BENSU SORAL As Azra └ Özel Ders. (2022)

A waste, became her most immediate thought. The more demons already among them, the less she would need to conjure for herself in time. From the moment Abel had first called to release his familiar, it had pulled idly at the hands of time and ideally, morphed itself into a small piece of a rather complicated puzzle she intended to pull together. That one of her brethren had called a blade against them well before she could hand over purpose was almost absurd to her. It meant they were looking far before Pythia had allowed herself known to Rome. “Do you know which Seraphim? What their vessel looked like?” I was a long shot, finding out who would strike against one of their demons while the city ran rampant with those far more capable. 

“A seraph blade can revert any creature to it’s simplest form.” It was the slightest explanation for what she now knew had happened. Whether he understood it or not - the fate of his familiar was not merely by chance. “Without tossing him back into the inferno, there is little more you can do to revert him to a demon state.” She states, rather coldly, though she finds no real reason to sugar coat the truth for him. “The magic and power that turned him in the first place has been bled back into the inferno itself, or - remains trapped within the blade and there is nothing that can be done.” The corner of her lip twitches, head canting far enough to the side to cast dark tresses beyond her shoulder, “However, there are other avenues, if one is so willing.”

fxllenpythia​:

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

          Silas had imbued this innate understanding of blood magic into Abel, for him it was a taboo that was only called upon when absolutely necessary. He’d tinkered with it before, felt the dangers that lurked in the rare times he’d practiced it; an unyielding itch. When he’d first released Cain from the Inferno after he’d been banished he’d had to call upon to release him; Abel wondered now if the Pythia could recall that or if so many called upon her that they were bound to drown out the incessant pull to her power. What was once a well documented taboo had spiraled into power that many were blinded by, entrenched with this desire for infamy. He’d felt it’s pull the moment he utilized it to free Cain from Lucifer’s clutches, it was akin to a breath of fresh air, all the tension within shoulders released as he fueled the Pythia once more. Abel had abandoned the practice in his adolescence, though Cain whispered of the desire for them to obtain more power, Abel would never surrender to the thought of supplying the Pythia; yet here he was now, within their presence, begging for help.

“My familiar… he was turned human.” There was hardly much to tell, from Abel’s perspective, the experience was Cain’s outright. Abel’s gaze bore into the floorboards but he dared to look up at the Pythia, a greater demon, “A seraphim had managed to make it into our coven,” with half of their coven sequestered out of Rome, they were weakened and he was certain that was to blame for it’s ability to enter their home. “I don’t know what happened between them, but when I stumbled upon him he was a clean slate; human.” Cain had begged Abel to reverse it however possible and here he was, putting himself at the mercy of the Pythia, “Is there anything that can be done? Anything you can do?” The Pythia projected solutions onto people, though they meddled, they were never the executioner. If she could, however, allow him the power to reverse what Cain had endured, Abel would do it if it brought peace for Cain once more.

@sethlozano location: necro world

Little more than the corner of Leviathan's mouth gave way to the satisfaction that each night brought forth. While the senate and their forces used the night to recoup, it was undoubtedly where they fared the greatest feat of all. Nothing turned the tides worse than fear and lunacy and as Pythia finds him among her coven, she greets him as an old friend, "Once more, I find myself impressed with your progression," August's depth of knowledge had never disappointed, and when she'd instructed Tepiltzin to source one of her own for an upgrade of sorts on his vampiric existence, the seraphim knew they would not be left hoping for more. "You'll be revered as you once were soon enough, we all will."

Reservoir Dogs (1992) ⤷ dir. Quentin Tarantino

efigeniax​:

          “We should be honored we’re even considered in mainstream marketing,” her words are cold, not entirely offended by the sad shop which made a mockery of what it could not understand. It felt strange to toy with her words, make frail little jokes when it was Python themselves that stood before her. She’d dreamed of such corporeal moment far too long, only embraced by shuddered whispers that Pythia would inevitably come forth and bring solace and prosperity to her world for the fuel she had warranted them. Efigenia paused, simmering in her own digestion of what could be described as a starstruck moment, though she internalized anything beneath a cold carapace that only offered a quirk of an eyebrow. Softer now, as though Pythia was a kindred friend, she tried again, “People make a mockery of what they themselves are incapable of understanding.” The trinkets were an enfeebled vision of one who would likely be consumed by blood magic if they were ever in a dire need to attempt it.

The huff of laughter that chokes it’s way out is void of all humor and she makes little effort to hide as much. The effects of mainstream marketing indeed, fed her all the more souls than had ever been necessary, but the useless power that came with it often felt like a drain. “If only it offered the same honor in practice itself. Undoubtedly, it’s a reason all it’s own that so much of it is taboo.” Once again, the higher power doomed to take a step back and allow the weaker species thrive. Over and over, the same mistakes of history repeated. “Breathe, Efigenia,” she smiles, short and yet sweet as she steps around her to her other shoulder. She wasn’t the first, and certainly wouldn’t be the last - the projection of everything the fallen was was hard for some to swallow when faced with the truth of her power. “It’s nothing new. The same behavior the world has seen time and time again. Misunderstanding is the very impracticality that creates monsters and here we are.” Bound by the ideals of a senate that did not see the world through anything but their own eyes - by the eyes of her brethren, who would only obey the orders of the father; unwilling to see beyond his own ego. “What is it that you understand about all of this? This city and it’s rule.”

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

where. wherever this hoe be hiding who. @fxllenpythia

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

camila queiroz via instagram

Alas, Leviathan was only ever where they needed to be at the precise moment necessary, though many could assume it inconvenient, the aspect was forever listening, lying in wait for every opportune moment. As such,, Arakhor's hands warm against her face remained the only thing to somewhat soften features otherwise hardened. However sharp and venomous they remained, slivers of the seraphim - not jaded by betrayal, would always belong to him. "I'd threaten to remove his tongue, but undoubtedly, he'd enjoy it more than I would." She muses, almost entirely to herself, the corner of her mouth twitching to liken a smile, the mild softness she shared with the fey extended so far as to encompass his brother. Her own hand rises, curling around one of Arak's wrists in near comfort, "I thought we'd learned not to allow him so many opportunities to speak." Albeit, amusing, she knew just as well that Enfenim could talk the hooves off of a changeling. "At least you're here now, just in time to see your brethren ally with the Eye of all things," It's almost comical; the threat of the Asphodel would always seemingly force enemies together, but the Eye? The worst of humanity, lording themselves over the creatures they captured - tortured and maimed. It would see more bloodshed, without her ever lifting a finger.

fxllenpythia​:

@arakhor

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

-

The Soratami had fallen at the hands of Ayi’ig, the drow edged closer and closer to their goal, which did not concern Arakhor, though the fall of his race wasn’t exactly his and his brother’s dream. The eladrin within Rome had suffered another loss, each moment they remained in the mortal realm, they were further and further away from their chance at survival. Many fey wandered the Otherworld still, but they, too, fell victim. Once the blood of the firsts, the beings that could do anything if their song and ability willed it, were now reduced to a handful of Chancellors who had done nothing but hope someone else would step up so they wouldn’t have to. Either way, darkness ran in his blood, it was there since he’d attacked Titania’s warder, since he’d watched the queen banish them instead of kill them – she was weak, unable to strike those down who struck against her. Now, he was free. Free to power his magic with blood, free to find himself in the arms of Leviathan, of the one who had found him. 

“You always seem to disappear when everyone is looking for you,” he joked, recognizing the soul in front of him. Leviathan’s form had changed over the years, they’d picked a feminine one this time, and Arakhor grinned as he took her face in his hands, “We were a bit delayed. You know my brother likes to hear himself talk, so we took the long way to Rome.”

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.

@lulucretias

"To deadbeat fathers," she laughed manically, the toast neither served within wine glass, nor bottle, but the cage that she drew across the room, filled with druids captured upon the battlefield. Broken, contoured, but alive. "Perhaps you should throw Octavian into the river too," a look of distaste crossed her features fleetingly, as if reliving the memory of something truly disgusting, "I'd have liked to have ended that twink much sooner."