BENSU SORAL   | 1.02  －  Tuzak

“Then do it.” It’s spoken as if she’d drawn it directly from the void within her. It’s empty and holds nothing but callous intent. She would watch him burn for all he’d condemned them to; whether by choice or blind loyalty. Once a revered general among divine armies, Leviathan existed upon the purity of orders. Of war and all that it stood for. Winning conquest was to be rewarded - and ultimately, peace was all she’d wanted. That, and all that was promised to her - to them. All that she’d fought for, stripped from the offering and once again, they were asked to kneel. Did he so easily forget who she’d been? What she’d been without the blood and death? This was not all she was; but it was what they’d forced her to become. “No, you can’t change the past, and nor can I simply forgive and forget.” And now she existed purely out of spite. “ I will never forgive you.” For all that could be said about her - cold, callous and heartless. The spire that each empty emotion was carved from, Leviathan could be all and more but one did not linger so violently in a world that sought to tear her down without first finding a level of care and determination that solidified her desire to accomplish what was necessary. She would not grieve for those given this realm without first understanding how precious it had been; but for all those who fell - who fought to hold and cherish this world, she had never once stopped mourning. She felt that ache with every moment that passed. Hues narrowed at the incessant audacity he had to even attempt such an approach, and meager footsteps drew her closer as she took in the sight of someone she once admired and revered above all, finding no sense of familiarity anymore “ -- You are no brother of mine.”

fxllenpythia​:

“Then I sincerely hope it plagues you. Night and day.” For fault, in her mind, did not lie with she - nor those who had fallen. Rather with their father and all those who sought to use force against them to begin with. “I hope everything you have, falls to the same inferno that you damned us to.” And truly, she would like to see noone suffer more than Michael himself. Perhaps an eternity before, such a confrontation would prickle emotion hot enough for tears to spring to life, for something to catch in her throat, but long gone were her reservations about how she might feel coming face to face with them once more. “I do, because nobody else is willing to.” Willing to fight for what was rightfully theirs - to carve their own fathers betrayal into the flesh of the world poisoned because he saw greater perfection in creatures no more worthy than the dirt they walked upon. “Everything I have suffered - we have suffered, is because of this realm. These people. These creatures that would have Ulthar turn from us. Betray us so fervently. Do not stand there and accuse me of being a puppet when all you have ever done, is bend to the will of another. When was the last time you considered how this realm, and all others, would be if you hadn’t bent the knee in blind faith to one who would never offer you the same loyalty?”

-

“If it would turn you from this course, I’d walk into the fire myself.” Leviathan had destroyed themself for this goal, Sathanas, Astaroth, Leviathan - the list of the damned generals went on. Michael had torn the grace from even more, had returned countless to the cosmosand in that action he’d called himself righteous. His sibling levelled their anger upon him and was justified in doing so, so much pain for one decision, for refusal that their divine father had taken as a slight. The army that had won so much for him had lost its use if they were not willing to serve in complete, blind obedience. “I cannot change the past, Leviathan.” Michael wouldn’t dwell on what could have been or what should have been, all that could be done was to press forward. He’d once begged his father to let him descend upon this realm so that he could cut down the fallen, and if there remained no other course: he would do exactly that. “I’m asking you,” sincerity rang in Michael’s eyes, “as your brother: don’t do this. Walk away.” 

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

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

“You are not like most.” As much had been clear to her from the moment that August first felt compelled enough to touch fingertips to the art of dark magic and inevitably called to her. So many that wanted would never comprehend what it took to obtain everything, and all of them would fall to the pages of the book for their cowardice alone. To sacrifice to the necronomicon and find anything beyond that too much to handle was comical at best. “He showed me,” she speaks and the tone of her voice emboldens with the hint of a smirk that toys at her lips. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” At least, nothing that drove her as wildly as the very premise he spoke of. “Did you think I’d take us this far and not allow you there for it, August?” She prises with an edge of mock offence in her voice, “I’m not a monster.” A joke that undoubtedly humored her far more than she let on. Monster; abomination, she’d heard it all - conformed to it all out of pure spite. Levithan had long since become all that they’d feared she would, and there was no end in sight as of yet. “We’re so close. Speak to the drow, I want to know what their rodents have discovered. And keep looking for deserters.”

fxllenpythia​:

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

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

-

The fight had taken everything from him, the absence of power that came with the loss of channeling Trivia was palpable to the power-hungry necromancer even now. For someone like him, with everything that he’d become, it was impossible to not miss it, to not crave it. The Asphodel had worked in tandem and crushed a reinforced city under heel, the archdruids had broken, their petty God had broken, and that ichorous blood of the divine that flowed over his fingertips was addictive. That anyone would walk away now felt foolish, stupid even. Weak. “There’s no price I wouldn’t pay,” no price he likely hadn’t paid. “Bastien had a vision of the empty throne of the Gods, of blood raining down over Elysium.” The druids and their paradise, but what was heaven if not just another realm to devour? “I want to be there when it happens.” He wanted to see firsthand the look on the faces of those who’d betrayed them - the lesson that they would learn when they had nothing left but their own despair. 

(…)you learned to love the absence of sound, absence of an aching voice rubbed raw, your world just a whisper, a holy name uttered before sleep and dreams of burning.

Vandana Khanna, from You Who Have Taken The Name Clare in “Train To Agra” (via bonequeen)

@arakhor

A sentiment they'd shared for centuries, undoubtedly. Disappointment was not something he ever offered to her and regardless of where the coming days would lead them - Leviathan would never doubt his desire for survival and all that came with it. "Good, when we're successful, we'll bathe in rivers of blood and all those who banished you will suffer their regret, my love." Already, battle regalia sick with crimson, thousands more would bleed and though the taste of it lingered upon her tongue, it was far sweeter when mottled with the taste of him in the kiss she steals, "It'll all be ours, soon enough."

Arakhor's fingers slide along Leviathan's jaw, this form that they'd chosen a worthy one for the time being. He grinned slightly, autumn magic swirling around them, fueled by blood magic and the noble elven blood that used to run through him. Eladrin needed the boost that this dark magic gave them, and as long as he and his brother survived, then all was well. "Of course. There's nothing that I would rather be doing," he grinned, thinking of all the seraphim that would meet death at their hands. If only there were more within Rome, it would've been a worthy cause. Titania had children here that needed to be killed, one a sorry human and one a spawn from a fiend.

sacrilcgiovs​:

where. the new asphodel home when. a few days after who. @fxllenpythia​

“I see you’ve wasted no time settling in,” he stated with an easy air of superiority, which came long before he ever donned the title of Sovereign, or Senator, for that matter. Though, when it came to Pythia, it would never have mattered, for despite his show of titles, everything he had ever earned for himself was at the benefit of her. “Shall I find your little oracle to thank, or would my gratitude fall to you?”

The lengthy twist of her smile as he chides her is minute, enough to cast weary indifference in his direction as she peeks up at him from the comfort of the chaise lounge she occupies. “You should be far more impressed, Kaan. I only moved twice as quickly as you did in securing your place within a second coven. Though, I suppose you had to learn treachery from somewhere, didn’t you?” It’s little more than a jest - his occupation amuses her greatly and has for centuries now. “My oracle? Do you truly believe this is all due to some little prophecy? Tsk. Tsk. Where’s your faith?”

zoeysalisu​:

who? @fxllenpythia​

where? the streets of rome

when? post plot drop three

notes: the event is over when I say it’s over… and when Zoey dies

“Hey, hey, we have to go, there is more of them coming, it’s not safe.” Zoey has lost Hayliel sometime over the last few hours, and she is terrified. She has been running and hiding since the wedding went down in chaos, since Jamie had given her his blood, and it doesn’t feel like this hell is never going to end. She is turning, moving to run to the next hiding spot, when she sees a stranger standing on the middle of the street. She is rushing at the other’s side without hesitation, a hand on her arm as she pulls. “We have to go.”

Chaos reigns ever supreme, the frenzy of vampires and the wolves that give chase feels like coming home. Levithan. The circle of hell that echoes her name and the screams of all of those that would plunder the world with volatile intention call her home and this realm - that of mortals, begins it’s downfall in such a perfect mirror image she barely notes the human’s within the fold. Let it burn.  Fingers grasp with ripe intent, vice like and though she feels near immediate repulsion from her; Pythia merely stills. Hues that hold little more than oblivion within them relegate the woman - young, naive, with a certain indifference that doesn’t so easily become tainted by disgust. “We do.” She parrots, though the tone of her voice hangs limp, the formerly blank state of her features shifting only barely, the corner of her mouth drawing upwards. “We do have to go.” The warmth of her hands grew as they sought to grasp at the woman’s arm, drawing her in as she all but leered at the fragility within her grasp.  “You first.” It slipped through her teeth, a seething command as thought alone lifted the woman from her feet, casting her feet into the air as the flicker of hellfire blistered the skin of her legs. Just to hear her scream and echo those long forgotten. These streets would see hell - they would know the The wicked and evil images of the home she left behind in hell cast telepathically into the humans mind; cursed to play over and over with every final breath she ever took as darkness turned to shadow, and shadow to ethereal blade before it drew a cavern into the flesh of her throat.  It fell like raindrops; satiating the ground beneath as the dirt swallowed her blood as if it’d been starved for sustenance. As if she’d been starved for sustenance. “You go first.” 

Tuzak (3) | 2022

In the end, nothing mattered to her beyond freeing their brethren from the inferno. Lives lost, of the Asphodel or the Senatre forces would all suit her end goal one way or another, the closer they drew to the apex of everything Leviathan would bring to fruition. The world burned, and soon, the gates would open. The disappointment of those within her ranks who sought the moniker of traitor and deserter left a sliver of hurt resting upon her chest that she'd sooner deal with than linger within. While so many damned her to the inferno all over again for all that suffered under her influence, Pythia was only ever guilty of giving people what they wanted. Untold power, influence - the key to immortality. The price to pay was hefty, and those unable to swallow such a blade were better suited as fodder. A weakness that the coven would never tolerate.

Enfenim's presence doesn't shock her; he has always been mischievous. Nosy, and rather impartial to the thought that his brother's place at her side offered him some leniency. Despite the fact that his soul didn't belong to her, he was one among them all the same. Leviathan didn't need to tether the brothers Elandrin to her. As long as the greater demon sought chaos and death, they'd be there. As if the fiery glow of Necromanteion and the stench of death that bled from the battlefield beyond wasn't proof enough. Words spoken against her ear quiver deeply within the corner of a devilish smirk and hues of obsidian glance up at him as he finds a place by her side, "It feels as though it's about time," it seethes through her teeth, in the same way, hot water soothes aching bones, "No matter what they do, they will always lose." People, stability - alliance. It would all disappear within the ash of all that she'd burn around them. "Does this satisfy some semblance of your own desires? The fairy king is tainted, lied to and become new again. It seems as though Ayi'ig did not know all, before that slaughter."

@fxllenpythia location: Necromanteion notes: he said: you're looking even hotter than usual

The destruction was admirable, truly it was. In a matter of time the Allied Senate Forces would breach the walls and begin to pour into the City, that’s when things would truly get interesting. Fighting from the walls had its perks, but after nine days it was stale, Enfenim generally preferred to manipulate from behind the scenes, contrary to Arakhor who was all merciless killing all the time. He’d projected a portion of his consciousness into the mortal realm and watched how so many of his people had started to fall, their pathetic desperation was going to get them all killed. A waste, a hateful waste, if nothing else the exile preferred to be at their side: killing drow and making sure that the fey of significance lived and the fey that were insignificant… Well, died for something at least. 

An empowered greater demon had no option but to be radiant, malevolence and power rolled off of the fallen angel that Enfenim had always known as Leviathan. The liar with many names and faces, the serpent that could find her way through any defence, any plot. Enfenim found Leviathan in her chambers, overlooking the city, his cold hands brushed against her shoulders as he approached from behind. Beautiful and indomitable, winning was her most attractive quality. “How does it feel to be on the cusp of getting everything you ever wanted?” Enfenim asked against her ear before he moved to stand at her side. Loyal to himself first and Arakhor second, he had his own reasons for standing among the Asphodel. All this death was just a plus.