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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. 

sacrilcgiovs​:

where. the new asphodel home when. a few days after who. @fxllenpythia​

“I see you’ve wasted no time settling in,” he stated with an easy air of superiority, which came long before he ever donned the title of Sovereign, or Senator, for that matter. Though, when it came to Pythia, it would never have mattered, for despite his show of titles, everything he had ever earned for himself was at the benefit of her. “Shall I find your little oracle to thank, or would my gratitude fall to you?”

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?”

Tuzak (3) | 2022

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.”

octavianrising​:

❂🐦❂

She made herself known, a foolish choice considering how much hatred he harbored for her. In part, he wanted to unleash the phoenix’s rage on sight, but he had questions that needed answers. So he pulls his wings in, and after bursting into a pillar of flame Octavian changes back into his human form, walking forward with purpose and authority. “Keep my father’s name off your snake tongue, vile creature,” he warns, eyes still blazing. “I only want to know one thing: why now? Why free my sister now? Why chip from my family even more than you already have?” Though those questions were a thinly veiled mask to what he truly was after. Octavian couldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing how the voices in his mind screamed to be united with their progenitor. “The things you’ve done with that book … I should burn you for that alone.”

It’s quite a performance, the phoenix honing in against all the otherworld posed against him now, though she feels no sense of surprise. Pythia knows Octavian to be a force to contend with and one that fluctuates between loyalty and all that she knows if in his mind. As if out of humor alone, a serpentine hiss fills the air as she smirks, perfect teeth elongating only momentarily to mimic those of the creature he spoke of. “You should be more grateful to see her, did you not wish to be reunited with her?” The truth of his sisters demise one that filled Pythia with utter flee, “I did you a favor.” Framed within the concave of irrevocable choice - an olive branch that was only lacquered in the same poison that tainted his thoughts. “You could, of course, but I would merely find a new vessel and we would continue on as we always have..” The tip of her tongue runs the edge of her teeth, before she inhales swiftly and sets about on a slight skip in her step as she rounds him, “or, you could confess your thoughts - the ones that have told you all that I, and the book, can truly offer you. All that it whispers to you.”

"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.”

camila queiroz via instagram

zoeysalisu​:

who? @fxllenpythia​

where? the streets of rome

when? post plot drop three

notes: the event is over when I say it’s over… and when Zoey dies

“Hey, hey, we have to go, there is more of them coming, it’s not safe.” Zoey has lost Hayliel sometime over the last few hours, and she is terrified. She has been running and hiding since the wedding went down in chaos, since Jamie had given her his blood, and it doesn’t feel like this hell is never going to end. She is turning, moving to run to the next hiding spot, when she sees a stranger standing on the middle of the street. She is rushing at the other’s side without hesitation, a hand on her arm as she pulls. “We have to go.”

Chaos reigns ever supreme, the frenzy of vampires and the wolves that give chase feels like coming home. Levithan. The circle of hell that echoes her name and the screams of all of those that would plunder the world with volatile intention call her home and this realm - that of mortals, begins it’s downfall in such a perfect mirror image she barely notes the human’s within the fold. Let it burn.  Fingers grasp with ripe intent, vice like and though she feels near immediate repulsion from her; Pythia merely stills. Hues that hold little more than oblivion within them relegate the woman - young, naive, with a certain indifference that doesn’t so easily become tainted by disgust. “We do.” She parrots, though the tone of her voice hangs limp, the formerly blank state of her features shifting only barely, the corner of her mouth drawing upwards. “We do have to go.” The warmth of her hands grew as they sought to grasp at the woman’s arm, drawing her in as she all but leered at the fragility within her grasp.  “You first.” It slipped through her teeth, a seething command as thought alone lifted the woman from her feet, casting her feet into the air as the flicker of hellfire blistered the skin of her legs. Just to hear her scream and echo those long forgotten. These streets would see hell - they would know the The wicked and evil images of the home she left behind in hell cast telepathically into the humans mind; cursed to play over and over with every final breath she ever took as darkness turned to shadow, and shadow to ethereal blade before it drew a cavern into the flesh of her throat.  It fell like raindrops; satiating the ground beneath as the dirt swallowed her blood as if it’d been starved for sustenance. As if she’d been starved for sustenance. “You go first.” 

@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.”

“Ah,’ the sound drew out as she watched his haphazard gesture, “I certainly hear that nostalgia is a bit of a fickle bitch.” Perhaps for all of those beyond her. It wasn’t exactly something that had ever pressed concern into the forefront of her mind. Pythia wasn’t one to wonder on past or future endeavors. Taboo, all that she’d offered had always existed in the darkest corners of magic, all those that sought to tether themselves knew the risk. Knew how quickly they’d fall into the realms of pariah among their own people. An inevitability. That hadn’t taken the sharp sting out of the slaughter that he’d suffered. A shame and a waste, even if his soul bolstered the book and her regardless. It seemed as time passed, the commitment of those that pledged themselves to the Asphodel grew less stern. The followers of yesterday were certainly something else. “Between your willingness and the knowledge you bring with you, I’m certain I can find something to do with you. How close are you to the others of your bloodline? The senate?” It’s an immediate thought, and as much as she expects an answer, already she is sifting through ways in which she could use Seth for her own gain. “I have a few witches you can see, they can bolster your enhanced abilities, give you a little more... bite, if you should so wish it.”

fxllenpythia​:

It was a strange thing, to be so connected to so many. To hear so many thoughts and feel the tremor of even their deepest, darkest emotions. However deeply buried they might have been, she felt them, a distant tremor in the base of her skull that she could so easily diminish. To reach out and pull at a single string and watch the entwinement of all who belonged to her and the book unravel within the palm of her hand. Too often, it left her giddy. “Tepiltzin, I was wondering when you’d find your way back to me.” They always did - it wasn’t often that one could experience all that she could offer and find such an infinite way to sever themselves. Greed was a rife poison that lingered in even the most well-rounded of creatures. Without second thought, she moves; each step neither too prominent nor inaudible as she finds herself within reach, fingertips shifting the flesh of his upper lip until she can press the pad of her thumb into the fang that elongates under the will of her own thought, “I’m not sure I like you better this way, but I suppose we shall see, won’t we?” Her vessel bleeds, a bead of crimson growing until it spills onto his lip. Even as one of the fallen, the power she carries stains that of the being she possesses, offering him but a menial taste of what he’d once had. “Is that what this is about? You want to join the band of God-killers?”

          Seth always garnered this irreverent sense. As a druid he was heedless and adamant in his pull to power, betrayed his own family, slaughtered those who looked to him for guidance. It had led him to the Pythia, a gravelly promise whispered into the night of something more, trials toiled away on. “I don’t know,” it’s a frivolous response paired with a careless shrug, he never liked to seem too eager even in light of a greater demon who’d pulled the strings of life and death to slaughter a god. “I just wanted to see if the past was still interesting.” He’d gotten a rather cult following of his druid community, all in lieu of Pythia’s influence, but they’d turned against him, placed him on the blood-soaked slab of concrete to slaughter in retribution. Dedication to Mars was faint, he was a vampire by circumstance not by solidified choice; his sire had offered him the pieces to the puzzle and he’d taken them with interest only spurred by ego. He’d be a weakness if he could not capitalize on newfound abilities bestowed upon him. “I’m not sure what use a vampire would be to you, but here I am regardless.” Seth presents himself on the basis of curiosity, his past was molded and refined by the Necronomicon, it wasn’t necessarily easy to abandon, especially as their influence of followers cropped up again.