As Her Name Flit Through The Mind Of Another, Pythia Cracked Out The Ache In Her Neck With A Rather Jarring

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."

bensu soral in tuzak

 Proof once more, that those among mortals - humans and creatures alike, remained the hypocritical downfall that would lead to their own ruin. Pythia watched from within his mind as the senate conducted such damning practice that they might otherwise condemn another for. Another wretch among many that she believed highlighted their undeserved coven over this realm. It was certainly enough to draw a sliver of rage into the breadth of her chest. “Not yet, and certainly not if I have anything to do with it.” She muttered as she pulled Dominic further into his own mind - a safe haven where chains did not beguile him.  It felt like years, since she’d done as much for him. Years a captive of the eye had seen her present more often than not within his thoughts, however; his release had been something she needed to see from the outside. A witness to how far they’d twisted him. Admittedly, she’d missed him. “One would think you’d see that I’m not quite done with you yet.” Was he ready? To be both monster and man? His memories returned to him, Pythia knew the collision of the two would warrant a war all it’s own, and yet - “You still have purpose, Dom. When the time is right, I’ll be the one to point you in the right direction.” In her/ direction.

@fxllenpythia​

There was silence, the one that came when a wound was great enough to throw a vampire into that random state of limbo. Or at least, that’s what Dominic thought it was. The Senate could do whatever to him, but there were chains once more, something similar to what he’d known with the Eye. Were they much different? Perhaps not, but a Leech was always put down sooner rather than later. Dominic was pushed beneath something that would limit his power, but he didn’t want to escape. There was a difference, and if he’d truly fought, he would’ve gone down kicking and screaming. There was just a reservation to his fate; a reminder that he was a monster. He didn’t want to be one, however. He used to know love, he used to know friendship – family – until it was torn from him by the eye. Four decades of torture, of pulling him apart, molding him into the perfect hunter of his own kind. And death that he’d carried out – a purpose, until he’d taken his life back. 

She was there, again, standing in front of him, and Dominic lifted his head, the chains gone from around his wrists, his midsection, “Am I dead?” he asked with a barely there smile, the humor not lost on him as he figured he had to be within his head. A voice that was there, that he used to think was fake – “Why are you still bothering with me, Pythia?”

@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."

@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.

@seraphimichael​ location: we’re in the colosseum baby.

Moonlight filtered through ruins in much the same way the cosmos scintillated the vast abyss above. Just enough to offer something beyond the premise of total darkness; a bleak, cold existence. Lithe fingertips that ghosted across crumbling echoes of a lifetime ago, Pythia felt near giddy as the dread and fear of all that lingered from the past flowed through her. The aches and pains of those that would never see beyond these walls; humans caught within the snare of their own kind and forced to cut teeth against stone to garner even a single day more.  “Michael,” the eerie drift of her voice carried across the stagnant air as if it’d been whispered upon the greatest of winds. Harrowing, the echo reverberated against the stone and kissed promise of the greatest haunting the mortal realm had ever known. “Oh, Michael..” The singsong sweetness to her tone near sickening as she slipped through the broken gate and laid onyx hues upon the one she’d avoided for so long. Not unaware of his plight to remove each of the fallen from this world like the stains he deemed them to be.  Saccharine lips turn upward and yet any who bore witness could pledge that nothing but venom would pass beyond her tongue, even as she meandered closer, not unlike a long lost sibling relegating a near stranger. “You look weary, brother.” Or perhaps rather, he felt as much. “Or perhaps it is the mundane vessel you continue to hold onto.”

@adatiiel​ “You don’t see it as you’re never there at the end of their days, they’re nothing more then collateral damage to you but I am with all of them – there is not a soul that is wiped from this earth that is not known by me” Pythia’s heart had become lost long ago, enshrouded by the darkness that become her being, clouding out what once was good – now she only wanted destruction, darkness and death – Adatiel couldn’t escape her if she tried. The seraphim had been created from the cosmos to fight the first darkness that had blotted out the world and they had been called again to restore the natural order. “I won’t try to convince you to the goodness that exists within humanity, they are flawed and yet they still try to do better – you are not the creator of worlds and we won’t allow you to destroy the world completely” There is only one set of lips that she would listen to an order from, to bring about the end of the world will only be allowed by Ulthar.

The longer she spoke, the more tiring the whole exchange began to feel. The bleeding heart within her sister, however accepting of those she ushered beyond death, surely understood that such a burden could be wiped from her conscience were the mortals no longer upon this earth. Though, neither was Pythia so willing to offer the obvious argument to one who undoubtedly knew as much already. “Blah, blah, blah..” Her nose turned up in impatient disgust at the tirade offered to her, much like all those before. “And their constant attempts for better continue to be a let down, time and time again. How long should they be offered more chances to, as you say, better themselves? Or shall we watch for all eternity as they ponder the gift given to them and you... carry the weight of knowing each of them?” They’re menial, amounting to nothing in her eyes. “It’s been a long time since I’ve made decisions based on what any of you would allow me to do. It would better ease your disappointment if you simply stood aside.”

@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.”

©

“I have long since considered what I might do if I ever faced him again, Roth.” For what felt like eons, she’d likely have done anything to draw even a glimpse of Ulthar’s immediate sense of presence but something so personal had long since slipped through her fingers of desire. Instead, the only thing left was to destroy what he loved the most. The realm they currently occupied earning the majority of their fathers love and respect since the day he cast them all aside. Offering the perfect world to those who would do nothing more than pick it apart and taint it to ruin. So, ruin she would give him. “Now, he could stand before me and beg, and I’d want nothing more than to flay him along with the others. If the world we were promised cannot be ours - he can have it returned to him, in dust and ruin.” 

          a gift for @fxllenpythia​,

          “Even if you were to slaughter Uriel and Michael where they stand it wouldn’t pull Ulthar down to face you,” they’d sort of learned from mortals that a lot of problems arise in life from daddy issues and certainly the seraphim, who predated even gender, were proof of that. They have this half-smirk that hints at Roth’s lips, it’s this tiny lilt of humor but its fragmented by understanding; sometimes one just vied to see the world burn. He’d thought of it often, after the fall, but it was more channeled at the divine realm than it had ever been for this piteous mortal coil. Roth had felt the splintering quake that rattled the Otherworld, could only figure it was Leviathan’s doing supplemented by their cult following. He’d had this itch to face their Blessed siblings, it would always remain as a buzzing in the back of the skull, but their mind could not grasp this need to destroy Ulthar’s second creations. For Roth, they were measly and insignificant in comparison to the Old God’s faced eons prior, meaningless in lieu of their Blessed counterparts who attempted to control the world under their own puppeteered reign. Still, Roth’s words offer this teetering point, this subtle cue that they’d align again if need be; there was always a damned side to choose.