Augustcavaliere​:

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

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

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

@fxllenpythia​ location: The Otherworld notes: sibling talks

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

@felixtheleech​

It’d been some time since they’d last crossed paths, a few centuries at best and yet Pythia had never forgotten a face, and certainly not one that would seek to call out in later years. Whether he should so readily remember or not - the throes of pain and anguish as the Eye had first tainted the creature he’d become were etched into the unending plethora of memories and even still, finding him now - here in Rome, didn’t shock her in the least. She heard them all; each and every one that called out for her; pleaded for another chance, more power, more everything, and the resounding echo of all of them would see to it that Pythia never fell, but Felix - Dominic - was one she returned to in the depth of his darkest days with an unspoken promise to everything he should ever want - should he ever find the light of day once more. “I was wondering which century I’d find you in again.” As if speaking to an old friend, she predicts the confusion she’ll be met with; such familiarity didn’t exactly paint itself so readily; the fallen all but a voice that belonged within his head.

"You doubt me too much, Levent." An inevitable venture of those who had yet to take full advantage of the book holding tightly to their souls. Lucretia, August - even Bastien, and a greater number of them the world over, had taken what was owed for the price of their soul. While others lingered in wait - as if time itself would merely offer gratuitous earnings and she's quickly reminded of the audacity of mortals. "Do you think I haven't considered every outcome? Every possible path that could break? You doubt these so-called, fail-safes, yet not once have you asked the correct questions. You have little fail-safes in place, I have thought of them all."

Levent had weaved his songs of blood and nightmares all around them. It was for their own good, they'd said. Pythia had brought him away from the light so many centuries ago, that now it seemed irrelevant. Part of him wished he had been cut off completely; a drow, easier raised than watching the plans of his own design come forth. "No one is saying I'm tapping out," he couldn't lie, anyway, but his frustrations were always too clear. He thought the resting bitch face would help. Arys, his original name, the one he hid away, felt like weight upon his tongue. His clairvoyance, however, filled him with impending dread. "We have little fail-safes in place, Pythia."

serkanxulusoy​:

closed starter for @fxllenpythia​

The last person he had ever thought he would run into was the Pythia. Serkan had been reluctant to even think about the Asphodel. They had been a part of what had happened to him before. The Pythia was the one pulling the strings though. They always had been. He only wished he had been able to have half the mind they had. If only there was something he could do to fix what had been broken. There was no part of him that wished to be a part of that coven of witches and druids and whatever else they welcomed. He would play nice though, if only to stay on their good side. “You’ve got a lot of plans, don’t you?” He didn’t particularly care what they were as long as he was alive at the end of it. Rome could burn down for all he cared.

“Don’t you?” A meandered response that truly held no weight - and yet, one in which she intended to make the former alpha consider. A leader didn’t fall without losing out on a future they’d envisioned. Change was as much a poison as it was the gift of freedom, it simply depended on which vein it fled to first. “Is this what you imagined the future of the Arno pack would be? Barking at the heels of the eye’s bitch boy?” Truly - she hadn’t yet discovered what methods had been used on the Lupo’s newly crowned alpha, but she had no doubt that they’d certainly made some effort to wield him to their own benefit. Whatever seeds of which she could plant; she would. “And an alliance with the fey?” Her tongue clicked against her teeth sharply as she turned a haphazard glance in his direction, “It’s certainly... questionable.”

"It's... interesting," Pythia responds, uncertainty latching onto every nerve ending that impresses upon her that this is the only place she wishes to be in that moment. Ganymede's offer felt like something of a sideswipe, and despite her unlevel footing at the time, she'd been so quick to accept. "Free appetizers? So you're taking them for fools too," Her smile, though usually sharpened at every edge, curls almost gently now, as if appraising someone she didn't wish to skin alive. "Not to worry, it's not the first time and I'm sure it certainly won't be the last." An offhanded promise, that while the asphodel being splintered did undoubtedly dampen some of her plans, it didn't derail them entirely. "But I'm well, and you? I'm sure by now, you've heard about Ulthar and Elysia."

@fxllenpythia location: Applebys notes: dad's home

"I'm so glad we get to do this, I love it here." The lighting, the ambiance, the people. Everyone here was so nice, but then again, everyone here was so nice. "They always give me free appetisers when I ask for them, so you can order whatever you want, it's on me." Ganymede thought momentarily to the way Ulthar had gorged himself on Pythia's siblings, on his kids and felt his chest go tight before his voice went up an octave. "So how have you been? I'm sorry your club got broken up, that must have been hard for you."

It always had been. Perhaps before either had even known it. Leviathan didn't love, it simply wasn't of her nature - but she could remain devout in loyalty. Arakhor would remain the closest they'd come to an infinite connection; and that meant that one day she would see to it that all he sought to destroy would be done just as surely as all that the asphodel and her brothers within the inferno would want. "Far too long," she breathes out with something of a manic bloom of laughter, "We shall see it done, later. For now," fingers flex, and the seraph blade that extends as a piece of every vessel, "Ride out with me."

The Autumn fey leaned against the wall, watching the Pythia for a few moments. There were so many trapped, now, so many that would serve their cause better caged and bled. It was the start of a great plan, but Arakhor would never be one to let down his guard. The Pythia would need him, anyway, so it's why they now had room for themselves. Anyone who intruded would find themselves flayed, anyhow. "No, my place is here. With you. It's been centuries since we've had a good run like this, you know."

Practical Magic (1998)

Lanfear Wheel of Time S2 Ep4 "Daughter of the Night. She walks again."

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.