[M] The Throne of Gods: Divinity's Requiem - IC

[Hannelorian]

A familiar scent consumed Temperance, the sweet smell of incense, the particular kind employed by the Vestal Virgins. It brought a wide smile to the Goddess of Virtue's face. "Igniteen." Temperance was not surprised to see her here. The stories of the wild flame that burned white hot in anger had been that of legend, even amongst the gods. "I'd take you everywhere if it meant I could inhale that scent." The smirk on Temperance's face was wild, indeed she was entirely intrigued to finally meet Igniteen.

"Crushing hope is easy." The Goddess replied smoothly, turning her face to properly look at the Goddess beside her. "Hope is a vapid emotion. It is superficial at best, damning at worst." The Goddess of Virtue shrugged her shoulders. "Hope does not guarantee survival, it merely prolongs the inevitable. To remind Hope that she is in fact hopeless is the greatest gift of all." A wicked giggle escaped her lips followed by a sigh.

Elayne and Kabuto began to drone on about their situation, facing it all with dignity as Guinevere quietly writhed in her mental anguish. The shine had worn off. But it wouldn't last for long. What was it about the other factions and their need to add a sense of poetry to everything? They couldn't simply accept fate without a rousing speech of some kind to still their nerves. It was only the boom of yet another familiar voice that brought the situation into perfect clarity. It wouldn't be like Harku to simply let his Councilors be taken, another loyal dog would be unleashed to retrieve them. Once more with gusto and feeling Markus gave them an opportunity to surrender and renounce their ways. This was getting old. Boring again. It was never any different with the likes of Heroism. Such bravado and arrogance. If it couldn't be backed up, there was nothing more than hollow promises, Guinevere all over again.

"Why can't they learn any new tricks?" Temperance wondered aloud as the darkness, a familiar tool, was employed against them. Dense and suffocating, stinging the eyes. Annoying more than anything else. "If you think simply because you stand united that we cannot conquer you... It is a rather sad state, assuming your victory ensures your defeat." Temperance's voice was stern, serious and commanding. Even through the darkness she made sure her presence was known and that she was not terribly pleased with this turn of events. Too many times had she seen this before, and it always ended the same way. Exactly as she wanted it to.

"Igniteen, can you burn off this foul smoke screen?" Temperance asked rather calmly as she fought through the pain and the discomfort. Making her way through the shroud toward Damian who she could hear losing control. He was still so young, and while it made him infinitely moldable, it also made him dangerous, especially to the deities on his own side. A juvenile God of the Apocalypse out of control was a useless God of the Apocalypse. The child needed a guiding hand, someone with a softer touch than Diz could always offer. He needed something maternal, a role Temperance attempted to fill to the best of her ability when she was in his presence.

A hand reached through the darkness and planted itself on Damian's shoulder, squeezing heavily and drawing him in. "Calm yourself, Damian darling." The Goddess of Virtue spoke once more with a commanding, but compassionate tone. The power of Virtuous Whispers employing themselves. "Patience." It was after all one of the most powerful virtues and one of the hardest to master. "If you channel your emotion into your power and wait for the right moment to strike, you will have your prize. The head of Heroism in your own two hands. Think of what that will feel like." Temperance smirked in the darkness as the stinging of her eyes produced silent tears. At the same time she could lend him her strength exactly as she had done for Inoschi when they moved to capture the errant and irritating goddess of hope. No, Temperance would have her revenge yet on that flitting dimwit.

The power leveraged against them was their own. Still furthering annoying that the forces of good would use against them. That was no matter. They would be outmatched. "Patience and strategic strikes." She reminded the young deity, the smile spread across her face broken by the sincerest of giggles. Perhaps this would prove entertaining yet. A fun little game of cat and mouse. Cats though, cats had nine lives.

[RedKayne]

Kayne/Purg Co-Op Part 1

Background Music - Carcari's Symphony

A cold wind howled across the empty streets of the abandoned town, sweeping ash and soot in aimless spirals. The moonless sky above cast the Grey Plains into a haunting half-light, where every shadow seemed deeper, every silence more ominous. Diz walked with measured steps, his heavy boots striking the cracked cobblestones with a deliberate, almost ceremonial rhythm. His presence alone was enough to deepen the gloom, a walking embodiment of ruin against the backdrop of Carcari’s desolation.

The crossroads lay at the heart of the town, where four streets converged in the shape of a jagged scar. Once a bustling center of life, the city had long since fallen prey to the nightmares that thrived in this forsaken realm. Empty buildings loomed like skeletons, their crumbling walls whispering tales of despair. Shattered windows stared blankly, their jagged edges catching faint glimmers of light like teeth waiting to bite.

The air was thick and oppressive. Even Carcari’s usual cacophony of distant screams and eldritch roars seemed muted here. The town had been silenced by something far more terrible than time. Diz tilted his head, his burning red eyes scanning the darkness. His lips curled into a faint smirk.

“Tell me about your brother, Jonas,” the God of Ruin spoke to his silent companion beside him. Somewhere in the distance, a faint scream echoed, swallowed quickly by the abyss. He ignored that sound as if it was only a pleasant breeze rustling through the area.

As the two gods walked through the darkness that was Carcari, Jonas had remained completely silent since his report. It had not crossed his mind that Harku had simply let him live to send a message, but the idea was now sowing doubt in his mind. Was the entire plan sniffed out from the beginning? Jonas closed his eyes. No. It couldn’t be that simple. Diz had other plans, he was sure. This had to just have been an announcement, an exploratory strike to sniff out his foe’s defenses. Which had been impenetrable, of course. Still, Jonas’ survival was enough, and Diz had been satisfied. But what he had told the young God of Night had him internally conflicted.

Promotion? Sure, the title of Horseman needed to be filled, but Jonas? He was simply a cog in the machine. Why him, of all people? Was it his obedience? His ability to survive? His connection to his mother? And what would his mother say, anyway? To her, Jonas had always been a failure of a child, unable to stand up to the expectations of bloodlust and violence that the Maldor family line had stood for. To be recognized as her equal…the opportunity was tempting, but Jonas wasn’t sure he wanted that limelight. To be lauded as one of the four generals of a revolution he didn’t entirely stand for so much as hide behind…

Jonas glanced up, recognizing the abandoned town that they were walking through. He had hidden out here for a time, lurking in the shadows of the ghost town and subsisting on what food he could find amidst the debris. It was here he’d found Diz, and here Diz had extended him the olive branch of joining him. A fate Jonas still was debating whether it was better than death or not. He gazed into the shattered remains of a window, finding his shadowed visage staring back into the dim reflection. He did not need to disappear into the endless night now, though his face and body remained eternally wreathed in shadow. Darkness curled and danced around him, specters of night swirling as he walked side by side with his commander. The comparative silence was eerie, but what Jonas preferred. Silence. Quiet and solitude. A place where he could be alone with his thoughts, nobody capable of disturbing his peace…

Except for his commander, of course. Diz’s voice cut through the silence, issuing an order he hadn’t expected. “My…brother?” Cruor…Jonas swallowed once, tilting his head downward to look at the darkened, shattered cobblestone. “Cruor was…a lot like my mother in many ways.” The silver slits that were his eyes disappeared as he shut them. “Violent, crass, a brazen risk-taker, never afraid to speak his mind whenever he pleased.” Silence for a moment. “He was the favorite in the family. Followed in Mother’s footsteps to a T. Unlike myself.” Jonas shook his head. “For a long time, I hated him. But when I was lost in the emptiness of the Nightmare Realm, I ended up longing for my family in the eternal chaos. When I saw him again, I wanted nothing more than for him to acknowledge me, to see me as an equal.”

Jonas kept walking, swirling thoughts in his mind fighting to be spoken. “I was lost in a madness of my design then, but Cruor…though he shared Mother’s bloodlust and thrill of the fight, he had one stark difference: He cared about me. Deep down, though we had a lot of differences, we were still brothers, and that bond transcended the realms and the chaos.” Another sigh. “I…still can’t believe he’s gone.” Jonas omitted the glaring information that it was his hand that put Cruor in the grave, as far as he knew. He didn’t need to talk about the fight with Baldramort. Didn’t need to discuss the dark pit his mind had fallen into that day, and still fell back to at times. He didn’t need to cry again.

“I miss him.” Jonas’s voice choked, immediately threatening to disobey the very thing he had just talked about. Jonas held out his arm; the shadows swirling about the limb faded for a moment, revealing a tattered, bloodstained crimson coat sleeve for an instant before the darkness returned, obscuring his true form once again. “I still wear his coat…it’s the only thing I have to remember him by.” Jonas bit his lip, fighting off a wave of melancholy, when a thought occurred to him. “Why do you ask, sir?”

The God of Ruin walked in measured silence, the faint echo of his steps on the worn gray cobblestones filling the stillness. After a time, Diz’s voice broke through, smooth and deliberate. “For two particular reasons, my dear Jonas,” he began, his crimson eyes glowing like embers in the unending night as he cast a sidelong glance toward the God of Shadows.

“I like to know my people,” Diz continued, his tone carrying an almost conversational ease. “What makes them tick? What drives them? Their goals, their ambitions. It’s not just about where you stand in the rebellion; it’s about where you’ll stand after. When the Monarchs are gone, the new order takes shape. That’s why I decided someone like Aris was a liability—a would-be usurper who’d only undermine everything we’re fighting for. Some truly believe in our cause, Jonas, who want to tear down the Monarchs to build something better.”

He came to a halt, turning fully to face Jonas, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “And then, there are those who don’t.” Diz let the words hang in the air, heavy with implication, as his eyes bore into the younger celestial. “You and I both know you’re not one of the zealots, Jonas. You’re not here out of blind faith or lofty ideals.”

The faintest hint of a smile curved his lips, and his tone softened, adopting a disarming warmth. “And that’s perfectly fine. You don’t have to be. I just want you to know that, regardless of why you’re here, you are welcome in this order.” His voice held an almost paternal quality, a striking contrast to his usual malevolence as if offering a rare glimpse of sincerity. “You deserved to be cared for, Jonas,” Diz stated, seeing right through that Jonas lived a life of loneliness.

Diz turned away, resuming his steady stride. “As for the second reason,” he said, his tone shifting to blunt transparency, “I need every shred of information I can get to find your father.”

[Scottie]

Ash stained fingertips drifted out towards Temperance. Igniteen smirked, humour dancing through her dark pupils. “Oh, such temptation.” The Goddess of Fire stepped closer to the Goddess of Virtue, heat moving with her every step. Stalking around the fallen Goddess of Hope, Igniteen let Temperance’s words drift around her like a soft caressing breeze. While the Goddess of Fire did not fully agree with the breaking of hope, she was impressed by the feat. Hope lived within every one of them, even if their hope was for a new beginning, a fitting end to a wretched world or even just a chance at causing some divine chaos. They all had hope.

Words twisted around them, but Igniteen kept her attention on Temperance. The Goddess of Virtue was a curiosity. The others could fit so beautifully into this spider web, Temperance felt other. Before Igniteen could even spark another conversation, a new voice broke through the gentle rumblings. Long dark locks slithered down her back as she tilted her head towards the newcomer. An eyebrow was cocked high as Markus commanded them to surrender. Damian was the first to air what Igniteen also felt. Humour. Pity that the God of Heroism could be so stupid.

The bindings surrounding their prey clattered to the stone floor and Igniteen let out a long-exaggerated sigh. Igni tilted her head to one side, her hair licking around her forearms as Elayne appeared to use a familiar power against them. A harsh laugh caught in her throat as she glanced towards Chisoni. “Well that is interesting.” She called to her companion before the smoke descended around her form.

‘Igniteen, can you burn off this foul smoke screen?’

“It would be my pleasure, my dear.” Lazily, her form shifted to her left and she felt warmth spread through her body. Travelling down her outstretched arms, she flexed her fingers wide as she felt the tentacles of Chisoni’s power wrap around her lower body. Slamming her hands together, a wave of heat flooded from her body. The air bubbled through the veil of tears, the fire aiming to burn through the power and smoother it. Bringing her right hand down, Igniteen gripped one of the small wooden talisman’s from her wrist and crushed it in her palm.

The darkness in her pupils was replaced by a rumbling deep red that only burned brighter as her fingertips lit up with a bright orange flame. As a gap formed in the veil of tears, just wide enough for her to see their enemy, Igniteen bent. Slowly spreading her arms wide as she bowed low for the four, her gaze never dropping as she grinned. Markus had been ear marked for Damian. Hope and Knowledge were important...Honour...there was no need for honour the way this world was going. “Kabuto…May I have this dance?”

[Azazeal849]

"And let’s be honest, you wouldn’t dare kill me. You’re nothing more than Diz’s obedient lapdog," she spat, each word dripping with venom.

The Hollow Maiden looked ready to erupt, her hand snapping back to strike down at the other goddess, but she halted at the last moment when the child who was not a child stepped between them.

"We may not be able to silence you," Damian continued, his ashen-grey lips curling into a sadistic grin, "but we are certainly not above savouring your screams. Torture has its own melody, after all."

Chisoni looked away, as if disgusted, but she didn’t speak.

Before the apocalypse child could carry out his threat, there was a flash like a lightning strike. The ground quaked as if struck by a mighty hammer, sending ripples of loose scrap heaving out across the clearing. Markus, the god of heroes, rose from the scattering dust. Chisoni looked away from Elayne and towards the new threat. Her expression was shadow-veiled, but her frozen stance radiated disbelief.

As a consequence, she did not see the dampening manacles fall from Elayne’s wrists until it was too late.

"Veil of Tears," Elayne proclaimed, her voice firm and resolute as arcane energy surged from the tome.

Chisoni did not share Igniteen’s opinion that the mimicry was interesting.

“You dare…!” the Hollow Maiden spat. Her arm lashed back, her fist closing around the handle of a whip that materialised from the air. The lash was a coil of purple fire that raged against the sudden blackness, but as it slashed through the murk it hit only air where Elayne’s smile had been a moment before.

“Where are you?” Chisoni hissed, and the glowing lash swept around with a singing crack, again finding no target. The goddess of grief cursed, winding in the scourge and pulling a cloak-wrapped forearm up close to her shadowed face. A god’s own power held no terror for them, but Elayne’s imitation was formidable.

“You asked if I hate my brother for what he is.” she wheezed as she stalked through the black cloud. “How dare you, Elayne. That’s the thing with you gods of the cerebral, you know nothing of feeling. I might hate my brother, but for what he is? Never. I will never condemn god or mortal for being what they were born to be. That’s your way, Luthious and Harku’s!”

Spinning towards a sound beyond the cloying shadows, she snapped the whip again. The thread of fire lashed out like a striking cobra and this time it bit, coiling around something. The Hollow Maiden snatched her arm back, yanking the prize back towards her.