First One's Free.

ericxaquino​:

          It would be typical fashion for the volatile to slink away, seemingly undetected, the Exile always running from one life and community to the next. Nothing ever seemed to fit, it was a maddening cycle in their life and though this was yet another failed excursion for them, Eric felt strangely confident in the idea of the Lupo; of leaving this wretched coven behind. Their thoughts of August were palpable with anguish, the necromancer was on a steep slope downwards and Eric leaving would only inflict further disaster, but for the lycan it was a necessity. Marcella was the only other factor in the equation that allowed Eric to be uneasy; August could handle himself, make peace with the flames that engulfed his tarnished soul, but Eric knew wholeheartedly that Marcella and he were ravaged by their own guilt for their decisions of imminent survival. The two necromancers Eric had joined for may understood his decision but they were polar opposites in lieu of handling it. “Don’t you think a lycan is better suited with an actual pack? What have I offered to you besides violence?” They shook their head, anxiety was surely engulfing them in this very moment, a verbal face off with the Pythia, “But, I guess all you ever really wanted from me was a weapon, anyhow.”

“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.”

The weaknesses of humans would never seek to surprise her. Connection this, connection that. Tying themselves to others with such infinity that they truly believed such feelings could never be severed. It's enough to keep her from rolling her eyes. "Yes, yes. I'm sure it was a horrific shock." Though, perhaps Yurena was quick to forget that the Pythia knew all of them - their thoughts, their desires. The aspect had long since known all of her followers, well before they'd sworn themselves to the book. Regardless of what they knew, betrayal was not something the greater demon felt - that would indicate that she had to care about each and every one of them in the first place. It was a stretch, at best. She held interest in the fickle desires they held, in what they could do to serve her own purpose - not all of them would live up to such visceral longings. "Do not dwell within them too long. Clinging to them is a rather useless venture you lot hold onto for abysmal reasons," and undoubtedly, Yurena was already gone. "We," I, "Do not have time - we're almost there."

"We both know my connection with Alstroemeria," Yurena reminds them with a long sigh, the truth coming out reluctantly before a being she is very well aware that is more than ready and willing to destroy her if she does not give her an answer to her satisfaction. It is like walking on a tightrope, a careful balancing before she spills and falls to the darkness she has long welcomed as her own. "Kaan is an old friend of Erik's and his betrayal took me by surprise," beyond that, truly. She has begun to wonder— But it is not the time to dwell on that. "His pain is justified, as such, but I need a moment to disentangle all of my pesky emotions."

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.

bensu soral in tuzak

It certainly wasn't the world in which she'd planned to release her brethren into, events of the end and all that Lilith kept from her certainly saw to that; alas, the deed was done and the blood that welcomed the archfiends lathered itself like milk upon the flesh of her host. "That was certainly not the intended outcome," and even those previously of hell itself, were prone to being blindsided; as if the original betrayal didn't come from their father, one in the very same, destroyer of Elysia. "All wasn't totally lost on him, devouring the lot of them is becoming more and more enticing." The great serpent, while seeking retribution towards their creator, could hold onto a semblance of humor in the news that he had swallowed each of the Blessed that remained above, whole. It was enough to unhinge her own jaw and paint herself a mirror image of Ulthar. "Their numbers dwindle," while those of the archfiend had only increased, "They so dearly wish to sacrifice in the name of this realm, and personally, I should like to let them." Ritual sacrifice, for the greater good.

@fxllenpythia location: Lake of Dis notes: thanks for the jailbreak u did gr8

Liars. Philanderers. Deceivers. Everywhere Ba'al went the dredges of this world were suffocating. Sardines packed so tight next to each other they might as well have stitched their bodies into one to save time, an act of convenience is what it'd be marketed as. Certainly gave him ideas, but while he was a devil he wasn't a sadist- that wasn't true, but he did prefer to watch rather than get his own hands dirty. The proximity of the realm above was one that he detested most of all, but for now he'd settle for letting the thirteen malebranche be his eyes and ears where he could not otherwise be. Then again, everyone was a liar these days.

"Elysia has fallen, Lucifer is King of-" there was a point to honestly, not that it mattered when it came from his lips, "nothing, for now. What are your plans for the seraphim that still remain? The ones our beloved father neglected to eat before he ran."

"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."

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. 

"As it should." It's deafening, the solidity in which she defiles the woman with her stoicism. It is how Leviathan has always intended it to be. Loyalty beyond all fault - and as it was with Kaan, their deception should be to all but her. "Necromancy is but a menial piece of all that you strive for. Appeasing Oztalun is all you need to do," it was something that Pythia could swallow, however barbed it was. The splinters of dark magic were otherworldly, and created the stepping stones to what the First offered. One did not exist without the other. "Should you wish to earn his favor, keeping mine would do you well," which wasn't entirely true - but Leviathan was certainly within the realm of taking all she'd offered away and then some. Undoubtedly, it'd land anyone in a bit of a pickle. "You'll make do." She smiles, like the edge of a jagged knife, "And how am I to trust that you're not of the same mindset Kaan was? Hm?"

a starter for @fxllenpythia, where: in between somewhere and nowhere

"It's funny, I've been loyal to this idea of you all my life, that appeasing another merely feels like treason," Python was always this dark whisper in the night, a tenebrous hug that nurtured, parasitic in it's need for more. Where loyalty to necromancy had been at the forefront of her very existent for some time, a new contender came forth under the First, or the Last as he'd been dreadfully converted to; but Efigenia was nothing if not a willing student under the pliable hands of dark magic. Loyalty was not to ever be confused for family, where she could sit amongst these equal horrors of dark arts, work alongside them and commit unspeakable acts; they all were only ever bound by their desires for the profane. "But I'll make do," she smiled, a catty tongue but for all of Pythia's influence the Advocate still would do anything the Archfiend requested, that much was clear.