing.
Zaphkiel: Don’t tell her that, you idiot! You have no idea what could happen if you upset--
Hierophant: Be silent.
The restraints clamp down harder, effectively muzzling Zaphkiel. The Hierophant descends on his tentacle, coming almost face to face with Echo, who resists the urge to back up.
Hierophant: Now, then. Answer the question.
Echo: I…no.
Hierophant: I didn’t expect so. An avatar is a being, generally humanoid, created by an entity in order to traverse a material plane, such as this one, without having to follow the rules of bringing their actual body there. We generally use it to exert influence on events happening here.
Alicia: You’re saying you can create life ex nihilo.
Hierophant: Precisely. We stole the technology from the Empyreum easily enough and created the flesh pits years ago; the demons followed suit shortly after, and that includes our dear friend Count Vhal’kanis. Now then, Echo, you’re a bright girl…can you see where this is going?
The answer is clearly positive; Echo’s fallen to her knees and stares blankly at the surface of the roof, breath coming in short gasps. Even when Alicia cautiously stretches out a hand and touches her shoulder, she seems nonresponsive, almost catatonic.
Hierophant: Good, I thought you could. Now, I have no idea why he made, disconnected, and essentially abandoned you; he acts strangely like that. But the fact remains: your blood is his blood, and it would do just as well as any demon. So I watched you for a month or two, and then set an avatar of my own into action, that being Joachim; through that puppet I set in motion the events that would lead to this day, one step at a time. And it’s worked.
Tears are beginning to pool in Echo’s eyes; one or two cut a swath down her cheeks while others drop straight to the surface of the roof, mingling with the pulsing veins and the splattered blood on which she kneels.
Hierophant: So there’s the answer you spent your life searching for, darling: you cannot recover your memories because you have none. You were created a year and a half ago and cut loose on the shores of Mogadishu, an extension of the Count without his knowledge to operate yourself, and you’ve wandered incomplete ever since. A pitiable embodiment of whatever hopeless dream is left in him. Sad, mm?
She raises her head to look up at him, the tears coming in a steady stream now. The absurd thought occurs to Alicia that she’s never actually seen, or heard of, Echo crying before. It’s an eerie sight, and all the more horrifying given the circumstances.
Echo: The memories, though…the flashes of them I used to have.
Hierophant: His.
Echo: The expertise, all the skills that got me my career.
Hierophant: His.
Echo: Those moments I thought I recognized somebody…?
Hierophant: His.
Echo slams a fist into the roof, forcing herself to glare at him through her blurred vision.
Echo: And all that time together? The early days slumming it while we were trying to get employed? The nights next to the fireplace watching reruns at three in the morning? That time you bought me a pair of Aristrist sunglasses even though they cost more than I made in half a year? What about those?! Were those him that whole time?!?
They hold each other’s gaze for what feels like an eternity, time stretching out torturously like melting plastic, and a thousand unreadable things pass between the two of them…
…and then the Hierophant turns away, without a word, and hovers past her to Alicia. Echo completely loses it and breaks down on the roof, jerking slightly as her body wracks with sobs, and any attempt at comforting her is quickly stymied by the Hierophant’s insertion of himself between Alicia and Echo.
Hierophant: Ah. As for you…
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Nov 5, 2007 17:21:48 GMT -5
Alicia holds her ground, but it’s more than a little difficult to retain your composure in the face of a terror beyond your wildest imagining. The only thing which makes it possible for her is that fact that, for all his appalling glory, the thing in front of her possesses the same character as the man she’s slowly come to appreciate, albeit in a curious and twisted way. She looks at him, and a flicker of grim amusement crosses her brow.
Alicia: I guess this would normally be the point where I should demand to hear about your nefarious scheme, but Zaphod over there beat me to it. I have to give credit where it’s due, you clearly excelled in that section of your “advanced villainy” course.
The Hierophant raises an eyebrow, his diadem cutting a little nick in the flesh in the process. Alicia looks over her shoulder at where the demon is now crouched down, seemingly just beginning to comprehend the danger of her situation.
Alicia: I often wondered what she would look like as she grew up. Naturally, that didn’t figure in my reckoning… but I can sort of see the resemblance. She has her mother’s cheekbones, the lucky sod.
Hissing comes from behind them; the demon seems to know it’s being discussed, and snarls, showing its teeth and tongue. Alicia frowns.
Alicia: Don’t you stick your tongue out at me, Monique DeAngelo. Kids these days, honestly…
If it’s possible for a demon to look utterly stunned, that’s the expression which the figure on the roof is struck by. Its rasping vocalizations, which up until this moment have been incomprehensible to Alicia, suddenly resolve into words she understands.
Monique: ………………What? How could you know…?
Alicia looks at her with a smile full of sadness.
Alicia: I really wish there was the time to tell you… but I don’t think there is.
She turns back to the hovering Hierophant.
Alicia: So… what happens now? Any other revelations for us to endure before the End of Days?
A sound vaguely resembling a chuckle escapes the Hierophant’s lips. He toys with one of the chains snaking along his forearm.
Hierophant: Not exactly.
He stretches, flexing his musculature, making the chains strain a little in the process.
Hierophant: When I embarked upon my master plan, you will appreciate that I had not factored in anything other than Echo, the archangel, and the Count’s daughter. A simple recipe, undoubtedly guaranteed to be satisfying in the end... but, it must be said, potentially blander than I would have ideally liked.
He hovers a little closer.
Hierophant: And then you inserted yourself into the mixture, an unbidden but, it turns out, a most gratifying development. You have proven to be extremely useful to my purposes… the retrieval of the demoness would have been far harder to accomplish, for example, without Zaphkiel recognizing my, ah, misdirection.
Alicia flinches, her complicity in events making her feel worse than she already does. She closes her eyes for a moment, rebuking herself for her naivety; an ice-cold touch to her chin, however, makes her open them again, to find the Hierophant lifting her head up toward his.
Hierophant: No, m’dear, you misunderstand. I do not wish to gloat; far from it. I recognize those who have potential, even when starting from as low a base as the mortal form. After all, I made the ascent myself…
He sweeps his arm across the view in front of them, across the sky to the town and land beyond.
Hierophant: You understand, I am sure, that this poor shell of a world is about to crumble into dust. When that dust settles, our era will begin… and those few who survive the ravages of the war will be lost and helpless. They will be as clay, ripe for moulding…
He looks back to her, his liquid pupils glittering in anticipation.
Hierophant: You expressed to me in no uncertain terms your dissatisfaction with the current “administration”, did you not? Well, then… why should we not forge a new system? You see before you how utterly the status quo has failed you and all your kind.
Alicia’s mind arrives at an interpretation of the Hierophant’s words, backs up in shock, and then cautiously approaches a second time.
Alicia: ….what do you mean by “we”?
She sees that oh-so-familiar smile in response. The Hierophant’s gaze does not waver.
Hierophant: I mean precisely what you take me to mean. You, and I, and all of ours. This realm may be no more than a speck in the vast glory of the cosmos, but it would still represent a considerable domain over which to rule. And you may take my word for it that it outdoes the endless nothingness of the Void effortlessly, especially once we have shaped it to our own pleasing. Allow me to bring forth from you your darkest desires, and I will teach you how to use them to crush all the weak and pitiful examples of your species whose behaviour you so despise.
Alicia looks out over the vista. In all her times of confusion, she has never felt so conflicted; she cannot deny, as much as it troubles her, that the proposition is not attractive. Surely having a chance to rebuild after the certainty of the coming destruction is the best option open to her… it calls, siren-like, to the very heart of her.
She looks at the Hierophant. Not two hours ago, she chided Echo for not appreciating her chance to start over, and now here she is, with a warped version of the same dilemma. Reason struggles with emotion; part of her is screaming in terror at what is about to befall her closest friends, her family, everything in fact that she holds dear, while another tells her not to let this moment slip, not to sacrifice what could be salvaged in the future in the utterly vain hope of preserving the present…
It’s the hardest decision, and there have been many, that she has ever had to face. Yet face it she must. She breathes in, and addresses her unlikely suitor.
Alicia: It’s… quite an offer, Hierophant.
He says nothing; his eyes now barely fluctuating at all.
Hierophant: It is. And I urge, you, Alicia, not to be swayed by any misguided remnant of feeling which you may harbor for the Count or his kin.
Alicia looks at him, stunned at how he can so clearly penetrate to the root of her thoughts.
Hierophant: I sense that you still feel some kind of duty to Vhal’Kanis. But tell me, what can you possibly owe to his house? Has he not been responsible for much of the pain you have endured throughout your life? Has he ever shown you so much as a shred of gratitude or reciprocated your affection? No, he has not, and now that you know that there is no debt of blood either, there is nothing to tie you to him any longer. There is nothing to bind you to any of these ungrateful, self-absorbed creatures. So be free of them, once and for all.
The wind rises and falls, rattling the chains all over the Hierophant’s body. Alicia sighs, and shakes her head gently.
Alicia: I’m sorry, but I have to decline your proposition, as generous as it is.
She half-braces, expecting to be ripped apart there and then, but instead the Hierophant just regards her silently. Alicia touches a finger to the metal bars across his chest.
Alicia: As tempting as your pitch is, it’s based on flawed logic. You’re promising something you can’t deliver. Look at yourself… these bonds, they are both power and prison to you. You’re literally a puppet on a big, slimy string… so how can you ever truly be free? Ultimately, there’s always going to be someone, do pardon the pun, yanking your chain from above.
She takes a step backward, back toward Echo, placing herself between the Hierophant and the woman and demon behind her.
Alicia: You know where that leaves us. But for what it’s worth… thanks anyway.
Their eyes meet one more time; the Hierophant nods, solemnly. His expression, and the words which follow, take Alicia right back to the first time they met…
Hierophant: A pity.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Nov 5, 2007 17:22:33 GMT -5
A storm of chains descends from behind the Hierophant, pulsing out from behind his back in a writhing web of jagged metal. They tense, quivering as if with anticipation, then raise up over him and coil to strike. To her credit, Alicia looks up at him undauntedly, and manages defiance in what’ll probably be her last words.
Alicia: Not enough of one, I see.
Hierophant: No. My regret shall follow you into the lonely path of the void, but there will be no--
An abrupt end comes halfway through that sentence, and Alicia can see he’s no longer looking at her so much as behind her. She turns as well; the same sight (or rather, lack of one) captures both their attention: Echo is no longer on the floor sobbing. In fact, she’s nowhere in sight.
Spinning around, Alicia frantically scans the area, looking past Monique, Zaphkiel, and the Hierophant. She finally lets out a sigh of relief at the sight of Echo, who’s across the roof by now, with the book Joachim dropped earlier…
…and relief makes a very sudden downshift to alarm. Echo’s kneeling over the massive pool of blood in the center of the rooftop and raking at her arm with a stray hook-chain.
Alicia: Echo!
The Hierophant whirls, and his lips curl in a snarl upon seeing Echo bleeding heavily into the pool that’s channeling his vortex.
Hierophant: What do you think you’re doing?
Echo: Isn’t it obvious?
It is, especially to someone who knows her as well as he does. He quickly grasps her course of action, and takes a “step” forward in the air, his voice taking on a tone of urgency.
Hierophant: It’s not time yet. Stop that.
Again she lifts her eyes to meet his, and again their gazes lock…but this time, it lasts perhaps ten seconds at most before Echo, with a cold smirk, raises the book and begins reading.
Echo: Nakh’ma xi revenos valshir metakas xi’ravenum…
A furious, grating shriek escapes the Hierophant’s throat, and he throws his arms forward as strange metallic spheres begin to rain from the vortex, slamming into the roof with considerable impact.
Echo: Valas revenos manakh atalaish hok‘tai…
Hierophant: Stop her! STOP HER!!!
The spheres uncurl into humanoid forms that, as if on puppet strings, jerk upright to a standing position. Their spined skin is black as coal, with shadowy protoplasm swirling around their backs like tentacles, and their faces are much more similar to frogs or salamanders than human beings. Most are armed with a variety of bladed weapons, generally glaives of some sort, though the larger ones carry axes. All of them immediately turn in Echo’s direction, fixating on her.
Echo: Ak’min kur--uh oh.
The Hierophant sweeps an arm out towards the legion of Hidden, his gesture encompassing the inhabitants of the entire roof. Veins pulse hard in his throat as he growls out a command.
Hierophant: Kill them! All of them!
Monique swings into action faster than the eye can follow, diving into the midst of the Hidden with a gigantic quadruple-clawed swing. An explosion of black gore splatters onto the floor around the demon, and the Hidden swarm in on her, attempting to overwhelm her by sheer numbers. Numbers, however, are their only advantage, and the oily blood flies in earnest as she rips and tears her way through the minions surrounding Echo. Alicia dashes across the roof after her, but skids to a halt at the edge of the pack, her eyes drawn to an anomaly in the middle of the action…
The black blood of the Hidden, splashed wildly about the battlefield, is beginning to converge, with different puddles and streams trickling towards each other. As the streams collide, the blood bubbles violently as if boiling hot, then a new form surges up into physical being: another Hidden. The replication continues, all over the roof, and it quickly becomes obvious that even as Monique tears one in half, spilling a trail of intestines onto Echo’s “summoning pool”, they will continue to surge forward and the position will be quickly overwhelmed.
Hierophant: You might as well reconsider, Alicia.
She’s paused for too long; a Hidden grabs her by the arms from behind, and the smirking Hierophant floats overhead, looking all too pleased with himself.
Hierophant: It’s impossible to brute-force the Hidden. There are three of you against an infinite number of us. It’s not too late…surely you don’t want to---
The rest of the sentence is forever lost, because Alicia jerks forward hard and throws the Hidden over her head; his own weight propels him headlong into the hovering cenobite, who is completely caught off guard and nearly knocked off his tentacle by the force of the blow. He bares his teeth, letting out a snarl that shatters his collected façade, and a trio of hook-chains dart out from the vortex, latch onto the unfortunate Hidden, and launch him off the side of the roof, sending him splashing over the cars in the parking lot.
Alicia: The parking lot…
She only has to muse on the fate of the flying Hidden for a second before the wheels turn in Alicia‘s head, and she calls over her shoulder to the middle of the melee.
Alicia: Monique!
The demon half-turns, in the midst of gutting the unfortunate creature impaled on her horns.
Alicia: The roof! Throw them off the roof!
There’s no real acknowledgement that Monique’s heard or is interested in listening to her, until she pivots and tosses her head, sending the gored Hidden plummeting to its doom. A sweeping blow of the arms knocks two more over, and as their swell up and attempt to bear down on her like a tidal wave, Monique dives to one side, kicks off the surface of the roof and charges forward in a tackle that takes the whole pile up and over, splattering them on the sidewalk. Still more spheres drop from the vortex; even if the army can’t infinitely replenish themselves, there’s certainly more where they came from, and success still balances on the edge of a knife unless…
Echo: Vek’tari mazthoralan zhen hok’ta xi khor---shit, how do you pronounce that…
The Hierophant’s eyes widen as he recognizes the closing lines of the evocation cantrip, and he shrieks in very real frustration, summoning up a writhing mass of hook-chains from the vortex and rearing back to launch them.
Hierophant: My patience has run out! Die! DIE!!!
They chains lash toward Echo, cutting through the air so loudly they sound like a death scream, and close the distance with frightening speed. She frantically looks back down to the book and reads as fast as possible; another second and she’ll be diced into a thousand bleeding pieces—
Echo: …khorzhana’kai Vhal’kanis metakas kurai na REESH!
The explosion is prodigious: deafening, blinding, and of absolutely scalding heat. Alicia dives to the floor to try to shield herself from the vast column of hellfire that erupts from the pool of blood; it annihilates the storm of chains in the blink of an eye and swiftly incinerates the Hidden that Monique was fighting, swirling around Echo in a white-hot aura of roaring heat that nearly drowns out the Hierophant’s infuriated shout. Just as quickly as it exploded outwards, the column falls away, dissipating into a burning red portal on the surface of the roof, and poised atop it…
At first, the only thing visible is a pair of prodigious black wings, leathery like those of a bat. They coil around the front of their bearer, shrouding him in a cocoon-like shield as he kneels at the top of the portal…and then slowly he rises, heralded by the slow clank of his obsidian-black plate armor, and sweeps the wings out behind him like the curtain to another world falling back.
It’s him all right.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Nov 5, 2007 17:23:37 GMT -5
In the years that have passed since Alicia last saw her tenuously-related kin, a thousand changes seem to have come over him. The most obvious of these is that he’s preposterously huge; reaching a height of almost three meters, his prodigious form is only enhanced by the span of the wings folded behind him. The thick, black hair that once reached down to his shoulders is now almost past his waist, with a pair of pendulous braids like one would expect from a barbarian war chief draped over the front of each shoulder. A pair of curved ram horns, exactly like those of his daughter, spiral out from his temples, crowning his mostly-unchanged face and the familiar streaks tattooed under his coal-black eyes.
The armor clashing against itself as he stands is exquisitely wrought ebony, traced with patterns of red like a system of blood vessels, and culminates in a pair of viciously spiked pauldrons atop his shoulders. It looks regal enough, even in a clearly combative situation like this one, that Alicia can vaguely envision a red cape making it suitable ‘head of state’ attire for…wherever the hell he lives now.
Slowly and methodically, the Count’s leonine head swings from one side of the roof to the other, eying first his daughter crouching in a corner, then Alicia and Echo a short distance away from her…Zaphkiel lashed to the roof and struggling determinedly to get loose…a few surviving Hidden scattered here and there…and lastly, his eyes settle on the Hierophant, hanging at the center of the chaos and regarding him warily. He speaks at last, in an impossibly deep voice that seems to crackle with fire behind his words.
Vhal’kanis: ...I might have known.
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Down in the ACW arena, the show has been brought to something of an abrupt end by the power being disrupted, about five minutes previously. The crowd, thinking that perhaps this is a “false end”, waits expectantly; when the noises start coming from the roof above, though, a few people start to get just that bit nervous.
The tech team is trying to work out what’s going on; McNally and Edison are querying whether they need to re-record their spoken trailers for the next broadcast.
They have absolutely no idea what’s about to happen…. And with hindsight, perhaps that’s the only small mercy anyone could have hoped for.
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His plan on the edge of ruin, the Hierophant nonetheless does not fall apart. Rather, he seems almost pleased with this turn of events in a perverse, fascinated way. He descends slightly and comes to a halt within about a leap’s distance from the Smoldering Count, locking into eye contact despite the latter’s formidable gaze.
Hierophant: Well. It has been a while, hasn’t it?
Vhal’kanis: It has. I take it you’re the new Illuminatus Atrox?
The Hierophant lets out a familiar, Joachim-esque snort, tossing his head in irritation.
Hierophant: I always was the Illuminatus Atrox, usurper.
A thunderous flurry of wings brings the Count across the roof, landing face to face with the cenobite lord. Monique scurries behind him gratefully, and he turns his head to cast an eye up and down her form, speaking to her in a guttural burst of the infernal tongue.
Vhal’kanis: Are you all right?
Monique: I’m fine…mostly thanks to those two.
Vhal’kanis: Mm.
Seemingly satisfied that she’s uninjured, he returns his gaze to the glaring Hierophant.
Vhal’kanis: “Usurper”…a popular word in my presence these days, it seems.
Hierophant: I should imagine. I’m amazed the Seven accepted you after your cold-blooded patricide of one of their most prominent members.
The Count’s head tilts to one side slightly, and a slight, unpleasant smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, a smile that definitely does not extend to his eyes.
Vhal’kanis: Far from cold-blooded; I relished the moment despite its costs. He gurgled like a choking vathe in his last moments, much as you did in yours.
Touché. He’s won an agitated growl from the Hierophant.
Hierophant: Your presumptuousness, I see, has not ch---
Vhal’kanis: I do not intend to waste my time listening to your incessant prattling. You have one chance for survival; leave off your machinations with my daughter and my avatar, remove the Miasma…
With a sweep of his arm, the Count gestures to the static-flashing mist surrounding the arena.
Vhal’kanis: …return to the void, and take that miserable archangel with you, or we will slaughter you and everything within a mile’s radius.
A pause, fraught with tension and punctuated by a sudden spike of horror on Alicia and Echo’s part. Realizing the implications of what’s happening, Echo finds herself hoping beyond hope that her plan’s still intact, that the presence of the Count will be enough to dissuade the Lord of the Gash from his schemes.
And then, like so many other disappointments, those hopes are crushed with a laugh from the hanging cenobite.
Hierophant: You…you truly think I’m intimidated by you? Vhal’kanis, you disappoint me. My power is nigh-divine and my armies are countless as the stars themselves, and you hope to threaten our legions by yourself?! There are no prophecies or convenient gargoyles to throw me onto this time, fool. You cannot stand against all of us.
Vhal’kanis: I know. As such, the entire Phlegethian standing army is assembled outside this portal; I need merely to give the word and they will pour forth in a holocaust the likes of which your deluded mind cannot fathom. The center will hold only if you choose to let it, and if it falls I assure you that you will go with it, kicking and screaming. This is your sole chance.
It doesn’t even take a second of contemplation for the Hierophant to decide; the scythed blades sweep out from his wrists and what seems like a thousand Hidden begin to rain from the vortex. Monique dashes to Alicia and Echo, the latter of whom looks like she’s about to collapse, and pulls them away as a flash of lightning illuminates the roof.
Hierophant: Let the center be damned! HAVE AT YOU!
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Nov 5, 2007 17:25:31 GMT -5
Two things happen at once.
The first, and most obvious, is the immediate and forceful collision of the Count and the Hierophant, right in the center of the roof; the impact is of such magnitude that it bowls over everyone around them like a miniature sonic boom. The familiar whistling of chains cutting through the air heightens into a whipping, screaming storm as the two push back off each other and prepare another charge; Vhal’kanis, meanwhile, reaches behind his back and, seemingly out of nowhere, produces two ornate, curved daggers that are easily huge enough to be considered swords by a normal person.
Secondly, the fiery portal, tranquil until several seconds ago, surges forth with a tide of nightmarish, demonic forms, armed to the teeth (and frequently including teeth) and screaming for blood. They burst out onto the roof, meeting the wave of freshly-spawned Hidden head on, and utter chaos erupts.
Echo: Come on.
She tugs urgently at Alicia’s arm, motioning towards the stairwell.
Alicia: But…
Echo: Come on. It’ll be safer down there, and there’s nothing we can do up--
Vhal’kanis: Achor shi’vara KAI!
The sphere of molten rock that flies by both their heads, having barely missed the Hierophant, explodes violently against one of the stairwell’s walls, forcibly collapsing it inwards and punching a hole in the roof. Debris, Hidden, and demon alike spill down into the ACW arena, and a rising crescendo of panicked whoops from the audience rise up into the night air.
Alicia: Damn it…you’re right, let’s go!
They leap through the gap in the wall into the now-wide-open staircase, descending as fast as reasonably possible, just as another of the Count’s fireballs punches another hole in the architecture.
Slicing through the air, seven hook-chains embed themselves in the plates of his armor, and a forceful pull from the Hierophant jerks him straight through the air and into melee range again. Entirely fine with this course of events, the Count parries a sweep from the wrist-blades to one side, twirling out a series of thrusts and slashes that the cenobite is barely able to dodge. A few strike home, nicking a gash or two in his corpse-white flesh, but they go unnoticed until one particularly keen stab punctures a bicep. Shaking him like a rat-killing terrier, Vhal’kanis wrenches the blade out of the Hierophant’s arm and throws him to one side; his adversary recovers in midair and launches another chain straight for his head…
…which he snatches out of the air with relative ease, and it becomes the Hierophant’s turn to be forcefully yanked through the air and met with an unceremonious yakuza kick that drops him to the roof with a loud thud. Vhal’kanis strikes downwards with both knives, but the Hierophant has already dissolved into a wave of static, and rematerializes in the air behind him. A wrist-blade erupts from the front of the Count’s throat, spraying dark red arcs over the carnage around them, and following suit from earlier, the Hierophant twists it hard and tears the blade out with a devilish grin.
Shoving him away, Vhal’kanis turns and touches a hand to his throat. The flesh closes over quickly enough, but the most striking thing was that throughout all that, he never even flinched, a fact which quickly spurs the lord of the Gash’s memory.
Hierophant: Ahhhhh yeeeeeesss. You don’t even feel pain now, do you? How delightfully inhuman.
Vhal’kanis’s response is nonverbal, and comes mostly in the form of a pair of charging slashes. One actually catches the Hierophant across the chest; he snarls and backs off from the other, fading once again into a static-tinged mist…that quickly funnels down through the hole into the ACW arena.
Hierophant: Keep up, if you can.
Vhal’kanis: Damn. General!
Another winged figure leaps from the portal; he’s armored similarly to the Count, but possesses decidedly reptilian features, including crimson scales and a long, swaying tail that bears more than a few clusters of spikes. His slit-pupiled eyes flash across the roof quickly, then he locates his lord and flaps over to salute.
Baalzephon: Your Eminence.
The Count doesn’t waste words.
Vhal’kanis: I want everything in the Miasma dead. Torch this building to the ground.
Baalzephon: I shall, your Eminence.
He pulls the visor of his shogun-like helmet over his face, and roars out a command to the horde that’s freshly arrived from the portal, charging through the hole in the roof.
Baalzephon: Let none survive! Manakh xi’kreesh!
The wave of demons follows him through, beating swords on shields, spears against the roof, or claw against claw, and echo the Ashmedai war-cry with the combined voice of a thousand damned beasts.
Demons: Manakh xi’kreesh!
If the Count is satisfied, he doesn’t let on, being far too occupied with the “business” of the Hierophant. Rather than follow the troops, he makes his own hole in the roof, diving through in a shower of plaster and rock.
Vhal’kanis: Let’s see where you’re hiding…
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Nov 5, 2007 17:26:07 GMT -5
No matter how many times he’s beaten on it, the TV is still showing nothing but static, and Thunderkiss yells in frustration as he bangs on its surface.
Thunderkiss: Damn it! Stupid hospital appliances! I didn’t get to see who won the battle roy---
A familiar form bursts through the static; the Hierophant is, quite literally, sticking out of the screen from the waist up. He smirks wryly at the thunderstruck Kiss.
Thunderkiss: What the fuck?
Hierophant: Oh yes, you’ll do nicely.
He doesn’t even have time to scream as a hundred writhing hook-chains drag him through the television screen and into the static abyss.
==
The arena proper has become an absolute nightmare, verging on state of emergency. Caught entirely off guard and unarmed anyway, the crowd and staff are no match for the descending legion of shrieking, bloodthirsty hellspawn that pour into the stands. Everywhere one turns, scenes of dismemberment, immolation, disembowelment, and other forms of trauma abound.
In the midst of the extermination, many of the demons continue to brawl with the Hidden, splattering the liquid creatures all over the aisles. Some bear flaming weaponry, hot enough to cauterize a wound as soon as it’s made, and these prove to be a nasty surprise to the Hidden. Those caught by such a weapon drop, severed limbs steaming, and do not liquefy to reform again. Still, even for those that fall, more spheres continue to fall from the sky, and the fight is by no means decided, or even close to it.
In the midst of it, a cenobite floats through the Phlegethian ranks, swinging a massive maul back and forth with enough force to launch anything caught in its way across the arena. He’s tremendous, and bears horns, fangs and claws to go with the metal spines that seem to have been forcibly embedded in his flesh. The decorative tracheotomy splitting his throat open, from which a hook-chain dangles and writhes like a second tongue, would seem to remove any doubt: this is a cenobitized demon.
Baalxoggoth: Ia ctha’gnrh Azathoth! Death to the heretics!
A whoosh over his head causes him to turn and lash out with his maul, but the offending figure has already passed by the time he does. It’s the Count, chasing an energy signature into the backstage area. Roaring with bloodlust, Baalxoggoth takes action: his chain “tongue” reaches down, grabs the nearest thing in sight (which, unfortunately for Jay Zero, happens to be him) and hurls it at Vhal’kanis’s back.
He misses, and Zero hits part of the scaffolding and doubles over backwards like a bear trap with a loud crunch, but the effort at least makes Baalxoggoth feel slightly better. He returns to the demons, swinging the maul once more and shouting imprecations at everything in sight.
==
Backstage, Alicia and Echo nearly smack into each other as they round opposite sides of the same hallway corner.
Alicia: Any luck finding survivors?
Echo: …Not really. I found Andrews, and that little Japanese kid, but it was way too late for either of them. You?
Alicia grimaces, looking over her shoulder at Dan White, who’s apparently been crucified to a hanging light fixture. At least, the top half of him has.
Alicia: Me either. Let’s try the ring, some of the Royale entrants might still be there…
Echo: Are you serious?! The ring’s probably the least safe place in the damned building!
Alicia: I know. But we have to try.
Without another word, she turns and rushes down the corridor, heading for the ring. Echo stares after her for a few seconds, and then, with a grudging feeling of admiration, follows after her, fairly certain they’re going to their doom.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Nov 5, 2007 17:27:11 GMT -5
Senator: …Gentlemen, this would seem to be quite the predicament.
The lights are completely blown all the way down the hall, save for one flickering tube that barely gives the Senator enough light to see three feet in front of him. He wishes, just once, that he hadn’t turned down the tobacco lobby that one time; at least then he’d have a complimentary lighter to use right now.
Next to him, the Capitalists cower behind their leader, all but hugging each other. A shriek from down the hallway, sounding agonized to the point of histrionics, reduces Kalb to enough of a quivering wreck that he dives behind a pile of rubble, trying to hide.
?: OH GOD, NO! SOMEBODY, PLEASE! HELP ME! HELP ME!!!
Fitzharris: S-senator Phillips, sir…
Senator: Get your nerve up, Mr. Fitzharris. Stop this unreasoning terror, and—
Hidden: GRAAAAH!!!
The beast lunges from the shadows, drawing a whoop from Fitzharris and nearly giving Kalb a fainting spell. It dives forward, claws outstretched and grinning widely, at the Senator, preparing to feast—
The crunch of bone is audible all the way down the hall, even over all the screams. When Anthony Kalb finally screws up some courage and dares to take his hands from his eyes, he expects the worst…and is dumbfounded at the sight of the Hidden, its neck twisted at an impossible angle, sprawled on the floor next to the Senator, who motions to them impatiently.
Senator: Well, come on, we can’t just stand around. It’s not safe.
Kalb: Sir? What the hell did you just do?
Phillips sighs, as if it’s obvious, and snaps his fingers.
Senator: I suplexed it, of course. Now come on, let’s go—
Another piercing shriek sends all three of them leaping for cover as the Hidden “marionettes” up, snapping its neck back into place, and springs again. This time, however, it doesn’t even get halfway; the Count explodes through the ceiling, lands on it, and quite literally tears the creature in half with his bare hands, throwing both ends in separate directions. He straightens, looking from left to right, then his eyes fall straight ahead on the cowering Stable.
Vhal’kanis: Have you seen the Hierophant?
Kalb: Y-you’re not going to…murder us horribly?
Vhal’kanis snaps at him with a growl, causing him to wet himself.
Vhal’kanis: No. Mephistopheles would be upset if I killed Senator Phillips here. Again, have you seen the Hierophant? Quickly now.
Senator: I...no, we don’t even know what that is. But there’s some screaming…I mean, some exceptional screaming, coming from that end. Maybe it’s—
Vhal’kanis: Good, I’ll check it. Don’t go the way I came; some imbecile set a helldrake loose up there.
Senator: A what?
The familiar sound of hook-chains cuts the conversation short; they burst through the floor, anchoring the Count down, and the Hierophant materializes in mid-charge.
Hierophant: Looking for someone?
He slams against Vhal’kanis with more than enough force to send the two down the hall at rocket-propelled speed, slamming through two pairs of closed doors and a wall. The Hierophant kicks off his enemy’s chest, flipping to the ground as the Count crashes and burns, skidding several feet across the floor. He braces himself, blades out and chains ready, and watches the Count leap to his feet.
Vhal’kanis: It’ll take more than that to—
An explosion of the wall behind him is all the warning he gets before he finds himself in a bearhug from two enormous arms, pallid as death and marred with roll upon roll of embedded barbed wire. The Count twists his head around, glaring, and finds himself staring at the one eye of a freshly-made cenobite; the opposite socket bears what looks like a surgical apparatus holding the gaping hole that was once his other eye open.
Thunderkiss: EAT YOUR BONES!
Vhal’kanis: Are you serious? I’m almost insulted; you’ve clearly scraped the bottom of the barrel, Salvatore.
Hierophant: Do not call me that. And I think he’s fine, given such short notice. Of course, when you do it within five minutes or so, it tends to destroy their sanity, but I find that works well for our purposes.
Twisting hard, Vhal’kanis doubles over and hurls the massive cenobite over one shoulder, demolishing another wall in the process. It leaps to a standing position and, undeterred by things such as reason or intellect, charges at him, swinging a fist and an axe blade that seems to have replaced the opposite hand.
Thunderkiss: BREAK YOU!!!
Hierophant: Yes, that’s the spirit. Go ahead and finish him---
Thunderkiss runs headlong into both knives, which embed themselves firmly in his gut. He thrashes like a gaffed trout, but Vhal’kanis, with prodigious strength befitting his status, hoists the cenobite over his head and drops backward, quite literally hurling him straight up into the stratosphere. An enraged bellow echoes from the sky all the way up.
Hierophant: --off. Damn you, Vhal’kanis. Damn you.
Vhal’kanis: Now, where was I?
He rushes the Hierophant head-on, and they crash into the arena’s mass chaos as the fight begins anew. Wisely, the cenobite lord chooses to retreat over near the ring, which is now more of a canvas ramp due to having been annihilated by Baalzephon’s lack of regard for collateral damage. The general perches on a post, flaring his wings out behind him, and roars another command.
Baalzephon: Meridian!
A hiss answers him from halfway up the entrance ramp. Its bearer is a six-armed woman, tearing into a downed Hidden with two jagged pincers. She raises her head at the sound of Baalzephon’s call, barbed scorpion tail twitching over her head as if it independently lusts for more blood.
Meridian: Sir!
Baalzephon: Spread the division out! They’re attempting to consolidate—
Baalxoggoth: Lord of the north side!
The general whirls in place at the sound of a familiar roar, though it’s now a bit more watery than it used to be, and its bearer is mutilated and tentacled to the point of being nearly unrecognizable to him these days.
Baalxoggoth: Abandon all hope! You cannot stand against the Cosmos!
He ends this with a cackle, but he’d be much less gleeful if he knew the reaction he provokes. Meridian’s eyes widen, and she points a pincer (and the tail, involuntarily) towards the laughing cenobite.
Meridian: The betrayer! The betrayer is here!
One sentiment echoes all over the arena, taken up by the masses of demons as they spread the word.
Various: It’s the betrayer! The betrayer!
One sentiment seems to rise among their statements, brimming over with bloodlust and desire for insults long unavenged. Baalzephon takes it up gladly, hoisting his massive battle-axe to indicate his former ally, and half the army shouts it with him:
Baalzephon: KILL HIM!
Like a stirred anthill they pour down on him, rushing in an avalanche of claws and blades, and the chains begin to fly in earnest as the treacherous cenobite frantically fights for his life. A good distance away, near the ring, Vhal’kanis kicks the Hierophant a good four meters away from him and flares out his wings, knocking away a cluster of Hidden that were attempting to swarm him. He uses the motion to dive down at his falling nemesis and they ricochet off the ground yet again, barely missing Jake Cheng being dragged clawing and screaming into a smoking hole in the floor by some sort of tentacle. Halfway back up, the Hierophant regains his control and strikes the Count hard with a pair of chains, cutting a trenchlike gash across the breastplate of his armor and knocking him back.
Hierophant: Do you feel it, Vhal’kanis? Do you feel alive again yet?
Vhal’kanis: Time enough for that when this is over.
The melee resumes in earnest, but neither have noticed that Alicia and Echo have managed, amidst the chaos, to slip down the ramp undetected and converge near the two of them…
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Nov 5, 2007 17:28:38 GMT -5
By this point in time, Alicia’s ability to function is almost entirely spent. She’s seen people she’s come to know and value, friend or foe, suffer the most appalling fate imaginable. And from where she’s standing now, there’s no hope left whatsoever. Once the fighting burns itself out here, it will spread and spread without pause…
Everything will be gone. Everything…
She closes her eyes, and feels something hot inside her; probably the archangel’s spirit. A fat lot of good he turned out to be, she thinks to herself bitterly; what use was it in protecting her in the first place when it meant she had to endure this?
A hand pulls her down; Echo’s prompt action means she narrowly misses being incinerated by a flying fireball.
Echo: Hey, come on, stay with me…
Alicia opens her eyes and looks at her. She suddenly realizes there’s something she wants to do before the end, and now’s as good a time as any. She smiles, and gives Echo a big hug, a totally bizarre juxtaposition against the carnage all around.
Echo: …well, that was out of the blue.
Alicia: Yeah, sorry. I just wanted you to know how much of a difference you’ve made to me. However you got here, and for whatever purpose… I’ll always be grateful. Because I got two for the price of one… I got to know Simon again, in a weird sense… and then I got to know you. Echo, Ayres… whatever you call yourself, you do exist in your own right.
She stands up and looks around. Screeching comes from behind them; a Hidden lurches… and then falls for the oldest trick in the book, a title belt to the face. The owner of the belt grimaces at the black stain on it.
Hunter: Well, these are a barrel of laughs. Have you seen Senator and the others?
Alicia shakes her head.
Hunter: Damn. Ridley’s got a fucking nerve, pulling this shit.
Alicia: ….how did you know?
Hunter shrugs.
Hunter: Face it, I’m the only other person who could get messed up in something this violent and convoluted. Of course, I’d have done it more-
Roars to freeze the soul rise from all around them; demons on one side, Hidden on the other. They’re about to become the filling in a particularly nasty sandwich. Hunter surveys the vile throngs, and then stamps his foot.
Hunter: Fuck it. That’s it, I’m not cowering, not here, not now! I am the god-damn ACW World Champion, and this is MY ground and I’m standing it.
He throws his belt down on the floor.
Hunter: You ladies with me?
Echo is already taking a fighting stance, but Alicia stops dead, her frazzled brain finally putting the pieces together.
No one was here first…
Your world, your realm of existence…
The power of blood, given willingly….
There’s a dog loose in the-
Oops, wrong finale. Anyhow…
Her eyes snap open, and she gives Hunter a smile. Two things have returned to her eyes which were almost lost forever… determination, and hope.
Alicia: Hunter, thank you. I think you know what to do with this.
She reaches into her pocket, and hands him something small, containing a bluish liquid. It’s a syringe.
Alicia: Courtesy of our mutual friend Eric… It’s time one Gehenna met another. All I need is about 30 seconds, can you hold that long?
Hunter grins.
Hunter: What a stupid question.
He flips the top off of the syringe, and Alicia leaves him to it; she starts searching hurriedly in the wreckage of the ringside area.
Echo: What are you looking for?
In answer, Alicia drags something out from under a crushed table; she winces as she has to push aside Eddie Edison’s decapitated body to remove it. It’s the ring bell.
Alicia: I’m calling off this lunacy.
Echo looks at her as if she’s gone completely nuts.
Echo: …Ok, you’ve lost me.
Alicia: Help me get this up on to the – wait, no, there’s a better way. Hang on…
Heart pounding, Alicia rushes around to the two sides of the ring which still have feet. She is in luck; a good kick to each causes them to drop, so that the ring collapses to a level base, albeit with two of the four posts still upright. This done, she dashes back – and pauses for just a second to witness a moment of glory.
Andrew Hunter is tearing through the waves of attacking Hellspawn and Hidden with unstoppable power and flair. He’s taken enough Formidilosus to cause brain failure in about the space of one minute, but until then… nothing stands before him.
As fiendish body parts go flying, Alicia snatches up the ACW World Championship belt, and crosses to the middle of the ring; Echo follows, bringing the ring bell with her.
Echo: All right… what are we doing?
It’s a good question, one Alicia can’t quite answer herself. But she tries her best.
Alicia: It’s an incredibly long shot, but… I’m going to try and invoke the spirit of ACW.
Echo: …..What?
Alicia runs a hand over the belt. She has little time left; Hunter’s movements are becoming jerkier and more wild.
Alicia: Blood. Zaphkiel was very specific; blood represents life and death together. And this ring has had more blood spilled on it than just about any altar of ancient lore. Our blood. Our blood, our world, our place…
She chuckles wryly.
Alicia: To use the vernacular, “Our Gaffe, Our Rules”. And tonight, I’m the Guvnor. Hold the bell up for me…
Echo does as asked, and braces.
Alicia holds the belt in her hands, and concentrates. On all the moments of joy, sorrow, triumph, disaster…
She throws her head up; above her, Vhal’Kanis and the Hierophant are preparing for one more massive attack; innumerable chains are poised at the Hierophant’s back, while Vhal’Kanis’[ twin blades blaze with hellish flame…
Alicia: TIME, GENTLEMEN, PLEASE!!
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Nov 5, 2007 17:30:39 GMT -5
With every ounce of strength in her, she swings the belt into the bell.
A single chime rings out – utterly unlike any a simple ring bell has ever made, or will ever make again. It swells, filling the air – and then travels outward in an all-encompassing wave.
The result is instantaneous. Every weapon of war, every piece of metal made for causing harm, shatters into countless shards which dissipate into sparkles of light; the greatest firework display since the original November 5th. The loss of their implements renders all the aggressors suddenly vulnerable, and confused…
The Hierophant, whose chains are built into the very fabric of his body, is knocked down into the corner of the ring; he’s too strong to be rendered incapable, but he’s definitely stunned for a few moments. Alicia realizes that this is her one and only chance to snatch something out of the hellfires…
She crosses over to where the Hierophant is getting his head straight, leaving Echo still in wonder at what just occurred. To be truthful, Alicia’s pretty stunned about it, too, but now isn’t the time to get tongue tied.
Behind her, Hunter’s righteous rage is washed clean away by the chime of peace; unfortunately, and perhaps inevitably, he’s suffered fatal wounds in his epic final fight. He counts approximately 150 corpses around him at a rough estimate, putting a characteristic smirk on his face before he collapses and the breath leaves him.
The Hierophant regains his sense of direction and hovers upward, slightly. Alicia looks at him, head on.
Alicia: I have a question, Hierophant. And call me rude if you like, but I want an answer to take with me into the Void, if circumstances so dictate.
The Hierophant’s chains are quivering; he clearly wants to finish things with Vhal’kanis, and is minded to sweep Alicia aside; but his chains seem to be rather sluggish. He scowls.
Hierophant: I may not know precisely what you’ve engineered here, but it will not prevent me from achieving my glorious victory, Alicia. Now-
Alicia: But that’s just it, love. You get this victory you’ve been scheming for… and then what?
The chains stop rattling; The Hierophant regards her coldly, but he’s clearly not got a pithy response to hand – and that makes Alicia’s hope surge afresh.
Alicia: You’ve told me about the Void, which is where I presume you’ve been hanging out planning all this, and it doesn’t sound great. And frankly, neither does levitating around a wasteland of a planet, which is all that will be left here. If you were looking forward to it, you’d never have asked me to join you there.
Still eyeing Vhal’Kanis, who seems to now be talking to Echo, the Hierophant lets out a dead sigh.
Hierophant: It does not fill me with excitement, that is true. But I will have all I need; the memories of my enemies’ anguished cries as I-
Alicia: Oh, for – that’s BOLLOCKS, and you know it.
All the Hidden in the vicinity seem to take a step backward; they’ve clearly never heard their Lord spoken to in such a manner. Even the demons look amused – they may not understand the language any better than humans understand theirs, but they know when someone’s being given a verbal slap around the chops.
Alicia: Look, this is the best way I can explain it. I read a story once; it was full of amazing battles, intrigues, plots – and eventually the good guys won. Disgustingly typical, I know. And do you know what happened then?
The Hierophant’s expression remains static. But he’s listening.
Alicia: They were bored witless. All their fighting skills, all their armies… never again would they get to test them. Their Thousand Suns, to use your own metaphor, had no fuel without rivals of a supreme caliber. In the end, they called upon the gods to restore what they had so foolishly cast aside. So tell me, Lord of the Gash, is it in your power, or that of your masters, to restore the glories of Heaven and the nightmares of Hell, if you scatter them carelessly to the Void as you so ardently wish?
Silence maintains the distance between them. Alicia hopes against hope… until finally the Hierophant speaks.
Hierophant: None of our kind could create such things.
Alicia takes an enormous risk, and puts her hand on the Hierophant’s wrist.
Alicia: I saw a little of you and Vhal’Kanis fighting. There aren’t suns enough in the universe to compare. And I know, I know, Hierophant, Joachim, that you need a rival like the Smouldering Count. Otherwise, your existence is just as meaningless as those of everyone who’s fallen in the crossfire of your feud…
She takes a step back.
Alicia: It’s your choice now.
It would be an epic cliffhanger moment, if not for the fact that at that precise moment, a three-headed wolf the size of a Miata, holding in its mouths a thoroughly chewed lung, a severed leg from the knee down, and what remains of the World Heavyweight Title, lollops by.
It stops short; something black jumps out of the rubble. Richard Parker hisses with a ferocity which would make any demon proud, and the wolf drops the pieces and retreats, tail between its legs and whimpering.
Alicia puts a hand over her face.
Alicia: When this is all over, that cat is going to Pet Therapy.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Nov 5, 2007 17:32:13 GMT -5
Anyone who claims it is impossible to make any building into an abattoir within an hour has clearly never encountered extraplanar entities.
The ACW arena has seen its fair share of blood in its time, but such incidents have generally limited the crimson puddles to the ring, and the current amount of gore splashed all over the ring area is absolutely staggering. What little is left of the screaming masses has dispersed all over the auditorium, screaming themselves hoarse and scrambling through a mass of debris and spilled viscera in an attempt to escape the inevitable. Left and right, torn flesh and arterial showers spray over the seats as the crowd is either systematically murdered by the hellspawned armies or shredded in the crossfire with the Hidden and occasional cenobite. Indeed, the arena itself has been wrecked to the point of structural failure; besides the wing that’s already collapsed, so many holes have been punched in the walls, floors and roof that the hellish light from the portals illuminates everything in lieu of the electricity (which has long since failed).
In the shattered ruin that was once the ring, there is an incongruous moment of peace. Neither the Count nor the Hierophant, temporarily relieved of weaponry, has made a move to assault the other yet. Alicia’s already crossed the ring and is talking with the Hierophant; despite Echo’s strained efforts she can’t overhear their low voices, particularly over the sounds of the massacre around them.
Her gaze falls upon Vhal’kanis, poised next to her like a restless lion, clearly itching to resume his attack. Every inch of his powerfully-muscled body seems to twitch with anticipation, even his wings, which periodically stretch out slightly before he pulls them back in. Although he doesn’t look keen on having his concentration broken, Echo feels a bit of leeway with him (which, she reasons after a second, makes sense) and tentatively makes an effort to gain his attention.
Echo: Um…Vhal’kanis?
With a sudden snort that blasts twin jets of steam from his nostrils, the Count’s head twists sharply to the side, staring down at her. Echo nearly bolts, then calms herself slightly. It’s all right, she thinks, she simply caught him off guard, and he’s not used to being called much other than “your eminence”. Right. Okay, next step…
Vhal’kanis: What?
At least she has his attention. Echo tries to phrase her question several different ways, but all that ends up coming out is, to say the least, rather condensed.
Echo: …Why?
It’d be cryptic to anybody else, but…well, they’re sort of the same person. Vhal’kanis lets the question sit for a few seconds, then half shrugs, settling down slightly.
Vhal’kanis: Which part?
Echo purses her lips, and starts with the basics.
Echo: Why me? Why’d you feel led to do that?
Vhal’kanis: I suppose I have a bit of an independent streak in me.
Echo: And?
He leans back on his wings, folding his massive arms over his chest.
Vhal’kanis: Understand that for the majority of my existence, I was the cats-paw of some or another entity. Even now, free from outside influences, everything I do revolves solely around those closest to me…the Countess, and my daughter, whom I take it you‘ve met.
With the understanding that comes from sharing at least part of a mind, Echo grasps part of what he’s saying. She peers up at the Count, curiosity slowly giving way into an emotion she can’t entirely fathom.
Echo: That’s why you’re…what you are now, isn’t it?
Vhal’kanis: Mm. You can see the effects of trying to hide from the Cosmos in the material realm.
He nods his head to the side, indicating the carnage raging in the arena. Josh the Jersey Boy’s hysterical screams illustrate the point nicely; a horned, grinning lemure seems to have pinned him down on top of the guardrail and is currently tearing into his stomach with both sets of heads, throwing lengths of intestine far and wide. A disemboweled segment flies in the ring towards the Count, who leans forward slightly to avoid the trajectory.
Vhal’kanis: The obvious solution presented itself: my father had been forcibly shuffled off this mortal coil, and he had expressed interest in a successor anyway…so Phlegethos it was. And there I’ve languished ever since, throned on a pile of skulls, cursed to the ravages of immortality, and separated from my beloved agony forever.
Echo leans back against what’s left of a corner post, looking down at the mat with embarrassment. A wave of vicarious despair washes over her mind, leaving a trace of empathy with his words. Noticing her expression, he offers a half-smile; it’s entirely mirthless, like any other expression he’s worn so far.
Vhal’kanis: Hell is not a place, a man I greatly admire told me once, so much as a state of being. It is…the separation, perhaps, from something you hold closer than life itself. In my case, that was the sensation of pain, and with it any vestiges of humanity.
Echo: Judiciously applied, deliberate pain is the anchor of human nature. The constant, in the middle of attempts otherwise, to remind us that we‘re distinguishable from animals who follow their urges and avoid it at all costs.
Vhal’kanis nods with approval. She’s not sure where she got the words for that, but Echo seems to have spoken correctly.
Echo: …How do you keep going, then?
Vhal’kanis: They mean more to me than it ever has.
A hush falls over both of them, and Echo continues staring at the ground, feeling decidedly uncomfortable…and yet a bit reassured by that statement.
Echo: I see.
Vhal’kanis: I suppose I should answer your question.
Echo: …Well. I’m not exactly in a position to demand anything.
Vhal’kanis: You were made to go out and live, Echo.
She blinks, looking up and meeting his gaze. The eyes are a little easier to manage now that he’s not fighting; they’ve ceased burning and returned to jet-black.
Echo: Live?
Vhal’kanis: Live.
Echo: I don’t get it.
Vhal’kanis: You should. After a lifetime spent in subservience, never getting to do anything for myself, being forced along by circumstances, what do you expect? Time was my most merciless enemy, Echo; it was gone before I’d ever found a way to take control of my life. And you’d expect me to create a shell for me to indwell when I wanted to go out in this world, like the rest of my kith and kin? Please. All I want is to be left alone; the less I’m reminded of what I left behind, the better. No, Echo, you were made so you could succeed where I failed. You could take charge, live out life on your own terms…like I’d wanted to. That is why I created you.
An aching silence passes; the Count, obviously not terribly bothered by taciturn periods, simply returns to watching a robed acolyte struggling with a Hidden that’s apparently closed the distance between them and neutralized any advantage. As the two pass within a few feet of Vhal’kanis, he reaches down and casually wrenches the Hidden’s head off its shoulders with a wet crunch. The demon looks up at his unlikely savior, and seems slightly overwhelmed when he recognizes who it is.
Acolyte: Y-your Eminence!
Vhal’kanis: See if you can find Baalzephon and tell him to cease fire, for now. Be prepared to resume at any point.
Acolyte: It will be done.
Echo peers up at him curiously, watching him toss the severed head off into the seething hordes with a careless flick of the wrist. He seems…tired, somehow, under the pulsing muscles and glaring eyes, as if his enjoyment of the brawling has come to an end and he’s ready to just be done with it.
Looking at him again, Echo realizes that he’s been that way since emerging.
Echo: For what it’s worth…if I get out of this, if you don’t manage to destroy my world in the process, I’ll do that.
Vhal’kanis: Mm?
Echo: Go out and live, I mean. You’ve, well, you’ve kind of given me something to go on. Even if I don’t have anything to recover anymore, I don’t need memories to---
She breaks off and gasps slightly; he’s reached out and touched a clawed finger to her forehead. In an instant, decades of experience and knowledge flood into Echo’s mind, nearly overwhelming her with a bombardment of history. The sheer scope of Count’s knowledge, even edited as it is in parts (likely for her own safety), is wide enough that the blood pounds painfully in her temples, driving her down to her knees in pain. It throbs, but it throbs warmly, as if in some form of rapturous, overpowering baptism. Vhal’kanis regards her actions with a satisfied raise of the eyebrow, then relaxes once more.
Vhal’kanis: …Now you know.
She does. She’s seen almost everything now: the beginnings, the orphanage, the streets, the rituals, the Inner City, the return, the Incursion, Phlegethos, the slaying of a thousand nemeses and the loss of exponentially more people whose worth was so much greater.
Echo: That’s…why I gravitated towards them, then. Alicia and Joachim, I mean.
An almost-imperceptible nod answers her.
Echo: You were linked so closely to both of them that I couldn’t stay away…and to think I read those feelings the way I did. I was so blind.
Vhal’kanis: You had no idea. How could you have? Unless Lucius had told you, and though I heard you’d visited him I doubt he would have; he’s cautious about with whom he shares that kind of knowledge.
Echo: He hadn’t.
Vhal’kanis: So I see no reason for self-pity. Life hit you. Get up and hit it back.
Echo: That’s always worked for you…I don’t see why it can’t keep doing so.
It’s not a question, it’s a statement of fact, spoken with firm confidence in experience that technically isn’t even hers, but that she now possesses anyway. It draws an approving look from the Smoldering Count, and surprisingly enough, a pat on the shoulder. His hand nearly swallows the top half of her arm, but the gesture is appreciated nonetheless.
Vhal’kanis: For what it’s worth, I’m proud of the way you turned out. You do me justice, given the handicaps you’ve had to tolerate.
Echo nods back, blinking rapidly and determined not to let her eyes fill, particularly not in front of him.
Echo: Thank you. That…means a lot to me.
Vhal’kanis: I know.
The clamor around them has more or less come to a halt; most of the Hidden seem to have retreated anyway, and Alicia appears finished with the Hierophant; who takes a step back and beckons to the sky. His massive tentacle descends and insinuates itself between his shoulders, and he casts a baleful glare in Vhal’kanis’s direction. Somewhere in the midst of the hatred in his eyes is a certain keen bitterness, the kind only a man self-frustrated by his own conflicting nature can manage…but there will be no acting upon it tonight. He seems thoroughly resigned.
Vhal’kanis: Well. I’d not have believed it if it hadn’t happened in front of me.
Echo: What?
Vhal’kanis: She did it. It’s over.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Nov 5, 2007 17:33:10 GMT -5
Without a single word, even a parting taunt, the Hierophant morosely turns and ascends, rising back to the vortex on what little is left of the roof. The remaining Hidden evaporate, following after him in a thick black cloud, and any cenobites who’d insinuated themselves into the battle take this opportunity to make a tactical retreat, to the amusement of the demons, who hurl abuse (and whatever happens to be in their hands) at Baalxoggoth as he flees back to the emptiness of the void.
Usually, the effects of a dimensional gateway closing are portrayed as gradual, albeit cataclysmic. The vortex, however, simply swirls itself into a tiny sphere and breaks up into nothingness, the chains retract into the darkness from which they came, the walls stop bleeding and resume looking completely normal…and the Miasma dissipates, scattering in a final death rattle of static. The stars return, the power cuts back on (not that any lights seem to be working; most have been obliterated in the fight), and in a strange, aftermath-ish kind of way, as Vhal’kanis stands there in the center of the ring, eyes locked with Alicia’s and neither one truly willing to say anything, everything is at peace.
It lasts five seconds, and then a streak of blinding light shoots down from the sky, straight towards the Count; it’s the newly-freed archangel of retribution, claymore raised over his head.
Zaphkiel: Blasphemous abomination! PERISH!!!
Both Echo and Alicia shout in alarm and warning, but the Count’s way ahead of both of them; Zaphkiel’s given away his attack with his screaming vengeance trip, and the titanic swing he aims at Vhal’kanis’s head is quickly parried, hard enough to throw him to one side. He smacks awkwardly into the ground, but pushes himself up with his wings and readies another strike.
Zaphkiel: I’ll have vengeance for my brethren yet, Smoldering Count. Your accursed line won’t escape the repercussions of your father’s misdeeds.
Vhal’kanis: Your anger is misplaced.
The statement throws Zaphkiel off slightly; he blinks in surprise. Sounding fairly weary of the day’s events, the Count explains patiently, holding up a clawed hand in a conciliatory sort of way.
Vhal’kanis: I understand your hatred for my father. Believe me, few could understand it quite as well as I can. And I know the frustration someone experiences when the object of one’s revenge gets taken away before one can be satisfied. If I had known I assure you that you could have done all the fighting for me that fateful day; it would’ve saved me too many people we should never have had to lose in the incursion.
He grimaces at the memories, wounds still raw even after the planar equivalent of twenty years.
Vhal’kanis; But it’s misplaced. I am the patriarch of the house of Ashmedai, certainly, and there are those who’ve taken to calling me the Aeshma-Daeva, but I am not Asmodeus, nor will I ever be. And I haven’t got the patience to waste time fighting with you now over a long-dead grudge, so I don’t see much point in this.
The archangel slumps, as if the wind has finally gone out of his sails; he bows his silver-maned head in bitter frustration. When he speaks, it sounds as if he does so through gritted teeth.
Zaphkiel: I despise saying this.
The slightest of pauses.
Zaphkiel: …but you are right. And after the way I blindly walked into the Gash’s trap like a fool, I find I no longer have the stomach to fight a battle I am unsure of.
Vhal’kanis: Mm.
Zaphkiel: Make no mistake, hellspawn: light has no fellowship with darkness, and darkness none with light. The day will yet come when we punish your blasphemy of the Most High God, and finish what St. Michael, may his soul be forever at peace, started at the beginning of the common era.
With a low, throaty sigh that’s almost a growl, he sheathes the sword on his back, ruffling his wings to nudge it into position.
Zaphkiel: But today is not that day.
The Count nods in acknowledgement, with a hint of deference, and turns back to Alicia. Monique has, by this point, emerged from the mass exodus of demons; her nightmarish features are fading away with the end of the combat. Replacing the monster Echo and Alicia took back with them is a pretty young woman, albeit adorned with tiny versions of her father’s horns and wings, with tempestuous hazel eyes and a sheen of silver hair down to her shoulders. She approaches Vhal’kanis with a smile, and he puts an arm around her shoulders (which is a bit of a stretch down for him, given the height difference). Alicia eyes her thoughtfully.
Alicia: …That’s unexpected.
Monique: We don’t always look like that, it’s…kind of an emergency thing.
Vhal’kanis: Mm.
Alicia: So…you’re doing it now? The horns and the claws and the, er..
Vhal’kanis: No. This is what I normally look like now. If I’d unlocked all restrictions and changed like she did, you would know. Mine is…memorable-looking.
In the back of her head, Alicia decides it’s probably best that she didn’t see that. She changes the subject, trying to break the awkward silence in the air.
Alicia: Well…thank you, for your help. You’ve probably averted the apocalypse.
She finishes this with a weak, conciliatory chuckle. Vhal’kanis has no such humorous inclinations.
Vhal’kanis: I know. And you, in turn, have saved the life of my precious daughter. I suppose thanks are in order; even if you are family, it’s not expected of you to do such things, particularly given our history.
He catches Alicia off guard with a sweeping, rather formal-looking bow. It’s a bit unsettling, and she shifts uncomfortably, bringing up a pertinent issue Zaphkiel raised (since the angel looks like he’ll say it anyway if she doesn’t).
Alicia: I’m not really family, though, you know. I mean, we thought so, but…
The clink of metal on metal is the only sound that gives her time to react, and she barely catches the signet ring he tosses her. It’s straight off his finger, and features the familiar “eye within a pentacle” design tattooed on Echo. Alicia peers at the lavishly jeweled item curiously, looking to the Count for answers.
Vhal’kanis: You are now.
A moment or two of silence passes, eerily silent except for the wind blowing through the wreckage around them and the occasional moans of the dying. Alicia nods, slowly, and places the ring on a spare finger.
Alicia: …Thank you.
Vhal’kanis: And thank you as well. The Ashmedai will be with you, and your children, and your children’s children; merely use the ring and I will answer.
The world of meaning passing behind the exchange has made it, despite the cautious, formal dialogue, a deeply personal moment for both of them. It lingers as long as it can, and neither one seems willing to let the instant slide away; the demon, fittingly, is the one that finally does so. He steps back and surveys the carnage around them.
The air momentarily brightens again, and Alicia glances skyward just in time to catch a glimpse of a bright streak of light cutting a shining path through the night's black canopy.
Alicia: Heh.
Vhal'kanis: What?
She motions upwards, and the Count joins the impromptu stargazing.
Alicia: A shooting star. It's almost too corny to be true, really, at a moment like this, but well...there you go.
Vhal'kanis: ...Mm.
It's actually the cenobitized Thunderkiss, burning up as he re-enters the planet's atmosphere, but he decides not to ruin the moment. He turns back to the situation at hand.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Nov 5, 2007 17:34:36 GMT -5
Vhal’kanis: I suppose you want something done about this.
Echo: It’d be the least you could do. You kind of murdered everyone in our lives.
He snorts; it’s fairly obvious only Echo could get away with saying something like that. The Count eyes Zaphkiel thoughtfully.
Vhal’kanis: The two of us can probably reverse-engineer the Miasma…take the whole place out of its “bubble” and revert it to, say, about ten minutes before this whole thing happened.
Zaphkiel: Mmph. It’d be possible. Everything would be back to normal, save that all those we resurrected would have difficulty recalling, say…the last two hours or so.
Alicia: A two-hour hole in everybody’s memory at once?
Echo: It’s a bit suspicious.
The archangel gives Echo a severe look.
Zaphkiel: Less suspicious, I would think, than the intact memory of cosmic warfare causing the building to be destroyed and everyone in it to be massacred in ways mankind was never meant to witness.
Echo: Fair enough…go ahead.
The Count nods, and closes his eyes, beginning to channel some sort of energy. His form lights up with a reddish outline, and as Zaphkiel follows suit, he once again glows bright gold. Reality begins to twist and turn around the group, dissolving the time-space fabric in a queasy swirl.
Vhal’kanis: I’ll see you around, Alicia. Remember…if you need me, you know how to reach me.
Alicia touches the ring, and nods, managing a response.
Alicia: I…I will. Monique, give my regards to your mother, if you please.
Monique: I will…goodbye, you two. I owe you one! Take care!
Both Alicia and Echo return Monique’s excited wave as darkness begins to plunge in around them. In the last few seconds, the Count’s deep, raspy voice rings out again.
Vhal’kanis: Echo!
Echo: What?
She doesn’t have to be able to see him; simply by hearing his disembodied voice, by…being him, in a way, she knows he’s finally grinning.
Vhal’kanis: Manakh xi’kreesh!
Echo raises a fist, even as the darkness surrounds them and swallows the gesture, and whispers it back one last time, fighting down the surge of unchecked emotion in her, before reality itself dissolves.
Echo: Manakh xi’kreesh.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Nov 5, 2007 17:35:09 GMT -5
When we woke up, it was around 10:00 Monday night, at the end of the show. Alicia and I were back in my locker room, taking up a spot on the couch. The ending of the battle royale was playing on the TV, and everything seemed to be…completely normal.
I had to be sure I wasn’t crazy. “Um…that happened to you too, right?”
Alicia nodded with a little smile, and I could breathe again. I wasn’t crazy.
I. Wasn’t. Crazy. I’d said it to myself a thousand times but it’d never really meant anything until now, when I could say it as a firm, positive declaration of fact. It made me feel alive, exhilarated, like I’d only felt in the ring before.
The ring…it brought to mind another consequence of this whole thing.
“I can’t stay here anymore, can I?” I mused. “I’m not…normal, even if that’s all right. They’ll probably be back someday, and I can’t be responsible for something like what just happened again.”
“You’re probably right,” she answered, stopping me short as I leaned over to pick up my title belt.
“Er…what? I was expecting you to say something to the effect of ‘No, Echo, don’t be such a pessimist, we’ll find a way to overcome it, you can totally stick around.’ You’re not going to try to convince me?”
Alicia shrugged. “Love, after witnessing something like what we just did, I’d say you’re right. Besides, given the personality you’re archetyped with I know I couldn’t stop you if you wanted to.” That got a chuckle out of me. “And thirdly,” she continued, “it’s not like you won’t keep in touch…right?”
“Of course I will.” I gave her a pat on the shoulder and then, almost as an afterthought, handed over the entertainment title. “Um…could you give this to that guy from tonight? Williams, I think it is. Just, uh, tell him it’s his now. I know it’ll sound strange, but—“
“It won’t. I doubt he remembers the details of the match, except that there was one. I’ll just tell him he forgot the belt on his way out, and that you send your congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
I turned to head towards the door…then doubled back and hugged her. Tightly, like I’d never really done with anyone before. Even if I didn’t feel the same way about her as I used to, in light of my little talk with the Count, she was still unquestionably the best friend I had.
“Thank you,” I managed again, determined not to let my voice break. “I’ll give you a call once I get settled down; maybe we can go shopping or get something to eat sometime.”
“Where’ll you go?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow at me.
“I expect I’ll find out when I get there.” Turning again, I opened the door to the locker room and stepped through for the last time. “Wherever it is, it’ll be an improvement over the past. See you later, Alicia.”
The last thing I saw of her was a grin and a little wave. “Cheers, Echo. Text me when you get the chance.”
The Porsche had the keys in the ignition, and its owner wouldn’t be needing it anymore, so I revved up the engine and turned the stereo on as I pulled out of the parking lot. The Requiem was playing, my last memento of Joachim being the CD he’d left in the player. I flipped the tracks to the Kyrie Eleison and dialed a familiar number on the cell.
“Hellfire Institute of the Exalted Will, front office. How may I direct your call?”
“Yes, is Dr. Crowley in? This is Ayres LeBlanc, I’d like to speak to him about a, uh, personnel interview…”
And that night, as I sped off into the darkness that didn’t seem all that dark anymore, planning to move over to Martha’s Vineyard, take up a nice steady job with the HFI, maybe run around with Alicia some on the weekends, I remember most the thrill rising in my chest that I was able to do any of this. That I could make all these plans and what’s more, get up the motivation to actually execute them, such a stark contrast from before.
The Count had given me more than just life, even though I owed him enough for that alone. On the night he came to us, he gave me the thing I’d been missing, that sweetest, most critical state of mind that would keep me going undauntedly forward, for as long as I had breath to do so.
Hope.
End.
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Post by hunter on Nov 5, 2007 17:35:52 GMT -5
I have absolutely no idea what just happened, but damn am I writhing from the awesomeness. Welcome back Ridley.
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