The Qualms Of Humanity, Are Ever-present, Even Within The Living Dead And She's Quickly Reminded Of The

"Thank you," she muttered with a rather coy smirk toying at blood-red lips, "I thought to myself, what kind of aesthetic would Enf find agreeable and here we are." The noted sarcasm in her voice was about as telling as how desperately she aspired to gain his approval. Nevertheless, Pythia had always favored Enfenim and his brother. Those that needed nothing from her - nor the book, and still enjoyed the taste of chaos all the same. "You know I'd never deign myself so low as to concede to such a mortal concept." She rolled her eyes, predictably so, "Although, Arak tells me that the dismal hour of your arrival can once again be chalked up to your inability to surpass the opportunity to speak. Perhaps we should offer our vows below your lynched and skinned corpse," the smile she offers is sickly sweet, a taunting venture that she'd not let slip to threat as she pinpoints a rather sharp point upon the arch, "right there, just for you, darling. Make a night of it."

@fxllenpythia location: home sweet home notes: kiss kiss bang bang “Nice place you have here.” Necromanteion had grown beyond any measure it had held before, tenfold. The infernal book grew in power with every passing moment, the more it devoured, the more it hungered. Enfenim had aligned himself with the sprawling city of New Dis, the great forces that amassed within suited him best, but he had not signed his name in the book. Necromancers all covered power over resurrection, bringing people back from the grave had never interested him. “Where should the wedding be-“ he smiled as he gestured towards one of the arches. “This looks like a suitable place for a set of vows.”

It was a wonder any of them believed they could breathe within the confines of the coven and she wouldn’t know about it. The entirety of the Otherworld now beneath the ruling of Levithan and Ayi’ig left little to be considered, and yet, she’d allowed Eric to continue believing that his intention existed within the darkened confines of his own mind, that alone. The heated drink she held in her hand - something otherwise wickedly sweet where bitterness existed in the very fingertips that burned with it, a small comfort in an almost domestic setting for her. “You’re going?” She sat up a little straighter, a crease forming between narrowing brows, how bold of him. Better had he tried to slip out unseen; perhaps she might have even commended him for such gall. “Where will you go, Eric?” Where will you go that I can’t find you? “There’s still so much more to do, don’t you at least want to see the next step come to fruition before you tuck tail and run?” While innocence lacquered each word, it was impossible to miss the subtle venom that existed beneath. “I’d hate for you to regret your decision.”

          a gift for @fxllenpythia​,

notes: honey you’ve got a big storm comin’

          Eric’s anxiety and inquietude tended to push them to do regrettable things. Joining the Asphodel had been one of them, but announcing his departure to the Greater Demon ruling over said coven? Astronomically one of said decisions. They had few remnants of their personal items hanging around within the coven, those were all moved away discreetly after returning from Knossos and feeling that palpable sickness in their gut at what had went down. Reliably, loyally, sworn to the book in their own way of obligation they’d done what was expected of them and were now rife with guilt and the need to flee. A typical and rather visceral reaction of the Exile. “Hey, so, I don’t know what I expected but, I’ve done my part and it’s time for me to get going,” their words are embedded with flippant sarcasm, especially in the face of a venerated creature who was strengthened by the sacrificial blood of others, Eric couldn’t find it in themselves to tame their fear-induced lip.

“There always has to be at least one truly unruly child. Admittedly, I should have remembered that you were the closest thing I ever had to that.” Though, she’d always made it quite clear that she wouldn’t always be there - that things beyond her control would always see fit that she could never linger too long while still rising to power. He’d never been devoid of such knowledge. “Oh, they were luckier than they should have been.” Dismantling what remained of the coven in such a way was a rather quick fix, and not exactly what she might have preferred - but time was always of the essence. “Are you not already in my debt, Kaan?” She asked, casting idle curiosity in his direction. “They’ll close ranks. What remains and what they’ll build of the senate, I expect you to be among them. Play nice, for now.”

pythia​.

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?”

-

“Yes, because I should have spent my time pining the loss of you instead of doing just as you would have done.” The words hold no malice, nor any indication other than amusement at her own words. He had spent too many years searching for a means to restore the Asphodel coven, had sacrificed too many in her name in the hopes of retrieving what had been lost. The Narcissus coven, however, had been a means for his own selfish gain. He had slipped into its folds, made a name for himself, and secured the mantle of Sovereign for his own goals. For his own safety. “The other covens were not so lucky, especially the Amaranthus. Color me surprised to receive a message from your oracle prior. Shall I consider myself in your debt then?”

“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.” 

@adatiiel​

The smiley face was a clever move, one that brought a hitch of a smile to Adatiel's mouth even as their search turned up empty. Being the angel of death meant that she reaped everyone who fell, allegiance didn't matter when their days came to an end. She wasn't to fight, her hands didn't call for violence as she was the result of whatever came to be. Adatiel often satisfied her whims, whenever she wished to see someone she did. It was why she felt that a conversation with her wayward sister was long overdue. "Are you happy with the wraiths that you trapped within your walls? Spirits that remain and grow in vengeance can become a dangerous weapon. The spirits are very angry with you."

_

Was she? Happy? As if to make crystal clear, Pythia's smile grew to maniacal proportions, the feint giggle that slipped between her lips eerie at best, and horrifying in the shape it took. "Sister, don't take it so personally. If anything, you should be rather grateful that I led you right to them. The pesky little things." Those that lingered within the walls, wraiths that screamed endlessly, clawing at every sense of humanity that remained, every ounce of their blood riddled empathy had risen as a symphony in the halls of the Asphodel. "Angry? At me?" The pout that settled against porcelain skin feigned innocence that would never look quite right, "Then consider their anger a gift, in the efforts you and the rest of them should make to try and stop me. I daresay, you'll need it."

_

"I don't need your help to find the dead" what ego but Pythia did always carry one, spirits have always beckoned her and she is the angel that is there in the last moment of life. Adatiel was to not be confused with a guardian angel as she did not protect nor decide who lived and died, merely knew when their time had come to an end, when the hourglass had finally run out. Those that died while being tormented or moments of great emotional impact became wraths. As someone who holds death and life in equal care, it is difficult for the seraphim to accept such cruelty. "I wish to hear it from your lips sister, tell me how you wish for this to all end. Do you really wish for darkness to blot out the world?"

_

“No? You’ll have to forgive me for my lacking faith in your.. abilities.” For a millennia, so many of her kind - their kind had done little more than squalor their potential. Bending to the whims of a father who cared for lesser creatures before his own children. Sighing heavily, something more of contentment than anything else, the Pythia smiled quietly to herself. “And why shouldn’t it?” Tongue clicked against her teeth and the brunette eyed the other with irate mischief, cold and calculating - unyielding. “Because daddy dearest said so? They’ve done little but squander the world given to them. Destroyed and plundered a place they’ve never sought to earn. I say, - burn it all to hell.”

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.”

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.