Içerde / Melek Duman

“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.”

bensu soral in tuzak

"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.

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.

Turning on her heel at the sound of a voice clearly speaking to her - familiarity piquing the others' inquiry, Pythia felt the curl of a smile before she saw to react, "Oh, Zoey." The woman she'd forced into vampirism; she remembered the stench of the undead on her the night they'd crossed paths. "Well, beyond the concern for my ankles after wearing these heels for so long, I'm doing rather well -" a small gesture with the silver tray she held, "some kind of spiced meat patte hors dourve, it seems to be a bit of a hit with everyone." For some reason, she understands almost explicity that she's never been all too poite towards the other, though her mind offers up no reasoning to the matter, "I hope you know, it's not personal." As if that explained everything.

who? @fxllenpythia where? idk somewhere, zoey got snackey

"Hi! So good to see you!" There is an extra pep to Zoey's step and a bright grin on her face. She had not felt this good in months, even if she doesn't remember why. What she does know is that the party is great, she is having fun, and she wants to share the joy with everyone that looks even vaguely familiar. "How are you doing? Also, what are you carrying? Anything good to eat?"

LANFEAR | The Wheel of Time - 2.06

Camila Queiroz.

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."

Interruption had always irked her - as a general, she’d never tolerated it. As a demonic entity? Even less so. One would think that they’d learnt their lesson, the death she’d dealt to the woman one that barely sparked familiarity among the myriad of bodies and soul’s she’d taken since the previous Halloween. Life within the confines of Rome had not been short of them. Lips left behind the slight imprint of the brazen red lipstick she wore, an exceptionally good iced coffee intruded upon as she strode haphazardly towards the markets.  “Excuse me?” Disdain dripped from her words thick as tar. Paid to kill. The idea of it alone made her seek a blossom of laughter within her chest, and yet, still incredulity stalled her as she looked upon the clearly seething woman. The snap of her finger coiled serpentine attention to the man passing them by and the split second sound drew him to a near statuesque stop. She held out her drink and without a word, his hand rose to take hold of it before she turned back to the woman. 

The look in her eyes had shifted, a murderous abyss calling out from the depth of her pupils. “Who is he? And what makes you believe you’re special enough to need an order to carry out your death?” The corner of her mouth twitched, just. “I remember you, Zoey.” Serpentine features hovered ever nearer, “Weak, little Zoey.” The singsong tone of her voice was harrowing, an eerie whisper upon the wind carried through Rome, “Your death meant nothing, and was for nothing. You were simply there.” It curls venomous around a smile as pointed as fangs themself. “Hardly a waste though, at least now, you have a soul that’s worth something.” At least this, she could feed to the book. “

who? @fxllenpythia​

where? the streets of rome

when? whenever the thread

 with Konstantin ends and Zoey storms off, probably night to make it more dramatic

notes: I love putting Zoey in situations, I truly do

Anger is hard for Zoey to hold, it slips through her fingers as anxiety and self-doubt chip at the hard block that had settled on her chest at Vasiliev’s confession. It is still there, waiting for a moment to strike, but sadness is all encompassing, the devastation a blow to her psyche that she doesn’t know she will recover from. Her death is something she has yet to come to terms with, and the confession that no matter what she had done on the day of the Red Wedding the result would have always been the same? It’s devastating. Zoey hadn’t known the name of the person who had killed her, but now she knew one of them.

Konstantin Vasiliev.

That is the name of one of her killers. Now if she could find out if he had asked one of his friends to finish the job.

She is wandering around Rome, not ready to return to the Mars Palace or to her apartment to face Jamie or Adatiel, when her desires are answered in the most unexpected of ways. Zoey turns a corner, and in the distance sees them. The one that had killed her. In a flash, her anger returns as she stalks closer, her fangs bared in a snarl despite the instinct telling her she is before a predator.

“Did he pay you to kill me?” She hisses, Adrian’s words of how her death was likely a murder echoing on her head. If the Senator is correct, there is only one person who would benefit of her death. The demon that had seen her as disposable. “Did he order you to? Or did you just did him a solid and killed the annoying bitch bothering him for free?”