Given pace and length it might be time for a summary. 0th post on the OOC?
Indeed. I have so many characters in the thread alone. I could update the locations as well. Quite a few more have been added.
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Indeed. I have so many characters in the thread alone. I could update the locations as well. Quite a few more have been added.
The Art of the Soul’s Price
Chapter 1: Performance Artist
Location: Earth-F67X - New New York City, SoHo
A woman wearing periodic tables worth of vibrant crystals and thin woven golds braided into her hair gently pulled my hand. She gave me butterflies. Entranced by her affectious light, she dragged me from under the flickering street lights into the back of an off-white cast-iron building without much of a tug. Near morning at this point, we burned through the night hitting up various galleries and bars. It felt like living in a cheesy rom-com, scene for scene. Ecstatically, my mind roved into the lewd when she claimed to have a surprise for me. Mildly Intoxicated, she didn’t notice her dark-brown, 3-C fro dancing in my eyes with each step. I don't mind. Every turn I’d catch a glimpse of her contagious smile looking back at me.
It was hard to believe this moment came. If I were a knight, At this point I’d have been fighting valiantly for the right to court her for many fortnights.
Known to the general public as Elyse, it was probably easier to explain what she wasn't at this point; Socialite, musician, performance artist, self-proclaimed empath, and even psychic. Her influence? Broad and ironclad. For once, I found myself in a position where others eyed me in envy. She recognized me for my talent and now everyone else did also.
Admittedly, we couldn't be more opposite, citing her obsession with astrology and deep ties to spiritualism. In our convos, I sprinkled just enough of my minute knowledge of horoscopes learned unwillingly through unpleasant interactions with fanatics. I could care less if Mercury was in retrograde or if Pluto is in Aquarius. It clashed with my existential beliefs. With that thought, a brief spell of sober sanity became my buzzkill as I wrestled with the idea of myself doing this for the wrong reasons. Do I just want to be close to her for the connections? I hated to view myself as a starving artist. I always felt it was a matter of time. Others have had it far easier. I’m not some product of absurd nepotism. This should feel better…
In too deep, I trotted up the stairwell, almost nervously stumbling a few times. Trying not to lock his gaze into the gyrating figure of her long draping dress. The more stories climbed, the closer we got to a warm burgundy glow. I can't explain it but the light felt inviting. No, seductive?
"We're here! My Nana’s old studio. You’re going to like it, you'll find it pretty cozy" Elyse gleefully exclaimed.
“You speak about her a lot. Who was she?”
“A conceptual and performance artist.”
“A famous name I'd know?”
Averting her gaze, she replied “Marina Abramovic…”
I recalled hearing that name falling asleep to a video about a controversial performance artist in the city. However, before I could question further, only a highly saturated red door with a bull's septum ring to knock separated us from the room. There was silence on the other end. My sneakers screeched like a brief blip from a dying smoke detector with my instinctual step back. Perhaps it was my guardian angel pulling on his shoulder. Whatever it was, something told me the concrete floors outside the stairwell window were a better option.
Frozen, I couldn’t utter a thing before she knocked, so, I simply smiled.
The crimson door opened on its own. This “studio” felt like a maze. In the dark, the walls were just white enough to make out the dripping of red liquids spelling out a sequence of messages as we progressed.
“Mix Fresh Milk From The Breast
With Fresh Milk Of The Sperm
Drink on Earthquake Nights…”
“Elyse? What is this?”
My feet locked in place. My heart felt like a beating drum against my ribs as our eyes met. Loud. Slow…
“...Excerpts from a performance piece my Nana created in ‘96. Come on. Where right there.”
Elyse tugged considerably harder on my hand than she did this entire time, no doubt playing it off as a joke, but I couldn’t relinquish this shackling nervousness. Still, I followed her. The words on each wall read as such.
“On Your Knees, Clean The Floor
With Your Breath
Inhale The Dust
Wash Your Bedsheets In Lemon Juice
Cover The Pillow With Sage Leaves
With A Sharp Knife
Cut Deeply Into The
Middle Finger Of The Left Hand
Eat The Pain
Facing The Wall
Eat Nine Red Hot Peppers
Take Uncut 13 Leaves of Green Cabbage
With 13,000 Grammes Of Jealousy
Steam For Long Time In Deep Iron Pot
Till All Water Evaporates
Eat It Just Before Attack
Fresh Morning Urine
Sprinkle Over Nightmare Dreams…”
Chapter 2: Occulus
Location: Earth-F67X - New New York City, SoHo
A tarnished Venetian mirror sat in a room of industrial concrete floors and peeling walls. Later, it garnered an audience of five, all fairly young—in their early to mid-twenties. Artists, musicians, DJs, and influencers—all had ties to the city and its events. Only one among them—a man—stood face-to-face with his reflection with one kinky-haired woman veering closely to the right of him in support. His reflection was almost like staring into a pond of disturbed water, silhouette subtly wavering much like his uncalmed spirit. Lack of sleep with night's events chipped at his psyche. Was he hallucinating? The room felt like a sauna. The group observing felt far when they were arms length away. With sweat wedged between the ripples on his forehead, he opened his palm, edging closer to his image to the group’s delight.
“With… a sharp knife…”
Low, to himself, the man began to recite instructions. With a curved knife, the man sliced deep into the print of his middle finger. Before it could drip to the dusty floors, the woman beside him tenderly guided his hand, holding his wrist, drawing a sigil with his blood on the mirror when he lacked the fortitude to.
“Remember. You want this…”
Her whispers tickled his ear, but unnatural warmth emanated from the mirror, inching through his finger, later crawling up his arm and to his heart. He was like a deer in headlights as low fog seeped from the mirror, blanketing the room from heel down.
The mirror rippled like disturbed water. For a moment, he saw himself as he wished to be—accomplished, adored, and respected for his artistic vision. It was right there in front of him but something felt off. Darkness loomed. Eyes like burning coals stared into his. A smile full of jagged teeth, mustard skin, and horns morphed out of his vision of success. The entity spoke no words, waiting patiently for the man's offering.
His voice cracked as he murmured, “I... I offer my soul.” The glass rippled physically. Like the greedy hands of hell they were, black claws traversed the mirror. Before the man could even flinch, he watched the demon’s hand in the reflection crushing his heart with its merciless grip. Looking down at his chest, he felt no pain. He lifted his head. In the demon’s palm revealed a coin—one bearing his own face. With a flick of its thumb, it sent the coin spiraling upward, only to snatch it from the air with uncanny precision. His reflection dissolved back into his own, mouthing “Complete the ritual. Your soul is already deposited.”
Chapter 3: The Rite of Ascension
Location: Earth F67x - Vatican City (The New Papal States of Italy) - Several Months ago
“Gureun, are you ready?”
“Yes. Turn on the Chronovisor, Father.”
Focused onyx eyes turned silver, locking onto a mystical crystal disk mounted on a console of clean polished brass and salvaged great ark remnants. Gureun found himself face to face with an ancient device, The Chronovisor. One of many classified relics the Vatican utilized to suppress the influence of Lucifer. What was a myth to most was a valuable tool for gaining divine insight but that alone is not the reason for its operation on this starry night. A ritual is to be conducted. To qualify, one had to have led a life of work worthy of standing as a book besides others in the New Testament. Deep down, Gureun had doubts he met such criteria, but he was ordered to by the authority of the Vatican.
THE RITUAL
YOU ARE CHOSEN. GOD MAKES NO MISTAKES.
Gureun Carmichael. Bastard of a reverend, son of a prostitute, born on the 6th floor of a Red Hook West Houses at the stroke of midnight and left in the garbage of a Brooklyn alley by 1…
“Great REBUKER of MISFORTUNE, elevate into an EVEN GREATER warrior of GOD!
As you stand at the threshold of this sacred responsibility, I implore you to turn your heart and mind toward the divine. When the time comes, direct your gaze solely before you. Forget I am here. Focus, with unwavering faith, on the message that God Himself has prepared for your soul. Embrace it fully, for it is a guidance, crafted with agape and purpose, which also contains uncomfortable truths to illuminate your journey."
Eyes closed, the lead exorcist of the Vatican, Father Feretti, projected his essence into the Chronovisor, triggering explosions of divine light baptizing Gureun. It had begun, ushering the force-feeding enlightenment which was all that the Secret Vatican Archives could offer and more. The dozens of rosaries and chains dangling from his body thrashed about, rattling violently with power. Only a few seconds in, the room itself and most of Italy underwent powerful quakes. One sure to wake the entirety of the country on this night under the lunar lavender moon standing high and nigh.
Feretti crossed his forearms in front of his eyes to shield himself from the light but he fought through as much as he could to see–To witness the miracle that is the birth of a living Saint. A birth, despite being born in DARKNESS, CONCEIVED by RAPE, GROOMED to experience HELL so that HE may one day guide the world as the SECOND coming of the MORNING STAR, yet, still TRIUMPHANTLY, CHAMPIONED GOD.
“May you ascend into a weapon of the Lord's truth! You have witnessed, what God has called you to be. You have maintained your humanity. Walk as Jesus did! Do greater works as he has done, as he hath invested power in you! Gureun Carmichael, you rejected the promise of Astrebris. You broke it with your bare hand. A miracle! Become one of God’s greatest soldiers in an era where the devils' influence on Earth multiplies by the second! Walk with him! The Truth! The Light!”
And it was done…
“I Luciano Feretti, wielder of the eighth ring, Halo of Divine Purification - The Ring of Cleansing, bestow onto you the third ring of the Redeemer’s Bands, Vow of the Sacred Ward - The Ring of Holy Binding!”
Chapter 4: A Devil's Curiosity
Location: Earth-F67X Allure City, The Pleiades Casino & Resort: Penthouses
“I can’t believe they keep buying that shit? How many years has it been since that poem came out? They probably do all that dumb shit with the sperm, peppers, and urine too.”
Ceven tossed a heavy, horned mask into the bathroom trash, exposing the tag that read “PARTY CITY” attached to its inside seams. At this point, his shower still ran, steaming up his bathroom to the point where it made even a devil like himself sweat. Ceven stretched into a yawn, folding his hands behind his head as he went hands-free taking a leak. It was amazing how productive the dwarfed-sized minotaur often proved to be considering he was too lazy to even transmogrify his appearance for a soul-selling ritual. Taking souls was easy. He could do that in his sleep. Now sitting through this disaster-bound sitdown coming up? That was a lot to mentally prepare for.
After a brief phone call with Dupin discussing the hotel’s latest hoopla and happenings, a few things fancied the devil's curiosity as he hopped in the shower. The influx of brazen angels, metalloid dragons ripping into the air space, and the most peculiar, a few of his moles have not reported back yet. He had a confidant in a devil named Drathis, a demon who specialized in blood magic. He was one of those types born rich, never having to work for a soul a day in his life, sipping wine from the safety of his boojee castle. Blood magic was one of the oldest forms of witchcraft. He had no need to make pacts with humans. So when there were reports of EarthF67x mortals utilizing blood magic quite openly, Ceven assumed he began to work again for whatever reason. When Drathis revealed that he had not forged a pact in decades, Ceven was left deeply puzzled. He had no reason to lie. Wanting to get to the bottom of this, the yellow devil ordered a few humans he had made a pact with to search around. One happened to be a low-ranking member of an earth crime syndicate that fit the description. His name was Portis.
He informed Ceven they were led by a man with a boring name, Ron Jackson. To a degree, Portis described him as charismatic, calculated and even having orchestrated a successful coup against the previous leader. The information given to the minotaur was surface-level and not enough to satisfy his curiosity, however. When he asked how did this man gain the ability to utilize blood magic, Portis had no clue. Thinking like the devil he is, Ceven thought about how he could upgrade Portis from a pawn in this chess game he began to play. Not only did the demon add to the pact he had already made with the red syndicate member, but he also granted him power, feeding into Portis’ inherent greed. A power, if used wisely, could take over the syndicate. Now with the ability to control people's minds at his will using pheromones, Ceven left Portis to his own devices and told him to report to him once he took it over. That was two weeks ago.
Drip-drying after his shower, Ceven plopped onto a Victorian chaise longue when another oddity popped into his mind. As the treasurer of the Sarcoen family, he had little time for petty antics mortals occasionally were able to pull. During the ritual with the influencers, Ceven noticed something unusual about one of the spectators. Among them, a man carried faint traces of the Holy Spirit. This wasn’t the typical residue left behind after an ordinary baptism—it was a deliberate attempt to suppress his aura.
“Now that I think about it, he could have been that bastard that sold Vaalni that counterfeit soul.”
The short devil began pacing around the apartment with his cloven feet. He couldn’t get this off his mind. He could not help but think perhaps that something far more malignant was at play. Stroking his stubble, Ceven sat on the toilet like The Thinker and thought, If that was the same man who duped Vaalni, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility he learned some peculiar method from a powerful church. That could only mean one thing: he wasn’t acting alone. A religious faction must have sent him to surveil the Sarcoen crime family.
“Someone’s plotting something. Here I thought Earthf67x didn't rank well in Angelical prowess. I wonder if it has something to do with the fact that the anti christ Lucifer was cooking up told him to fuck off months back.” A devilish grin crept across his yellow face.
Chapter 5: Bad for Business
Location: Earth F67x - St. Patrick's Cathedral [Midtown Manhattan]
Wherever devils gained a foothold, Heaven was quick to intervene—and the reverse held true. As moral decay spread, church attendance dwindled, and society increasingly turned to devils' promises to escape misfortune. The urgency for action was undeniable. In response, many churches united under the Vatican’s banner, pooling their knowledge, and resources, taking drastic measures to gain power spiritually the good fight.
Nowhere was this more evident than in the hidden depths of St. Patrick’s Cathedral during the 7:00 a.m. service.
Below, beneath even the surrounding subway stations, a man laid flat on a long, cold metal table in a room with damp floors, rust-streaked walls, and dripping stalagmite ceilings. At the mercy of two imposing figures conducting an interrogation, the dozens of rosaries binding him to the platform singed his exposed flesh. A bloody towel covered his face, shielding the slew of forehead vein-bulging expressions from the dozens of priests in attendance whispering among each other from the corners of the room.
“A man with faith as little as a mustard seed would not be so sensitive to the bindings from the Lord. Internally you do not seek help from above. Tell me everything you know”
The taller man spoke at the foot of the table. He wasn’t just taller. He was a massive man with chiseled features and streaks of grey hair under his zucchetto, built like he wore football pads. Who was he? Cardinal Raphael Alaric. A man who brandished the holy spirit to demons with a wrathful fist.
“I don't know anything! Let me go.”
Draped in a crimson cassock reinforced with subtle leather and gilded metal plating, his piercing gray eyes exhibited no sympathy for the prisoner. On his right thumb rested one of the ten Redeemer’s Bands—powerful rings forged from the smelted remains of the recently recovered Holy Grail. Across from him, another bearer of the rings, much younger, in his early thirties or so. A suited man in a black Ferraiolo. His name was Gureun Carmichael, the one responsible for the unbreakable rosary binding the subject in question. His skeptical narrowing eyes carried more disappointment than contempt. Up until this point, he allowed the fiery personality of Alaric to dominate the interrogation, but little progress had been made. Only now did Gureun decide to speak.
“We know the darkness you consort with, the unholy pacts your companions have made, and the abominable blood magic you call upon. Do not mistake our patience for ignorance or mercy for weakness. God’s light will expose every shadow you cling to. Speak now, and unburden your soul while there is still a chance for redemption."
Writhe with agony as the bindings tightened, between the forcefully withheld screams, the prisoner managed to utter “Go to hell.”
Immediately, the table adjusted, raising the tail end upwards as Gureun began to pray.
“Heavenly Father, we thank you that by water and the Holy Spirit, you have bestowed upon these your servants the forgiveness of sin, and have raised them to the new life of grace….”
Alaric folded his arms in a rare display of patience as one of the priests in attendance passed a nozzle attached to a winding hose to Gureun.
“Sustain them, O Lord, in your Holy Spirit. Give them an inquiring and discerning heart, the courage to will and to persevere, a spirit to know and to love you, and the gift of joy and wonder in all your works.”
The current flowed, holy water flooding the man's nasal and oral orifices burning like acid, stinging his very soul. His lungs felt sure to burst like a weak latex glove until the table snapped, doing a one-eighty before slowly returning upright. Eyes bulging, violently coughing up a storm of water blended with bloody mucus, the towel fell off his face.
“Nico Hallsworth, or should I say Portis, as you go by in the streets.”
Between blips of vomiting, the man’s expression was one of an exhausted stupor. One of a man defeated, accepting death. It was like his soul was cleansed. He didn’t understand why he couldn't manipulate the two men and any of the priests around them to attempt to free him.
“YOU THOUGHT YOUR POWERS COULD GET YOU FAR IN THE HOUSE OF THE LORD!!?”
Enraged, Alaric spat on him. Leaning in, smug-faced, Gureun delivered a message to Portis in a calm tone.
"With holy spirits as stout and refined as ours, no power granted by demons could ever sway us. Perhaps you managed to steal tithes once for a quick profit, but Alaric and I were present today. So here’s the deal. You tell us everything you know about the demons on earth, and we allow you to be our informant."
“...”
In a flash, Gureun’s drew a silver cross the size of a dagger from seemingly nowhere, holding from the short end, holding the long end to Portis’ neck.
“No more…I’ll speak… I’ll tell you everything”—COUGH–“...I know…This planet is spiritually doomed. The Pleiades Casino, the devils there prey on the humans of this planet… and everyone sells their souls to them willingly because they’re upfront and deliver results. No one has time to wait…on God anymore.”—COUGH– “Even before that, my boss, Ron Jackson of the Red Syndicate made a deal with a fallen angel during the first contact war named Pawn. I was”—COUGH– “I was trying to take them down so…I made a deal… with a devil, named CEV—”
Portis’ head exploded.
Covered in blood and brain matter, the two closed their eyes in prayer over the departing soul. They had what they needed. A handful of targets to bring judgment to and the cell phone of Portis.
–
Location: Earth-F67X Allure City, The Pleiades Casino & Resort - Penthouses
A devil heard an attempt to say his name in betrayal. A breach of contract. Dying thoughts transferred. and just like that, Nico Hallsworth's name vanished out of the Sarcoen account book of souls…
“Mmmm…HAHA! HA-HA-HA! So that’s what happened. The Vatican on this planet grew some balls and Fallen Angel, huh? Can’t have him handing powers off so willy-nilly. It's bad for business."
A business card as blue as the heaven’s skies slid across the reception desk. A blackened set of long, but carefully maintained nails precariously picked up the card reading “Ansegisel Exorcism Services.” Eyes squinted, a blip of laughter revealed a vampiric set of fangs like granite. The demoness with skin like industrial concrete put two and two together. Quickly, the receptionist reeled herself back in. Her bald head turned one-eighty degrees, locking into place. Now multiple pupilless crystal eyes stacked like totems hiding their hyena-like gleam and intentions examined the cat girl thoroughly.
You would think the idea of an assailant openly targeting the boss stuck some concern through her cold veins but it was quite the opposite. Criminally underpaid and overworked, Galle never went above and beyond her duties. It was a mere receptionist job and chaos wasn't exactly foreign to Aeternus. The disguised feline figure before her was bound to cause trouble and what would she gain from potentially messing with angels? Better to leave that to management. However, that wasn't to say she wasn't a fan of a little antics. After all, she's a demon.
Every twenty-four hours, a phone book-sized newspaper eloquently penned by Dupin himself of the happenings of the hotel arrived at Galle's desk around this time. This cat, though fairly innocent-looking, was sure to make a few headlines to entertain her during the next shift. Approaching a casino in the name of God was brazen. Let alone this casino. The demon's curiosity got the best of her.
“God, you say? Yes, sure. That appears to be very important, Miss– What was your name again? Anyways, due to repairs after the power outage and unscheduled maintenance, the main elevator is out of service. If you would like to go to the surface level of the resort where Master Vileiro resides, the fastest way would be to enter the Grand Elevator Hall of Elysium and work your way to the top. Hurry now. Shoo–” There wasn't a single slit of space for a response.
From Samantha's peripheral, a murder of crows carrying a newspaper the size of folded bed comforters approached. The receptionist rushed her but at least she gave her an answer. A spiraling bookcase cracked westward, revealing yet another avenue into the sprawling expanse of the casino. Enter the Hall.
Off rip, the architecture defied conventional geometry as hundreds of elevators ascend and descend with mesmerizing unpredictability. Each cab, though anchored in mechanical precision, served as a conduit to a kaleidoscope of pocket dimensions—small realms where the improbable and the sinister coalesce. Many of the hall's inhabitants found themselves on a trek just to get to their hotel rooms gambling with their time as the elevator system proved obtuse and unpredictable.
Nevertheless, humans, demons, all of the above, stepped right through the many doors, ascending towards a ceiling stretching beyond eyes could reasonably see, littered with an ensemble of synchronized Royal Hanover chandeliers majestically weaving overhead. A circular bar centered the enormous room with a mild-mannered, inverted flesh mangled tentacle worm abomination whipping up dozens of specialized cocktails simultaneously with ease.
Many of the elevators lead to hotel halls and rooms operating like trick rooms but one thing remained constant. No matter how absurd, obtuse, or uninhabitable a room may be, there is always a window leading back out to the chaotic Aeternus streets.
A stone-faced gargoyle approached the nearest elevator to the girl, making eye contact before crushing several goblinoids trying to make space in an elevator already packed like sardines. “Going up?”
Samantha seemingly was on her way to the delight of Galle at reception but before she managed to turn a page Meowlexander approached the desk. At first, she ignored him, eyes gravitating to today's front-page story.
“EALDORMAN SARCOEN RETURNING TO AETERNUS - The Return Of Parooz Sparks a Family Sit Down.”
It wasn't until the man politely inquired about the whereabouts of his acquaintance did she move her enormous newspaper to the side.
Her head cranked to the side several degrees again, this time bearing an unamused expression, suddenly in possession of long hair. Her eyes slowly stuttered into a roll and back. “Another one?” The purr in his accent grated her stone ears. Galle couldn't believe her luck. The nerve of these people having the gall to have her do her job. It wouldn't take rocket science to figure out who he was looking for, but something about him irked her. He gave her the ick with his presentably responsible demeanor. “He must be trying to stop her?” That's no fun.
Taking into account they very well may be angels, Galle toed the line instead of outright lying, throwing the girl's whiskered pal slightly off her trail. Elysium is huge after all. The receptionist's head snapped back to her default position.
“Ah, yes. Your friend left a card here. Ansegisel Exorcism Services, was it? What was your na–Actually, that's not too important. Off you go! She probably is already several floors up.”
Tremors shook the lobby as the towering Duc d'Orleans Breguet Sympathique Grandfather Clock on the right cracked itself far enough from the wall revealing an alternative entrance to the hall of elevators placing Meowlexander a football field's length away from where Samantha entered.
Upon entry, twisting bloodworm appendages with pulsing green veins below their translucent pink skin revealed their four black hooked fangs to the man. This was not done in a brandishing manner as the voice greeting him came off shockingly quaint and demure. "Welcome, dear guest. I’m so glad you’ve arrived safely… Before you settle in, might I offer you a drink from our splendid bar? If you need anything or just wish to relax, please let me know. I’m here to ensure your stay is pleasant."
You would think the idea of an assailant openly targeting the boss stuck some concern through her cold veins but it was quite the opposite. Criminally underpaid and overworked, Galle never went above and beyond her duties. It was a mere receptionist job and chaos wasn't exactly foreign to Aeternus. The disguised feline figure before her was bound to cause trouble and what would she gain from potentially messing with angels? Better to leave that to management. However, that wasn't to say she wasn't a fan of a little antics. After all, she's a demon.
Every twenty-four hours, a phone book-sized newspaper eloquently penned by Dupin himself of the happenings of the hotel arrived at Galle's desk around this time. This cat, though fairly innocent-looking, was sure to make a few headlines to entertain her during the next shift. Approaching a casino in the name of God was brazen. Let alone this casino. The demon's curiosity got the best of her.
“God, you say? Yes, sure. That appears to be very important, Miss– What was your name again? Anyways, due to repairs after the power outage and unscheduled maintenance, the main elevator is out of service. If you would like to go to the surface level of the resort where Master Vileiro resides, the fastest way would be to enter the Grand Elevator Hall of Elysium and work your way to the top. Hurry now. Shoo–” There wasn't a single slit of space for a response.
From Samantha's peripheral, a murder of crows carrying a newspaper the size of folded bed comforters approached. The receptionist rushed her but at least she gave her an answer. A spiraling bookcase cracked westward, revealing yet another avenue into the sprawling expanse of the casino. Enter the Hall.
Off rip, the architecture defied conventional geometry as hundreds of elevators ascend and descend with mesmerizing unpredictability. Each cab, though anchored in mechanical precision, served as a conduit to a kaleidoscope of pocket dimensions—small realms where the improbable and the sinister coalesce. Many of the hall's inhabitants found themselves on a trek just to get to their hotel rooms gambling with their time as the elevator system proved obtuse and unpredictable.
Nevertheless, humans, demons, all of the above, stepped right through the many doors, ascending towards a ceiling stretching beyond eyes could reasonably see, littered with an ensemble of synchronized Royal Hanover chandeliers majestically weaving overhead. A circular bar centered the enormous room with a mild-mannered, inverted flesh mangled tentacle worm abomination whipping up dozens of specialized cocktails simultaneously with ease.
Many of the elevators lead to hotel halls and rooms operating like trick rooms but one thing remained constant. No matter how absurd, obtuse, or uninhabitable a room may be, there is always a window leading back out to the chaotic Aeternus streets.
A stone-faced gargoyle approached the nearest elevator to the girl, making eye contact before crushing several goblinoids trying to make space in an elevator already packed like sardines. “Going up?”
Samantha seemingly was on her way to the delight of Galle at reception but before she managed to turn a page Meowlexander approached the desk. At first, she ignored him, eyes gravitating to today's front-page story.
“EALDORMAN SARCOEN RETURNING TO AETERNUS - The Return Of Parooz Sparks a Family Sit Down.”
It wasn't until the man politely inquired about the whereabouts of his acquaintance did she move her enormous newspaper to the side.
Her head cranked to the side several degrees again, this time bearing an unamused expression, suddenly in possession of long hair. Her eyes slowly stuttered into a roll and back. “Another one?” The purr in his accent grated her stone ears. Galle couldn't believe her luck. The nerve of these people having the gall to have her do her job. It wouldn't take rocket science to figure out who he was looking for, but something about him irked her. He gave her the ick with his presentably responsible demeanor. “He must be trying to stop her?” That's no fun.
Taking into account they very well may be angels, Galle toed the line instead of outright lying, throwing the girl's whiskered pal slightly off her trail. Elysium is huge after all. The receptionist's head snapped back to her default position.
“Ah, yes. Your friend left a card here. Ansegisel Exorcism Services, was it? What was your na–Actually, that's not too important. Off you go! She probably is already several floors up.”
Tremors shook the lobby as the towering Duc d'Orleans Breguet Sympathique Grandfather Clock on the right cracked itself far enough from the wall revealing an alternative entrance to the hall of elevators placing Meowlexander a football field's length away from where Samantha entered.
Upon entry, twisting bloodworm appendages with pulsing green veins below their translucent pink skin revealed their four black hooked fangs to the man. This was not done in a brandishing manner as the voice greeting him came off shockingly quaint and demure. "Welcome, dear guest. I’m so glad you’ve arrived safely… Before you settle in, might I offer you a drink from our splendid bar? If you need anything or just wish to relax, please let me know. I’m here to ensure your stay is pleasant."
My long lost brother is back...
An orchestra of rattling pots and pans erupted from the kitchen as Victoria scavenged for the right size. Intending to make the perfect cat treats for when Mr. Whiskers came back, like any nine-year-old left unattended in a kitchen, she created an absolute mess whisking a battery concoction. Debatably edible, it was filled with random things with no rhyme or reason other than the child's personal preference on what tasted good. Wrapped up in child-like joy, the heiress, for a moment felt relieved of the stress of the situation as she tasked away, failing to notice the woman slip right into the kitchen behind her. Despite the friendly tone, Victoria shrieked. The second two eerily familiar hands touched her back, PTSD from the last time someone got behind her triggered a fight-or-flight response.
Tossed was the multicolored batter of who knows what over the girl's shoulder. The nine-year-old snatched herself out of Ryuko's grip, falling on her butt as she turned around. Unsure if she hit the stranger or not until she got a good look at her, Victoria was puzzled with the sight of some Blasian woman bowing, sincerely apologizing. Wide-eyed, the girl had a simple question. “Who are you?”
She clearly wasn't one of the green women Mr. Whiskers told her about.
Whereas the last scene might be the restart of wholesome beginnings, a scene quite the opposite resumed on the other side of the city. The latest domino was about to fall as a result of the last Orichalca ship's excursion. One about to knock over several more at once as word quickly got around.
Dozens of wobbled kneed laboring men with floating halos around their necks like dog collars profusely sweated under the rays of the Aesteria sun. The palace’s crystalline windows only amplified the light turning the room into a sauna despite having many openings. Even under harsh conditions they serenaded a lounging, eight-foot woman sipping a wine unique to these lands made of melon-sized grapes fermented in the golden sun with the soft breeze generated from waving palm leaves.
The woman perched on a shimmering throne cushioned with pillows stuffed with a bitsy portion of diced Gravlari feathers sat not just unamused, but impatiently. Even at the brink of exhaustion, a few of the men slaving away couldn't help but notice her beautiful gleaming skin likened to a flawless pear. The aura she gave off was quite different in comparison to the average Orichalca Amazon. Appearances aside, she had seraphim wings bedazzled with magical ring piercings, relics passed down from one empress to the next. In total, there were six each possessing a unique power.
Despite being decked down in the finest materials and accessories found across the galaxy, unlike the rest of her tribe, she didn't subscribe to their brand of hubris. Solicia did not think lowly of men. Most of the time it was just an act. Often behind her stone expressions she gave to the prisoners was a small ounce of pity.
“Maybe if I fan the best she'll give me a chance,” Sassayan, the once proud samurai of Fortis thought looking up at her. It was a shame. He had been broken down mentally to lusting for her as a life goal. Serving several life sentences, It was the only thing the lanky warrior could strive for as unrealistic as it was. No longer did he aspire to escape. He fanned to the point where the Queen’s enormous kinky tresses billowed in the wind. However, she failed to notice. There was only one thing on her mind.
“Queen Solica, we have terrible news! A ship of robotic pirates has waged an assault on the grand banquet hall! Injuries are piling up as they aim to neutralize the threat!” An older woman in an outfit, one part loose fitting toga and other parts skimpy top underneath barged into the throne room.
Rolling her eyes, Solica took another sip from her wine glass, taking her time as she sat it on a saucer on the back of a kneeled man as still as a table.
“I don't suppose you need my input on how to engage with a few pirates, Dolata. There are plenty of high-ranking warriors available.”
“That's the problem! Many of them were in Sha’Rema’s Chancery debating courtship rights of the promising man we acquired on our last excursion. He has outwitted all of them and fled after his violent escape!
“Escape?” It was like a flip switch in Solicias's mind. “What do you mean, escape?”
“He's a quite capable fighter. He broke Maletesma's nose not once but twice?”
“Twice?” A subtle quivering sensation stung the Queen's lower body.
“Thalira is leading a unit and is engaging with him but he's already so close to the Banquet. He might be in cahoots with the pirates.”
“He's out running our designated pursuit uni—AAAAUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” A breathly moan escaped her.
Everyone stood in silence, unsure what to say engaging in speed tag of eye contact across all corners of the room.
Impervious to embarrassment the Orichalca Queen inquired further.
“Did you personally confront him?”
“He kicked me in the gut prior to his esca—”
The woman couldn't even finish her reply before Solicia jolted out of her seat, lifting Dolata before taking a deep whiff of her draping garments. It reeked of lowly Krillians but another scent, more dominant, was there.
Solica's eyes took on a ravenous possessed look. Her enormous angelic six wings sprouted, unleashing a gale sweeping her unprepared servants off their feet. The Queen ascended to the skies, taking in the crisp, clean air of the Aesterian jungle. Above the palace the illustrious bejeweled garments on her swayed gently with the wind, flowing like golden ribbons of silk around her lithe form for all to see. She searched for the slightest hint of the fleeing man's scent with her heightened sense of smell. There was no mistaking it. There it was heading towards the banquet hall giving Thalira's tracking unit the slips.
This was particularly impressive given that once a target was in sight, the platoon's ability to launch arrows tethered to their spirit at the speed of sound rarely missed. Prey were like a fish in a pool attempting to evade multiple harpoon snipers working in tandem with until eventually being struck and reeled in by a dominating force. A glimmering laser show of golden trails left by their arrows lingered in the skies well after being fired.
It wasn't clear if he had been caught or not. Were they to fail, Solicia wouldn't. He will be hers.
Meanwhile, Merse continued his panther-esque brand of snooping, flying under the radar eyeing an oversized plate of Salmon Niçoise Salad. Rummaging through a million and one plans on how to get his greedy paws on the dish, all were thrown to the wayside the second his hyper-sensitive whiskers tingled. Before the information broker cracked his neck, an explosion near the entrance wobbled his footing. Molten metals flung around like overly wet clay in a pottery class as Metallo’s ship fired away with an intense blast of heated plasma liquefying the gold jungle gym structure cradling the structures entrance.
Multiple levels of historic architectural brilliance, permanently scarred in mere seconds by the band of pirates ramming and tearing their way into the hall greeted by hundreds of ear-splitting horrified screams at decibels agonizing to Merse's ears. The rumble could be felt as far as the quarters where Ryuko and Victoria were stationed. After the dust settled, the robotic crew stood tall in their best action movie poster poses, wielding a variety of unique firearms, traps, and gadgets. The pirates were ready to take on the role of liberators in this matriarchal dystopia and free the thousands of imprisoned men sentenced here from all across the cosmos. What would have been a hero’s welcome from thousands of prisoners rallying behind their cause failed to start only because of one very crucial miscalculation.
This wasn’t the prison.
Too late to turn back now. A band of pirates fired away, downing several Orichalca warriors while several others deflected the beams off their golden wristbands charging forward. It's like Captain Metallo and crew struck a wasp nest the way one Amazon after the next came out in droves. Many took to the skies, tossing tridents charged with radiant auras, many missing, creating small craters the second they struck the marble flooring. Others tossed weighted nets of ropes funneling lightning in attempts to capture members of the crew. One one young warrior named Aletheia stood back, connecting her fingers to create a triangle locked right on the captain. The amazon absorbed ambient energy in the area, as Aesteria was abundant with it, focusing the energy to a single point before unleashing a solar beam of vortexing yellow, orange and red light with the intent to knock the captain hundreds of feet back and even off the cliff. The battlecries filling the air signaled all out war, and witness to it all was Merse, casually stuffing his face, chowing down in the background. The information broker figured he’d stick around until the pirates forced the elite warriors to enter the arena. The crew of robots made for quite a convenient distraction.
Tossed was the multicolored batter of who knows what over the girl's shoulder. The nine-year-old snatched herself out of Ryuko's grip, falling on her butt as she turned around. Unsure if she hit the stranger or not until she got a good look at her, Victoria was puzzled with the sight of some Blasian woman bowing, sincerely apologizing. Wide-eyed, the girl had a simple question. “Who are you?”
She clearly wasn't one of the green women Mr. Whiskers told her about.
Whereas the last scene might be the restart of wholesome beginnings, a scene quite the opposite resumed on the other side of the city. The latest domino was about to fall as a result of the last Orichalca ship's excursion. One about to knock over several more at once as word quickly got around.
Dozens of wobbled kneed laboring men with floating halos around their necks like dog collars profusely sweated under the rays of the Aesteria sun. The palace’s crystalline windows only amplified the light turning the room into a sauna despite having many openings. Even under harsh conditions they serenaded a lounging, eight-foot woman sipping a wine unique to these lands made of melon-sized grapes fermented in the golden sun with the soft breeze generated from waving palm leaves.
The woman perched on a shimmering throne cushioned with pillows stuffed with a bitsy portion of diced Gravlari feathers sat not just unamused, but impatiently. Even at the brink of exhaustion, a few of the men slaving away couldn't help but notice her beautiful gleaming skin likened to a flawless pear. The aura she gave off was quite different in comparison to the average Orichalca Amazon. Appearances aside, she had seraphim wings bedazzled with magical ring piercings, relics passed down from one empress to the next. In total, there were six each possessing a unique power.
Despite being decked down in the finest materials and accessories found across the galaxy, unlike the rest of her tribe, she didn't subscribe to their brand of hubris. Solicia did not think lowly of men. Most of the time it was just an act. Often behind her stone expressions she gave to the prisoners was a small ounce of pity.
“Maybe if I fan the best she'll give me a chance,” Sassayan, the once proud samurai of Fortis thought looking up at her. It was a shame. He had been broken down mentally to lusting for her as a life goal. Serving several life sentences, It was the only thing the lanky warrior could strive for as unrealistic as it was. No longer did he aspire to escape. He fanned to the point where the Queen’s enormous kinky tresses billowed in the wind. However, she failed to notice. There was only one thing on her mind.
“Queen Solica, we have terrible news! A ship of robotic pirates has waged an assault on the grand banquet hall! Injuries are piling up as they aim to neutralize the threat!” An older woman in an outfit, one part loose fitting toga and other parts skimpy top underneath barged into the throne room.
Rolling her eyes, Solica took another sip from her wine glass, taking her time as she sat it on a saucer on the back of a kneeled man as still as a table.
“I don't suppose you need my input on how to engage with a few pirates, Dolata. There are plenty of high-ranking warriors available.”
“That's the problem! Many of them were in Sha’Rema’s Chancery debating courtship rights of the promising man we acquired on our last excursion. He has outwitted all of them and fled after his violent escape!
“Escape?” It was like a flip switch in Solicias's mind. “What do you mean, escape?”
“He's a quite capable fighter. He broke Maletesma's nose not once but twice?”
“Twice?” A subtle quivering sensation stung the Queen's lower body.
“Thalira is leading a unit and is engaging with him but he's already so close to the Banquet. He might be in cahoots with the pirates.”
“He's out running our designated pursuit uni—AAAAUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” A breathly moan escaped her.
Everyone stood in silence, unsure what to say engaging in speed tag of eye contact across all corners of the room.
Impervious to embarrassment the Orichalca Queen inquired further.
“Did you personally confront him?”
“He kicked me in the gut prior to his esca—”
The woman couldn't even finish her reply before Solicia jolted out of her seat, lifting Dolata before taking a deep whiff of her draping garments. It reeked of lowly Krillians but another scent, more dominant, was there.
Solica's eyes took on a ravenous possessed look. Her enormous angelic six wings sprouted, unleashing a gale sweeping her unprepared servants off their feet. The Queen ascended to the skies, taking in the crisp, clean air of the Aesterian jungle. Above the palace the illustrious bejeweled garments on her swayed gently with the wind, flowing like golden ribbons of silk around her lithe form for all to see. She searched for the slightest hint of the fleeing man's scent with her heightened sense of smell. There was no mistaking it. There it was heading towards the banquet hall giving Thalira's tracking unit the slips.
This was particularly impressive given that once a target was in sight, the platoon's ability to launch arrows tethered to their spirit at the speed of sound rarely missed. Prey were like a fish in a pool attempting to evade multiple harpoon snipers working in tandem with until eventually being struck and reeled in by a dominating force. A glimmering laser show of golden trails left by their arrows lingered in the skies well after being fired.
It wasn't clear if he had been caught or not. Were they to fail, Solicia wouldn't. He will be hers.
Meanwhile, Merse continued his panther-esque brand of snooping, flying under the radar eyeing an oversized plate of Salmon Niçoise Salad. Rummaging through a million and one plans on how to get his greedy paws on the dish, all were thrown to the wayside the second his hyper-sensitive whiskers tingled. Before the information broker cracked his neck, an explosion near the entrance wobbled his footing. Molten metals flung around like overly wet clay in a pottery class as Metallo’s ship fired away with an intense blast of heated plasma liquefying the gold jungle gym structure cradling the structures entrance.
Multiple levels of historic architectural brilliance, permanently scarred in mere seconds by the band of pirates ramming and tearing their way into the hall greeted by hundreds of ear-splitting horrified screams at decibels agonizing to Merse's ears. The rumble could be felt as far as the quarters where Ryuko and Victoria were stationed. After the dust settled, the robotic crew stood tall in their best action movie poster poses, wielding a variety of unique firearms, traps, and gadgets. The pirates were ready to take on the role of liberators in this matriarchal dystopia and free the thousands of imprisoned men sentenced here from all across the cosmos. What would have been a hero’s welcome from thousands of prisoners rallying behind their cause failed to start only because of one very crucial miscalculation.
This wasn’t the prison.
Too late to turn back now. A band of pirates fired away, downing several Orichalca warriors while several others deflected the beams off their golden wristbands charging forward. It's like Captain Metallo and crew struck a wasp nest the way one Amazon after the next came out in droves. Many took to the skies, tossing tridents charged with radiant auras, many missing, creating small craters the second they struck the marble flooring. Others tossed weighted nets of ropes funneling lightning in attempts to capture members of the crew. One one young warrior named Aletheia stood back, connecting her fingers to create a triangle locked right on the captain. The amazon absorbed ambient energy in the area, as Aesteria was abundant with it, focusing the energy to a single point before unleashing a solar beam of vortexing yellow, orange and red light with the intent to knock the captain hundreds of feet back and even off the cliff. The battlecries filling the air signaled all out war, and witness to it all was Merse, casually stuffing his face, chowing down in the background. The information broker figured he’d stick around until the pirates forced the elite warriors to enter the arena. The crew of robots made for quite a convenient distraction.
There was little reason for a frost devil to feel the chills, yet, Vileiro documented every goosebump raising the fine hairs on his neck. His mind skated the rink of Cocytus. Looking down, the crystalline scape of flash-frozen entities leering at his spirit was enough to drive any man insane. It was a good thing Vileiro was not a man, but a devil chiseled, molded, birthed from the very ice he stood on. Like a grand statute of marble, he held his head high amongst demons, emboldened by the stature granted to him by his superior. His earthly persona often betrayed him, constantly overthinking, worried, and indecisive. Here? When Sarcoen addressed him, he felt empowered.
There was little reason for a succubus devil to feel shame, yet before him, Ixxa felt nakedness. An act Minos failed heartedly to accomplish. The unreasoning winds and torrential rain of the second circle stained her face with mascara, souls whirling about in this hurricane of lust in which several were her handy work from earlier. It was precisely the shot in the demoness needed. She stood tall. Sarcoen addressed her and she replied.
“You chased Sepias, sentenced him, labeled him cafone, and not only is he back, he is underboss again. I know better than to question you, but I can't help but feel out of the loop. However, I know one thing. You wouldn't unleash him unless you felt you could control him. When will you return to Aeternus?”
A guttural laugh, shaking the hells rattled Aeternus like a low-magnitude quake. This high up, Vileiro watched frozen books clang off the floor like unbreakable blocks of ice.
“You know me well, my child.”
Speaking from the same urge, Vileiro and Ixxa engaged with different parts of the same entity simultaneously.
“I have another question. Something that has been eating at me. I want to know what happened in the last war against heaven.”
“...”
“Forgive me Ealdo—”
“No, you should know. Heed my words as I predate time itself. I, an entity of duality, the embodiment of contradiction, born from the same primordial chaos, yet destined to diverge. Two sides of the same coin, my sons, of prophecy entwined in my conflict. I left much of my children in the dark.
In the realm of the ancient ones, the number two bore the mark of Wisdom, a concept encapsulated in the words "Wise" and "Dome." To "wise your dome" was to transcend the limitations of ignorance, to enlighten the blind, the deaf, and the dumb. But such notions were mere folly, feeble attempts to break free from the shackles of darkness that enshroud Lucifer's society and way of life. We, the eternal ones, who have witnessed the dawn of creation and shall endure until the final reckoning, scoff at such frail forms of logic.
Before I knelt the mighty Seraphim, the Cherubim, and the Ophanim, their divine arrogance a testament to their alliance with the Almighty. Yet, their hubris only emboldened me, the now forgotten one who spurred many devils prior to my wake now spurned.
Came Michael, his blade, ablaze with heavenly light, a beacon of contempt searing my flesh and spirit alike. His demeaning radiance split me asunder, weakening me with each relentless strike. It was as Uriel had foreseen. Had I reacted a hair sooner, had I crushed his throat, squeezing, choking the life out of the smug expression he held over me, we might be living in a very different world. All remember Michael. All laud Michael, some workshop him through idolatry. They paint our bout as one-sided. Disrespectfully so. After our battle, I championed my demise as a proud general of Hell. War comes with loss, and sacrifice. Aeternus would be a mere thought if eternal slumber greeted me. Death did not. Something far worse.
Showing mercy to a demon is the ultimate affront. A mockery of our very essence. Yet, in that moment of weakness, I was shown clemency, a gesture that haunts me still, for I have not forgotten the aftertaste of shame. Pride befalls man but a demon's pride is far stronger. It isn't hate I would describe I have for the heavens. My sentiment exists before the truest sense of the word. Every part of my collective malice is fed by the economy of souls, slowly revitalizing each part of me scattered throughout the circles of Hell. Hold on to what I bestow upon you at this very moment. A Sit-down Is in order. Prepare the Hotel for my presence.”
There was little reason for a succubus devil to feel shame, yet before him, Ixxa felt nakedness. An act Minos failed heartedly to accomplish. The unreasoning winds and torrential rain of the second circle stained her face with mascara, souls whirling about in this hurricane of lust in which several were her handy work from earlier. It was precisely the shot in the demoness needed. She stood tall. Sarcoen addressed her and she replied.
“You chased Sepias, sentenced him, labeled him cafone, and not only is he back, he is underboss again. I know better than to question you, but I can't help but feel out of the loop. However, I know one thing. You wouldn't unleash him unless you felt you could control him. When will you return to Aeternus?”
A guttural laugh, shaking the hells rattled Aeternus like a low-magnitude quake. This high up, Vileiro watched frozen books clang off the floor like unbreakable blocks of ice.
“You know me well, my child.”
Speaking from the same urge, Vileiro and Ixxa engaged with different parts of the same entity simultaneously.
“I have another question. Something that has been eating at me. I want to know what happened in the last war against heaven.”
“...”
“Forgive me Ealdo—”
“No, you should know. Heed my words as I predate time itself. I, an entity of duality, the embodiment of contradiction, born from the same primordial chaos, yet destined to diverge. Two sides of the same coin, my sons, of prophecy entwined in my conflict. I left much of my children in the dark.
In the realm of the ancient ones, the number two bore the mark of Wisdom, a concept encapsulated in the words "Wise" and "Dome." To "wise your dome" was to transcend the limitations of ignorance, to enlighten the blind, the deaf, and the dumb. But such notions were mere folly, feeble attempts to break free from the shackles of darkness that enshroud Lucifer's society and way of life. We, the eternal ones, who have witnessed the dawn of creation and shall endure until the final reckoning, scoff at such frail forms of logic.
Before I knelt the mighty Seraphim, the Cherubim, and the Ophanim, their divine arrogance a testament to their alliance with the Almighty. Yet, their hubris only emboldened me, the now forgotten one who spurred many devils prior to my wake now spurned.
Came Michael, his blade, ablaze with heavenly light, a beacon of contempt searing my flesh and spirit alike. His demeaning radiance split me asunder, weakening me with each relentless strike. It was as Uriel had foreseen. Had I reacted a hair sooner, had I crushed his throat, squeezing, choking the life out of the smug expression he held over me, we might be living in a very different world. All remember Michael. All laud Michael, some workshop him through idolatry. They paint our bout as one-sided. Disrespectfully so. After our battle, I championed my demise as a proud general of Hell. War comes with loss, and sacrifice. Aeternus would be a mere thought if eternal slumber greeted me. Death did not. Something far worse.
Showing mercy to a demon is the ultimate affront. A mockery of our very essence. Yet, in that moment of weakness, I was shown clemency, a gesture that haunts me still, for I have not forgotten the aftertaste of shame. Pride befalls man but a demon's pride is far stronger. It isn't hate I would describe I have for the heavens. My sentiment exists before the truest sense of the word. Every part of my collective malice is fed by the economy of souls, slowly revitalizing each part of me scattered throughout the circles of Hell. Hold on to what I bestow upon you at this very moment. A Sit-down Is in order. Prepare the Hotel for my presence.”
Two pairs of eyes locked. One, a fiery set of dark brown eyes below determined brows without a shadow of a doubt in their passionate gaze. The other, flustered red cheeks beyond their brush applied blush, below a confused, deep, cerulean set. An overwhelmingly collective gasp overtook the red carpet's audience and partakers.
Perhaps it was the collective acknowledgment of witnessing the rare spectacle many claim to have experienced but only a few have. The divine luxury of love at first sight. Red and white rose petals serenely peppered the beautiful scene as many twisted their necks searching for the source.
“At this glorious gala in which the moonlight caresses your pale skin, I now know. Under this atrium of stars, it is clear. A thousand sonnets grow in my heart for you shine brighter than them all.”
Kissing the silky opera-gloved hand nestled into the gentle embrace of his palm, out of thin air, on one knee, Edris presented the fullest, most lush, bouquet of roses to have met this woman he had just met eyes with. Dozens of camera shutters rang off, capturing this moment between the hitman and Jadwiga a hundred times over, for millions of impressions, for thousands of media outlets. You could almost mistake it for applause.
“Edris, you sly devil. One might think you're from Aeternus. You've outdone yourself again.” Mentally patting himself on the back, his Buloke-solid confidence was sure to woo the popular socialite. No woman escaped his charm but the pheromones from her direction seemed overmatched by a hostile odor. Surely such a wrathful scent couldn't have come from Jadwiga in her wondrous, violet, jewel-embezzled gown glowing in ethereal beauty. Only in raising his bowed head, whipping back his silver-ish lavender hair did Edris notice Jadwiga's date to the ball red as a tomato with anger.
Veins bulging, this monstrously tall man, well over eight feet tall, but fairly proportionate, practically flexed out of his teal three-piece suit. Off came his collar button, popping out of tension at such velocity it detached some unfortunate influencer's retina on impact. With the crowd paying no mind to that, an intense stare-off between Edris and Vellotoni Versarache visibly sparked. The crowd went quiet, tension thick as oatmeal left out for half a day.
…
“I'm not apologizing.”
Edris' palm held an imaginary grip in the shape of a hilt as a single vine crawled from underneath his gold cufflinks, sprouting a flower blooming into a sword. Then it was black. Surely he did not murder a man in blind rage. It was against the assassins code.
Only the sensation of a cold hand pressing against his hollow frame did Edris feel anything. Lids open but sightless, the same cold hand dropped something into his skull. Until then, it felt like the concept of vision was foreign to him. Another hand crept near his face, doubling it. The same hands navigated his sternum, installing piece after piece as if he were a creation at the hands of Geppetto. Edris thought perhaps, this is how God designed us all, until the moment came when we finally were seemingly complete, later carrying our limp frames, hooking us to a conveyor belt. To where? A journey back to them, but only after experiencing the world whilst bearing the intentional gift and curse of life. With pleasure comes great pain. The pain of knowing this is unattainable makes us human, yet, internally… Edris challenged that. Until now he only felt one with Mother Nature. Who was this? Blasphemy. Before he could oust these thoughts, an unfamiliar voice fancied the thought of a destination to his psyche. Where? Edris would know once saw it. It was near, but where was he?
The flow of petals stopped, laying soggy on the top of the murky marsh staining the hitman’s white, heeled leather boots. A rancid smell assaulted the nostrils of Edris' souring face, distracting from not only the dream he awoke from, but the not so distant chitters, crunching and tearing. Quick hands allowed him to salvage his impeccably stylish tweed suit aside from a few splashes of muck. Springing up immediately, it was only so long Edris could watch his hand model-caliber hands slowly sink into the mud. A line of dirt packed every distal edge of his nails. It was already the worst-case scenario. What if…someone…saw him? Whoever did this had to pay, and soon. It was a good thing he had an idea where to look.
Looking up, the grayed skies could be mistaken as smoke. As dense as the forest was, the fog affected the visibility of the colossal mangroves standing mightily in the bog. At first, Edris thought he may have gotten something in his mouth but it was just the aftertaste of the absurdly moist swamp air. Following him were squelching sounds of his trot out of the thick mire of mud he found himself as unfortunate to spawn in. Each step sunk him deeper into the morass of uncertainty. Getting back to the Gala was an impossibility at this point.
Perhaps it was the collective acknowledgment of witnessing the rare spectacle many claim to have experienced but only a few have. The divine luxury of love at first sight. Red and white rose petals serenely peppered the beautiful scene as many twisted their necks searching for the source.
“At this glorious gala in which the moonlight caresses your pale skin, I now know. Under this atrium of stars, it is clear. A thousand sonnets grow in my heart for you shine brighter than them all.”
Kissing the silky opera-gloved hand nestled into the gentle embrace of his palm, out of thin air, on one knee, Edris presented the fullest, most lush, bouquet of roses to have met this woman he had just met eyes with. Dozens of camera shutters rang off, capturing this moment between the hitman and Jadwiga a hundred times over, for millions of impressions, for thousands of media outlets. You could almost mistake it for applause.
“Edris, you sly devil. One might think you're from Aeternus. You've outdone yourself again.” Mentally patting himself on the back, his Buloke-solid confidence was sure to woo the popular socialite. No woman escaped his charm but the pheromones from her direction seemed overmatched by a hostile odor. Surely such a wrathful scent couldn't have come from Jadwiga in her wondrous, violet, jewel-embezzled gown glowing in ethereal beauty. Only in raising his bowed head, whipping back his silver-ish lavender hair did Edris notice Jadwiga's date to the ball red as a tomato with anger.
Veins bulging, this monstrously tall man, well over eight feet tall, but fairly proportionate, practically flexed out of his teal three-piece suit. Off came his collar button, popping out of tension at such velocity it detached some unfortunate influencer's retina on impact. With the crowd paying no mind to that, an intense stare-off between Edris and Vellotoni Versarache visibly sparked. The crowd went quiet, tension thick as oatmeal left out for half a day.
…
“I'm not apologizing.”
Edris' palm held an imaginary grip in the shape of a hilt as a single vine crawled from underneath his gold cufflinks, sprouting a flower blooming into a sword. Then it was black. Surely he did not murder a man in blind rage. It was against the assassins code.
Only the sensation of a cold hand pressing against his hollow frame did Edris feel anything. Lids open but sightless, the same cold hand dropped something into his skull. Until then, it felt like the concept of vision was foreign to him. Another hand crept near his face, doubling it. The same hands navigated his sternum, installing piece after piece as if he were a creation at the hands of Geppetto. Edris thought perhaps, this is how God designed us all, until the moment came when we finally were seemingly complete, later carrying our limp frames, hooking us to a conveyor belt. To where? A journey back to them, but only after experiencing the world whilst bearing the intentional gift and curse of life. With pleasure comes great pain. The pain of knowing this is unattainable makes us human, yet, internally… Edris challenged that. Until now he only felt one with Mother Nature. Who was this? Blasphemy. Before he could oust these thoughts, an unfamiliar voice fancied the thought of a destination to his psyche. Where? Edris would know once saw it. It was near, but where was he?
The flow of petals stopped, laying soggy on the top of the murky marsh staining the hitman’s white, heeled leather boots. A rancid smell assaulted the nostrils of Edris' souring face, distracting from not only the dream he awoke from, but the not so distant chitters, crunching and tearing. Quick hands allowed him to salvage his impeccably stylish tweed suit aside from a few splashes of muck. Springing up immediately, it was only so long Edris could watch his hand model-caliber hands slowly sink into the mud. A line of dirt packed every distal edge of his nails. It was already the worst-case scenario. What if…someone…saw him? Whoever did this had to pay, and soon. It was a good thing he had an idea where to look.
Looking up, the grayed skies could be mistaken as smoke. As dense as the forest was, the fog affected the visibility of the colossal mangroves standing mightily in the bog. At first, Edris thought he may have gotten something in his mouth but it was just the aftertaste of the absurdly moist swamp air. Following him were squelching sounds of his trot out of the thick mire of mud he found himself as unfortunate to spawn in. Each step sunk him deeper into the morass of uncertainty. Getting back to the Gala was an impossibility at this point.
Phaedra was thin but not frail. Presence very much slender, yet resilient. Bearing the weight of her torment without surrendering, her spirit, akin to wilting flowers in a vase, held both beauty and sorrow in delicate balance. She sat moonstruck at the rail of a bridge overseeing a riverbank. Behind her roseate eyes veiled by her silken, platinum-blonde bangs, her repressed memories resurface, besieged by guilt over the great tragedy engulfing the Luminae Academy of Mystical Arts.
An inquisitive sable darted around the area, climbing up the young girl’s shoulders, foraging through her kinky tresses draping her backside. It ran her pockets for a few nuts. Phaedra paid it no mind. Head tilted, the small creature observed the mourning sorceress and her radiant, almost aubergine complexion bathing in the moonlight. It could tell something was wrong but quickly fled at the arrival of a rumbling carriage.
The doors of a patchy wooden crate masquerading as a luxury coach swung open, ushering a vacuuming vortex, snatching Phaedras's gray sarong with such authority it whipped her around like a roll of paper towels. Wide-eyed and flustered, she caught no glimpse of the inside before it swallowed her whole. The rhythmic clops of horses casually strolling away with her appeared to be in no rush once the doors closed. In total darkness, she felt wedged between a stiff old couch and a rickety chair.
"Hello, odd maiden! Don't mind my get up. Doing a bit of research." A faint amber spark developed, revealing her captors. A jovial wooly-mustached jester passed her a small, blank sheet of parchment and a huge woman whose rotund figure greatly strained the seams of her colorful attire. “Hello, Lovely.” Her overly caked cheeks already left residue on Phaedra's clothes and the liter of perfume she doused herself with did little to alter the fact that the carriage smelled like a hotbox of sweat. “Trust us, we’re not kidnapping you,” they said in unison. It was hard for Phaedra to lower her guard completely, but her gut surmised there was perhaps some method to their lunacy.
The paper forcefully planted in her hand burned with an ongoing script of orange text, spelling out the message, “The Kaiage of Knowledge.”
The strange woman introducing herself as “Alegora'' placed her forearm and hand of many rolls on Phaedra's left knee, meeting Phaedra’s upturned eyes with a concerned heterochromatic gaze. Finally getting to the meat and potatoes, Alegora revealed “We know the attack of the Karnagebeast wasn't a natural occurrence. We have reason to believe many of your classmates are still alive and not only is High Chancellor Seldora complicit, we suspect she is a doppelganger.”
Nothing exemplified Phaedra's fear over the subject more than her deafening silence.
Once again confronted by not-so-distant traumas far from being healed, the young woman’s quixotic quest she steadily ran from presented itself to her in yet another way.
Her eyes shut. Reliving phantasmagoric nightmares, the dawn's sky resplendent with hues of pink, and orange whimpered out as tenebrous clouds ran roughshod over any ray of hope the new day provided. To the untrained eye, a storm brewed. Phaedra lamented the times itself as came lighting, thunderous roars existing only as the product of unchecked imagination followed. On this Lundros morning, she awoke from one nightmare into another. A tangle of Wyrms, exterior like oiled scale mail interwoven in a sinister dance, descended upon the enchanted spires of The Luminae Academy of Mystical Arts, unfurling their twisted serpentine forms in an act of indiscriminate terror. They sodomized the school’s mullioned windows, razing the corridors, invasively rattling the entire dorm with a faint hum like the presence of an unseen stampede. Low-humming until it wasn't, with a deafening crash, the sound overtook Phaedra’s capacity to think let alone speak. The entire wall on which her door was hinged ripped away with the raiding serpent leaving behind a jagged maw of destruction–
“Or so, that's the theory, Ha-Ha-Hahaha!” Alegora's boisterous laugh rocking the carriage to the point where it startled the lugging horses brought Phaedra back to reality.
Eyes wide, dumped on her ass in the middle of a cobblestone pathway, Phaedra realized she was no longer in the carriage but set right in the middle of the path leading to the cursed academy she had been running from. The horse carriage that transported her trotting in the opposite way left her a parting message.
“Keep that card close. You'll know where to find us as well as the others there, beloved.
Their message was pretty blunt. Go to school. It was something Phaedra already knew she had to do in order to save her classmates but now, knowing she perhaps wasn't carrying the weight alone, the task felt less daunting.
An inquisitive sable darted around the area, climbing up the young girl’s shoulders, foraging through her kinky tresses draping her backside. It ran her pockets for a few nuts. Phaedra paid it no mind. Head tilted, the small creature observed the mourning sorceress and her radiant, almost aubergine complexion bathing in the moonlight. It could tell something was wrong but quickly fled at the arrival of a rumbling carriage.
The doors of a patchy wooden crate masquerading as a luxury coach swung open, ushering a vacuuming vortex, snatching Phaedras's gray sarong with such authority it whipped her around like a roll of paper towels. Wide-eyed and flustered, she caught no glimpse of the inside before it swallowed her whole. The rhythmic clops of horses casually strolling away with her appeared to be in no rush once the doors closed. In total darkness, she felt wedged between a stiff old couch and a rickety chair.
"Hello, odd maiden! Don't mind my get up. Doing a bit of research." A faint amber spark developed, revealing her captors. A jovial wooly-mustached jester passed her a small, blank sheet of parchment and a huge woman whose rotund figure greatly strained the seams of her colorful attire. “Hello, Lovely.” Her overly caked cheeks already left residue on Phaedra's clothes and the liter of perfume she doused herself with did little to alter the fact that the carriage smelled like a hotbox of sweat. “Trust us, we’re not kidnapping you,” they said in unison. It was hard for Phaedra to lower her guard completely, but her gut surmised there was perhaps some method to their lunacy.
The paper forcefully planted in her hand burned with an ongoing script of orange text, spelling out the message, “The Kaiage of Knowledge.”
The strange woman introducing herself as “Alegora'' placed her forearm and hand of many rolls on Phaedra's left knee, meeting Phaedra’s upturned eyes with a concerned heterochromatic gaze. Finally getting to the meat and potatoes, Alegora revealed “We know the attack of the Karnagebeast wasn't a natural occurrence. We have reason to believe many of your classmates are still alive and not only is High Chancellor Seldora complicit, we suspect she is a doppelganger.”
Nothing exemplified Phaedra's fear over the subject more than her deafening silence.
Once again confronted by not-so-distant traumas far from being healed, the young woman’s quixotic quest she steadily ran from presented itself to her in yet another way.
Her eyes shut. Reliving phantasmagoric nightmares, the dawn's sky resplendent with hues of pink, and orange whimpered out as tenebrous clouds ran roughshod over any ray of hope the new day provided. To the untrained eye, a storm brewed. Phaedra lamented the times itself as came lighting, thunderous roars existing only as the product of unchecked imagination followed. On this Lundros morning, she awoke from one nightmare into another. A tangle of Wyrms, exterior like oiled scale mail interwoven in a sinister dance, descended upon the enchanted spires of The Luminae Academy of Mystical Arts, unfurling their twisted serpentine forms in an act of indiscriminate terror. They sodomized the school’s mullioned windows, razing the corridors, invasively rattling the entire dorm with a faint hum like the presence of an unseen stampede. Low-humming until it wasn't, with a deafening crash, the sound overtook Phaedra’s capacity to think let alone speak. The entire wall on which her door was hinged ripped away with the raiding serpent leaving behind a jagged maw of destruction–
“Or so, that's the theory, Ha-Ha-Hahaha!” Alegora's boisterous laugh rocking the carriage to the point where it startled the lugging horses brought Phaedra back to reality.
Eyes wide, dumped on her ass in the middle of a cobblestone pathway, Phaedra realized she was no longer in the carriage but set right in the middle of the path leading to the cursed academy she had been running from. The horse carriage that transported her trotting in the opposite way left her a parting message.
“Keep that card close. You'll know where to find us as well as the others there, beloved.
Their message was pretty blunt. Go to school. It was something Phaedra already knew she had to do in order to save her classmates but now, knowing she perhaps wasn't carrying the weight alone, the task felt less daunting.
Additions to The Lore
Characters
Characters
THE MULTIVERSE DIRECTORY
The Multiverse is an expansive, interconnected web of diverse realms, timelines, and dimensions. It is the ultimate tapestry where every conceivable world and narrative can coexist, intersect, and evolve within roleplay. Within the Multiverse, countless stories unfold simultaneously, each contributing to the grand mosaic of collective imagination. Whether it's a high-fantasy epic, a dystopian saga, or a slice-of-life tale, all narratives find a home here, influencing and being influenced by the universe around them. It’s a place where groups of all themes have the opportunity to encounter and even face off in epic tales reshaping history, leaving their mark across the cosmos. Ideally, players will compete for territories and assets or just create expansive interweaving stories.
GROUPS
Roleplay Groups are the core units within the Omniverse. Each group consists of a collective of storytellers who collaborate to create intricate and immersive narratives. To formally join the Omniverse, Roleplay Groups should submit the following:
Group Name: The official name of your Roleplay Group.
Group Overview: A brief description of the group's thematic focus, narrative style, and any unique characteristics.
Group Members: A list of participants, including their preferred roles and characters.
Example Submission:
Group Name: The Celestial Voyagers
Group Overview: A group dedicated to exploring space opera narratives, focusing on interstellar politics, alien cultures, and cosmic mysteries.
Group Members:
- Player A: Captain Aurora [Hyperlink To profile in Character Tab]
- Player B: Xylor the Navigator [Hyperlink To profile in Character Tab]
- Player C: Dr. Zynthor [Hyperlink To profile in Character Tab]
- Locations: Location 1 [Hyperlink To profile in OOC]
- Group Assets: Asset 1 [Hyperlink To profile in Character tab]
LOCATIONS
Settings are the distinct worlds or locations where the narratives take place. Each setting adds a new layer to the Multiverse, enriching it with unique environments, histories, and cultures. To submit a setting, provide the following details:
- Critical Location: Planet Zolteria [Hyperlink To profile in Location Tab - OCC Tab]
- Sub Location: Kelloron City [Hyperlink To profile in Location Tab - OCC Tab]
- Sub Location: The Laboratory of Lon [Hyperlink To profile in Location Tab - OCC Tab]
Setting Name: The official name of the location or world.
Setting Description: A detailed account of the setting, including its geography, inhabitants, key landmarks, and any pertinent lore.
Relevant Threads: Links to existing threads or posts where the setting has been developed or used in narrative.
CHARACTERS
Characters are the heart of any story, bringing the settings and plots to life with their actions, decisions, and growth. To introduce a character into the Omniverse, include the following:
Name:
Age:
Gender:
Race:
Group: If any
Tier: Ex: Mid to High
Character Description: A detailed description of your character.
Skills, powers, and abilities:
Ability 1: Ex: Flight - The user can fly by using magic/spells, by emitting a burst of magical energy into the ground that sends them flying into the air, user can also do this by producing an aura of the magical energy which would levitate them, or a beam of the magical energy to the ground, but it can also be wings, producing wings from magical energy. [Low]
Ability 2: Ex: Force Fields: The user can create magical constructs are capable of blocking or impeding approaching objects and nullifying attacks, including physical and energy based attacks or even repelling or reflecting them, as well being used as a means of containment to imprison others. [Mid]
Ability 3: Ex: Mind of the Chosen - The user can manipulate an extraordinarily potent and immense variation of telekinesis, capable of enacting destruction and creation on a grand scale. This formidable power primarily interacts with objects and entities visible to the naked eye, excluding the microscopic realm of atoms, molecules, and subatomic particles. [High]
Equipment
Item 1: Ex: Sword of Kusanagi - The Kusanagi Sword is a legendary sword owned by Orochimaru. He retrieves this sword by opening his mouth and extending a snake which then opens its mouth and produces it. Orochimaru was seen producing the sword handle first so he could use it freely, or blade first to attack his opponent instantly.
The sword can quickly extend and retract its blade to attack from long distances, be controlled telekinetically according to Orochimaru's command, and cut through almost anything. Even Enma, who is able to transform into a diamond-hard staff, noted that the Kusanagi blade would leave him considerably sore. The sword has been seen transforming into a small snake and returning to Orochimaru. [Low]
Item 2: Ex: The Ultimate Nullifier - An item described as "the universe's most devastating weapon." As such, the Ultimate Nullifier has the ability to completely and utterly eliminate any target the wielder chooses (through violation of the law of conservation of mass), and—if the wielder's mind isn't powerful enough—the wielder themself. Its effectiveness is heavily dependent upon the concentration, knowledge, and mindset of the wielder. Ordinarily, it has the power to at least destroy a universe. In the hands of a being with an extremely powerful intellect, such as Galactus, the Ultimate Nullifier can destroy entire timelines from beginning to end or instantly nullify (and paradoxically recreate) a Multiverse. [High]
Character History:
Threads participated:
Ex: Relevant Threads
- "The Trials of Seraphina" (link)
- "The Battle for Lysandra" (link)
Joining The Multiverse
To formally join the Omniverse, please post your submissions in this designated thread, following the formats provided above. This is not a requirement, however, as everyone is free to do what they want with their threads and stories. We may work on an approval method and consistent judgment criteria for threads and fights but this is still in the early conceptual phases. This can also be an official profile and settings dump for people to reference for people who prefer to fight on discords.
Groups IC - Locations OOC - Profiles Character Tab
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