Dwindling Glory - Lament of the Fallen IC

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Jillian Aiya

Jillian liked Alice; the woman reminded her of a friend's mother and she thought that had Alex not been so stressed and under so much pressure in the brief amount of time she had known him, she might see some more of this pleasant woman dancing about the kitchen in him. The thought made her smile. It was short lived, the conversation turning to their misadventures and Alice White's face becoming harder as Jill and Leon shared their tale. By the end of it she was pretty sure that the werelioness was now seasoning angrily. Jillian had never seen such a thing and Leon's words when he returned to them said that he read her discomfort on her face.

What followed was perhaps one of the strangest familial conversations Jillian had ever heard but then again, to her knowledge, this was the first time she had known a family of were-anythings. Maybe conversations about revenge and not getting killed just happened.. she didn't think so, but it made her feel a little better about the casual talk of such heavy subject matter.

The packets of blood sliding across the counter rated an arch of her dark brows. That explained how Leon was going to be fed without someone opening a vein for the cause. The thought of the vampire coming to her to quench his thirst, his lips and teeth at her neck while he held her close, dark hair tickling her cheek as she... wait. That went off on a tangent. When this was all over, if the world was still standing, she was going to have to get out on a date or something. Crushing on the undead or the damned or whatever was a sure sign that she needed to get out more, Jillian decided while trying to fight down the flush of heat in her cheeks.

A convenient distraction arrived in the shape of an antique dagger that Alex laid upon the polished counter top. Jillian's eyes roamed over the wealth of sigils and runes etched into the scabbard, a low buzz rising to the periphery of her attention. Dark eyes narrowed and she tried to ignore it, looking to Alex. "Do you think-" the words died in her throat as the silver wires snapped. The buzzing intensified and began to become painful, making her wince. But that didn't compare at all with the feeling when the blade was unsheathed. It was like an icepick behind her eyes and very nearly made Jillian cry out; she had to look away and as she did Azrael's voice whispered in her mind. Holy of Holies. The Athame.

The what? What just happened? Was that you? Jillian's thoughts were accusatory as the pain began to recede. She tried to cover her actions even as her thoughts were directed inward in another conversation entirely. "Sorry guys... part of being someone who studies relics. Opening seals and things without so much as a pair of white cotton gloves for protection causes a sort of knee-jerk reaction." It was part true, again, at least. She studied the blade while the voice of an angel in her mind spoke. My apologies, Jillian Aiya. I was... unprepared for such a power and we both suffered as a result. It was thought to be lost though Uriel believed that the werelion might still hold it after his lover died protecting it.

The pain was forgiven, replaced with another that was all her own making. The photo on the fridge, the man beside Alex looked uncannily like Leon. And the flirting... Perhaps it was more than just teasing and there was something going on here. Something that most certainly didn't involve her. A wave of sadness and resignation rolled over Jillian even as she tried to console herself that nothing likely would have come from it anyway. Casting the thought aside, Jillian asked "Alex, just what is this? Those sigils..." she breathed, her eyes roving across them and Azrael's gift of knowledge to her making their meanings and purposes jump and flicker in her vision like words written in fire upon the air. The sigil of her covenant upon her chest ached. She waited anxiously for the were's explanation as well as the angel's.
 
Ezeckial the Fallen​

Ezeckial wasn't far out of the Church of Latter Day Saints when it happened. It was sudden and it was immediate, familiar and strange all at once. Pain, or rather what he registered as pain. The Pit had long sense numbed his ability to feel much of anything, so cruel and so constant were the tortures that dwelt with in, even for those who were tormentors themselves as he had been. The body remembers though. Even outside of his brief reprise from the prison for the Fallen and the Damned, he could still taste teh soot and ash, could still feel the flames. He remembered the pain of simply existing in that Hell hole. So now, when his body picked up a new sense of pain in the night with no apparent cause, he knew something was amiss. But this was so... familiar, yet he could not place his figner upon it. Perhaps his time had been longer spent than he had as of yet realized, as if the swirling vortex of new information was not enough to tell him he was no longer in a time he recognized, but he simply could not understand why he knew this pain in the core of his being. It made his visibly recoil as he walked down the street, stopping him in his tracks as though he had been stabbed from behind.

Turning around, he faced the direction of this pain, which in itself was strange. It was as if he had been harpooned by some demonic whaler and they were now pulling him forwards through the waters, and yet he did not move. He merely felt the pain and the line as though it were a sign, to follow it, to know this pain for what it was. To his knowledge, nothing made by man could cause him this level of discomfort. No, this was of angelic origin - somewhere in either Heaven or Hell, the source of this uncomfortable sensation had been spawned. This was specific, it was targeting angels. Whether or not they were Fallen or neutral, he could not say but the drive to get answers, to know where he was, when he was, and how the world had gotten this way combined with this - he had had no leads before for answers, now he did.

Against the crowd he now walked where as before he had been walking with it. Two blocks was he from the church, he now headed back towards it. The parking lot there had been near empty, two cars were there (Ezeckial had a strange fascination with the metal carriages. They let humans move faster than was ever possible with just their legs, and yet they were not as fast as flying. He couldn't help but wonder why everyone wasn't flying a plane) and that meant it was private, away from most prying eyes. He began to jog, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts a second. What was this pain? How close was it? How did he know it was close? Was he the only one who felt it? Were other angels or fallen being pulled by the same pain? Too many questions, no answers, he needed to get there and he needed to do it as fast as possible. He would fly, it was his only option. He hadn't flown since Italy, when he had managed to get away from the site of his escape as quickly as possible. Since then he had tried his best to blend in with the rest of humanity so as to ward off any persuers. So far it had worked out for him but now he had to take a chance. If he could feel this, so could other angels, and if he was allowed to walk the earth there was no telling who would be drawn to its pull.

By the time he was in the parking lot, he had broken out in a run. He turned and sprinted into the nearly empty lot, running past the front entrance just as the priest from before came out. It took the priest a moment to recognize who it was that was running through the parking lot, and when he did he recoiled, thinking instinctively to call the police. What a surprise and what awe must have passed over his face when he saw that Ezeckial was not running towards him or the church but rather past it out into the middle of the parking lot. As he watched the Fallen run beneath a street lamp, his shadow changed first. The priest looked down and saw the distinct shading of two wings for a moment before his eyes were drawn up to the real things as they unfolded, seemingly not hindered by Ezeckial's clothing. They sprang forth, grey as ash as though they had always been there for the priest to see and yet he did not see them. He watched as the Fallen Angel, unbeknownst to him, bent down onto his haunches and jumped impossibly high into the air, taking flight and disappearing into the night far above the priests' head. Letting out a held shuddering breath, the false priest got down on his knees and folded his hands, beginning to pray to the god he "believed" in.

Ezeckial flew hard and fast into the night, following the invisible tendril of pain to its source. the closer he got,t he more it hurt, and more desperate he felt the need to know.
 
Leon the Spiteful
Leon slightly swayed on his feet, barely comprehending Jillian's concerned words. "...Hm? Oh, yeah, I'm alright, just... ah... hungry." He winced, half-smiling. His voice was clearly missing its usual edge, but he didn't reveal to her any details; he wanted to spare her sanity from any further supernatural weirdness.

The vampire took the backpack from the werelion, gently slinging it over his shoulder. "Thanks, Alex." He held the detective's gaze for a moment before letting his eyes fall away. He knew the werelion was very much aware of the situation, but hoped he could trust him; as famished as he was, he wouldn't dare hurt anyone in the house (lest he be ripped to shreds).

He slid into a tall chair at the counter, attempting to be smooth and mask the fatigue slowly consuming him. Hooking his heel on the bottom rung to keep his body steady, he leaned his chest against the marble, eyelids heavy and threatening to shut. He remained motionless, though his attention immediately set on Alice as she entered the kitchen. He smiled amicably at her, but was soon wishing for Alex's return as she bustled around the room. Drakkan were merely chihuahuas next to this woman...

To his and Jillian's relief, Alex reentered the kitchen. Leon's eyes shot to the blood bags in his hands, fighting against his instincts to attack them. He clamped his hand over his mouth just as a primal growl ripped from his throat. Nodding his head fervently at Alex's command, Leon was out of the chair and gulping down blood over the stainless steel kitchen sink in moments. After draining every last drop of each bag, he tossed his head back, breathing an audible sigh of satisfaction, his chest heaving. All at once, his muscles relaxed and his posture returned to its previous slouch. His tongue darted out to collect the remnants of the blood from around his mouth and lips as his eyes moved from Alex to Jillian, the normally chocolate brown turned to pools of obsidian.

He could feel the blood rush through his body, rejuvenating the sigil in his chest and reincarnating the necrotic cells. His heightened senses instantly returned, and he was now conscious of the aura of the room. He could sense Alex's despair, Alice's empathy for her son, Jillian's-... He glanced at the woman, amused by her blush. If only he had telepathy...

Leon decided against calling out Jillian for the time being, instead focusing on listening intently to Alex's words. His eyes wandered to the photo of the werelion and his lover on the fridge. He thought nothing of it at first, idly looking away before snapping back to the picture, eyebrows raising in surprise.

Before he could remark on his resemblance to Jason, he inhaled sharply at the sound of a prolonged ping coming from the unsheathed weapon. He shook his head to rid it of the sound, tousled black hair falling haphazardly across his forehead. He took note of Jillian's reaction, listening to her explanation, but was unconvinced. He watched her closely, his brow furrowed; his eyes seemed to have transformed back to their original color.

"Can you read those sigils, Jillian?"
 
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ALEXANDRE WHITE
Alex raised an eyebrow at Leon, amused. He had been kidding. His mother, fiercely protective as she was of her kitchen, had pretty strong motherly instincts and would probably have insisted on cleaning up after him since he'd been so rundown. Regardless, he was glad the blood rejuvenated him. He'd been so used to seeing the Spiteful being an annoying brat that seeing him in such distress had almost made Alex sympathize. That couldn't happen now, could it? He chuckled inwardly.


By the hand of man wrought, and
by blood and light of Celestial fed
Filled with the Flame and
the dreams of the Dead
that which was
by the Flame begotten true
this blade of gold
shalt forever undo​


This... artefact should never have existed...


Alex turned to Jillian. One didn't have to be a were-creature with enhanced senses to have caught her adverse reaction to the blade being slipped out of its sheath. There was definitely something else going on with the girl, something that she wasn't letting on. Alex wanted to get to the bottom of it, but he decided not to, not until it was pertinent.

"I..." Alex looked away, his gaze becoming transfixed on the photo on the fridge. "I don't know. I didn't even know Jason had this until he died..." He made a small choked sound. The pain of the day was still fresh. Where time healed most wounds, this one was still as open as it was two years ago. "He never told me what it was. What it did. Or what it was for." Alex wiped away the tears that were in the corner of his eyes.

Alice's furious cooking had slowed and she herself was a bit slumped over, she felt acutely what her son was feeling. It was all a part of belonging to his lieutenant pack. She was aware, at times, overly so, of her son's emotional state. Most days she could control the influx on her end. Alex had never learned to constrict his broadcasting, but today she wanted to be open to him. The fact of it hit her and she couldn't help but share in Alex's melancholy. Her son had not healed yet, and she doubted he ever would.

He doesn't know. By the Flame he doesn't know what it can do. Azrael shook his head, or at least what qualified as his head since he was at the moment in commune with Jillian. He holds the most powerful weapon in all of existence and he is woefully ignorant of what it is. This blade predates all of humanity's petty magic disciplines. Look closely at the sigils, Jillian Aiya. Tell me what you see.

Azrael watched as Jillian examined the sigils in confusion. She would not be able to make them out completely, though flashes of meaning and lucidity would sporadically appear to her due to his gift of knowledge. Still, some knowledge in the Celestial Sphere was better left unknown. The blade's creation in particular, was one of the pieces of knowledge he sealed away in his Codex, yet, it was one of the things he knew by heart. As Jillian examined the blade, Azrael examined Alex.

He could feel the rift in the young were-lion's heart, and it pained him that Alex and Jason were ever involved in the conflict. Yet he had no apologies. He could not afford them lest hell fail and heaven succeed and all the world be consumed in fire and brimstone. In a brief moment of levity he laughed, realizing their twin situations. They were both pawns caught in the middle of a war much larger than themselves, and their lovers had been torn from their side and consigned to the pit.

Levity in gravity. An amusing human quality he'd learned to appreciate over the eons.

The archmagus returned his attention to Jillian. What is written there is in the ancient tongue of Babel. This blade was forged in a time when humanity was still united against a common foe. The words vibrated as they left his lips. The knowledge would not be repeated by Jillian, not in whole, at least. The Codex ensured that. Azazel was the master smith of the Heavens, but he was a part of the Rebellion. Before the Gates were Sealed, he was able to teach Cain his art, but Lucifer provided the one thing that the blade would need to be the most feared weapon in all of existence.

He gave Cain a single tongue of purest white flame that would not singe his flesh nor set light to anything around it, yet it could be used for a forge. Azazel knew not the nature of the flame, yet he complied, teaching Cain how to forge in the ways of the Celestials. And so he made these blades. Five of them, in all. Only this one remains to this day, we believe. Cain forged them from the gold of his brother's gravestone and quenched them in the lifeblood of Azazel... It is anathema to all of Celestial creation.

Alex shivered. He felt as though someone was watching him. Examining his every move. When the sensation went away he noticed Jillian kind of spacing out. "Jillian? Are you alright?" He could smell confusion from the people in the room. He could smell apprehension. Anxiety. The slightest hint of fear. And... was that jealousy? From Jillian? Directed at him? He couldn't bear the mystery surrounding the girl anymore. "Jillian... Can we talk?"
 
Jillian Aiya

Jillian sat, watching the sigils dance before her eyes upon the blade and listening to Azrael while scarcely breathing, her knuckles white from clenching her hands into fists. Wait. Wait, Az. That's crazy.. are you saying that Lucifer, after the first war in heaven, had what amounts to five doomsday devices forged? To be kept or lost to the ages until the heavenly host decided to wipe out humanity and then used as a failsafe? How can one little knife turn back an entire army? Of freaking ANGELS?! If it were possible for one to shout at an increasingly higher pitch in one's mind, Jillian was doing it with masterful skill. She simply couldn't believe what the angel was telling her, and yet.... and yet she knew it was true. It vibrated with truth directly into her mind, enough to make her back teeth nearly rattle with the absolute certainty. She would have continued with a line of questioning when she noticed Alex talking. Talking to her. She had zoned again and as she cameout of it, rose a clammy palm to her temple. "Er, yeah. Sure, Alex." muttered Jillian as she stood from the tall chair she had occupied. The lion's tone seemed to indicate "in private" without actually saying it. Which she supposed was better. If he knew about her covenant with Azrael her death would be a quick private affair which wouldn't dirty Alice's kitchen.

Following Alex into the hall and hopefully away from prying ears, Jillian's expression of surprised puzzlement was absolutely genuine. "What's up, Alex? Is everything alright?"
 
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Ezeckial the Fallen​


How long had it taken him to get that close? He couldn't say. Minutes, hours, it had gone by in a blur. Soaring through the night air, one didn't exactly have a way to measure the time - especially when your body was wracked with a strange not-quite-pain the entire time. Even if he had thought to look at the pocket watch in his coat's breast pocket he wouldn't have for fear of dropping it and loosing the item. Fear was a new sort of emotion to the Fallen. he had not felt it in the Pit since he had been one of the pit masters. Here on the Earth though he was constantly plagued by a dull fear - fear of the unknown, fear of a godless world, fear of being discovered, the list went on and on and on. He would only be rid of his fear when he had the answers he sought, and this hook line was the closest thing that he had to a lead. He was close now, very close tot he source of this familiar sensation. What is it? What is it? The curiosity was maddening, as was the dull pain. Why couldn't he remember what it belonged to!?

The Fallen Angel landed silently in the middle of the street, his wings disappearing form sight the moment he touched the ground. Standing up straight, he looked down both ends of the street. It was quiet, none of the metal vehicles that roamed the roads below him as he flew were about, at least none that were moving. he stood directly opposite the house from which the source of his woe was radiating from. It burned like a fire, and yet it had no sensation whatsoever. Ezeckial knew that there was more to this than what he was seeing, but how to go about seeing it without drawing attention to himself? All he could do was rely on his eyes and ears for the time being. The lights of the porches on what appeared like every house on the street were on. For what Purpose Ezeckial could only guess. For all he knew, the electric bulbs had replaced fire for warding off marauders. He saw no other sign of celestial activity, Fallen or Unfallen, nor did he hear the beating of wings or the calling of magic. In fact, he heard nothing but the soft breeze as it blew his long hair back into the night. Everything seemed... normal. Had he arrived before anyone or anything else had known of this? Was he truly so fortunate? The Fallen didn't believe that he had any luck at all, and so he was on his guard as he walked forward through the empty street.

He paused for a moment in front of the car directly outside of the house he was headed for. He looked in through the windows, searching for anything that would give him a sign that something was amiss. A reflection of something that was not normally seen, a symbol inside of the car that would give him knowledge of where their allegiances lied, anything at all. He couldn't see anything though and honestly had no idea what it was he was looking for. It all looked strange to his eyes and he understood none of it. Deciding he was wasting time, Ezeckial walked around the car and headed up the drive way, walking across the lawn and to the front door. He stood there for a moment, trying to decide what to do. Should he break down the door? Should he call out and ask for entrance? Should he use magic to look inside for himself and see what was happening? But then, what if there was a barrier to prevent magic from being used int he area? What if - No, too many questions, too many scenarios, no answers. He would be standing there all night with the wind blowing through his hair and his clothes while he tried to decide, and he had so very little time to waste. he needed entrance to this house, and he first needed to know if there was anyone in the house.

Settling for a direct approach, the Fallen lifted up his right hand and balled it into a fist, bringing it forward and wrapping on the door with his knuckles, announcing his presence and his want of entry into the estate.
 
ALEXANDRE WHITE
Alex examined Jillian. She looked... paler than usual. He hated interrogating someone who'd just gone through a lot, but he couldn't handle being kept in the dark any longer. If anything, he wanted to get to the bottom of the matter of that scent of jealousy he picked up. "Well, first of all... No offense, but frankly you look like shit. Are you alright?"

Well. Just what every woman wants to hear. Especially coming from some handsome tawny-haired man who had been just moments before wearing next to nothing and somehow looking fresh as a daisy. "You..." Jillian huffed and exasperated sigh. Really. Men! "Yeah, I could just use a good night's rest and a proper shower and y'know... my own clothes." She indicated herself as if he couldn't see her standing right there. At least it was this and not... y'know... instant killing.

"All well and good, but you didn't answer the question..." Alex eyed Jillian up and down, she did look worse for wear, but that was beyond the point. "-Are- you okay?" He looked into the kitchen and spotted a Spiteful that looked too innocent for his own good. Leon was probably eavesdropping. "What's going on, Jillian?"

"I am, Alex. There's just a lot going on and I'm not..." Jillian bit her lip, looking for a way to put how she was feeling. "I'm not like you. And Leon. And... and everyone else we seem to meet. I had no idea any of this was anything but stories before the other day. I'm still adjusting."

"I understand... I had to deal with someone who felt quite the same way when he was rudely introduced into this world of ours..." Alex paused. A grim sadness came over his face. "I know it's hard, but right now, you can't afford to bend or break under the pressure." He looked into the kitchen again, but this time he caught sight of the picture hanging on the fridge. "I know you're jealous of me for some reason I don't know."

"I know. Don't worry, I won't snap on you before we have a chance to try and save humanity." It seemed ridiculous to say, like a line from a movie or a cartoon. "Maybe. Some of those old stories..." She teased lightly before shaking her head. "I'm... Do we really have to talk about this? I'm used to my love life being nonexistant anway, please don't embarrass me..." Jillian's plea came out more as a whisper. True, it was a relief that he was asking about that rather than her covenant, but honestly... it was a bit of a sore spot.

"Under normal circumstances, I would say that no, we don't have to talk about this but..." Alex gripped the blade in his palm tighter. "If we're to do anything about where the world is right now, our little team--" Alex smiled inwardly, they were a team now, were they? He'd never thought he'd be on a ragtag group of rebels fighting a war so much bigger than themselves. "--has to be free of negativity or they--" Alex gestured at the sky with the dagger. "--will use that against us."

Damnit, he had a point. She could almost feel Azrael radiating agreement. Jillian tried to radiate mind-your-own-business. "It's stupid, okay? I just... I don't know. It's a little crush, but I know Leon doesn't see me that way even if he does tease." Still, she could not meet Alex's eyes, her gaze locked on a spot on the floor a few feet behind him. "I don't want to come between you guys anyway, okay?"

Alex was taken aback. Of all the things, he'd not expected that. Though, he should not have been surprised. Looking back, there were definitely telltale signs of something going on between the two. He could not suppress the chuckle that followed. "Okay, Jillian, two things." He shook his head. "H-how on earth do you develop a crush on someone in the middle of the biggest crisis the modern world has faced?" he sputtered. "And two... do you honestly think there's something going on between Leon and I?"

Jillian looked up sheepishly and gave a small shrug. "End of the world... might as well try." She said softly, cheeks flaming. Forget that she got silly when handsome men spoke to her, much less flirted. Forget that Leon was sort of, in a weird way, gorgeous and sweet. "Maybe it's just that he's my bodyguard. I don't know. And you two... well... the flirting and he looks like..."

Ah. There it was. The tables had turned on him. Alex didn't feel comfortable talking anymore, but he had to stick with what he said. They had to talk this out. He smiled at Jillian. It was a sympathetic one. But it was also a pained one. "I see why you think that now..." Alex shook his head. "I don't think of him in that way. And I think... maybe that's why I'm so open with the flirting with Leon. The resemblance is just uncanny." Alex noted that they had both looked at the exact same moment at the Spiteful. "But it stops there. Jason was really the only person I was able to be completely... me, around, and maybe because Leon looks like him, some primal part of me thought oh hey, maybe I can act more open now. Don't worry... Nothing is going to happen between me and Leon... I won't ever be able to move on from Jason."

At that, her heart went out to the werelion. It seemed as if the love he had for his partner, the same one she assumed tha Uriel had baited him with, was an enduring one. She reached out then to lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I... I can't even begin to understand something like that because I've never..." Jillian stumbled over the words. "The longest I've dated anyone was three months and I wouldn't even give him a key to my apartment. I'm sorry that you lost someone who means so much to you." Using the past-tense seemed so cruel and inappropriate to Jillian; Alex obviously still felt very strongly for Jason. "But Alex... who's to say what Leon feels? Even if you say there's nothing between you, he might..." She bit her lip, casting another furtive glance at the Spiteful and trying not to blush even more. "I doubt he thinks of me like that."

"I'll be alright." Alex smiled at Jillian, sincerely this time. "I've gotten by relatively okay the last two years." He glanced at Leon. "Well, now isn't that the million-dollar question?" He grinned, glad that the situation was clarified. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind your asking -- now... who could that be?" Alex was in the middle of nudging Jillian with his elbow when they heard a knock on the door.

Asking?! She couldn't just... just ask something like that! Jillian's face went red as a strawberry, her dark eyes wide with shock at the very prospect of what Alex suggested. The sudden knock at the door was almost a welcome interruption because as much as she wanted to know, it was also more than a little scary. Trying to get her pulse back under control and get her face back to a normal color, Jillian took a few calming breaths and turned toward the door. Likely another member of Alex's pack come to check in.

[[OOC: Background on this post is that DL and I decided to ChaRP the conversation between Jillian and Alex because we thought that if we had done it one post at a time, that it would take forever for either of you @Navras @Kisara to respond. So, as a result of that, here is a post containing what they talked about.]]
 
Leon the Spiteful

Catching several glimpses from his companions having a private conversation in the other room, Leon felt a bit self-conscious. Attempting to play it off, he leaned against the kitchen counter casually, pretending not to be eavesdropping. He quirked an eyebrow in interest at Jillian's confession to the were-lion, the corner of his mouth curving upwards.

A sudden knock at the door jarred him, foiling his plan of inserting himself into their conversation. He pushed off the counter, walking towards the door. "Let me get that, Jillian... Just in case I need to slip into bodyguard duty." He winked, hoping the gesture would temporarily distract her from realizing that Alex seemed to be surprised by the knock on the door as well.

Grabbing the doorknob, he paused mid-twist as a sudden sensation struck him. A shiver ran up his spine at the odd but potent feeling, and he wracked his brain for the memory of when he'd felt it before. Unable to recall at that moment, he steeled himself, ready to fight if necessary; whatever was behind the door was powerful, that much he could tell.

He pulled the door open a little more than a crack, glancing up at the man standing on the doorstep. Dark eyes quickly analyzed the man's features, widening a fraction as they took in the long, pristine golden hair; the impossibly handsome features; the eyes, deep as an ocean, that couldn't possibly belong to any mortal. He doubted this man was an angel, since he'd have surely gutted the Spiteful by now, which could only mean that he was a Fallen.

Had he come to drag Leon back into the Pit?

The vampire's gaze narrowed, a sharp hiss escaping his mouth. Every muscle in his body tensed up, his knuckles white from gripping the door frame.

"Who are you?", he demanded, locking eyes with the newcomer.
 
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Ezeckial the Fallen​


The door opened and Ezeckial's heart skipped a beat. He half expected to be met with an angel, to see one of his long lost brethren after so long and rejoice, or if not despair. The thought had crossed his mind that whatever this pull was, it belonged to something celestial. The Fallen had considered it was a trap, a net of sorts to draw in Fallen such as himself so that he could be forced back into his eternal prison. The thought had also crossed his mind that his escape was of angelic origin. Too many questions. He was here to lower the number of questions and raise the number of answers he had - and to stop the damned pulling sensation, he was there for Christ's sake! His chest did flutter when the door opened a crack and for a moment, Ezeckial stood taller, wanting to look his best for one of his angelic kin. Alas though, what stood before him was no angel but a mortal of some kind. If he had the time or the patience for it, he might have been able to figure out what sort of mortal it was. Since he had neither though, he assumed what stood before him was human even with the hiss. The faint scent of blood was quickly filling his nose but the Fallen chose to ignore that for now. He had been asked a question, after all, and Leviathan had taught him long ago how to be polite.

What he had not taught him, however, was how to be polite under the circumstances. There was no time for introductions, nor were there time to deal with this mortal. His knuckles were clenched white from their grip on the door Ezeckial saw and he clenched his own hands into fists, the ring on his left finger ready to be used at a moments' notice. The Fallen brought his eyes back up to meet this young mans' and he spoke in a very low and serious tone, "I do not have the time nor the patience to be dealing pleasantries, and neither do you. Whatever you have in there is drawing every celestial body to this very house in a range that's Yahweh know's how large! Who I am doesn't matter, what does matter is you get rid of that damned pulling sensation I'm feeling right now and get moving away from this location, because if I'm here, angel's are not far behind me." Narrowing his own eyes Ezeckial stared directly into the mortal before him, looking beyond his face and as deeply into his soul as he could as eh continued, "I know you know of what I speak, and if you do not hurry and get your hand off of the door it will be too late. Now before you get us and everyone inside killed, let, me, in!"

He left no room for argument, so deadly serious was his tone of voice. His fists were shaking in both anticipation and in impatience. Ezeckial was so worried that at any moment angels would be right on his heels that he wanted to get in the house, contain whatever it was that was willing him to seek it out, and get it away from here for the safety of any and all humans as well as himself. At this point, if the mortal before him did not grant him access by his words alone he was resolved to breaking the door down and forcing his way in. The Fallen made a note to get his pocket watch ready should that be the eventuality of the situation. Leviathan willing, he'd be allowed in and he could get some real, proper answers for the fist time since leaving the Pit.
 
ALEXANDRE WHITE
Alex smiled cheekily at Jillian as Leon pushed his way past them. By the look on her face and the wink Leon threw at her, Alex judged that the feeling was mutual between the two. Now, however, he hoped that Jillian hadn't yet realized that Leon could probably hear them from out in the hallway what with his enhanced senses as well. It was only when Leon had put his hand on the doorknob that Alex picked up on the distinct scent. Soot and brimstone. A Fallen. His hackles raised. Why was there a Fallen angel at his house? This could not be good. He frowned and began to walk closer to Leon.

Alex growled. He was standing a few feet behind Leon when the Fallen began to yell at Leon. "Desiit". A brilliant light filled the house and when it cleared and Alex's eyes readjusted, there was a barrier of pure white light that stood in the doorframe. The Fallen would not be able to force his way in. The wards around the house were strong enough that no single Celestial could overcome them. The activation of the wards also meant that there was help on the way. The Athame vibrated in his hands. It was a gentle vibration and it seemed to radiate a comforting warmth to his palm. It seemed as though the blade was assuring him that the Fallen meant no harm.

Alex turned to Leon. "This does not sit well with me but I think we should let him in." He'd heard what the Fallen had to say and he had a hard time believing it. In all of two years, never had the athame triggered anything. Though, then again, this was the first time in two years that it had been released from its sheath. He looked at the Fallen. "You may come in, but only if you vow on your Light that you will bring no harm to me, my family, or my friends."

Just as Alex opened his mouth to speak the words that would allow the Fallen to enter the property, the sound of a powerful crack filled the air. As Alex turned his head to the source of the sound, he saw a window shattering, the glass getting blown inward. "I-impossible the war--!" After that, things happened in such quick succession that even his enhanced brain struggled to process the events.

A black blur entered his vision. A set of familiar green eyes. Hands on the back of his head. A kiss. A tender, loving yet... incomplete kiss planted on his lips. A sharp stabbing sensation on multiple parts of his body. His muscles locking. The athame being removed from his hands. A final strike on the back of his head.

Before anyone could react, Alex was out cold on the floor and the athame was gone, the thief vanished in another loud crack, a plume of dark smoke and the sound of rock grinding together shut.

---

The Dhampir reentered the mortal plane where he felt the athame. He saw a blond man holding it, and he felt an incredibly deep tug at his heart, but he knew not why it was so. Deep within him he knew he loved this man with every fibre of his being, but he did not know why. He had no recollection. No memories. Nothing. Regardless, he could not help but kiss him before incapacitating him and taking the dagger with a speed and deftness afforded to him only by what he'd become in his time in Damnation.
 
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Jillian Aiya

Jillian blanched just a bit at the wink that Leon gave her and could not help dreading that he had heard the conversation between she and Alex. That would be mortifying and she might just have preferred the horrible death that had awaited her had her secret been known. She shook off her mortification and chose instead to focus on who might be at the door.

Leon's brusque demeanor and the urgent words of the man just outside drew her attention as she tried to get a look at what was going on over Alex and Leon's shoulders. And then everything fell apart. Jillian barely glimpsed the black blur that moved on Alex and the next thing she knew he was out cold and the athtame, what she understood was humanity's last hope, was gone. She stared from Alex's prone form up to Leon, her face a mask of shock. "What... A-Alice!" she called for the werelion's mother before dropping to her knees to check on the detective. She glanced up at the spiteful and the man outside. "Did you see what that was? Did you see what took the athame?"
 
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Ezeckial the Fallen​


The barrier stood now between Ezeckial and the the mortals who were keeping whatever it was that was tugging on his very being. He cursed at the top of his voice, no longer trying to keep it down in any way. The neighbors would surely hear it and be roused, but he couldn't be bothered controlling himself at that moment in time. Raising his left fist in a flash, he slammed it forward to meet against he barrier, only to find his fist repelled as though meeting him with counter force. "Fools! Let me in or you may all die!" he cried, practically in hysterics now that entrance had properly been denied to him. He briefly considered destroying one of the walls before throwing the idea aside, knowing full well if the barrier in front of the door was strong enough to keep him from smashing through it then it likely went around the entire house. Flicking his eyes past the mortal directly in front of him, the Fallen looked upon the one who had cast the ward in the first place. To his delight, he was actually going to let him in. He could have thanked Yahweh to no end were it not for his wavering faith in his existence. The proposition was made for his entry and he took in a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down and lower his voice. "I have no reason to kill you, your family or anyone in this general vicinity. All I desire is that you get rid of whatever is pulling me to this house, before you all meet a fate you'd wished you hadn't - and that threat does not come form me."

Ezeckial felt an almost physical itch as the mortal began to open his mouth to let him in - but something caught his eyes and his heart skipped a beat, seeing a flash of black burst in through a window down the hall. His vision was obscured by the white light and the mortals in front of him but his body tensed at the sudden theft, the thief's movements to fast for them to properly see, but he could. Were it not for the things obscuring his vision, he could have seen whatever it was that took the object and kissed one of the mortals. He couldn't even properly see what the object was that had been taken, but he knew in his heart that it was what had brought him to this house. "No, no, NO!" he roared, slamming his fists up against the white barrier and being forced to take a step back as he did. The assailant was gone before he could even straighten himself up, and he was left standing on the opposite side of a celestial barrier, the hooked feeling of being tugged towards this location gone, meaning that all other celestial bodies would not longer feel it as well. It didn't matter though. The angels had their ways, he knew because he was one of them once. They would find this house, they would find these mortals, and whatever it was they had unleashed in this house, they would find that too.

A woman spoke a word and he froze in place. Such ancient knowledge rushed back to him, knowledge lost since the dawn of the rebellion. The Athame, Lucifer's weapons against Heaven and the Holy Host. He remembered them now. He had not been there at their forging, but he and all who had followed Lucifer down tot he Inferno knew what the Athame were, and Heaven would not have likely forgotten them either. What their fate had been since his time in the Pit, the Fallen did not know. But he knew now, more out of instinct than actual first hand knowledge, that what had drawn him there was, could only have been the Athame, and it was gone from their reach now.

Deflating, Ezeckial bent his head forward. His mind was numb with possibility and unanswerable questions and he could take it no more than he could spend the rest of eternity in the Inferno, not again. Lifting up his right hand feebly, the Fallen placed his hand gently on the barrier and looked up, a look of such sorrow and remorse washing over him as he knew the fate that waited for these mortals if they did not get going. His answers could wait, for now he needed to get them all away as best as he could. "Please," he said softly, "get this barrier down and let me in. You all have to leave, tonight, this very instant. They are coming."
 
Leon the Spiteful

The theft of the Athame happened so quickly, it left Leon reeling. He had barely managed to put himself in front of Jillian before the intruder escaped. He sniffed at the air, catching a residual scent of something seared into his memory: The Pit. First a Fallen, now an as-yet-to-be-determined Hell creature. What was this, a family reunion?

His mind raced, considering every angle of the situation, but the Fallen's words seized his stomach and wrenched it downwards with dread.

Brown eyes snapped up to Jillian, the Spiteful's voice sharp and commanding. "Get Alex's mother and father right now, we're leaving." His usually playful demeanor had vanished, replaced with stern urgency.

He dashed to the kitchen to retrieve his bag, returning to the front room to formulate a plan. He bent down and hoisted the unconscious detective over his shoulder, wincing at the effort. His body was still regaining strength after feeding, as his muscles oh-so-kindly reminded him.

The vampire turned his attention to the man at the doorstep, regarding him with wariness. "If what you say is true, we need to go somewhere warded. I think I know of a place..."

Once Jillian had returned with Alice and Gabriel, Leon spoke quickly, before any discussion could begin. "Are you familiar with the Hand of Thoth?"
 
ALEXANDRE WHITE
"We will do no such thing." Gabriel said sternly when he saw Alex draped over Leon. "Please, set him down. We are safe here for the timebeing. Monsieur Francois is on his way as we speak." The situation had deteriorated extremely quickly. Gabriel had not even been privy to the athame and its apparent significance until his wife had briefed him on the way down the stairs. The older were-lion walked up to the doorframe and extended his hand outside the barrier in order to pull the Fallen in. "I apologize. I do not know your name, Fallen, but I am sorry to defy you."

Gabriel turned and glanced at his still-unconscious son. "I know you mean well but we are protected here." He gestured around him. "I'm sure you've heard of the McCoys? Before Nathan McCoy died he ensured that this house would be well-warded and I'm sure that during the interim when his grandson, my son's deceased partner strengthened them. Unless the Seraphim come, we are safe."

Alex coughed and drew a shuddering gasp of breath. His head was swimming and his lips tingled from the kiss. The younger were-lion raised his hand and two outstretched fingers to his lips. His hands trembled and he had a lot of difficulty raising his hand over his chest. He held the fingers on his lips almost in memory of the familiar ones that had been there only mere moments ago. His eyes were watery with tears. "Jason..." he whispered to no one in particular. Gabriel rushed over to his son's side and gave him a once over. There were no major injuries, but he could see that Alex was weak and had limited muscle control.

"Alice."

The were-lioness nodded and grabbed Jillian by her arm. "Let's go, Jillian. The panic room as Gabriel likes to call it is the safest place we can be right now. Alex needs to be taken care of." She could already feel the uncomfortable prickling sensation of an Angel not in glamour nearing the place. "There may be honour in dying on the battlefield, but there is greater honour in keeping the people we love alive."

"I don't--" Alex groaned and tried to sit up only to fall back down again on the couch. Gabriel got up and retrieved a phone. He was feeling the prickling again. He hoped against hope that Ken and Alyssa were nearby. Thankfully, the call was answered almost instantly.

"We have angels on the way." Gabriel held the phone at arm's length away. An incredibly loud dragon's roar had answered him. When it subsided, Gabriel put the phone back to his ear. Alongside his daughter's voice was the flapping of wings and the rushing of wind. "Be fast."

All motion in the house stopped. A rift appeared in the air in front of the porch. It opened and behind it rose a massive fortress at the foot of an even taller pillar. A figure clothed in black stepped out from the rift and retrieved the dagger from the folds of its clothing. It brought down the dagger on the threshold of the front door and with extreme speed began to carve a sigil there.

One circle. Two. Three. Four. Five. The figure and his hand moved with inhuman speed. Thirteen. Thirteen circles in all. A feat impossible for mere humans. The figure rose and locked eyes with Gabriel. Bright green eyes to tawny brown. Gabriel felt a chill run up his back. The smell of fire and brimstone vanished as soon as the portal closed and the figure was gone.

Before anyone could breathe, a bright flash of light filled the air and an Angel dressed in full battle regalia stood on the threshold.
 
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Jillian Aiya


Jillian took in the scene with wide eyes, her mouth open as if to say something when Alice took her by the arm. So much had happened. So much was going on. "But... I can't leave..." she cast about, looking first to Alex and his father and then the Fallen and then Leon. "I can't-" A sharp pain and Jillian winced; it was as if someone had fired a gun right next to her ear and she was temporarily deafened to the world around her. Above it, a voice rose in her mind. "They are right, Jillian Aiya! One of my kin comes on swift wings. You must hide or die!"

The normal sounds snapped back with an abruptness that was nearly as painful as their absence moments before and she knew that Azrael was gone now and that he had taken a risk to give her that warning. She was grateful, but all she could think was that she didn't want to turn and hide now. She knew innately the use of the sigils and how to call power from them, what was so stop her from fighting alongside her companions now? She was just about to break her contact with Alice, to step forward, when time seemed to flow like molasses. It stretched on as she watched, through the doorway to the charming porch and the man who was suddenly there and etching his sigils with inhuman speed and skill. Her eyes widened to see messages within.

Her hand gripped Alice's, sweaty and cold in Jillian's fear a moment before the Angel appeared outside. "Go... Go, go, go, let's go!" she cried, letting herself be pulled along behind the lioness in the direction of the panic room. She had just enough time to glance behind before they turned a corner and those she suddenly found she cared so deeply for were out of sight. Jillian choked back a sob; now was not the time.
 
Ezeckial the Fallen​

What immense relief the Fallen felt when the hand made its way through the barrier. Finally, he was being left in and not a moment too soon either. His right hand moved from the barrier which had so tingled his skin and took a hold of the extended gesture, letting himself be pulled through. For a moment, a wave of nausea and numbness washed over him as he crossed the threshold between the outside and the in. Just as quickly as it had come it was gone though, and he was left to stand inside with the small group of people. Now that he was properly there, he took a few moments to look at them all. The young man, unconscious on the floor. His father, who had pulled him in through the door way, looking at his son and assuring the Fallen that they were safe there. A woman that Ezeckial assumed was the young man's mother from the way looks of her son, another who he couldn't help but feel she was out of place among the group assembled, and lastly man who had met him at the door. He tool in a deep breath through his nose, taking in the scents of the house and the people, mixing and melting them all together. It could come in handy, later.

"No, I've never heard of the McCoys, and I can't say I am familiar with the hand of Toth - though the name is one I know," Ezeckial said quietly, stepping in further into the house to get away from the celestial barrier. He had very little faith in the capabilities of these so called barriers against his brethren. Even if they had repelled him, he was hardly at his former glory. Stripped of all heavenly honor and virtue the moment he chose to follow Lucifer during the rebellion, Ezeckial was comparable to a shell to his former self in his current state, still fresh out of the Pit. However safe they felt behind these barriers, he could not share their optimism. They are coming, he kept thinking to himself, nervously anticipating the inevitable as talk of a safe room and the sound of roaring over some device Ezeckial had no inclination of filled his ears. They are coming, they are coming, he kept telling himself and he knew it to be true. His only surprise was that they hadn't arrived already.

When the rift opened, his back was still to the door. He didn't see the carving of the sigils in the air. He didn't need to. The Fallen had foretold it and now, prophecy had become reality. His eyes closed and his head bowed. He would have offered a prayer if he knew it wouldn't go unanswered. He was Fallen though. Yahweh had no words to spare his Fallen children. He turned half way on the spot and looked over his shoulder, gazing through the barrier that was the only thing keeping them apart from the angel who now stood literally at their door step, and no doubt this one would herald others as well. "You should all run..." Ezeckial said, turning to face his brethren fully, letting them see his face and he theirs. It had been such a long time since he had seen any of his brethren after all, a family reunion was in order.
 
[DASH=#FFDC50]GM POST
Long had the Heavenly Host waited for the Athame, the Celestial Bane, the Dagger of Unmaking, the Anathema of Creation, to unearth itself to sound the beacon of its own destruction. Little had Icturiel known that he would be the first and nearest of many of Heaven's sleeper agents that would heed it siren's call, yet almost as quickly as the stabbing pain that accompanied the artefact's unsheathing had come, it had gone as though a fleeting dream. Icturiel had elected to continue on his journey, following the phantom pain of the artefact's residual power. The siren's less-than-pleasant home had led him to a fairly upscale neighbourhood in the suburbs of Vancouver. He'd expected either something more Celtic, or something more occult, but then again, he'd never really understood these humans.

He meant entirely to transport himself by the Heavenly Will into the house, but something was blocking him. There was no way inside but through the door. He landed on the porch and peered in through the gleaming barrier that stood in his way. One of his Fallen brethren and a family of were-lions and a spiteful and a human. He sneered in contempt. "Do you really believe that this flimsy human magick can stand against the might of the divine?" Flecks of light gathered in his hand like fireflies and burst into radiance. He'd summoned his Celestial Steel blade.

He brought it down on the barrier which only glowed brighter in spite of his efforts. This was strong magicks, but it was definitely not that of the Fallen within. That much, Icturiel could tell. "Impressive. But no matter. The Brethren comes and this flimsy magic will stand no longer against us than a candle flame to the tempest." A cold, cruel smile twisted Icturiel's lips as the outlines of a legion of Angels drawing closer became visible on the horizon.

"Pray! We find no greater delight than in the pathetic pleading of the damned." The angel's hearty booming laugh echoed in the neighbourhood. He crinkled his nose. "Is that you, Fallen? There is truth in what they say? That the stench of the Pit follows any who can escape it?" He leered at Ezeckial. He heard a loud booming sound behind him and for the first time he saw the sigil at his feet. "What sorcery is this?"

Then he felt it. The beautiful, glorious pang of pain that could only have been the athame. It was only beautiful and glorious for a moment before he felt the cold gold slide into his flesh and even further still, into the very light that he was born from. It brought with it the joy of oblivion, the very joy that all living creatures whether they hearkened to it or not, inevitably, invariably marched towards. Icturiel was not very joyful for very long as pain the likes of which he had never known before, neither through the burning whip of Jehoel or the misfortune of gazing unintentionally on the very visage of God could compare the agony of being ripped apart from the very essence.

The angel opened his mouth to scream, contorted into a form speaking only of unimaginable agony, but no sound came forth. From his mouth and throat spilled not the unearthly, beastly cries of a dying immortal, but the very purest and radiant light that few mortals ever had the fortune or misfortune to set sight upon. It seared his flesh around his mouth, burning it and blackening it, making it erupt in all manner of boils and pustules before drifting away in the wind as flecks of burnt smoldering ash.

His world grew dark as unbridled light burned through his eyes, burrowing through his skull and out through the twin portals that lent him vision of the world. Purest light erupted from his fingertips, from his groin, from his armpits, from the very place where the sun never shone, light streamed in a seemingly-neverending barrage that burnt and blistered the angel's skin as his mortal form was stripped away to reveal his dying ethereal self.

His wings shriveled as though burning away in invisible fire. His clothes had long since drifted away like ashes in the wind. Cracks spiderwebbed across his skin from whence more light poured out. Light. And more Light. Brighter and brighter, until it sputtered and died. For a moment, Icturiel's mortal shell hung in suspension before the man, garbed in deepest black, who had stabbed him, light streaming faintly from every orifice and every crack in his skin, and then a high-pitched whining split the air.

It was as though it was tolling of the bells of oblivion. Icturiel exploded in a vast, immensely bright, and immeasurably powerful expulsion of light, and heat, and sound that could deafen the ear and blind the eye and burn the flesh. Thankfully the sigil was there to dampen the energies that had been unleashed and the pulsing shockwave was reduced to something that could only shatter windows and shake the very earth.

When the dust cleared there was only the black-garbed man standing by the door. The legion of angels was gone, perhaps fled in terror or anger, but it did not matter. In his one hand he held the athame. In his other, a pulsating globe of milky-golden light that he'd snatched from the center of the barriers that the sigil had erected. The Dhampir stared at the wide-eyed inhabitants of the house. "This is war." He raised the Athame, its blade dripping with pure liquid light, the ichor of heaven. "And if they can destroy us, then it is only right that we can destroy them."

The Spiteful within struck him with a strange sense of familiarity, one that he could not shake. He held up two fingers to the spiteful and curled them towards him, beckoning the vampire. Leon slid across the floor as though pulled by a strange power. He skidded to a halt before the barrier by the door.

The Dhampir put his hand through and placed the orb in Leon's hand. "I do not know who he is. I do not know why this is so. But my heart tells me that he is important to me. That he is part of my very soul." The green-eyed black-clad man cocked his head towards Alex. The were-lion's tawny brown eyes met his own. They were watery, filled with love, longing, and despair. The Dhampir's were apathetic. "Take care of him for me, will you? And take care of this too. If anything bad happens to him, I will come for you."
[/DASH]
 
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Leon the Spiteful
The Spiteful bared his fangs against the Angel that so dared to mock and taunt them. He hated their feathery kind with a passion, even more so than the priests and clergy of the church. Not only was it because of the circumstances of his damnation, but also because of the magicks that coursed through his veins, the same eldritch sigil that had allowed him to return from that land which damned all, the city of Dis, where all who enter must abandon all hope. Leon balled his fists, pale dead skin becoming even more pale in his instinctive fury.

A growl ripped from his throat and he took a step forward, putting himself in between the angel and Alex. Survival instincts be damned, both his own volition and the magic surging in his veins, that returned him to the mortal earth from the Pit, demanded that he fight to protect. "First Mr. I'm-So-Special-I'm-On-Fucking-Fire, and now you Mr. I'm-So-Special-I-Have-a-Celestial-Steel-Sword, I am sick and tired of you fucking bird brains. Leave. Us. Alone!" snarled the Spiteful just as he saw the portal to hell reopen.

How? How was this strange creature able to travel so freely from the mortal plane to Hell itself and back? Time seemed to stop as the dagger was plunged into the angel's back and the Grand Celestial Asshole exploded in a final lightshow of douchebaggery. Gods how he wished he had that dagger. He wanted to shove it down Uriel's insufferable throat, but not before extracting the truth of the sister comment from the Seraphim with as much pain as he could muster.

When the dust settled, the black-clothed man who looked suspiciously like Alex's deceased lover, whom he'd apparently met the previous night, stood on the porch, dagger in one hand, glowing ball of light in the other. The man raised the dagger, still dripping with ichor, pure liquefied light and declared that this was war. The power of the Athame was something that the Spiteful had not fully appreciated until it was so demonstrated.

Anyone would cower before a weapon capable of destroying creatures who were like gods in their own capacity. At least the thief was on their side in the conflict, for the moment at least. Leon could only imagine what kind of chaos would be wrought if the other side had the weapon. The other man looked at him strangely and beckoned him to come forward. Before he could take a step, he was pulled towards the door.

What the fuck? he thought. Wasn't magic supposed to necessitate fancy sigils and all that shit he never really entirely understood? Jesus fucking Christ, and the day was not yet over! Part of him didn't want to know what else was coming.

"What are you?" he asked the soot-clothed man. Leon leaned back and looked at Alex, whose eyes were watery with tears and hurt. "Yeah. Sure. I will. I swear it on my un-life." Though he shrugged after he spoke the words, Leon meant every single one of them.

"I am the Dhampir, and that is all you need to know. Maybe I'll meet you all again on the battlefield."
 
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Ezeckial the Fallen​

So, it was Icturiel who had come in the end. One of his brethren who had stuck by Yahweh's side during the Rebellion. He seemed different than he remembered somehow, his words, his manner of moving maybe. He was arrogant now, a trait that Ezeckial could scarcely remember from any of his brethren, Fallen or not, except perhaps for Lucifer and Micheal. had the Heavenly Host changed so? Icturiel's attempts to break through the barrier proved futile as the mortals had promised that it would, yet Ezeckial believed his brother when he said that it would be no match against that of the legion that was coming. Already their light could be seen, drawn to the source of the Athame. They would be here soon...

The Fallen did not flinch as his brother taunted him, only stared with cold bitterness and despair. So much had changed.... so much was different now, even his brothers it would seem, those who were meant to be unchanging servants to man. Wave after wave of emotion washed over Ezeckial - Pity, despair, anger, rage, contempt, agony. He could hardly stand to be within sight of these Angels, whose will it was to drag him back to the Pit and make sure that he would never leave it again. This time, they would take him to the city Dis, throw him into one of the burning coffins, fasten it shut with divine chains then drag him further into the Pit, down where the Nephilheim were imprissoned no doubt. Oh yes, he was positive that would be his new prison - not by Leviathan who he adored, but closer to his brother Lucifer, trapped in endless flames and surrounded by unending ice, trapped forward to anguish at the memory of freedom he had had. This was his fate, he knew it, for they had come before he could, and now it was too late.

Then it happened, the unthinkable. Icturiel... was dying, right before his eyes. The Athame! Could it be!? Ezeckial's eyes widened and he watched, unflinching as his brother was torn asunder by the blade which would smite Heaven, watched as his eyes chared and his wings withered. The light did not phase him, he was made of it, it was him as well as his brother that was dying before his eyes and he watched every moment of it. The windows in the surrounding houses shattered and the walkway outside of the porch cracked and Ezeckial watched his brother die. When the light faded and all that was left was the figure in black, the Fallen turned his gaze to him, his beautiful face a mix of rage and gratitude - for who was this to kill an Angel so easily and without hesitation? Who were they to strike down those who could not die? This was not the first death of an Angel that Ezeckial had seen, and he most certainly did doubt it would be the last - but never had he seen one die like this. So violent had it been that the Angels on the horizon were gone for one reason or another.

Who was wielding the Athame?!

As Leon moved forward past Ezeckial, he did not budge. The Pale mortal bumped into him as he moved past and yet the Fallen's eyes stayed fixed on the thing cloaked in black. He heard his words and at first thought that they were meant for him, that was until he discovered, not then but later when he thought back on the events that transpired in the house, that his gaze had been past him to one of the others behind him. The Dhampir he called himself.... The fallen had trouble believing it. Then again, he was so muddled with emotion, new information and nervous energy that he couldn't even tell how confused he truly was. His eyes stared intensely at the slayer of Icturiel, and he briefly debated approaching him himself. He threw the idea aside though as the realization that the Angels could come back at any moment dawned on him.

Dhampir or not, wielder of the Athame - and thief of it for that matter - or not, he could not stand a chance against a battalion of the Heavenly Host, not alone. His earlier argument was still sound - they needed to leave, as quickly as possible. Whoever this man cloaked in black was, they would have to wait. Heaven, earth or Hell - wherever they did dwell, Ezeckial was certain that he would be able to find them later if he so needed to. He was, after all, a celestial being - who could truly hide from him if he wanted them found? Turning away from the man, Ezeckial looked back at the family of mortals, still dazed from the impact of the Angel's light, now in possession of the pale one. He would be sure to get that from him later if need be, but for now... too many questions, too many things to do, not enough time.

"Everyone... My name is Ezeckial. I am Fallen, and I have escaped the Pit... somehow. I need answers, you need protection. I can provide the protection, if you can provide the answers. for how long, I cannot say - but we must leave, now."
 
Jillian Aiya

As they fled to the safe room lights flickered from the direction in which Alice had led Jillian, chased by shouts which were then drowned by a high whine and then a tremor that rattled the family photos on the walls and caused Jillian to stumble. As she did, she released the hand of Alex's mother and turned to look back down the hallway and into the silence that suddenly overtook the scene. Like a rabbit scenting a threat, Jillian stood stock still while her pulse hammered, the sound of her blood rushing in her ears incredibly loud as she strained to hear the murmur of voices from the door. Fear coursed through her, but even more than that there was a distinct feeling of unease, of wrongness, that she gave Alice a single wide-eyed glance before turning on her heel and running back in the direction she had come.

Stupid. Stupid. What do you think you're going to do? You're going to get yourself killed! Thoughts tumbled as she rounded the corner, skidding to a halt to see the man in black holding the Athame which dripped light so close to Leon. For a heartbeat her impulse was to run to the vampire, to pull him away from the threat, but to her shame Jillian simply couldn't cross the distance for fear that the man, the thing, might hurt or kill Leon.

Dhampir, what did that even mean? Azrael was conspicuously silent, his presence having retreated since the flare of light and sound. Whatever had happened was big and she was sure the withdraw from her consciousness was as much for her protection as it was for his. Those thoughts were interrupted by the stranger who had been banging at the door. Just what the hell was going on?
 
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