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Thread: To Rise Again [Closed to Chaotic Cam and Zeebat]

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    Default To Rise Again [Closed to Chaotic Cam and Zeebat]



    Hush little baby, don't say a word...

    Lightning flashed, illuminating the small room and the woman inside of it. She was of medium build, with long ruby hair and a smile that could melt butter. Her name was Seraphina, and she bore the honor of a lifetime.

    Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird...

    She smiled as she turned towards the fire, a bundle was wrapped in her arms, and she set it down lovingly in the wooden crib in front of her. The child looked so peaceful and warm, perfectly happy as he cooed and reached out his little fingers for his mother. "Oh Samael, what beautiful plans our lord has for you...." she sighed, almost sounding exalted as she picked up the pillow that she'd been knitting earlier. It was warm, heavy, and embroidered with vines that snaked through out it. She had meant it as a gift. It was a gift.

    And if that mockingbird don't sing...

    Seraphina began to hum as she brought the pillow closer to her child, rocking the crib as it hovered over the little one's face. He was so cute, and while she had wanted to keep it, she knew there was a better purpose for one so young and empty.

    Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring...

    "Please, mother! Stop this madness!" Yelled a voice from the corner, where a young woman with equally vibrant hair sat, bound to her chair with ropes. Seriphina huffed in annoyance, but nothing would ruin this beautiful, beautiful day. The day their Lord rose and took back what was his, and gave all the promises he'd made to the witches long ago.....

    And if that diamond ring is brass, mama's gonna buy you a looking glass...

    The chant began, and as the pillow pressed down, the runes that had been carved around the crib began to glow. The child did not weep, nor cry, nor wail. It lay there, quite content to simply dream as the pressure grew, and it's breathing was replaced by another's. Latin continued to pour from Seraphina's lips like a prayer as she finally removed her hands, bent down, and looked her lord in the face. He was perfect. She kissed his forehead as his eyes opened, revealing a blackness that seemed unending.

    "Welcome, my little prince. Soon the whole word shall be yours."

    Hush little baby don't you cry, soon everyone on this Earth will die...




    8 years had passed since that fateful night in May, and the household of Seraphina Hale had been completely transformed. No longer did she have a husband, no longer did she have her son, but instead the Dark Lord Lucifer himself. It was strange, raising the devil. She'd almost expected him to be a man inside of the boy's body, but no. In fact, sometimes Seraphina wondered if her son still lived when she watched Samael play with the other children. Well, she'd almost believe he was a regular child - if it wasn't for the sadistic pleasure he found when hurting said boys if they displeased him. Sometimes it was annoying when she found them bleeding out in the barn, sometimes missing a limb or two - but luckily she was a witch and a memory spell here and there became common. Most of the villagers nearby were under the assumption that bears kept attacking, as they lived near the woods.

    Well, let them think what they'd think. In five months time they'd all be dead anyways. The Gates of Hell would open and Lucifer would free his fellow Fallen, then raze hell upon the sky as the final battle begun. Lucifer would remake this world into a land of freedom for the witches, where they would never have to hide again. That was his promise, and she could almost taste the sweet fruit it bore as the date loomed nearer.

    "My Lord, I was wondering, regarding the matter of the first ritual -"

    "Did I say you could speak, Beelzebub?"

    "No, my Lord, I'm sorry, but -"

    "Then hold your tongue!" The boy was lounging in a makeshift throne, carved from obsidian and decorated with gold vines and leaves. He raised his small hand, and suddenly Beelzebub was unable to speak, his tongue temporarily resting in Lucifer's own hand. He smirked. Idiot should know better.

    "However, we do need to speak of such a thing. I have dithered in this place for too long, waiting until this vessel matured enough for me to call upon you all. I am tired of waiting. It is time we -" Suddenly a chill swept through the room, touching all those who had once set foot in the gates of Heaven. Samael frowned, exchanging a look with the only other Fallen in the room.

    "Celestial," he breathed, trying not to show his worry. Did his father finally take interest in the affairs of Earth? Did his rising really invoke the wrath of God enough that he'd send down one of his warriors to fight him? Well, the more he thought about it, the more he was looking forward to it. The old fool could try to stop him, but this time? This time he would win the war.

    He made a decision, then turned to one of his favorite witches. "Alora, go forth and investigate who has arrived. Bring them here by any means necessary, but do try subterfuge first this time?"

    Alora smirked. "Yes, my lord, I shall return as soon as possible." The witch left, and Lucifer remained, hidden away in his mother's mansion near the woods. His rise would be quiet this time around, it had to be. He couldn't have anything disturbing his task. Soon, however, his quiet presence would make way for thunder, and a new Heaven, Hell, and Earth would arise. This time, ruled by him.
    Last edited by Chaotic Cam; 03-09-2023 at 08:32 PM.

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    There was burning…pain…falling…. Falling…Father! Father help me! Why?! Please…His wings tore in the light as shot down like a comet. Raw, exposed, he was in so much pain. He needed to hide. Shelter. please… Familiar spark…he needed somewhere to hide, someone to hide…



    Opening the eyes of his new vessel, Michael hissed in discomfort, the body was achy from disuse and the lingering injuries that had landed it here. Squinting in the darkness of the hospital ward, the archangel studied his surroundings, noting that there were no humans nearby and the only noises came from the various devices and machines placed around the room. Huffing, the angel swung the mortal body he now inhabited off the bed, fighting the shiver in his legs when bare feet met cold tile. Making his way over to the nearest reflective surface, he could see Michael examined the body by the light of the distant moon shining in through the window.

    The body was young, likely male, (not that angels in general cared much about that sort of thing, but humans always expected him to be male, so Michael had gotten used to it), and in decent condition for having been motionless in a bed for so long. The body had soft dark blond hair and light-brown eyes, now more amber-gold thanks to the angel's influence on the vessel. Dressed only in a hospital gown and with several tubes and such sticking into him, Michael supposed the body cut a rather pitiful figure.

    Breathing out, he cast his thoughts away from such mortal considerations, drawing deep in the power that remained to him while stuffed into a human body. There was energy here, celestial energy. Something about it felt off, but Michael wouldn't put it past his senses to be off right now…not when his wings still had the impression of burning and charring, all but the primaries feeling crippled like he had never felt before. He had to find them, they might have an idea of whatever had happened, or at least the reason he was here. Michael hadn't been on earth since the days of Eden… Of course, he had given visions to prophets and saints, slayed 'dragons', but none of that had actually been him walking upon the naked earth.

    Ripping out the cables connected to his new body, he ignored the sudden beeping and alarms as he made his way to the window. It was shut, the sort of window that wasn't meant to open, but Michael forced the window to open. It was a cold night but cloudless as he climbed out and started scaling his way down the side of the building. The angel supposed it was fortunate that he was only on the second floor, but even so, his vessel's hands were raw and scraped from the descent. Not that it mattered. He would be leaving the body as soon as he could figure out the situation and regain himself.

    Straightening out his hospital gown, he jogged his way into the city.
    The Guide to the Underzee. | Praise be to Scree. | Death is only the end if you assume the story is about you.

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    It didn’t take long for Alora to find his target. After all, the stench of a celestial was rather pungent to his senses. That, coupled with his magic, brought Alora to the cesspool that was called New York City. He couldn’t help but crinkle his face in disgust as he watched a man piss in an alleyway nearby. He wanted to vomit.

    “I hope this place is one of the first to burn,” he muttered, trailing off as his target came into sight. He couldn’t help but smirk at the teenager, watching as the flimsy garment he wore fluttered in the breeze, revealing his backside. Rolling his eyes, Alora straightened his suit and began to walk towards him.

    “Hello, Celestial. I’ve been waiting for you. How about we go somewhere less… public, to discuss your arrival? My colleagues are eager to meet you.” He made sure to sound as friendly and unassuming as possible. After all, his lord did suggest subterfuge… whatever that meant.

    He could see people rushing out of the hospital behind them, and he had no doubt they were looking for their escaped patient. Alora almost found it strange that a celestial would appear this way - but it wasn’t his place to ask questions. Only to carry out the Dark Lord’s wish.

    “Please, come with me,” he repeated, nodding his head toward the building and the cops that were starting to gather. “I suspect you don’t want to go back, and it seems like a search party is almost underway.”

    At these words a sleek black limousine pulled up to the curb, it’s doors opening as if by magic to greet the two inside.
    Last edited by Chaotic Cam; 03-10-2023 at 10:31 AM.

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    Turning to the address, Michael eyed the mortal that had called out to him. The man was human, but he was certainly touched by something more. Just what that was, however… Well, the angel was hurt and crippled in more than one way. His light was frayed, too fragile for him to feel his surroundings clearly with it, to interact on multiple dimensions as angels usually did. Stuffing himself inside a human body the way the archangel had done robbed the clarity of what remained, but it was the only way Michael could protect his raw, exposed essence.

    Back to the matter at hand, well, the man didn't seem overly hostile. He wasn't possessed either, there was no tinge of sulfur on his tongue. As for how a human might know what he really was…perhaps there was a prophet active? Perhaps a saint? One of the churches was possible, but given how fragmented the mortal faith was, Michael didn't think much of them.

    Eyes flicking back the way he had come, Michael considered how annoying it would be to be detained by humans. It hadn't occurred to him that a comatose body would be missed. He hadn't considered his vessel at all really, having been more frantic than anything when…when…when he had descended.

    Did humans normally care about missing bodies?

    Either way, mortal interference was annoying and going with this human at least promised some sort of answers. Perhaps even the reason as to why he was on the mortal earth once again. Michael was confident he could deal with anything a mere human might try, even crippled as he was. Humans were mere worms when compared to an angel, never mind him.

    “I'll accompany you for now, human.” He rasped his assent, the vessel's voice rough with disuse, though it carried a faint echo of angelic melody.

    Moving towards the strange vehicle, Michael waited until had gotten in before entering himself. He would never trust anyone at his back, regardless of who or what they were.
    The Guide to the Underzee. | Praise be to Scree. | Death is only the end if you assume the story is about you.

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    Alora smiled and nodded before sliding into the limo. It was a rather standard vehicle for it's kind, with plenty of room for several people to sit. But, they were not people. Not technically at least. Alora had been on this Earth for around 126 years by now but still looked like he was in the prime of his youth. He had skin that had been touched by the sun, and long black hair that was secured down his neck. He unbuttoned the front of his suit, sighing in relief. He really needed to get in shape.

    "I'm sure you have questions," Alora began as the vehicle started to move. "And I would be happy to answer them, if you answer two questions for me." He leaned forward, looking the Celestial straight in the eye. "Which one are you, and why are you here?"

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    Looking down at the human, Michael hummed with distaste. Those questions certainly ruled out that the human was anyone of particular importance. Any saint worth their salt, or even any holy knight, would be able to get a sense of his nature, no matter how degraded it currently was. The human vessel he had taken might muddle things, but not to such an extent, surely…

    “I am the Sword of Truth, the Archangel of Mercy, the Right Hand of the Lord.” He stated simply, while ignoring the second half of that question.

    There were many more titles engraved into his being, but these should suffice. Michael still didn't know why or even how he was here, the memories nothing but fragmented bursts of star-bright light, searing darkness, and pain… There had to be a reason, there always was. The Lord was perfect in all ways, even if the archangel admitted that the purpose of this affair was unknown to even he.
    The Guide to the Underzee. | Praise be to Scree. | Death is only the end if you assume the story is about you.

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    Hell, why do they all insist on so many titles.... He couldn't help but raise his eyes at the last bit, as the celestial had revealed his name without speaking it. Right hand of god. "Micheal," he breathed, trying to hide his swirl of emotions. "The archangel. It is... a pleasure to meet you, truly." Alora couldn't help but notice Michael ignored his second question, which irked him. Either way, his Lord would pry it out of his lips one way or another. He was, however, worried about taking him to Lucifer now. Either his lord would be happy, or very, very angry. He'd prefer the first one, but now knowing this was an archangel... it might throw a wrench into their plans. Fuck.

    "I am Alora Pendergast," he offered in return. "I must admit I lured you here under false pretenses, Archangel Michael. Then again, we're already here, so I will let my Master explain the rest.... if you survive," he smirked, all pretences gone as the door opened onto the lush fields of Europe's outskirts. How they had traveled thousands of miles in under five minutes was a trick he'd learned long ago. It was rather convenient after all. He didn't park far, as the small manor which housed their Coven could be seen not too far away, a trail of cobblestones leading to the house.

    Alora stepped out of the limo, once more buttoning his suit as he took a deep breath of fresh air. He wasn't looking forward to announcing just exactly who he found. But he had to, he was sure Michael appearing without notice would make his lord even angrier. Bracing himself, Alora began to walk towards the house, not that worried about Michael not following him. After all, the curiosity itself must be killing him. That, or the cold air surrounding the place, even though it was the middle of summer. Overall, if a human neared this place they'd be overcome with a sense of doom, and they generally scurried away after that, like the ants they were.

    Walking into the manor he was greeted by Beelzebub. "Well?" The Prince of Hell asked him. It had always confused him how the mortals had though Beelzebub and their lord were the same person. Prince was only a title, after all. But the thing that truly set them apart was the hideous scabs that marred Beelzebub's face - that and the cockroaches that liked to crawl in and out of his orifices. Honestly, Alora debated once again getting some bug spray. He'd take his chances on living or not.

    "Michael," Alora leaned forward to whisper in his ear. Beelzebub's eyes widened, but he hid the fear quickly. An archangel was nothing to be taken lightly. Especially this one. Nodding, Beelzebub took over Alora's job and went to tell their Lord. Alora sighed in relief, moving to the kitchen. He was fucking famished. As he made his way towards the fridge he felt a surge of power blast through the manor, and he shivered at the pure rage he felt, none of it his own. Alora stuffed a piece of chicken in his mouth, chewing quickly before going to watch the show. If nothing else, this would be interesting. He heard the front door open.
    Last edited by Chaotic Cam; 03-17-2023 at 12:08 AM.

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    Standing outside in the cold air, Michael glared at nothing in particular, the wind chilling the flesh of his vessel as he contemplated his next course of action. Out here, the stench of the infernal was thick, a cloying disgusting scent that covered the earthy smell of the surrounding nature. Lacking much of the scent of humanity, the angel could only imagine that they were far from other human habitations.

    The house in front of him could hardly b called 'human habitation', not when the power of the infernal threat oozed from the structure like puss from a wound. Most, even most angels, would feel some trepidation over entering what was obviously a stronghold of Hell while in a human vessel, alone, and crippled. The archangel, though, just felt calm, this was the calmest he had felt ever since this mess had started.

    He was the Sword of the Lord. Michael's duty was to dispatch whatever demons had crawled their way onto the mortal world back to the pit. Whatever else was going on, that was a truth that had never failed him. Whatever it was, a lowly imp or even some duke of hell. It would fall to his blade. Perhaps then he would have some idea of just what was wanted from him now.

    Reaching into his light that hovered along with his wings in a dimension just slightly to the right, Michael forced his way inside the house, the small frame tense with his power.
    The Guide to the Underzee. | Praise be to Scree. | Death is only the end if you assume the story is about you.

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    Alora was perfectly serious as the door opened, and the archangel stepped inside. "This way," he said, turning around and leading Michael to the throne room. As they walked, whispers filled the house, harsh and quick as they wound themselves into tongues of old. The floorboards seemed to creak and there were glimmers - shadows - in the mirrors that lined the walls. Cockroaches scurried along the floor as they reached the end of the hall, where a large black door awaited. He opened it, and they went in.

    "Michael," Lucifer stated, a look of disgust on his face. He was lounging in his makeshift throne, his small fingers steepled before him. Even though he looked the age of eight, he was still forbiddable even sitting. His black eyes seemed endless, the white barely visible. Beyond that he looked like any other little boy, with a black mop of hair and even a sprinkle of freckles around his nose. But he wasn't any other boy, and the heat that permeated around him sizzled the air. "So, you're the one our father decided to send. I should have known it would be you, after all. His favorite." He spit out.

    He stood up, head tall as his fingers intertwined behind his back. He looked Michael up and down, finally drinking in his appearance. He was inhabiting a teenage mortal, a rather sickly looking one too. Strange choice... it was then that Lucifer felt it. The weakness. The diminished light. The scent of one who had fallen, like a scorching comet through the sky. He couldn't help it, he laughed.

    "No, it can't be," he murmured, not bothering to hide his amusement. "You've fallen! Truly, brother, you must have done something horrid to incur His wrath so. Tell me, what is it that you've done? I really am dying to know," he chuckled, finally stopping in front of him, waiting. But then he saw Michael's expression, and his eyes widened. "You didn't know," he whispered, feeling a hint of sorrow in his chest, before quickly squashing it.

    Lucifer scoffed, "Truly, are you that ignorant, or are you just in denial? Either way, you being here interferes with my plans, so tell me, brother, what is it you intend to do here? Because I can give you two options. One, I kill you. Or at least banish you to a hell of my own making... or, you could join me. Join me, and return to Heaven."

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    Taking a shuddering breath, Michael fought to steady himself, pushing down the jolt of horror that chilled his insides like a particularly virulent parasite. His ancient enemy's chosen appearance was unexpected, but Samael Lucifer was a liar beyond compare. The first of the fallen was known for his twisting words, even before his rebellion. Just because, just because Michael was rather disoriented and feeling oddly weak, did not mean that he had Fallen! There was no way he could just Fall…

    There was no way Father would cast him down after so long. (The Lord had been absent from the Heaven's for so long…)

    “Cease your lies, Adversary!” The archangel hissed, damaged wings flaring, fighting to manifest. “I-I haven't Fallen.”

    Michael fought against the sudden cold press of pain as he tried to call out the eternally burning blade he had always called his. The sword refused to answer the call. His hand felt like he was slowly dipping it into acid that burned through his vessel to the vulnerable, soft light of the being that hid beneath it.

    “You've grown rusty in your prison if you actually think I'd ever believe your offer, Satan.”

    Even in the stronghold of his enemy, the archangel stood tall, his shadow casting the form of his wings on the floor and wall. Most of them were ragged and broken, hanging loosely even in shadow, but his two primary wings still flared strongly despite their torn appearance.
    The Guide to the Underzee. | Praise be to Scree. | Death is only the end if you assume the story is about you.

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