10226/Path of Glory: Dust to Dust

Path of Glory: Dust to Dust
Date of Scene:	19 February 2022
Location:	The Great Beyond
Synopsis:	Jon finds himself transported to an audience with the Presence where he makes a case for the most unlikley of interventions and makes his preparations to travel the Way of Kings in Duat.
Cast of Characters:	Jonathan Sims, Michael Demiurgos
Tinyplot:	Path of Glory

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Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon lies in Caitlin Fairchild's arms. He's pressed the vial with the leaf into her hands, and Phoebe has clasped his hand with Tim's now. There's a flare of light as the Archive transfers from Jon to Tim. Caitlin is praying.

    "B-bring this... to... Duat," he manages. "Whole universe... depends..."

    There's a moment where everything trails off. Where everything fades, and goes terribly, terribly cold.

    "...on it. Caitlin, do you understand? Caitlin?"

    Caitlin stands up, /through/ him.

    What in the world...?

    Oh. He's dead.

    He sits up, slowly, then stands, as he sees Caitlin limp over to Michael. He hears Cael's scream of anguish. He watches as both women take out their anger and grief on the archangels. Michael screams in fear and agony as Caitlin cuts him. Uriel does not engage Cael, instead dodging and then translocating.

    A voice beyond imagining rings out, and there is a flash of lightning and thunder. The archangels disappear.

    Jon knows he should go. He knows he's dead, and he should be heading to the underworld, but he's transfixed, staring at his girlfriend, at her rage. He takes a step toward her as she flies toward him--and she moves right through him as she goes to pick up his empty clothing.

    "Cael, I'm right here," he says, voice breaking. He looks down at his hand--just the one, even now--and starts to sob. "Please, love, it'll be okay. I'm coming back. I just... I just have to..." He turns to look at her, reaches out again, to try to comfort her.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    A soft, higher pitched, and vaguely feminine voice speaks from behind Jon. "You can't touch them. They are beyond you now" says the voice. They purse their lips. "Or rather, you are beyond them. That's probably better. They nod as if accepting that statement with more assurance than the former."

    The figure of another archangel stands behind the dead man. Their blonde hair is perfect and hangs in a sandy golden curtain about their fair face. They are unarmed and unarmored, wearing a white linen tunic with purple and lavendar accents at the hemlines and chest. Their lavender colored wings fan out behind them as they offer a hand to the lingering soul. "It's time to go, Jonathan," the archangel Suriel says with a sad, but hopeful expression on their face.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon turns to regard the archangel for a moment. "I remember you," he says. "You came to the Triskelion on Halloween. You warned us about that party in Gotham. You gave me a message for Sam Wilson." His brow furrows. "Suriel, right? You fought Cael at St. John the Divine."

    Suddenly his eyes widen. "No. No, you're... I'm not supposed to go with /you/. I'm... supposed to..." He looks down at his feet. Well, no, he's in Hell, is Duat /under/ him? It's hard to say. Still, he shakes his head.

    "I'm /Egyptian/," he protests. "I serve the gods of Kemet. I'm supposed to go to Duat, not the Silver City."

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Suriel gives him a look of delight at being recognized. "It is so good to be remembered from time to time, they say before shaking their head. "You misunderstand me. All souls go elsewhere before being sent to their respective afterlife endeavors. Valhalla, Duat, Hel, Hell, Hades, all these places are -after- their judgement before another. Or well, most of them. But some cases are special, and require alternative methods given the circumstances around their demise. For instance you and..."

    They nod over to the prone form of Lady Death resting in a pool of her own thick blood before the entrance to the throne room. "Besides, you need to talk to He Who Is Above All," they say, giving him a knowing look. "I would think there are some things you want to ask, especially since the Great Mother asked us to give you a chance to state your case before Him. He at the very least would like to see the Chosen of his favorite Daughter."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon smirks. "So... we got it all wrong, hmm? All the funerary rites and mummification wasn't necessary?" He glances aside to where Cael is still clutching at his clothing, his body having disappeared entirely. "I'll admit I was the /tiniest/ bit worried."

    He sighs, looking over toward Lady Death's body. "I hope you'll meet me down there when I get to Duat," he murmurs. "You've shown up every time so far, don't back out on me now. Claw your way back to the world of the living, right?" He has no doubts at all that if anyone can overcome death it's... well... Lady Death.

    Another heavy sigh and he looks back to Cael, for just a moment. Reaches out again, as if wishing he could touch her. Then then he turns back to Suriel. "Alright, then," he says. "Lead the way. Let's go talk to God."

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    "Fantastic!" Suriel says before gripping his hand and snapping her fingers. The world falls away beneath their feet. The transition would not be new for Jon, he's made the trip twice now. The planets of the solar system fall away to a tiny speck beneath them before the arm of the galaxy follows. And then the galaxy itself in the endless void of space. Andromeda looms on the horizon before it and the Milky Way both fall away into a glowing cluster of brillinat lights.

    Even so they continue moving at a pace far greater than any Jon has considered before. The cluster falls to the supercluster of galaxies and void that make up most of what astronomers of the day can explore. And even further up they go. Soon the cosmic web is laid out beneath Jon's feet like a tangled mass of knots and strings, the makeup of the universe: the Laniakea.

    And yet, they continue even past that. Looking down shows Jon the immensity of the their universe, spread out over billions of light years and expanding even further every second.

    Then, there on the horizon a spark blossoms. The beauty and light of the Silver City. They slow and stop before the gate and there near the base of the great doors hangs the figure of Chas. He doesn't look beaten or broken, his clothes--a white shirt and slacks--are clean, and his beard has been trimmed. He just looks intensely tired. Next to him in dark black lettering is a message: JOHN CONSTANTINE WAS HERE.

    Suriel blinks at the message and smiles, "Oh they left it! I thought they might. It's a good message, gives hope to those who feel lost in life."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon considers asking questions during that trip. Where do people usually go, to be judged? Not where he's going, if it's an exception. /Why/ is he an exception? Why do the archangels keep insisting on using the pronoun 'he' for God when gender is an intensely mortal concept wrapped up in both biology and societal considerations? 'They' or 'It' would surely be more appropriate, as the gender-neutral and non-gendered English pronouns. Are the archangels just using that prnoun because Jon subconsciously expects them to? Because they're influenced by the societal milieu of the area they're operating in?

    If God is /actually/ male, by a Western human concept of gender, Jon's going to flip a table. Literally, summon a table just to flip it. That's ridiculous.

    But he bites back all the questions, deciding to leave them for later rather than pester the psychopomp. It's odd, not having the Archive attached to him; his natural curiosity is there, to be sure, but he doesn't feel /driven/ the way he normally does. He can't quite decide if he likes that or not.

    Arriving at the door he notes the writing mostly because Suriel points it out, and rolls his eyes. "I doubt he left it as a message of /hope/." A pause. "...Wait, /John/ was here? When was John here?"

    He frowns and steps forward, to reach up toward Chas. "Did he come to see you, finally?" A pause. "How... how are you, mate? Gods, you look worse than I feel lately."

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Chas looks up at Jon and blinks. "Hi, Jon..." he says with a lopsided grin. "You know... just hanging around." He chuckles weakly. "He did. But not for the express purpose of getting me down. Not for lack of trying but someone else needs to do that deed and he's not exactly keen on letting go...if you catch my drift."

    He gives Jon a once over. "You look... good. For a dead guy" he says and then angles his eyes to Suriel. "You're here to see the Head Honcho, right? One sec." He closes his eyes and the gate itself flickers through a myriad of colors in a kaleidescopic effect. "Okay..." Chas replies opening his eyes again. "Should be good now."

    "Thank you, Francis" Suriel replies and then glances at the graffiti. "No I suppose he didn't. But we're sometimes willing to look away from intent and see symbolic nature more than what the greater meaning of things happen to be. This is one of those times." They offer their hand to Jon again. "Are you ready? I would understand if you need a moment to compose yourself. Meeting the Presence can be... intense for some."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Am I allowed to yell at Them? Flip Them off, give Them a piece of my mind?" Jon eyes Suriel for a long moment. "Because if not... then yes, I need a moment. This is /Their/ fault, you know. I have a lot of sympathy for Michael's situation, although I'm not /remotely/ happy with how he's handling things."

    He turns to Chas for a moment longer. "I'm told you can see everything going on?" He hesitates a moment. "You know we're coming for you, right? We're going to fix this." A beat. "Cael will want to punch you when this is all over, but the rest of us are going to be really happy to get you back."

    He smiles, sadly. "You can meet my daughter. I didn't even know she /was/ my daughter until after you wound up here."

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Chas nods. "I know, mate. I know and I will wait until you manage it for good" he says with a nod. "I'd like that. I figured you'd make a good day. You have that... air about you." He pauses. "Good luck. With... well, everything. I'll see you around." He sighs and the Gate of the Silver City cracks and swings open.

    "Given that John Constantine called the Presence a 'cunt' I don't think you yelling will make much a difference in the long run" Suriel replies with a shrug of one shoulder. "All things considered, I don't know if you could say anything that hasn't already been said... though you have more context than most."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon smirks and rolls his eyes at Suriel. "Of course he did," he says. He'll have to get in touch with John, if he can. He knew his friend wouldn't just leave the world in the lurch, but what /is/ he doing? Worries for another time.

    He squares his shoulders and takes a breath. "Right, well then... let's get on with this, then. I have an appointment in Duat, and I'd hate to keep them waiting."

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    "Indeed you do" Suriel says as they take Jon's hand and lead them into the Hall of the Presence. There is no up or down or any direction within. Just intense light. The Presence is bigger than shape or form or gender or any idea of reality. The Presence simply -Is-. On a scale so fundamental and solid that putting shape to It would only cheapen the greater sum of what It is.

    But Jon is not entirely alone with the Presence. Two other figures are there in the hall. Two figures that Jon recognizes.

    The Archangel Michael looks terrible. The damages from all his injuries only hours ago remain. The blood has stopped flowing, but the holes and cuts and bruises still linger in place and the fatigue of all those compounded injuries are evident on his expression. The Archangel Uriel looks only mildly better. His arm in a simple linen sling and held close to his chest and he too sports a myriad of bruises on abrassions from the aggression of Cael Becker.

    Both Archangels incline their head in polite acknowledgement as Jon and Suriel step forward. "JONATHAN SIMS" intones a voice that is so massive and large that it even defies categorization. It doesn't so much 'speak' as the words are imprinted out into the mind of those who 'hear' it.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon takes a moment to look over the two archangels. It's strange, somehow, to think that they were injured like that at least in part because of him. Caitlin had her own anger to take out on Michael, but it seems to Jon that his death galvanized her at least somewhat. And Cael? Well, Cael's anger at Uriel is entirely about Jon's death; he knows that for certain.

    But he can't really focus on them for long, because that /voice/ is speaking his name--or rather, placing his name directly into his brain. He clears his throat and frowns. "Yes," he says, "That's me. Jonathan Sims. You wanted to speak to me?" He can't seem to keep the vaguely belligerent tone out of his voice, like he's been summoned to the principal's office and doesn't have much respect for its occupant.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    There is a pause and then the Presence speaks again. "THERE IS MUCH TO BE SAID AND MUCH TO BE DONE. MORE THAN HAS ALREADY BEEN DONE. YOU ARE THE ONE MY DAUGHTER CHOSE FOR HER PART IN THIS CONTEST. IT IS CLEAR SHE DID NOT CHOOSE IN ERROR." It seems that Jon's disdain for the Presence is not reciprocated by the entity. "IT IS CURIOUS AS TO WHY YOU ARE HERE BEFORE ME INSTEAD OF JOINED WITHIN AS ALL WHO MEET YOUR FATE ARE WONT TO DO."

    The light shifts only slightly and seems to hover on Uriel and Suriel. "AN EXPLANATION IS REQUIRED." Uriel winces uncomfortably. "A request was made by Gaea that he speak with you. I--and Suriel--both agreed that it might be best for you to have an audience with him. Given his importance and what he has done for your vision." There is definitely a glare given across the space to Michael at that.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Your... vision?" Jon frowns, looking between Uriel and Suriel, then to Michael, and then to the light--or at least, the focus point of the light. Then his gaze settles back on Uriel. He wraps his arm across his chest as if he'd like to fold it with the missing one, frowning

    "I really don't know what's going on here. I know that I'm dead... and I know that was evidently important. I also know that I'm /supposed/ to be heading down to Duat, except evidently... not? Look, I think it's about time you tell me what the bloody hell is going /on/, Uriel. Your plan worked, evidently--so what was it? And what happens now?"

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    The intense light falls on Uriel solely now and there is a feeling of -definite- scrutiny. "Okay! I get it" he says to they pervasive existence of the Presence.

    He turns to Jon and sighs. "Your death was necessary for two reasons. One, you already know. You have to be remade in order to become Ma'at's agent in the world. That remaking requires a certain method. I wish there was another way, but there isn't. Not for her. But secondly, I all but knew that he" at this he points to Michael, "would go about killing you in his usual way... without thinking. He would use the Sword of his station on you and break with -its- Purpose in doing so. It is not meant for willing sacrifices. Which is what you did. Killing you in that way got the attention of..." he gestures to the Light.

    "God's vision. The world. The universe. Your continued defense against his actions has all but ensured success for its continuation." He smiles and gestures with his free hand. "And now that you're here you can go about what you intend to become and help the world even further, if in a less excruciating and taxing way. Or at least, that is my hope."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon keeps his arm across his chest, and now raises his eyebrows. "So the entire plan... your /entire/ plan... was to get someone who would willingly sacrifice themselves stood up against Michael, so that he'd kill them with his Sword and thereby actually get the attention of the Presence. Because... They haven't been paying attention to the crap Michael's been doing. I mean, I wasn't always going to be Gaea's Champion, so Ma'at has nothing to do with this. And... there really wasn't /any/ other way?" He sighs, and shakes his head.

    He focuses his attention on the light now. "So now that you're /paying attention/... what, you take Michael's toys away until he behaves? That's it, this is all over? Seems like a bloody waste, if you ask me. How many people died already, and don't get a chance to come back?"

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    The Presence seems to consider Jon's words for a moment. "IT IS NOT IN MY NATURE TO INTERVENE ON BEHALF OF THE CREATIONS FORGED FROM MY POWER. HOWEVER, THAT DOES NOT MEAN THAT I AM INCAPABLE OF DOING SO."

    The Presence focuses on Michael who stands proud and defiant in place under the scrutiny, despite his injuries he doesn't falter under the gaze like Uriel did. "I HAVE WITHDRAWN THE SWORD FROM MY CHILD'S ARSENAL. IT'S CONTINUED USE AGAINST INNOCENTS WOULD HAVE BEEN CATASTROPHIC."

    "AND YET THERE IS MORE TO BE DONE. IMBALANCE CONTINUES EVEN WITH THE GREATER FORCES OF HEAVEN RECALLED TO THEIR HOME. YOUR SPHERE OF REALITY IS STILL UNHINGED. FURTHER INTERVENTION BY MY HAND WOULD REQUIRE GREATER REACH AND COULD RESULT IN UNINTENTIONAL CONSEQUENCES. ARE YOU ASKING FOR SUCH INTERVENTION, JONATHAN SIMS?" The Light intensifies on Michael, who refuses to acknowledge it in his place.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon blinks rapidly at the voice. "Why on Earth would I want /that/? What makes you think..." He stops, and peers around at the three archangels. Suriel, standing aside quietly. Uriel, faltering under the gaze of the Presence. Michael, defiant and unbending.

    "Tell me something," he says then, slowly. "Why did you have Michael and Lucifer create the universe? You can create; why not do so yourself? And why make them work together, rather than each making their own?" He has the tone of a man who thinks he might already know the answer to the question, but is asking to be sure. And, perhaps, to illustrate a point.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Michael jerks his head at Jon sharply. "You're asking questions far above your station Archi--"

    He is cut off by the booming essence of the Presence answering the question. "WHY DOES ANY PARENT GIVE POWER AND GUIDANCE TO THEIR CHILDREN? IT WAS TIME THEY GREW IN UNDERSTANDING AND RESPONSIBILITY. IN DOING SO THEY WOULD NEED TO WORK TOGETHER AND SEE THAT THEIR CREATION WAS SOUND AND MAINTAINED, BUT ONE FELL AND THE OTHER WAS TASKED WITH TOO MUCH IN THE ABSENCE."

    Uriel is smiling wryly at Jon as if to say 'good work' at the question. Michael scowls at Jon and then returns to his defiant, and injured, indifference. It wouldn't be too far to call his posturing, sulking.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon regards Michael with a glare. "Maybe if you didn't want me asking questions you shouldn't have bloody well /killed/ me, /Saint Michael/." Yeah, he's not getting over /that/ anytime soon. "Which was /not/ fun, by the way. I didn't like it in the slightest." Oh, he's angry. Furious, and in pain, and yet he manages to put it aside and focus back on the Presence.

    "I don't know the details of Lucifer's Fall and... honestly I'm not terribly interested. I presume, however, that it was in the nature of... order overcoming chaos? That's what it /ought/ to have been, anyway. But the trouble is that Michael can't /grow up/. He can't change, and learn from his mistakes." He frowns. "It seems like quite the oversight. Maybe you just didn't understand that was needed, at the time. Maybe you... overreacted to Lucifer's Fall?" He quirks a brow, then shakes his head.

    "I... would not ask you to intervene on my behalf, nor on the behalf of mortals. That's the whole point of this business, isn't it? For us to prove ourselves, to fix the problem? To show--or perhaps to learn--that we don't need intervention from on high? If I came in here demanding that you fix everything... how does that make me any better than Michael? No, our universe is broken, and I have a plan to fix it... or, well, Gaea has a plan to fix it, and I finally figured out what that is."

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Uriel's gaze shifts to one of speculation. He doesn't know what Jon is going for here. There may be a touch of worry in his gaze as well. After all, intervention by the Presence is what his ultimate goal was, but he wants the Presence to take back what it is due. It's power from Michael. Surely that's what Jon is going to ask, right?

    The light of the Presence shudders and shifts a number of times. "WHAT IS THE INTERVENTION YOU REQUEST THEN, JONATHAN SIMS. ON WHOSE BEHALF DO YOU PETITION? IF NOT MORTALKIND OR YOURSELF? THEN WHO ELSE DO YOU WISH TO ASSIST WITH YOUR REQUEST?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon smiles, just a bit. "Your children." He gestures with his hand, toward Michael, Uriel, and Suriel. "The archangels. I would ask that You let them learn, and grow, and change. I would ask that You let them... grow up."

    A frown touches his features. "I wouldn't ask anything at all, truth be told... except that Michael cannot seem to understand that his actions have consequences that he may not have anticipated. I cannot convince him to give up his power if he cannot understand why. He /knows/ his path is wrong, he /wants/ me to succeed--and yet he cannot even begin to see things differently. If You're going to give them enough will to make their own decisions, to have their own personalities... then let them grow, at least within their Purpose."

    He looks to Uriel, expression growing sad. "And I do mean /all/ of them. Even this one who is closest to me, who understands me best, still wishes You to intervene on our behalf. He still doesn't understand what Gaea asked of him, when she asked for his help. Why she asked /him/ for help, and not /You/. He doesn't understand that part of growing up is accepting that your parents don't have all the answers. That /you're/ the adult now, and you have to make do with what you have."

    He spreads his hand to one side. "My generation got handed a pretty raw deal. We were told that if we just did everything right--followed the rules, worked hard, hustled our asses off--we'd change the world into something better, brighter, more wonderful than anything before. And yet, we are /worse/ off than our parents are. It's harder to get a job, to buy a house--and not only that? The world is burning. Wars rage. We live in a world full of heroes because our world is in desperate need of heroes. Our Mother is in pain, our planet cries out for balance... and what are we handing our children? Humans may be extinct by the end of the century; we may be handing our children a death sentence."

    He shakes his head. "It's easy to rage, to scream, to say 'this isn't fair!' It's easy to blame our parents and our grandparents. But /we're/ the adults now. However shitty a hand we've been dealt, we have to square our shoulders and /fix/ things. We have to get out there and do the work. We owe it to our own children--and to those who came before who've been fighting for what's good and right and balanced the whole time."

    He regards the light calmly. "That's the point, isn't it? That's the lesson, that Gaea wants to teach the archangels. That growing up means that you stop arguing about who's at fault, and focus on fixing the damn problem."

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    The Presence considers the request and the implications and reasons behind the request and then there is a dimming of the Light in the great hall. "Can... can that be done?" Suriel asks suddenly. "I mean... giving us more will... isn't that... I don't know, dangerous?" they say. "What's to prevent me from throwing my hands up and going 'Oh I don't feel like being the go between today... I think I'll take a sick day away from what I was made for...'?" they ask, sounding amused by the very thought.

    "RESPONSIBILITY AND GROWTH WILL NOT ABSOLVE YOU OF YOUR DUTIES, CHILD" the Presence answers. "YOU WILL GROW. YOU WILL LEARN. BUT YOU WILL STILL BE REQUIRED TO PERFORM WHAT YOU WERE MADE FOR. ALL OF YOU WILL."

    Uriel frowns. "Jonathan, you know that allowing him..." he nods to Michael, "to learn and grow with the Power invested in him is... very dangerous." As if to confirm Uriel's worries, Michael is eyeing Jon with a look of amusement and almost appreciation.

    "THE WORDS OF MY LIGHT ARE NOT WITHOUT MERIT, JONATHAN SIMS. KNOWING THIS, DO YOU STILL DESIRE MY INTERVENTION ON THEIR BEHALF?" intones the Presence. There is a pressure that seems to be waiting to be released, a buildup of power that seems so absolute that it would change the foundation of reality if executed on this behalf.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "What would you rather I ask, Saint Uriel?" Jon regards the archangel with a raised brow. "You set this up--what did you want me to do, ask God to strip Michael of the Demiurgic Force?" A beat. "Don't you think, if that were possible, They would have /already/ done so?"

    He shakes his head. "You set this up, you brought me here, you /got me killed/... to do something that cannot be done. Michael has to give up that power /willingly/. That's the whole point--God invested Michael and Lucifer with the power and responsibility, with the /choice/ of how and even whether to use that power. If God could just strip it away at a whim then it's not really a choice, now is it? I would suspect that Lucifer gave it up willingly, in a way, when he Fell, even if it wound up with Michael." He reagrds Michael for a moment, as if daring him to contradict the statement.

    "Gaea knew all of this when She chose me. She has a plan, to fix our universe... and She believes that I can convince Michael to give up his power." He smiles wryly. "I'm certain Michael will actually begin to prove a challenging foe when he can learn the lessons of the battles we've just fought. But... perhaps he ought to be wary. Learning to see life from another's perspective is the first step toward understanding, and acceptance."

    He looks back to Uriel. "Do you trust me? You've put all of this on me--did you /really/ just set me up to die, Saint Uriel?"

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Uriel looks at Jon and then sighs. "No. I didn't set you up just to die. I... I imagined you'd come up with a solution that even I couldn't see. Which is what this is, isn't it?" he asks. He nods once. "If you know what you're doing... I trust you." He steps back watching and waiting.

    "THEN THE DIE IS CAST AND I WILL HONOR THE REQUEST THAT HAS BEEN MADE." That waiting pressure is released and washes out from the center of the room. It passes over the spirit of Jon and does nothing, but the effect on the Archangels in the room is immediate.

    They glow and seem to lose some of their innocence, maturity and understanding spread over their features--aging them in minute ways retroactively. It's not hard to imagine that the same is happening for them all.

    After a moment the Presence's voice returns. "IT IS DONE. NOW JONATHAN SIMS ARE YOU READY TO JOIN WITH THE ME ONCE MORE AS IS ORDAINED BY THE MANNER OF YOUR DEATH?" it asks, seeming to feel that Jon's part in this is done. Uriel stiffens in apprehension and shakes his head slightly with worry.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon watches the change come over the archangels and sighs. It's done, for whatever good or ill that may mean. To his mind, it's something they deserve, that chance to learn and grow. Everything deserves that, after all.

    Then the Presence asks if he's ready to join it and he blinks and shakes his head. "Ah... no. Thanks all the same, but..." He frowns at the light. "Haven't You been listening? Gaea has a plan to fix our universe--and it involves me going to the afterlife of the Gods I worship. To Duat. And Gaea expects /me/ to convince Michael to give up his power. How, exactly, am I supposed to do /any/ of that if I 'join with You once more?'"

    His frown deepens. "Do You need me to lay out my plan for You?"

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Michael looks worried and suddenly very, very old. The combination of his wounds and the knew wisdom imparted on him makes him seem exhausted. He looks to Jon and his tone has changed. No longer is it filled with scorn or animosity. Instead there is a resignation there. A sense of fatigue. In his eyes is respect of all things, for a worthy opponent. "How do you plan to fix what has been broken for billions of years? Your power is great, you've shown that time and again... but... this, this is a problem that is older than the power you claim to carry."

    Uriel frowns at Michael's changed tone, his own expression softer but still showing the fatigue that comes with experience and war. All of this was set in motion by his hand, to have it come to this point, the precipice of the end, has the Archangel of Light feeling like the culmination of a hard labor. "You've underestimated the power of the living all this time, brother. Why not see if they can surprise you once more?"

    The Presence seems to agree. "SPEAK YOUR INTENTION. HOW DO YOU PRESUME TO RESTORE BALANCE, JONATHAN SIMS?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I didn't realize what Gaea's plan was at first," Jon admits. "I carried that ash leaf with me because it was from Her tree... the Great Tree, Yggdrasil, I'd presume. It felt like... a talisman, an anchor, a sign of Her blessing. So I kept it rolled up in a vial, took it everywhere with me--to every battle, through every trial, I even kept it on me when I slept."

    He looks between Uriel and Michael, then back to the light. "When I went to give back the power She'd granted me, I tried to give back the leaf... and she bade me keep it. She said 'its purpose is not yet fulfilled.' I didn't understand why, at first. Why would she leave it with me? Why send it to even the Astral Plane with me?

    He smiles, a little sadly. "I had a lot of time to think, when I was in that desert. The one thing I had to connect me to Her--to anyone, really--was that leaf. I'd take it out during the day, huddled in a cave, and think about it. Why had she given it to me? It is a piece of Yggdrasil, one that I've carried to every wellspring. Infused with Her power and mine, a little piece of the World Tree carried around and exposed to the rhythms of life and death out on the physical plane. I realized that it must be a part of Her plan, to fix all of this."

    He swallows. "It wasn't until I was /home/ that I realized what it is that I need to do. I ran into Ammit in the desert, three times. I scared away a lion, I injured a crocodile enough to get away from it, and I dropped some of my food to distract a hippopotamus. And Ma'at told me that Ammit had agreed to let me 'fix her digestive tract.' Well... how does one do /that/, exactly, hmm?"

    He smiles again, more widely this time. "My plan, then, is to head into Duat and face the ceremony of the Weighing of the Heart. That is where I /should/ go, if not for these unusual circumstances. There are others coming to join me there, and their purpose is to help me in this task. Lydia Dietrich to open the door, Phoebe Beacon to light the way, Cael Becker to bring me back to myself--so I can become an avatar of Ma'at. I am presuming that once I've gained her power, I will be able to travel to where Ammit waits to devour souls judged unworthy. I /think/ that perhaps Caitlin Fairchild and Lady Death are coming to help me wrestle the damn lion-crocodile-hippopotamus?" He smirks. "Because I doubt Ammit will just calmly eat the leaf. She's nothing like /tame/."

    He takes a deep breath, lets it out. "Ammit is part of the problem. Right now, the souls she devours go to Nullspace--to the Old Ones. Feeding her that leaf /should/ reattach her 'digestive tract' to Yggdrasil... and hopefully start a chain reaction that fixes all such pathways that have been hijacked by the Old Ones. Assuming all goes well... assuming Caitlin brings the leaf and Lady Death shows up... we fix the universe, and then I finish up my journey on Ra's barge and pop back home in time to face Michael in the Astral Plane. Presumably at that staircase Uriel told me about?"

    A pause, and he smirks at the light. "Whose idea /was/ that, anyway? Yours, or Gaea's? I have to wonder how we're going to buy the stairway to heaven..."

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Uriel listens to the plan and blinks. "That.... that will work?" he asks, looking between Jon and the Light of the Presence. "Just... shoving a leaf from the world tree into the mouth of the devourer of souls will... all of this is about an upset stomach?" He sighs and then starts laughing. It takes him a moment to compose himself once more and he wipes at his eyes with his free hand as he shakes his head. "Not me. I can't take credit for that one." He looks over a Michael.

    Michael is staring at Jon with unmasked disbelief. "That... were I the creature I was moments ago... I would claim that was cheating. But... now, I cannot claim such things. I... wish you luck. I do not believe you can succeed. That creature is... beyond approach. But perhaps, the three of you together can do something about it. Perhaps." He nods to Uriel's query. "An unforseen side effect of my banishment to the astal plane. I suspect, it was Gaea's offer to send me home. One I declined at the time. But the framework remains nonetheless. It will likely prove significant in the coming endeavor."

    The Presence has been silent but the lights within it have been shifting ever so slightly. "I WILL PERMIT IT. YOUR REQUEST TO TRAVEL THE HALLS OF YOUR ANCESTORS IS GRANTED, JONATHAN SIMS." There is a pulse of brighter light and a sound like a soft bell. "I HAVE SUMMONED THE ONE WHO IS TO GUIDE YOU THROUGH THE GATES OF THE SUN. SHE WILL MEET YOU WHEN YOU DEPART."

    There is no wishing of luck, no great departure, just a dimming of the light and the room of white is just that, a white room. The door through which Jonathan and Suriel came, creaks open once more, presumably to allow them to leave the Silver City, just as they came.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon blinks a few times. "Well, that was... unceremonious. Bit rude, aren't They?"

    He shakes his head, and sighs, looking between Suriel and Uriel. "There's one last thing I'd like to know before I go... what happened to Lady Death? Her dying wasn't part of the plan... or was it? How /does/ she fit in to all of this? Given that a third player showed up at the board and she's their Champion." He smirks. "I don't doubt she's doing her best to get back to the world of the living right this moment... but..."

    He shakes his head. "You'll probably tell me to worry about my own soul, hmm? But... well..." He sighs. "It's not just that we need her, I just... I worry." He frowns. "Even if she'd probably hate that. But... she's dead, her realm destroyed..."

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    "Not rude. Just busy" Suriel says stepping back up beside Jon. At his question they shake their head. Not their place to tell. Uriel frowns and sighs. "Understand that I can't give too much information on that. Her... death" what else could he call it given the situation, "was arranged between Jophiel and another. Someone who offered Hope a job some time ago that she, at the time, shrugged off. That patron has decided to make the offer more... direct and utilized The Angel of War as her delievery method."

    He smirks a bit. "You at least know her well enough to know that pity is not something she accepts. Ever. She will find her way back, of that I am most certain and I expect that she will be quite... intent on reclaiming that which she has lost. Be careful, she is an ally right now, but remember what happened between the farmer and the snake."

    He gestures towards the gate resting open for them to depart. Michael for his part eyes the trio and nods once before spreading his wings and taking off into the endless void of white above.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon huffs at Uriel. "I am so bloody tired of... /distrusting/ people. You just don't like her because she's tied to Hell." A pause, and he frowns. "Not that she likes me much. I just... I don't know. Everything she says just makes me angry at a world that can hurt somebody that much."

    He sighs, and shakes his head. "It is what it is, I suppose." He heads toward the gate back out, worry beginning to gnaw at him, just a little. Is he actually going to manage to go on Ra's path? Even if he does, there are dangers to be faced, ritual formulas to remember and serpents to slay, deserts and swamps to make his way through. The passage through Duat is hardly pleasant.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    "Her attachment to Hell has very little to do with my distrust of her. I have difficulty trusting any who carries as much rage as she does in her heart." Uriel replies as the head out. "But perhaps this... interview... will change her some. I'm not saying that her violent tendencies will change, but perhaps she will be better able to direct it at those who are deserving."

    As the trio exit the gate and return to the precipice of the Silver City a ball of flame waits for them. Out of the orb of fire steps a familiar face. The dark skin and vivid piercing eyes are framed by a cascade of curly red hair that falls around her form. She wears a cermonial battle dress with the the latch at her breast in the shape of a stylized lioness' head. She smiles at the father of her only child and offers a dark-skinned hand to him. "Hello Jon. Are you ready to walk the Path of Kings?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Whatever Jon's reply to Uriel was going to be, it falls away as he sees the woman waiting outside. His breath catches for a moment and then he crosses the distance between them--not to take her hand, but to wrap her up in a one-armed embrace.

    "Alya," he whispers, burying his face in her hair as he starts to cry. "Gods, I thought I'd never see you again."

    Her being there doesn't surprise him in the slightest. Alya Montague wasn't quite a fully realized avatar of Sekhmet until the very end of her life, but she'd served that goddess for as long as he'd known her, and their daughter was meant to be a receptacle for Sekhmet's power. And who guides the Pharoah to the Underworld? Sekhmet.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Alya wraps her arms around Jon and hugs him as he weeps. "Who else did you expect to lead you down into the Underworld, Jon. It's not like our child could do it she's got a long life ahead of her, all thanks to her father." She gently strokes his hair for a moment before disengaging.

    She keeps hold of his hand as she pulls back. "We will have some time to talk as we progress, but we really should go. Do you wish to say your goodbyes to the Hosts of Heaven?" She nods to Suriel and Uriel and the hanging Chas on the gate.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon smiles down at her for a moment. "No, no, it makes perfect sense. I suppose if I'd thought about it... but to be honest, I've been trying not to. If I thought /too/ hard about what's actually in Amduat and the Book of Gates, I'd have run screaming a long time ago."

    He takes in a deep, shuddering breath, and lets it out, then turns to Suriel and Uriel. "Thank you," he says, "for... intervening." A pause. "But I cannot thank you for arranging this so I'd /die/. I... aren't you the least bit..." Sorry? Is Uriel at all /sorry/ about all of this, now that he's... changed?

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Uriel's expression is pained. "I... I do with there was another way, Jonathan. Truly. MAybe if I had... foresight? Wisdom? The True Omniscience?" He shakes his head and sighs. "Perhaps I could've found another way that was not so... damaging for you. I do hope that you succeed. All of you. And I hope that your path is not as... fraught as it has been up to this point." With those final words he begins to fade.

    Suriel for their part waves their hand very animatedly. "I enjoyed travelling with you and thank you for remembering me!" They also start to fade from sight as they give their farewell.

    The final figure, Chas gives a nod to Jon, "Take care, mate. Hope to see you soon. When you see Phoebe again, tell her... well, you know."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon sighs, watching the archangels disappear, then nods to Chas. "I'll tell her," he says. "Don't worry."

    Then he turns to face away from the City, holding Alya's hand still. "Well," he says, trying to sound... cheerful, even though he's anything but. "Shall we, then? It's a long journey, or so I've read. And I've got an appointment. Wouldn't do to be late. If I'm not there when the others reach the Hall of Judgement, I'll never hear the end of it."

    He's putting on a brave face. /This/ is what he feared, with dying. Presuming that he even managed to get on the right journey... it's perilous, and there's no guarantee he'll prove worthy.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Alya nods and they make their way away from the luminous Silver City. Her own expression is set with determination. The great expanse of darkness spreads out before them as they walk, the true state of everything beyond the universe that is.

    Alya squeezes his hand as they continue on toward the edges of the observable universe. "It is quite dangerous and fruaght with peril, yes." She smiles at him. "But... understand you will not be alone. I will ever be there to guide you and while the trials are your own... I am ever there to offer mental and emotional guidance, just as Sekmet guards the Pharoh's soul, I will guard yours up to the point where you will no longer need me."

    They draw closer to the world, their destination lies in the Astral Plane of Earth. "But I believe in you, Jon. You're strong. And wise. And unburdened. I'm sure that they will see you as worthy and you will reach the Hall of Ma'at and do what you intend to do to fix all of this." The cosmic web slides over them, drawing them closer and closer. The Virgo supercluster looms before them and not long after, travelling at the speed of thought they reach Earth.

    Alya turns to Jon and some of her aura fades, she's speaking to him as herself at this moment, not as the embodiment o Sekmet. "Jon. You can do this. Okay? Just... remember that you've been through worse." Her hand rests on his right shoulder. A stark reminder of the worst pain he's ever encountered. It can't be worse than that... can it?