You all come to and find yourselves someplace very strange -- or in the case of some of you, perhaps familiar, but it's been so long since you've been in a place like this that the sensation of displacement is palpable. You can come with some of your stuff, unless you choose to be empty-handed! Best have a weapon with you (wink).
You're in a modern shopping mall (circa late 90's), one of those grand department stores with the escalators connecting each level with an open space in the center of each floor, pretty standard layout. You appear to be on the second floor, coming to focus in an resting area with chairs, stores and unmoving escalators nearby. Even at a first glance, you can tell that this place is a totally different environment than any you've seen so far -- what signs you can see are primarily in Japanese, with the very occasional English label (you know, like "SASALELE").
It's currently empty, nary a soul to be found within, shopkeep nor customer. Even looking over the edge or up above, you can see a variety of shops -- some with their shutters closed down, and some technically still open, but there's nobody to man the place. Though you can't really see what's higher up from your current vantage point, you can see your current floor, which has some odds and ends such as a furniture/home goods store and a toy store, and ground floor, at which currently you can see the front entrance/exit.
Sunlight streams through what windows are present such as through the skylight overhead, informing you that it appears to currently be around noon or so.
It's quiet as a result of the emptiness, but you can feel an air of apprehension here. How strange.
You may have a few rounds to tag among yourselves to familiarise with one another and get settled. Once you make a decision on where to start heading, we'll get this ball rolling! You are also welcome to split up (unless...?). ]
[ Fortunately, this reader is well equipped with some of his things, but more importantly his blade Unbreakable Faith that remains hooked on his waist in a sheath. For a moment Dokja takes to looking at his surroundings, before to everyone else to gauge who is here, a composed and neutral expression settled on his face before looking back around.
At least he patched himself right before... this. So he isn't visibly bleeding through his current change of clothes. For now. He will talk as he looks around, addressing the area to them. ]
This is a lot more modern time compared to what we've been seeing so far. But, until we learn more, we can't really rule out whether this involves the angels or not. [ It's very empty though... hmm. His gaze is focused on the ground floor in the direction of the front entrance. Jin peeks from the confines of his jacket, the black hognose snake peering around with a flick of her tongue. ]
[rochalizo's likewise rather armed. at least visibly, he has his sword, as well as his gun that he takes out.]
This again...?
[ugh. great. philia, in the form of a bird, flutters until she lands on rochalizo's shoulder. he looks around, narrowing his eye. i almost wrote eyes before i remembered. speaking of which, the area around his right eye is unfortunately bleeding through the gauze on top, which he's just choosing to ignore because there's fucking nothing he can do about it!!]
I'm not familiar with this sort of setting. I take it we're not in Nerak anymore...
[he peers over a railing.]
Quite a large area. Do we want to stick together or split up?
I do not think it is wise to split up in an unfamiliar area. At least not quite so soon...
[ this is all new to her, but she still technically has a few brain cells to rub together. if they split up, they could be picked off one by one??? hello??? there is nothing about this that is normal, even if it looks like a normal mall.
djinni is here in fox form, just sorta vibin nearby. sche did the smart thing and changed clothes immediately, so who is to say if she's bleeding or not underneath her parka. she also has her latern staff, but as there is nothing alight inside, it's mostly just a decorative stick. sorry yall. ]
[ Dokja and Rochalizo head to the ground floor (soft echoes of 'first floor'), going towards the front entrance. It's pretty typical, a few doorways made of semi-transparent glass, and you can see the outside world through them.
There's people outside! And you can see a massive sprawling metropolis, too -- you're pretty much in the heart of Tokyo, after all. The civilians seem to be living their average lives, unbothered by the apprehensive air within the mall.
There are no visible extra locks on the entrance doors, but for some reason, they won't open for you no matter how hard you push or pull.
[ Scheherazade and Spike stay on the second floor for now, then! Or if they want, they can go higher up, I'm not your boss.
The place is quiet and many places shuttered, and the lights are down -- thank goodness it's still daylight, or else it might be pretty dark in here. There's a variety of stores they can check out if they wish -- from hardware stores, to home goods and supply stores, to toy stores, to even the food court.
[ Something approaches from the endless dark. A strange entity arrives, a poor mimicry of humankind, its body an endless swathe of black. On the white ground, its corruption spreads, and you see it clearer as it approaches.
Black wings spread over its back, dripping sludge like it can barely hold itself together. On its head lies a white porcelain mask of pure perfection, a candid angelic smile plastered on it, unmoving. It tilts its head lightly once at Dokja, and its mask slips, pulled down by gravity revealing nothing but more melting black and something ugly beneath -- but as the mask begins to fall, a monstrous hand betraying the humanity it masquerades emerges from the body to catch the mask before it shatters upon the ground, affixing it back onto its 'face'.
The trail of sludge that dripped along with the mask, meanwhile, floats up to form a corrupted halo over its head. A gross reflection of the Demon King, masquerading as an angel.
It bows its head, almost-polite, as the skeletally thin hand reaches into its dripping halo and pulls out a sword of bright light, a weapon truly unfit for its being -- the Morning Star. ]
Kim Dokja quickly catches on him being without the others, had watched the door close before him when he tried to follow after Rochalizo. No, they all had their own after all. Each their own Hell to face. Is that not what this is? Their own special Hell. A quiet breath escapes him, expression smoothed out into something composed, something neutral.
Dark eyes raise to the entity that sweeps across the ground before him. He lifts his head higher, Jin in her white-necked raven form shifts from where she perches on the reader's shoulder with a flare of her wings and a deep call. He looks to that mask and his lips twitch in a smile finally. How funny that is.
Just as the entity catches the mask that separates from itself, two horns grow atop his own head and his own black wings burst from his back with Jin taking to the air to keep a safe distance away. Not too far, but not too close to the danger. His hand swings his own blade, Unbreakable Faith, and holds it out in front of him. ]
Normally I exchange a few words before a fight, in a novel an enemy often does. To tell me my wrongdoings. What I've done to get here. [ He watches the entity's moves closely. ]
[ O, Reader -- if he is expecting words, then they are right here, plain for him to see. And this Reader, deplorable demon, spawn of evil, has seen it without its mask, and for that, he cannot be suffered to live.
The only semblance of honour it supplies is the slight bow and the preparation of the blade. A fight between the Heavenly and the Damned. Which side of you will win out, Dokja? ]
[ Something comes, a whistling wheeze accompanying its arrival. Rochalizo finds himself utterly alone, surrounded by naught but darkness and the small patch of white flowers at his feet that he can see. But he feels eyes upon him, as heavy as judgment, as light as indifference. The whistling wheezing turns to a soft choked sob, and it comes from behind him.
Something lays there, large and heavy -- its lower body almost like a beast, legs folded under it on the ground, its body a pure sinless white. The upper half is something to be seen to be believed, though -- like a centaur, almost, with the way the perhaps humanoid upper half combines with the lower half, but barely visible under the several arms that grab onto itself in a reassuring hug to no avail. They continue up, and up the torso, until the hands even grasp over the head of the thing, over its mouth, over its eyes, over its horns that appear the same as those of Baphomet. Over each and every arm is a heavy metal shackle, causing its upper body to bend forward with the weight of the world, spine twisted into an ugly curve, a mockery of groveling.
It lets out another low groan, before the arms start to unwind -- revealing an exposed and bleeding heart underneath, and bleed it does for all that you've failed to protect -- and begin to reach to grab at Rochalizo, fingers harsh. ]
his own breathing loud in his ears, he whirls around. if the phantoms he'd witnessed while traveling with the mud whale were disorienting, all this is—he doesn't have the words for it.
what exactly is this dread he feels? as the thing reaches for him, he jumps back, pointing his sword at it.]
What are you? -- isn't that a much better question? After all, you're in its domain.
Its hands grasp at him, at the wrist with the sword. Its grip is crushingly strong, eager... or perhaps desperate to keep hold of what can yet be saved. ]
[ Scheherazade finds herself, cold and alone. Every breath leaves wisps of frost in the air, but it's not quite cold in the way that ice is freezing -- it's cold in the way that there is nothing left, and nothing cares. In the quietest part of Hell, she stands, and before her is a quaint little table with a teapot. A strange and great juxtaposition against the dread she feels, the great nausea in the air.
She blinks, once, and in her blurry vision, someone else is already seated, but it's not someone she wants to see. The dreadful being stands up slowly from where it has been waiting for her -- a being that grins at her with a ragged and skeletal face, but the body behind it is the illusion of a great serpent that is the end of all things, and what will come to annihilation itself when there is nothing else. There is no light in its eyes, no sign of life; naught but a black hole that threatens to swallow what's left of her whole into pure oblivion. It reaches out with a skeletal hand and points at her, beckoning her closer. Cross over to this side, my dear.
It is the End is the End is the End. It is Azrael. It is Malak al-Maut. It is Astwihād. And it will have her, for it is inescapable. ]
[ Her body feels heavy, every fiber of her being weighted by fear. She's beckoned, but she can't find the strength to put a foot forward. Her stomach twists in knots, her breath coming out shallow and shaky. There's a numbness that overtakes her extremities, and she can't tell if she's shaking or not. There is only one thing on her mind, the one and only thought she ever held onto in the deepest recesses of her mind: Survive.
She has no choice but to move forward. Her stride is not one of confidence, but of obedience. There is some distance still left between them, but once she cannot force herself further, she stops and bows - and innate gesture.
Scheherazade isn't ready for this, but nothing could ever prepare her to face her greatest fear so explicitly. ]
[ The unknowable tilts its head, curious. So she arrives, carrying the weight of her body with her own two feet, towards what represents the finite of the finite. There's a rattle and a slither of scales on grass -- laughing, evident, though whatever 'sound' that comes from it is like the sensation of looking into a black hole.
It gestures. A little closer -- come take a seat then, if she dares. ]
[ Spike finds himself separated suddenly from the rest in the dark, a faint path illuminated before him among the flowers. He may walk these, but as he does, they wither away, shun him, close their petals without showing this outsider their true faces. There is no other way to go.
At the end of the path, a King sits on a throne of bones, skeletal yet statuesque. It sits with inconsiderate leisure, one hand resting on an armrest while the other is held forever still in the air with a set of scales in its hand, both cups empty. Its face is unknown, covered in a dark veil, but Spike will know it to be utterly blank despite the eyes of judgment he feels. And upon its head is the mimicry of a crown made of antlers and thorns, an attempt of inflating its importance.
It sits before one of the many gates of Hell, at the helm of a branch whose door will close, and this field of flowers will remain in permanent darkness never to be remembered again. It awaits, judging those who pass for those who may continue to exist, unforgotten -- but it seems rather disinterested in the man before him. Behind Spike, the darkness encroaches closer and closer, as any source of light closes off one by one -- like doors closing, like the flaps of a cardboard box shutting to throw away what's within.
It turns its head away, the false crown weighing heavy on Beliya'al -- the worthless leading the worthless. ]
[William blinks in surprise as he finds himself abandoned. Ah. Of course. He sighs, fiddling with this stupid basket and balancing carrying that around with the staff he has in his other hand.
So this is hell. Rather dreadful, isn't it? He scowls when he sees the flowers wither away from him. You're beneath me, beneath me, beneath me.
Whatever, he doesn't care what a (sodding, fucking, piece of shit) flower thinks. If this is Hell, he'll just have to find the biggest dog and kick it 'till it's dead. Then he'll see who is beneath whom here.
He reaches the end of the path and stares at the devil, narrowing his eyes and curling his lip in disdain.]
So, what are you supposed to be? [William feels cold, but more than that he feels angry. Livid, even. It's like this skeleton is taunting him with it's indifference.] You here to judge my sins or whatever load of wank this is?
How about you spare me the lecture and I skip straight to killing you?
[ The devil turns its crowned head ever-slightly towards Spike -- ah, no. William. Whatever McCoolName he's made for himself is worth as much as forgotten dust in the corner of a child's bedroom, now. And he feels that, in this space.
His threats are merely that of a pup barking at giants, at ancient devils who have never known what it means to lose. Does he really think he has a chance to stand up to the likes of it? It tilts its scales a little bit.
What are you really worth, William? What could you contribute, leaving here? ]
[ Walk through the door and find yourself in the great field of flowers once more, but with the sky still an utter black, everything purely dark. It's not darkness as in the absence of light, but something simply purely suffocating.
It's quiet, but the air trembles, like Hell itself is afraid.
Dokja and Rochalizo show up first, but the other two are not yet. ]
[ Here comes Kim Dokja in his Demon King glory, but the horns and wings of black with the faint glinting of constellations seems to vanish from use as he enters back onto the field. He feels exhausted, that sensation of discomfort but no feeling of pain at least.
When he catches sight of Rochalizo does he place his own sword away, moving over to approach him with a quick look over him. ] Rochalizo, are you alright?
[ A glance around makes note the other two aren't here. They probably need more time. ]
[rochalizo likewise looks and feels exhausted, covered in blood on his front and his broken hand dangling by his side, while he grips his sword with the other.]
... I cannot wait to be free of this place. Where are the others?
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✦ INTRODUCTION.
You all come to and find yourselves someplace very strange -- or in the case of some of you, perhaps familiar, but it's been so long since you've been in a place like this that the sensation of displacement is palpable. You can come with some of your stuff, unless you choose to be empty-handed! Best have a weapon with you (wink).
You're in a modern shopping mall (circa late 90's), one of those grand department stores with the escalators connecting each level with an open space in the center of each floor, pretty standard layout. You appear to be on the second floor, coming to focus in an resting area with chairs, stores and unmoving escalators nearby. Even at a first glance, you can tell that this place is a totally different environment than any you've seen so far -- what signs you can see are primarily in Japanese, with the very occasional English label (you know, like "SASALELE").
It's currently empty, nary a soul to be found within, shopkeep nor customer. Even looking over the edge or up above, you can see a variety of shops -- some with their shutters closed down, and some technically still open, but there's nobody to man the place. Though you can't really see what's higher up from your current vantage point, you can see your current floor, which has some odds and ends such as a furniture/home goods store and a toy store, and ground floor, at which currently you can see the front entrance/exit.
Sunlight streams through what windows are present such as through the skylight overhead, informing you that it appears to currently be around noon or so.
It's quiet as a result of the emptiness, but you can feel an air of apprehension here. How strange.
You may have a few rounds to tag among yourselves to familiarise with one another and get settled. Once you make a decision on where to start heading, we'll get this ball rolling! You are also welcome to split up (unless...?). ]
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At least he patched himself right before... this. So he isn't visibly bleeding through his current change of clothes. For now. He will talk as he looks around, addressing the area to them. ]
This is a lot more modern time compared to what we've been seeing so far. But, until we learn more, we can't really rule out whether this involves the angels or not. [ It's very empty though... hmm. His gaze is focused on the ground floor in the direction of the front entrance. Jin peeks from the confines of his jacket, the black hognose snake peering around with a flick of her tongue. ]
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This again...?
[ugh. great. philia, in the form of a bird, flutters until she lands on rochalizo's shoulder. he looks around, narrowing his eye. i almost wrote eyes before i remembered. speaking of which, the area around his right eye is unfortunately bleeding through the gauze on top, which he's just choosing to ignore because there's fucking nothing he can do about it!!]
I'm not familiar with this sort of setting. I take it we're not in Nerak anymore...
[he peers over a railing.]
Quite a large area. Do we want to stick together or split up?
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[ this is all new to her, but she still technically has a few brain cells to rub together. if they split up, they could be picked off one by one??? hello??? there is nothing about this that is normal, even if it looks like a normal mall.
djinni is here in fox form, just sorta vibin nearby. sche did the smart thing and changed clothes immediately, so who is to say if she's bleeding or not underneath her parka. she also has her latern staff, but as there is nothing alight inside, it's mostly just a decorative stick. sorry yall. ]
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✦ REMERGE / ALL.
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✧ DOKJA + ROCHALIZO
There's people outside! And you can see a massive sprawling metropolis, too -- you're pretty much in the heart of Tokyo, after all. The civilians seem to be living their average lives, unbothered by the apprehensive air within the mall.
There are no visible extra locks on the entrance doors, but for some reason, they won't open for you no matter how hard you push or pull.
...Roll a perception check? ]
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his excuse is that he has only one eye]
It's probably safe to assume we're in a place based off someone's memories, right...?
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his excuse is he's a reader. that's it. ]
Looking at the area, it seems like it. It's just a matter of whose. Which we might be able to know what to expect if we can figure that out.
[ Jin slithers out to shift into her white-necked raven form. Perching on his shoulder with a tap-tap of her beak against the glass. ]
So far, it just seems modern but nothing else.
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✧ SCHEHERAZADE + SPIKE
The place is quiet and many places shuttered, and the lights are down -- thank goodness it's still daylight, or else it might be pretty dark in here. There's a variety of stores they can check out if they wish -- from hardware stores, to home goods and supply stores, to toy stores, to even the food court.
Where to go? ]
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I really don't think we should have split up. I hope they will be okay...
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[He agrees on home goods. Spike... really likes decorating his living space. If you hadn't noticed.]
Think we'll be able to lug these back to the hotel with us? I hope so.
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✧ DOKJA
[ Something approaches from the endless dark. A strange entity arrives, a poor mimicry of humankind, its body an endless swathe of black. On the white ground, its corruption spreads, and you see it clearer as it approaches.
Black wings spread over its back, dripping sludge like it can barely hold itself together. On its head lies a white porcelain mask of pure perfection, a candid angelic smile plastered on it, unmoving. It tilts its head lightly once at Dokja, and its mask slips, pulled down by gravity revealing nothing but more melting black and something ugly beneath -- but as the mask begins to fall, a monstrous hand betraying the humanity it masquerades emerges from the body to catch the mask before it shatters upon the ground, affixing it back onto its 'face'.
The trail of sludge that dripped along with the mask, meanwhile, floats up to form a corrupted halo over its head. A gross reflection of the Demon King, masquerading as an angel.
It bows its head, almost-polite, as the skeletally thin hand reaches into its dripping halo and pulls out a sword of bright light, a weapon truly unfit for its being -- the Morning Star. ]
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Kim Dokja quickly catches on him being without the others, had watched the door close before him when he tried to follow after Rochalizo. No, they all had their own after all. Each their own Hell to face. Is that not what this is? Their own special Hell. A quiet breath escapes him, expression smoothed out into something composed, something neutral.
Dark eyes raise to the entity that sweeps across the ground before him. He lifts his head higher, Jin in her white-necked raven form shifts from where she perches on the reader's shoulder with a flare of her wings and a deep call. He looks to that mask and his lips twitch in a smile finally. How funny that is.
Just as the entity catches the mask that separates from itself, two horns grow atop his own head and his own black wings burst from his back with Jin taking to the air to keep a safe distance away. Not too far, but not too close to the danger. His hand swings his own blade, Unbreakable Faith, and holds it out in front of him. ]
Normally I exchange a few words before a fight, in a novel an enemy often does. To tell me my wrongdoings. What I've done to get here. [ He watches the entity's moves closely. ]
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The only semblance of honour it supplies is the slight bow and the preparation of the blade. A fight between the Heavenly and the Damned. Which side of you will win out, Dokja? ]
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✦ ROCHALIZO
[ Something comes, a whistling wheeze accompanying its arrival. Rochalizo finds himself utterly alone, surrounded by naught but darkness and the small patch of white flowers at his feet that he can see. But he feels eyes upon him, as heavy as judgment, as light as indifference. The whistling wheezing turns to a soft choked sob, and it comes from behind him.
Something lays there, large and heavy -- its lower body almost like a beast, legs folded under it on the ground, its body a pure sinless white. The upper half is something to be seen to be believed, though -- like a centaur, almost, with the way the perhaps humanoid upper half combines with the lower half, but barely visible under the several arms that grab onto itself in a reassuring hug to no avail. They continue up, and up the torso, until the hands even grasp over the head of the thing, over its mouth, over its eyes, over its horns that appear the same as those of Baphomet. Over each and every arm is a heavy metal shackle, causing its upper body to bend forward with the weight of the world, spine twisted into an ugly curve, a mockery of groveling.
It lets out another low groan, before the arms start to unwind -- revealing an exposed and bleeding heart underneath, and bleed it does for all that you've failed to protect -- and begin to reach to grab at Rochalizo, fingers harsh. ]
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[he's alone.
his own breathing loud in his ears, he whirls around. if the phantoms he'd witnessed while traveling with the mud whale were disorienting, all this is—he doesn't have the words for it.
what exactly is this dread he feels? as the thing reaches for him, he jumps back, pointing his sword at it.]
What are you!?
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What are you? -- isn't that a much better question? After all, you're in its domain.
Its hands grasp at him, at the wrist with the sword. Its grip is crushingly strong, eager... or perhaps desperate to keep hold of what can yet be saved. ]
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✧ SCHEHERAZADE
[ Scheherazade finds herself, cold and alone. Every breath leaves wisps of frost in the air, but it's not quite cold in the way that ice is freezing -- it's cold in the way that there is nothing left, and nothing cares. In the quietest part of Hell, she stands, and before her is a quaint little table with a teapot. A strange and great juxtaposition against the dread she feels, the great nausea in the air.
She blinks, once, and in her blurry vision, someone else is already seated, but it's not someone she wants to see. The dreadful being stands up slowly from where it has been waiting for her -- a being that grins at her with a ragged and skeletal face, but the body behind it is the illusion of a great serpent that is the end of all things, and what will come to annihilation itself when there is nothing else. There is no light in its eyes, no sign of life; naught but a black hole that threatens to swallow what's left of her whole into pure oblivion. It reaches out with a skeletal hand and points at her, beckoning her closer. Cross over to this side, my dear.
It is the End is the End is the End. It is Azrael. It is Malak al-Maut. It is Astwihād. And it will have her, for it is inescapable. ]
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She has no choice but to move forward. Her stride is not one of confidence, but of obedience. There is some distance still left between them, but once she cannot force herself further, she stops and bows - and innate gesture.
Scheherazade isn't ready for this, but nothing could ever prepare her to face her greatest fear so explicitly. ]
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It gestures. A little closer -- come take a seat then, if she dares. ]
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✦ SPIKE
[ Spike finds himself separated suddenly from the rest in the dark, a faint path illuminated before him among the flowers. He may walk these, but as he does, they wither away, shun him, close their petals without showing this outsider their true faces. There is no other way to go.
At the end of the path, a King sits on a throne of bones, skeletal yet statuesque. It sits with inconsiderate leisure, one hand resting on an armrest while the other is held forever still in the air with a set of scales in its hand, both cups empty. Its face is unknown, covered in a dark veil, but Spike will know it to be utterly blank despite the eyes of judgment he feels. And upon its head is the mimicry of a crown made of antlers and thorns, an attempt of inflating its importance.
It sits before one of the many gates of Hell, at the helm of a branch whose door will close, and this field of flowers will remain in permanent darkness never to be remembered again. It awaits, judging those who pass for those who may continue to exist, unforgotten -- but it seems rather disinterested in the man before him. Behind Spike, the darkness encroaches closer and closer, as any source of light closes off one by one -- like doors closing, like the flaps of a cardboard box shutting to throw away what's within.
It turns its head away, the false crown weighing heavy on Beliya'al -- the worthless leading the worthless. ]
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So this is hell. Rather dreadful, isn't it? He scowls when he sees the flowers wither away from him. You're beneath me, beneath me, beneath me.
Whatever, he doesn't care what a (sodding, fucking, piece of shit) flower thinks. If this is Hell, he'll just have to find the biggest dog and kick it 'till it's dead. Then he'll see who is beneath whom here.
He reaches the end of the path and stares at the devil, narrowing his eyes and curling his lip in disdain.]
So, what are you supposed to be? [William feels cold, but more than that he feels angry. Livid, even. It's like this skeleton is taunting him with it's indifference.] You here to judge my sins or whatever load of wank this is?
How about you spare me the lecture and I skip straight to killing you?
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His threats are merely that of a pup barking at giants, at ancient devils who have never known what it means to lose. Does he really think he has a chance to stand up to the likes of it? It tilts its scales a little bit.
What are you really worth, William? What could you contribute, leaving here? ]
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✧ THE GOOD MAN IN HELL.
It's quiet, but the air trembles, like Hell itself is afraid.
Dokja and Rochalizo show up first, but the other two are not yet. ]
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When he catches sight of Rochalizo does he place his own sword away, moving over to approach him with a quick look over him. ] Rochalizo, are you alright?
[ A glance around makes note the other two aren't here. They probably need more time. ]
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... I cannot wait to be free of this place. Where are the others?
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1/2
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✦ ENDING
✧ REWARDS