elegy -of- glass [Shade and insaney]

“Then I saw in the right hand of him who sat on the throne a scroll with writing on both sides and sealed with seven seals. And I saw a mighty angel proclaiming in a loud voice, ‘Who is worthy to break the seals and open the scroll?’”

—Revelation 5:1-2

“For whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted.”

—Matthew 23:12

“Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of dead men’s bones and everything unclean. In the same way, on the outside you appear to people as righteous but on the inside you are full of hypocrisy and wickedness.”

—Matthew 23:27-28

Snow fell thickly, draping the peak in an ivory blanket. The wind howled, frustrated at its inability to topple the mountain. Cold dug its icy claws into every inch of the angel standing firm in the ankle deep snow, almost stubbornly defying the elements of Yahweh Himself. His arms were folded across his chest, legs shoulder-width apart, golden-brown hair tossing violently in the storm. The flakes assailed his closed eyelids and stuck to his lashes.

The frigid temperature did not matter to him. The cold without could never hope to rival the cold within. Even the Ruby Seal, now a ball of ice nearly fused against his skin beneath his robes, did nothing to faze him. Such things as warmth, care, and love held no place in his heart. Duty and an arrogant self-righteousness drove him.

As abruptly as the storm had risen, it calmed. The wind was tamed and now purred in his ears. The princely guardian stood still as stone, as though listening to the rumors brought to him on the breeze’s wings. Then, he opened his eyes. They were golden upon first glance, yet if someone were to look close enough in the right light, flecks of red would be seen sporadically marring the otherwise perfect irises.

He swept the vast lands available to his gaze and stopped when he reached the west, looking at nothing in particular. A smile spread across his face for the first time since coming to this mountain. He felt a rift there—a rift he could use to his advantage. It would be poetic justice in his eyes, a delicious method to show the half-breed traitor the error of her ways.

A simple motion with two fingers summoned one of the angel’s nearby attendants, who was, oddly enough, not an angel. “Yes, Lord Vauthor?”

The chief Seal Guardian produced a package wrapped in dark brown leather. “See to it that Lucilius gets this.” He shoved the bundle into his servant’s hands. “Do not, under any circumstances, tell him I sent you. There is a message inside explaining everything I want him to know.” Without waiting for a confirming reply, Vauthor turned away. “I have someone else I would like to meet personally.” He melted into inter-dimensional space.

* * * * *

The sea-salt smell hanging in the air stung Lucilius’ nose. He wrinkled it a little and dug his hands deeper into his pockets. He stood out starkly against the beach backdrop in his long black coat, and he was sure the few humans scattered about would notice. One little girl had already tried to run over to him, but her father had wisely held the child back. Lucilius was a curious sight, indeed—one the adults instinctively knew to avoid.

The incubus gazed dispassionately at the sea lapping against the shoreline. Sand was getting into every crack and crevice in his shoes, grinding uncomfortably against his feet. He questioned why he was here, a place humans were often fond of occupying, when he truly wanted solitude. Then again, he could never be completely left alone as long as he was tethered to the snake.

Thoughts of the Fallen Star curled his lip into a snarl. Lucifer was inevitably one step ahead of him. The Azazel’s Stone debacle had proved that. Though, Lucilius suspected Xaevakra had been a tool in the serpent’s hand, willing or otherwise. In either case, it had been a fool’s errand, and he was now more convinced than ever that death was the only way to break the bonds, however loose they might be, that tied him to Lucifer.

A child’s elated cry floated to him from farther down the beach, and he turned his head to settle his eyes in that direction. A little boy was fascinated with a starfish he had discovered half-hidden in the sands, and he was rapidly uncovering the creature with his bright yellow, plastic shovel.

“Momma! Momma, come look!”

A woman hurried over and knelt down beside the boy, expressing her pride in her son and his find. Lucilius’ cheek twitched. The sea commanded his attention once more.

A subtle brush against the back of his shoulder roused him from contemplation. Careful to keep his annoyance under control, Lucilius slowly turned around but saw no one standing there. Or at least no one close enough to have touched him in that brief interval. His eyes trailed downward to the sand and saw the faint imprints of shoes leading toward the dunes farther away from the shore. Arching an eyebrow, he decided on a whim to follow them. As he retreated, he felt the humans on the beach breath a collective sigh of relief, and that was enough to dispel the gloominess from a few moments before and bring a grin to his face.

The footprints wound among the dunes meticulously, crisscrossing in several places, which made it difficult for Lucilius to stay on the trail at times. He finally reached a collection of five dunes close together that formed a natural circular wall. The trail ended inside. Wary of a possible snare set by the snake, Lucilius extended his nails ever so slightly within his pockets. He would not be caught unaware.

A lone figure garbed all in red awaited him in the center of the dunes. He held something wrapped in leather and looked at the incubus expectantly. Lucilius withdrew his hands and motioned with a finger. “No. You come to me.”

The red-robed servant smirked a little but obeyed the command. Silently, he approached Lucilius and held out the package.

After giving it a quick look, Lucilius took the package and then fixed his stare on the delivery man. “Who are you? Who sent you, and what is this?”

The man bowed his head slightly, and Lucilius couldn’t tell whether the gesture was sincere or mocking. “My master sends his regards. He wishes you to have this. He instructed me to inform you about a letter contained inside. It will tell you everything you need to know.” He rattled this off with a practiced air. Too practiced.

Lucilius sneered. “I didn’t ask to read something.” His claws lengthened a few more inches.

But the servant was suddenly gone, and Lucilius cursed under his breath. He sat the package down on the sand and circled it a few times, wondering if he should open it at all. That man hadn’t possessed a demonic aura, but Lucilius knew many, including himself, were capable of masking that aura if the need arose.

Finally, he gritted his teeth and snatched the package up once more, peeling the leather apart. The first sight that greeted him was, indeed, a letter of some kind. He withdrew this and unfolded it, running his eyes quickly down the page once, then back over it again more slowly. Raising his eyebrows, he glanced down at the rest of the package’s contents, caught off guard by this odd change in circumstances.

* * * * *

Vauthor wandered the space between worlds, locked on a particular destination like a hound on its quarry. There. The barrier was considerably weakened now, which surprised the angel. If his memory served him well, this realm had always been stoutly closed off to invading outsiders, especially those like himself. This was, after all, the territory of one of those pretender gods, a vampire one at that.

He squelched his revulsion for the time being, though. He wanted to see the rogue Seal Bearer suffer, and this would do more far more damage than anything the incubus could do to her by himself.

It was a simple matter of stepping through the now-thin dimensional membrane. He felt and heard sand crunch softly beneath his boots. The island he now stood upon and a mountain nearby were the only landforms he could see. An ocean dominated the rest of the realm. Everything was quiet. Not even a breeze stirred.

Death hung in the air.

“The Universe had become void of all Life, of Purpose, of Volition, even of Hostility:
It was one huge, dead, immeasurable steam-engine, rolling on, in its dead indifference, to grind me limb from limb.
O, the vast, gloomy, solitary Golgotha, and Mill of Death!
Why was the Living banished thither companionless, conscious?
Why, if there is no Devil; nay, unless the Devil is your God?"
–Thomas Carlyle, The Everlasting Yea and No

Max pulled the body close to him, his eyes wet with tears and his face screwed tight, his brow knotted in despair. He cradled his Master’s head in his arms and wailed towards Cassandra, rage and fear that he hadn’t felt for a long time boilingbehind his eyes.

“—YOU’D DO AS WE ASKED! RESTORE HIM! NOW!” Cassandra glided over to Max and his god-king without taking a single step, and she spun around so that her back was facing him. The back of her dress was torn, and something was struggling behind it. The vampire ripped another segment of the dress off and stared into what would have been her skin.

The vampire put his ear to the growth, then bit his lip, looking as if he were about to strike the thing. He listened some more. Cassandra looked out onto the ocean, her head lolling and eyes back in her head. She was murmuring dreamtalk while Max tried to negotiate.

“I don’t care,” he said, “Try anyway!” Max drew the Great Knife, its blade a blazing diamond as he directed it at the back of the vampiress.

“Even so, I could kill you right now and you’d lose any chance of surviving—“

It interjected. He’d end up killing Cass, too. He couldn’t go through with that, and it knew it. It had called his bluff. He always was a silver-tongue, thought Max. Disgusting bastard. Max pulled the fabric back over the talking thing and lowered Cassie to the sand to rest, her white hair draped over her face as her chest heaved gently. It took a lot out of her.

Out of options, the vampire cracked his knuckles maddeningly…and then began to pray, lashes sticky as he closed his eyes. He sent out his faith to Arimas, envisioning the power of the Manticore in all its majesty. Hours passed.

At last, the cloak began to stir. The nightwalker knelt before his god to help him up, so he could begin dressing his wounds and telling him how things had gone. The opportunity never came, for when he pulled, no effort was made to stand. When he tried again an arm broke off, then shriveled before it became ash.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

"But you couldn't last a lifetime, caught between here and the days of it...
Carving her name across your arms. With every wish it's hit or miss her, I told you so.
I've been cautious with the words I extend; Allow this year before the world starts to end...
Your father's dead, he passed in his sleep... Pray for us all."
-Coheed & Cambria "The Light & The Glass"

A deafening crack echoed as the thirsty barb of Cassandra's whip knocked the blade from the hand of the intruder. He acted as though he expected it, and made no effort to stop her. "I had just been holding onto that in case you proved to be too hostile to negotiate with," he says, acting with every muscle in his body not to rip the vampire whore into strips of jerky meat.

Her friend -the one he was looking for- was standing beside her. Even for a vampire, he looked dead. Easy to recognize, besides that. But what was wrong with his skin? He couldn't put a finger on it (couldn't bear to touch the vampire filth) but there was something wrong with him in general. If he looked too long, his senses seemed to narrow out the rest of his body to just an outline.

Then he noticed there were no other forces here. None that could constitute an entirely separate presence, that was certain. He smiled behind his plain mask. The idol's lair was now simply a husk. His blasphemies had sealed his fate, as far as Vauthor was concerned.

"You've picked the wrong time," said the harem master named Max, "strangers aren't welcome." He pulled a massive knife from behind his back and aimed it pointedly.

"Hm. I don't mean to cause any trouble. I'm just a man with a proposition."

"What do you offer in return?"

Vauthor grinned. He had never made deals on the fly before.

"The kind of power necessary to rebuild a kingdom." It worked. He saw the whore-master flinch. They were both aware that this place was becoming less and less real as the seconds passed. Large areas of the ocean were dented, as if something was pressuring them down. Clods of dirt were beginning to float carelessly into the sky. Safety was coming into question.

"And what exactly do you want?"

"I am a man of balance. The universe is filled with creatures that do not belong, and so they cause suffering for themselves and others by their existence. I put them out of their misery."

"I like this man," said Cassandra's back. Again, she was out of control of her body. A crude face with green splotches for eyes was the heart of the patch growing on her back. It popped Cassandra's arms out of their sockets and clapped the wrong-facing hands together.

"And who is this...Lovely lady?"

"This is Cassandra, my priestess. She was once employed under the name of Nediryo Pharxes, whom has just made himself known. He is now an indentured servant in my name, seeing as Cassandra took the liberty of stealing his last shards of power for me."

"Figures. And now he's just your genie?"

"Yes. I am waiting for him to become stronger again..." Max paused. Why was he saying this? Was he that desperate to talk to someone?

"So...What do you want me to do?"

OoC: Due to insaney's lack of internet at the moment, here's a short post to keep some momentum going.

IC:

Vauthor hadn’t expected his hastily formed offer to generate an immediate interest. Though, if the vampire still expected to inhabit this realm, something needed to be done about the degeneration. But at least, Vauthor thought to himself, Max should have asked for some form of proof that the angel was in actual possession of that kind of creation power. Clearly, dealing with the death of his so-called god must be interfering with his rationality—all the better, in Vauthor’s eyes.

The Seal Guardian turned to gaze across the sea and tapped a finger thoughtfully against the temple of his mask. His wings were well-hidden beneath the deep ruby robes he wore, and these clothes also obscured any traces of his angelic spiritual signature. For all he knew, the angel whore had told Max all about him, and Vauthor wouldn’t have previously planted seeds of mistrust ruining this plan. It was much too perfect to ruin.

“Are you familiar with the Christian Scriptures at all?” The question was meant as rhetorical. “The primary apocalyptic account in the Book of Revelation details many and varied plagues inflicted upon the world, induced by Yahweh’s wrath. Three groups of seven, each group with a unique conveyance. Seven seals, seven trumpets, and seven bowls. The seals, ah...no one seems to know where they all are.” He couldn’t restrain the smirk behind his mask. “The same for the trumpets. But the bowls... I know where they are.”

Vauthor glanced at Max and was met with a look that said get on with it or get out. Chuckling to himself, the angel said, “Demons comprise most of the rabble I clean up. Then there are corrupt, hypocritical humans holding religious office. And self-destructive half-breeds. Half-humans, half-elves... Half-angels and half-vampires..." He saw Max barely restrain an arching eyebrow. "Oh? Are you familiar with these blights upon existence? Surely, then, you understand my position."

He tossed another leather-bound bundle onto the sands at Max’s feet. “Consider it carefully. Should you decide to accept my offer, meet me in the town of Nord in northern Greenland, preferably within the next forty-eight hours.” Turning his back on Max and Cassandra, Vauthor crossed the dimensional barrier once again, leaving an afterthought behind him. “Oh, and if you do come, don’t forget to bring the contents of that package with you.”

Why are cathedrals so…creepy? He looked upon the imposing figure from the outside. The tower stood tall over him, and leaned back against the gloomy-grey skies. There were no clouds, it seemed. Everything was just washed over with one colour. Gold eyes were the only things that stood out in this place, and they shifted around, looking into every crevice, at every design and detail.

She was inside the place, probably some where high up where no-one could reach or see her. She needed time to think, or time to be alone—this was why he was out here and she was in there. To him, if he didn’t allow her time, he would be interrupting, an annoyance; poking his nose where it doesn’t belong. But he stayed outside, concerned. Perhaps he would go in after a little while and see how she was doing.

Maybe he should bring her something; it might do some good if he did. But it had to be the correct something, and not just anything. At that moment, he turned away from the building and looked around the area, wondering if she would like vanilla ice-cream.