17933/DOOM: Rescuing the American Dream

DOOM: Rescuing the American Dream
Date of Scene:	18 May 2024
Location:	Fifth Circle of Hell
Synopsis:	A journey into Hell offers nightmarish sights, sounds, and scents. A brutal fight for survival results in the retrieval of a national landmark.
Cast of Characters:	Victor Von Doom, Emma Frost, Corben Kelly, Liam Traynor

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Victor Von Doom has posed:
Assembled heroes seeking to gather what was stolen from the world are brought together within Castle Doom in the very heart of Latveria. Their willingness a requirement of the ritual to come, seeds of doubt and reluctance a metaphorical wrench in the gears of ceremony. Their places within the chamber dictated by sorcerous necessity. Each of those heroes (or near-heroes) provided with a trinket; nothing more than what seems to be a heavy talisman to be worn on a silvery chain around the neck of each. Per Doctor Doom's explanation: it would prevent the hellish denizens from seeing the shining beacon of mortal souls from afar and would ultimately withstand much of the ambient influence of the Hells themselves. For a time, anyway.

There is risk involved of course. Traveling through Hell is no walk in the park, to adopt a Western idiom. The task is simple however. Find the museum, simply touch it and the enchantment upon the talisman will alert Doctor Doom to pull them out.

The invocation commences and after a few minutes of precise observances and rote rituals performed, the chamber grows colder. Guttural growls can be heard from what few shadows exist on account of the flickering candlelight within the stone castle chamber. The twist becomes hazy around those within the ritual markings and the walls become like flesh, weeping sweat of ruby blood and yellowed pus. The transition from the mortal world into Hell itself may different from one soul to another, but the fear is prevalent for all. The terror of the unknown seems to invade heart and mind alike, threatening to overwhelm the soul.

The various realms, or Circles, of Hell are as unique as the hell-lords which reside over them. While there is no part of Hell that a mortal soul could consider Good, there are some which could be deemed favorable over another. There is the Second Circle where judgment reigns supreme and carnal sin runs rampant. There's the Fourth Circle that those who were most covetous tend to be filed away for review and punishment. There's the Eighth Circle that is home to those who swindled their neighbors and knowingly cheated others out of a happy existence.

Then there's the Fifth Circle. Where bottomless wroth and limitless fury has earned its home among the damned. A twisted swamp of burbling blood and bogs of feces. The hellflies buzz loud enough to be called a growl as they seek the rotten and decayed to feast upon. Twitching trees of scoured flesh and sinew sway slightly within the windless expanse. The sky - if one truly exists up there - is an abyss of darkness where who knows what may loom.

It is upon a desolate patch of reasonably dry rock that our interlopers are suddenly spit into existence within the Fifth Circle of Hell and those talismans seem to gleam with mystical - and perhaps even infernal - energy as their wards activate with the suddenly transition from God's Paradise to Hell. Despite those wards, the sheer annoyance of being in Hell can be felt tugging gently at the soul, as though inviting those trapped here to let loose, shed a little blood, and have a little fun with it.

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma is not a hero. She's more here out of a spate of complete and total confusion and a sensation that this is some form of generalized hallucination. And to see whether Dante's writings held any degree of accuracy. There's that morbid sort of fascination as well - for those that have met demons (metaphorical or literal) seeing something on their home turf was going to be very different.
    So, with sufficient lubricants in her system to get her to go through with this, Emma Frost, a woman conditioned by vanity, arrogance, ego, and a willingness to be as cutthroat as a situation called for it to protect her own interests was..
    Going down to hell where everyone said she would end up anyways. So just call it getting a peek at what the rest of her afterlife would be like. Lingering intoxicants aside, Emma Frost would sigh over and then move to shift to diamond form to sober herself up. "Damned if we do, damned if we don't." Looking for a plaque along the way about Hope and lack of it.

Corben Kelly has posed:
With time to prepare for this trip, Corben was able to throw together ingredients for just about any circle. He has everything he needs to do anything from battling demons to fashioning and emergency 'escape hatch' and everything in front of, in between and behind.

He's had very very little sleep since the trip to Castle Doom. So very little sleep. It shows a bit in how cranktastically he responds to the exact spot they've been dumped out.

"Seriously? Dude's bot thing goes haywire and we're the ones that have to sniff the shit of it?" But not for long. "Ngggghhh," he groans before fishing around in his little bag of tricks. No, that's not it... not that one either... wait, there it is.

He pulls out a small bottle from his bag, takes a sip himself, offers it to Liam and then gives a nod toward Emma as well. If everyone decides to partake, the contents likely tastes a lot like this place smells, but after? Everything smells like lavender and patchouli - /everything/.

Liam Traynor has posed:
Liam's purpose for joining the group traveling to hell was simple... Corben was going. He had the basic information required, the were getting a stolen museum back from the depths of hell. The museum didn't matter to him, not did it matter who stole it or how it got there, what mattered is that hell was not a place he could consciously allow Corben to go without back up.

So to the bowels of hell he went, and instantly regretted it. Overly sensitive olfactory sense, he was punched in the face by the worst thing he'd ever smelled in his life.

"Holy fu.." he mutters with a thick Irish brogue as he slams his hand over his nose. "That has to be the worst thing ever..."

Even as he is suffering the scents of hell like an attack, he is looking around to ensure they were safe for the moment. When the bottle is offered, he doesn't even ask what it is or what it will do, he just takes a drink and passes it back.

"Oh thank the goddess," he finally breaths when lavender and patchouli fill his nose. "Not a flowery guy, but that's so much better."

Victor Von Doom has posed:
The immediate surroundings don't seem to showcase danger lurking within it; but in the bowels of Hell it's difficult to truly set aside the fear connected with the unknown lurking just out of sight. The swamp of bubbling blood and islands of floating feces could truly hide a great deal among its vast expanse.

There is no sun. There is no moon. When one looks far enough into the distance there is only the abyss. Yet when one looks hard enough something hopeful can be witnessed. A gleam in the distance like the faintest beam of daylight trying in vain to climb higher into the sky. If there was ever a guiding light in the terrible depths of Hell, that would probably be it.

Feet begin to turn toward that fledging pillar of golden-white light that, given the surroundings, could be described almost as though it were of the divine. It's likely the voices however that begin to draw attention to the trespassers within the heart of the Hells. The squelching of wet muscle and flesh can be heard, along with the quiet snap and crackle of bone that what few grotesque trees reside within the desolate swamp begin to move. The snaps and cracks seem to be the naked limbs of the things shifting and contorting, ceasing in their skyward reach as they begin seeking to bury themselves within the swampy sea and walk akin to some twisted manifestation of hellish centipede as the damned monstrosities begin to slosh the hellish waters with their movements toward that barren patch of rocky landscape with Corben, Emma, and Liam occupy.

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma keeps in her diamond form. Stretching out her mind will bring only danger here. She's aware of her own skill as a telepath, but this is a realm ruled by magic and the twisted nature of itself. She leaves herself in a position where her emotions are gone, replaced by a ruthlessness and pure logical pragmatism. "We have to bypass those things." Fighting will just result in an unending stalemate as far as she is concerned. She remains in her diamond form. Will physical attacks even harm them or will they be effected only by magic?

With her own statement in mind, Emma Frost does not attack, does not charge, does not move.. Just advancing a few meters to put herself between the rest of the group and the advancing.. Monstrocities. SHe should have remembered to cut Wanda or Illyana a cheque before this.

Corben Kelly has posed:
First, lets shed a little light on the subject. It's just too doom and gloom around here. This time the vial Corben pulls from his bag is crushed in the palm of his hand. He blows the fine powder in his palm outward as he turns in a slow circle. "And on the first day, He said, let there be light," he mumbles under his breath once he's blown the last bit off his hand. It swirls outward, covering what seems to be an impossible distance, lighting the area in what can only be describe as 'holy light'.

That one took him at least two days to prepare and he only has one more left.

While waiting to see how well it works down here, Corben can't help but to stifle a little snort of amusement over Liam being 'protected' by a glass girl.

"If you can cover me for a minute, I think I can throw something together that might let us walk above most of this shit." - both literal and figurative.

Liam Traynor has posed:
The sounds Liam picks up before the others, the scratching and padding of feet around them. Already the hair on the back of his neck is rising, and the trained, wild instincts inside him screaming.

Lifting his head like he was sniffing the air, he takes a deep breath of lavender filled air and then it happens. The sound of crunching bones and tearing flesh as his body morphs in mere seconds from a simple man to an eight foot tall, black furred werewolf with Nordic blue eyes. Across his arms, chest and back are illuminated tattoos of Celtic design that take on a life of their own beneath his fur.

"I got you," he growls towrd Corben, the voice matching the mixture of beast and man that he now is.

Victor Von Doom has posed:
The landscape alights with brilliant light as blown and scattered from the hand of Corben Kelly. Where darkness once dominated, now the light of the Heaven's seems to throw it back to the edges of nothing. It simply goes on and on and on. There are no walls, there are no ceilings, there are no boundaries. It is an endless expanse of nothingness that becomes illuminated. From every direction furious roars, challenging howls, and curses in some vile tongue erupt at the sudden bringing of faux daylight into the Fifth realm.

The same light reflects off of the diamond surface of Emma Frost and to call it a dazzling display would be an understatement. Blinding beams of light play off of her glimmering surface, creating an explosion of light and hope within an otherwise desolate landscape. The encroaching creatures are practically thrown back by the blinding light. They topple and thrash, splashing the reeking parody of swamp water all about in their pained desperation to flee the sudden blazing glare of the artificial light.

The shining light seems to embolden the illumination of Faoladh's tattoos, causing them to shine with the brilliance of some mystically infused brand.

The light lasts for only a moment however. Somewhere in the infinite distance an audible snap can be heard, like a tree's limb crackling through an otherwise quiet forest. Where before there seemed to be no wind within the vast hellish expanse, now there is the roar of it far in the distance and growing loud as it seems to travel toward the point of origin for the all-encompassing light. Now the howl of wind can be heard as the abyssal darkness can be seen in all directions, collapsing back in upon the light and scattering it away with gut-wrenching speed.

Despite the swiftly returning darkness; that faint pillar of hopeful light can still be seen in the distance.

Emma Frost has posed:
There's that light. It could very well be the light at the end of the tunnel. Or it could be the light at the end of an angler shark's muzzle in the depths of the ocean to reel in fish. The odds are very highly on the other end of that. But, given a choice between fighting their way continuously wtih no real guide along and being bogged down in the bowels of hell in a metaphorical, swamplike sense..

Emma Frost says to her two companions, "Take a breath and hold it." She does calculations in her mind, goes to reach over to each of them to solidly yank them towards her and brace them..

And then she's going to pull a maneuver more out of Hulk's playbook as she would just take them, brace, and leap several dozen meters up and over towards the light, and presuming there's nothing immediately there trying to eviscerate them.. WOuld keep on charging towards it.

Corben Kelly has posed:
Cobren has nothing but absolute faith in the fact that Liam will do whatever it takes to make sure he's safe. Diamond girl? He has no clue, but he has to toss a little faith in that direction as well, especially considering the sudden turn of - oh hello!

It's a good thing he had the good sense to keep a hand on the handle of that ever present, well loved and worn, leather satchel he carries everywhere when he finds himself suddenly airborne. "Just go with it, Liam!" he manages to yell out just before he takes that deep breath. Hold it? For how long?

Liam Traynor has posed:
The creatures around the group get a warning growl from Liam, the werewolf fully prepared to charge into them and start shredding. Thankfully for his sake, that particular plan is put on hold, perhaps even cancelled.

Grabbed up by the glass woman, he was just about to have what most would call a 'tissy fit of claws and teeth' when Corben calls out to 'go with it'. It wasn't exactly his usual most of travel, in fact he'd never been around other 'powered' individuals before, but... he goes with it.

"Is this normal?" he calls out, the thick brogue still present within the growled voice. "I've never been carried by a woman before!" Does he sound... gleeful? Is he enjoying this? Perhaps, the grin on his muzzle says he is.

Should anything consider attacking them as they jump from spot to spot, it will be met with either the claws on his hands or on his feet, depending on his present distance from the ground.

Victor Von Doom has posed:
The roar of wind grows louder and louder and louder until, finally and mercifully, it goes silent. As though some distant lever were pulled; the sound ceases abruptly. Despite the sound of rushing wind dying away, the howls of hundreds - if not thousands - of hellish voices can still be heard in the distance. The cacophony sounds as though it is an eternity away and yet in the same instance they sound as though they are no more than a couple hundred yards away and drawing closer. It is a paradox in and of itself, but, this is Hell.

The trio leap into the air with the aid of Emma Frost and soon land upon a narrow path through the swamp. They charge headlong and with wild abandon across the desolate landscape, all in the pursuit of reaching the weak beacon of light in the distance.

Their travels find them crossing the paths of many threats. At irregular intervals the denizens of Hell lurch from the shadows and even the bloody faux water in surprise attacks; teeth gnash, claws swipe, and tails lash. Their forms are varied and grotesque. All of them fueled by rage, wrath, and ruin. All of them seek to rend and sunder. All of them seek to rip and tear. Driven by unimaginable fury they come. One or two at a time, sometimes more. They launch themselves at the heroes and their talismans seem to gleam furiously, seeking to ward their souls against the presence of such naked corruption.

The light grows closer as Corben, Emma, and Liam draw nearer and nearer. It's as though a sliver of sunlight from the mortal realm has found a place to lay down roots within Hell itself. The sprout of light seems to rest atop a hillock. As it grows closer and closer a small case of pristine glass can be witnessed atop an intricately carved podium, simply awaiting rescue from this deplorable place.

The issue arises in the swarm of demonic monstrosities that ring the hilltop, as though drawn their by curiosity and their endless thirst for brutality; yet they seem unable to truly climb the hill to topple the source of the blinding light.

Emma Frost has posed:
The other two are released, and Emma would tsk at Faoladh. "With an attitude like that it won't happen again." She would go to take her fingers together over and go to glance warily down. "Well, something's setup a perimeter here." Of bodies scrambling over bodies, gore over gore. Everything wanting to be on a murderous top..

She just has to know that it seems like those things can't get through whatever is blocking them off and they want to get up here badly. And she'd much rather not be caught up by them in the matter. The horrors seem to be after this thing up at the top..

So now they need to activate it and hold off the swarm. Emma goes to let out a sigh over and then goes to take her hand to try and prod at it. Which will hopefully be enough to activate it..

Or make all the monsters aware that there are juicy flesh nuggets atop and get them to cooperate to devour them all.

Corben Kelly has posed:
There's really not a whole lot Corben can do when his hands are basically tied by the fact that he's being dragged along like a fashion accessory by Emma. So, he just has to close his eyes and hope for the best until they're put down again. By the time that finally happens, he's sure to have a bite mark or two, more than a few scratches - he's magical but he's also squishy.

Once settled back down again, he double checks to make sure the contents of his bag isn't all shattered glass and wrong this mixed with even more wrong that.

Finding it still intact, he asks, "Well, it worked for a second before, should I try it again?" as he pulls out his last little vial of Let There be Light. "Might buy you two time to get up there and get it?"

With a sidelong glace at Liam he adds, "I can hide myself, I'll be fine."

Liam Traynor has posed:
Faoladh visibly pouts for a few seconds, then let's it go. He will never semi-fly again, no matter how fun it was... but now was not the time to be thinking about how to apologize in a way to get to do it again. Now was the time for carnage.

His own rage and fury were nothing compared to the monsters of hell, and yet he had one ace in the hole they did not. He had actively trained for combat like this his entire life, mano e mano, larger groups, immense foes, he was ready, willing and able.

For one more moment he looks to Corben, to see what his intent is, he offers a single nod and then he's gone. Rushing the lines of demons he begins the process of picking up a demon and throwing it at other demons, using the numbers and eagerness to get up the hill against them. If nothing else, he is a distraction away from Corben, giving the man time to do whatever it is he was going to do.

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Once there is an immense werewolf among them, throwing and rending any that come within range; the small army of demons ringing the fleshy hillock aren't long to continue staring toward that most hated beacon of faux daylight. They roar our their challenges or their angry curses. They leap and crawl. They skitter and they flit. They rush toward Faoladh and seek to overwhelm him. Those that are unable to reach the rampaging werewolf?

They turn toward the diamond covered Emma Frost. The hellish abominations leap at her, piling atop her. Their claws making horrendous screeches against the hardened diamond surface of her. Those foolish enough to attempt biting into her tender flesh; find something far from tender flesh. Their teeth chip or shatter against her form and their rage only intensifies at the breaking of their chompers.

Meanwhile Corben readies his last concoction of Blinded By the Light.

Corben Kelly has posed:
It takes Corben a moment, more than a blink, but less than a few seconds, to find the vial of the same powder he used before. It takes him just a few seconds more to come find yet another small vial. His organizational skills might seem haphazard at best, chaotic at worst, to anyone else - but to him it's everything in its place.

When he smashes the two together, it isn't much of a boost to the first time around, but perhaps enough to buy the others just a little bit more time than before.

Again he smashes glass in the palm of his hand, this time two vials. The powders mix together as he blows them outward. "And on the first day, he said let there be LIGHT, motherfuckers, and LOTS of it," he calls out as the dust spreads. The magic is in the making, the intent is in his words.

It doesn't make the effect any stronger, it doesn't make it more widespread, his hope is to make it last longer.

...and to maybe not get eaten when everything turns to face the source of the Holy Light.

Immediately upon finishing his first action, he downs the contents of a vial he had open in his other hand.

While Corben doesn't just blink out of existence, he does just become so very much 'less noticeable'. He's not the droid, he's SO not the droid. He's nothing, no more than a hellfly that's not even worth the effort to swat it.

Between that and ducking behind whatever it is he can duck behind, he's truly hoping he won't be seen. Corben's earlier 'I can hide' wasn't exactly a lie, but might have been more confident than the actual truth of it.

Liam Traynor has posed:
Even with the swarms of demons coming at him, Faoladh continues to glance back toward Corben and the glass woman. His purpose, his duty, so ingrained in him that if needed he would throw himself in the path of trouble to keep Corben safe.

When the man 'mostly' disappears, the turns full attention to distracting and making a path. "Now Corben!" he growls out, the very second there is space enough that the small man could shoot through and up the hill.

Were it not for the potion of lavender, he would be able to scent track Emma and Corben, but with the lovely scent still blocking out the horrid aroma of hell, he was forced to rely on the powers imbued into the Celtic Knot tattoos around his arms. He couldn't see or smell Corben, but he still knew exactly where he was.

"Get up the hill, I'll help her if I can!" he then growls out, hoping that Corben does exactly that... up the hill, touch the thing.

Emma Frost has posed:
Emma is demon-piled as she's got no real leverage to punch, stab, or throw them. The water prevents her from getting a solid grip, the things are all over her so she doesn't have the room to maneuver, and she lacks the space to get any sort of room to throw. Teeth slash into her, claws dig at her, tails spike at her, ridges and spikes grate on her. She fights as best she can.

Fist to what might be an eye, ankle spike to what's the equivalent of a throat, elbow to what is passable for an inner knee. She's being buried in bodies.

Fortunately she doesn't have to breathe.

Corben Kelly has posed:
He's not a fighter. That isn't to say that he can't hold his own against a basic human, but Corben has never been a fighter. What he has always been good at is - ducking, dodging and running. So, his final task in this little trip to the Stinkville version of hell is a piece of cake.

That is if cake is actually getting spewed and sprayed with demon guts being tossed about by your werewolf, self appointed, guardian.

Run, Corben, Run! He dodges and weaves his way in and out of the stragglers left to get into his path. At one point he even leaps over something that's a little over half as tall as him. That one almost costs him some important bits - if he'd just been an inch lower in his leap. A roll between the legs of something bigger and he's back on his feet again.

Finally he reaches the top of the hillock.

"Close your eyes, hold your breath! I don't fucking know, just get ready because I'm - " Touching the case. Like a kid in a candy store, he just can't get the words all out before he has to just /touch/ it. It's so SHINY. Anyone that knows him knows he can't resist a shiny.

So yes, Corben reaches out without hesitation and touches the case.

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Both Emma and Faoladh wage war in their own little ways. Faoladh swiftly becomes a frenzy of flashing claws and brutish force. While Emma may become swiftly overwhelmed; she holds her own, in her own fashion. She fights with vigor and gusto, throwing elbows and lashing with kicks at every opportunity. They simply keep coming, however. More and more and more seem to flood toward the battle; perhaps drawn originally by the burst of brilliant daylight.

Again Corben brings light to the darkness, but it is an abbreviated and exceptionally brief thing. In Hell, the rules are dictated by a far more powerful mind and the first blaze of brilliant faux daylight was enough to warrant more precise attentions paid to ensure that such a travesty does not happen again. Thus the crushing of the vials and scattering into the nonexistent winds results in a flicker of powerful light, light the brilliant flash of a camera.

As brief as that flash may have been, it effectively acts as though someone had thrown the world's - or Hell's - biggest flashbang. The demons recoil, hissing and spitting out renewed curses and furious howls. They shrink back from the light and stumbling over one another in the process. While some may fight on with the Werewolf or Lady Diamond; many more shrink back from the suddenly disappeared Corben Kelly.

Faoladh and Emma continue to battle over the foot of the hillock, gradually opening a narrow corridor that permits Corben to slip through and up the hill. The climb feels like it takes far longer than it truly does, as though the climbing of that hill somehow bends both time and space. He trudges higher and higher, a powerful thirst growing within him as though he's gone a day or two without a drop of water. By the time he does reach the top, huffing and puffing with ragged breaths as he draws nearer to the case suffused with blinding light. When he does reach for the case atop its finely crafted plinth, the flood of warmth and hope seems to invite him closer. If it were a trap? It's a damn, damn good one.

He touches the glass of the case. The cool sensation of the glass is a reward in its own right. Suddenly Emma feels snatched from beneath the pile of demonic foes. Suddenly Faoladh feels as though a pup lifted by the scruff amidst his own whirling fury. Suddenly Corben feels as though he's the fish and that case is the hook, as he feels as though he's yanked upward like a puppet on its strings.

They roll and spin through an expanse of fire, ash, fear, and hopelessness. Their flesh feels aflame, their blood feels like ice, and their soul feels like a six hundred and sixty six hooks seek to tear it in all directions.

The sudden blaze of holy light seems as though it could very well be a sign of salvation. A rescue from true damnation.

The sun is high over New York City's Ellis Island. The National Museum of Immigration rooted once more, precisely where it should be. They stand before the long, covered awning that precedes the front entrance of the national landmark. The air has springtime freshness to it - though neither Corben or Faoladh can smell it to enjoy it - and the sounds of lapping water nearby acts as a peaceful chorus following the hellscape that the three have only just been ripped from.

The talismans that they wear gradually begin to corrode. Crumbling into chunky dust, their enchantments exhausted or perhaps the last act of Doctor Victor Von Doom to ensure that all was made right and left squared away.