Open To: Asphodel Coven Members @senatusstarters​ Location: Asphodel House

@oraculumx location: necronomnomation

"Break them," it's a breath of encouragement at it's finest, the saccharine whisper in his ear as she rains hellfire upon miscreants that dare wander too close. However long Leviathan had remained in the shadows, all those who might have thought to doubt their power would know the truth. They would know, the prince of the inferno would stop at nothing to bring this world to heel - to make their father ache in ways he forced upon all of his children, "They shall not know peace ever again, twist their minds until they snap, darling." In time, she would pry what he'd seen from his thoughts, but for now the fallen only wished to grant him room to flourish.

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

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

fxllenpythia​:

The ruins of the once great house lay before her, a kingdom conquered. One menial, hapless kingdom that would simply pave the way for the next. The familiarity that fluttered through her veins told Pythia quickly that she wasn’t alone - that such solitude was once again interrupted by one of her own. Brother. Such was to be expected now that hiding within the centuries no longer suited. Coming into such power with every soul offered to the Necronomicon only one more reason added to the hundreds of thousands that lacquered her intentions in ichor and poison. Onyx hues flicker over her shoulder, clocking the ancient horse-lord seraphim with a look that invoked invite, rather than indifference. Come; look. At the foolishness of their hope - their blind faith. “Were you lot looking in the right places, you’d have found me long ago.” Whether it be this face, or any of those previous. Pythia always existed, just out of reach and never too far away. “You’re all making this far too easy for me, it’s disappointing.”

☨

If Uriel had the other three with him in the moment, perhaps even Michael, it would be easy enough to annihilate their sister. Ayi’ig and Tiamat were not here. Perhaps the entirety of Rome would be decimated in the process, but such would be the cost of eliminating a worldwide threat. She could never take them all on face-to-face. Even with the power of the Book, they were 4 Blessed Seraphim meant to kill the Gods and their kin; Leviathan was but one fallen Seraphim and greater demon, with a few extra accessories. Yet this was precisely why Uriel knew this would be the only way he’d find her. They were both alone.

And so he could do nothing but look her in the eyes, letting every hint of his hatred show. This was beyond betrayal now; she was not like any of the other Fallen. A greater demon, an abomination meant to destroy all that made this world what it was. Perhaps the best he could get out of this was to bait her; conquest was nothing if not cunning. “You know very well what our presense means here, Leviathan. You’re aware that what you’re doing is equivalent to war with the Gods… Do you truly believe yourself invincible with some little book?” 

First one's free.

Camila Queiroz.

The laugh that leaves her lips is full and warm, not nearly the sound that one might have expected of a creature like herself. And yet, just as all others, she feels the swell of amusement cut through the diminishing disappointment of those who wanted power for little more than the bragging rights that would claim it so. Too many in this modern world were after near-instant gratification, unwilling to do the work - pay the price. "Too few among us hold onto the spine they were born with, Efigenia. Too willing to reach for what they want without the desire or ability to prove they deserve to break their own fall." And in the end, all those turning their back on her - on the Necronomicon, would fall. "Come, sit." Pythia turned, offering space beside her, overlooking New Dis from the spire above. "The ritual went exceedingly well, I hear," Felt, saw - experienced right along with her, and the book. "How are you feeling? I trust the drow didn't overstep."

a gift for @fxllenpythia, location: asphodel house notes: mommies

Respect for the Pythia was one of the very few principles Efigenia garnered. It was strange, the very creature that lorded Kaan's tether to the book was the very one in which Efigenia respected wholeheartedly. They had whispered to her often in childhood, an uttered embrace that comforted a gifted child who was within solitude as she navigated the powers that offered her great prestige as she grew. She'd met them now in the flesh and despite her reverence for the greater demon, Efigenia was always purposefully upfront, "I hear many are dropping like flies as you descend upon the world. Bit off more than they could chew?" She wouldn't pretend to be oblivious to the madness that came in tandem with her signature in the book but she was not leery of it either. The Asphodel was better without those who deflected and Efi only hoped their deflection would serve as sustenance for the book; it'd need power for what she too planned to tap from it.

seraphimichael​:

For centuries Leviathan had been beyond his reach, their being nestled somewhere between physical and metaphysical. They had rooted themselves in the hearts of witches, the great liar, the great schemer, the manipulator that had been doomed to the Inferno along with several of their siblings. Michael and the legions of the divine had driven back Lucifer and the others once before, he would do so again. Pythia had returned in physical form and with this he would hunt them to the very ends of the earth and send them back where they belonged. He did not care if this meant cutting down every witch who’d made a pact with them along the way.

Michael had followed them here, either led into a trap or to Leviathan’s demise he did not care. Still, his fallen sibling had baited him and because he had never lost, he’d pursued them just the same. Michael’s irises split into a dozen as his power leeched forth and peered into the dark ruins, it had once been in fashion to line such places with bones and even now they stayed scattered at his feet.

Lightning crackled between his hands and all at once he struck the place where Leviathan had just stood, the pillar exploded as part of the ruin began to crumble. Another fallen vestige of mortals, another totem of a dead and dying time. Empires had turned over and over, this city had been sacked and burned more than any other, yet still they built bones upon bones. Leviathan’s dread voice a cruel mockery of all the time he’d spent in pursuit of them. “I’ll rest when you’re dead.” Michael spat, his blade in his hand once more as it still hummed with power.

The crack of lightening split her brothers features, illuminating images of their true form within the flickering vestige of power. It tickled amusement within the breadth of her chest. The ire that Michael continued to hold onto was personal - pieces of it calling to razor sharp edges that would do little more than wound. Each and every tie to the world of blood magic ensures that it would take worlds over for them to be rid of her. Hundreds of thousands would meet their end before Leviathan ceased. Where such anger painted Michael with determination and what would undoubtedly be an ungratifying endeavor, she pushed. "You'll never know such peace as death," perhaps a promise, that as long as he lived within the claymade body of Adam - she would remain to see him bested. Taunted. "This world will end before that happens."

A crackle of fire engulfed her hand and her form turned to ash, blistering away in the breeze of the storm carried by the two. Voice carried across the earth, twisting and contorting the distinct familiarity of another - one long gone, a child baring the mark of Nephilim. The cries of Omarosa's soul splintering the space surrounding Michael as corporeal form found her once more, feet behind her brother. "You're blinded, Michael. You always have been."

Blind love and devotion to a father that would so surely overlook them for the lesser creatures gifted the realm of earth. Blinded by loyalty and unable to see the puppet he'd become. Darkness drifted from fingertips like smoke, seeking to cloud the vision of all that lay before him, her voice a ghastly whisper in his ear, "There is no end to this. I will never stop and you will always fail." Still, his fallen daughters screams reverberate against the broken ruins, another promise palpable in the air.

Fingertips drew gently across rose petals, a perfect parallel to the death left in her wake and for a moment they simply lingered. Another piece of this realm that existed and remained fleeting to those it was gifted to. A single breath slipped between her lips and the flowers before her went up in flames. The harrowing glow of the fire illuminated her features, eerie and near demonic as her brothers voice broke through silent thought. “Hayliel, darling.” Something akin to endearment crossed her features and the flames died out, grave crunching beneath the toe of her boot as she turned to him, “I’ve been wondering when I’d run into you.” Perhaps even looking forward to it, “Getting up to no good is always a little lonely without you.”

closed starter for @fxllenpythia​

It had seemed like ages since he had last seen her. Perhaps it had been, but he did admire the chaos and misfortune that the other brought with them. It made him laugh that there were still some that chose to fuck with her in any capacity. He certainly wouldn’t. If there was a side to be on in this war, he would certainly choose the Pythia’s. There was the fact that he was loyal to the fallen and then there was also that part of him that just wanted to watch the world burn. Hayliel wanted to watch everything Ulthar had worked so hard for to crumble down. That would be so nice to watch unfold. “Sister. You look as lovely as always and up to no good at all.”

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

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

fxllenpythia​:

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

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

It grates her nerves and though he did, indeed, leer such greeting as a testament to what Leviathan had always envisioned, there's a pinching tease within it that makes her want to turn each of his snacks to dust within his pockets. "You're positively glowing," not nearly his glorifying beautiful garish self. It's insult to a festering wound and she's never wished to make a realm bleed as much as she does in this fleeting moment. "It's disgusting." The wave of her hand sends that which he holds flying across the room as she settles in beside him. "Hail Lucifer, indeed. Have you seen him? Since arriving?" Pythia certainly hadn't and it was one, among many, affronts to suffer through while her coven returned to hiding.

a starter for @fxllenpythia,

Abaddon was already feasting on his thirteenth emergency snack, little tidbits packed away in his vessel's coat that were proving to be an insufficient amount as the day was only half way through and he'd almost pilfered the entire stash. What some would look upon and label as stress-eating was merely Abaddon's sacred vice, though it was noted that the more he ate, the more under duress he actually was. Freed from in the Inferno, from the practical starvation suffered, Abaddon had gorged himself on the creatures and life within the Otherworld. He'd feasted for several days and nights until he felt comfortable, but an archfiend such as he could never be satiated. "Hail Lucifer," teased in greeting, Abaddon offered an empty and teasing smile to his sister; Leviathan, the creature whose vice was violence, even they were not spoiled to the plan to release their siblings from the pits of the Inferno.