Fxllenpythia - Sinner

The rise of his voice - a moment of frustration and anger was one of the only flickers of conviction the Pythia had seen of Eric in some time now. Hollowed out by his own discomfort - his choice to stradle the line between this life and the next would be his downfall. Unable to choose until all that remained was the pitiful indecision to return to a world that had already cast him aside once. "You should have spent these months learning to secure your own fate instead of wallowing in self-pity, abhorrence or expecting someone else to do it for you." A serpent's hiss rounded out the snap of her own fangs, the glimmer of hues daring him to test another bark in her presence. Still, she softens - smiles, and shakes her head gently, "I never needed to make you a monster, Eric. You've been one since birth - and everyone, including your mother, knew it." It's flippant, haphazard, the way she speaks. As though every word she spoke were facts well known. "You were exiled long before the pack turned it's back on you, and it seems you're itching to experience that all over again."

"If all you see here is destruction, you've not been looking hard enough." The asphodel - the Necronomicon, was wrought with the creation of all things frowned upon. To stop death in its tracks, open realms beyond this one, and bring about a world that no longer saw those with such an affinity banished to barren lands. Eric had yet to see the totality of the destruction that she could wrought and as she wove the intricacies of power around her finger, the once regaled seraphim condemned the volatile to a life of bridled pain. A shortened life, beyond the safe haven of those willing to do anything - his body would seek to reject the hearts granting - long life, and strength beyond all else. Rue the control he sought being safe - the fire within him deserved so much more. The spark of a flame ignites and the blackened candles surrounding the room cast long shadows across the room. "Your troubles are your own, Eric. I offered you opportunity, and you squandered it. Perhaps the harbinger won't mind another disappointment."

fxllenpythia​:

“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.”

          She spoke, an effortless command that was fit to seek out reason and not insight fear but it still made the inner child within them tremble. They always resounded that their bark was far worse than their bite, the Exile always falling mercy to sabotaging situations because of their indecisive nature. It was what wrought this collision now, him and a fucking fallen angel turned greater demon and though his jaw was clenched in that spasm of anxiety, Eric wouldn’t wilt under the idea of submitting to this creatures flawed tactics of unleashing evil upon the world they secretly, deep down, cherished. “No, I don’t feel fucking safe,” it was barked out with a rueful laugh, their face scrunched as though the Pythia would smite them for the mere admission, though the statement was paired with a haphazard shrug. One of many, that could resound another hollow laugh, but they bit the action back, instead nodding grimly. It was true that their cowardice had simmered them to this creature which lacked a back bone and only lashed out when backed into a corner; it was how they’d survived so long. “Yeah, I’m certainly more of a follower than a leader, carving out some wicked path of destruction, you got me there.” There was no sarcasm for it bore a sad truth for the lycan, “I’ll be a bit happier keeping my hands clean from all your troubles,” for once they’d stood their ground on an opinion instead of skulking towards what everyone else had done; what August had done. He often thought of the necromancer, their only friend once upon a time who they now no longer recognized as a dull malfeasance took over August’s gaze.

“You forget, brother,” Pythia spat, unwilling to allow him the space to belittle her - to discredit the work she’d done and assume her blind to all else. Would she have made it this far, had she underestimated those that would see her gone? “Nothing is as it was before.” The Asphodel held the upper hand - the death of a God, the Druids in mourning, and the truth of what would befall this city - this realm, still to come to light. The fact of the matter was - and always would be, the blessed cared to much for all that it would cost to prevent her from bringing about the end. It was how they were built; pieced together by their ever careless father to believe that what they held in their hearts mattered, when so clearly they’d been shown otherwise. 

Her tongue clicked loudly against the back of her teeth, the smirk that formed coiled around it in sardonic nature as she cast a coy look up at him. “The only cage will be yours, perhaps I’ll do a better job of locking it behind you than Apollo did for me.” And with little more than the blink of an eye, her form dissipated into shadow, the coiling tail of a serpent twisting the darkness until it too disappeared.

/end

fxllenpythia​:

“Oh, but it does.” She quipped back rather happily, “I have not had to take everything I have, despite what you and the others may seek to believe.” Numerous, were the number of those who had handed over their power to further bolster her own. The book and all they offered was not all tainted. “Why should I not be confident, brother? You are in a tailspin, and the fact that you can only lecture me now is more than enough proof.” Saccharine, her tone fell, thick and sweet as honey as it dripped; lacquering each word like tar. “And yet here I stand, despite it.” Despite the inferno that her own siblings had left her to, “I have not suffered forgiveness nor mercy from you for an eternity, I certainly don’t seek it out now, nor shall I. Who exactly are you trying to convince, Uriel?”

☨

“You underestimate the powerful forces building up against you day after day, sister… hubris will be your downfall, as it was before and as it will be.” Uriel smiled coldly, far too tempted to tell her that knew of a way to destroy the Necronomicon. For the first time, the idea was a tempting thing. Otherwise, he knew if he got involved with the process he would lose everything… Either him or Michael would. For Uriel wouldn’t allow their younger Blessed siblings to get involved.

“Go, return to your corrupted minions, Leviathan. I tire of looking at this false face of yours. When you’re finally ripped from this small vessel and thrown back into the cage where you belong… that will be the only time I will hope to see you again.”

bloodxlevent​:

“You’re turning more and more into that woman from the soap opera we watch.” Levent was sitting with his feet up on the table, a coin dancing along his fingertips – it was a trick he’d taught himself a long time ago, and he still thought it made him look relatively smooth and cool. It didn’t, but Pythia had only told him that once, so he continued to do it. “I think I’m doing a pretty good job.” He had friends in the Dahlia coven, but they didn’t know he was simply using them for his own personal gain. At least, not yet. “Yeah, but you forget that most of us are also playing a good role. You have the witches from Narcissus, me, the best one out there, and another coven that hasn’t bothered to press against us. You’re out in the open, but only with a few of you.” He gave a half smile, “Some would say you may have a problem, but at least you fit the part well.”

“And who’s fault is that?” The choice of such soap operas was not something that she’d spent all that much time pondering over until the more recent splurge of them. More proof that the humans of this world were little more than fickle creatures barely worth their weight in salt. “You do manage the whole, wolf in sheeps clothing, I’ll give you that. It’s a wonder you’re not offended to blend in so well.” A curt taunt in his direction as the coin within his hand shifted into a small, black python with the redirection of his own energies. “You can’t play the good guy forever, Lev. It comes with an expiry date that’s fast approaching.” She knew, perhaps more than most, one could only hide for so long when one had a desire to watch the world burn. “I don’t see it as a problem,” no longer stifled by the act of hiding; she felt powerful; moreso than ever.. 

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.”

@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."

"Unfortunately," Pythia murmurs, setting her sights upon the city that hails itself beyond the glass window. Riddled with the gifts of freedom that should have rightfully been theirs. A world subjugated by mortals and torn from the fingertips of all those fallen. "They think I'm done." It burns white hot within the pit of Levithan's chest, for it's far from over. White knuckles protrude as she cast a menial glance at Mammon upon his approach, "I offered a choice," albeit, a terrible one at that, it was the archfiend's olive branch. "And this is what they chose, this... pitiful, vile existence." Violence, she'd cast across the realm; scintillated pockets across Rome, a blink of all that she could do - all that they could do. "I made a mistake, one that I'll surely not make a second time."

where. somewhere she might be who. @fxllenpythia

"Has this realm always been so vile?" Or had their taste for it been significantly diminished since their return from the Inferno. Mammon had never cared for the little humans before, not unless they greatly interested him. For all seemed to be ever the same. One of the glasses in their hand was offered to the other, "How have you not already wiped them clean from this city?"

bensu soral in tuzak

©

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.”