16278/Goose 3: Demogorgoose in Hell

Goose 3: Demogorgoose in Hell
Date of Scene:	18 November 2023
Location:	HELL (one of them, anyway)
Synopsis:	The Thrilling Final Chapter in the Demon Most Waterfowl trilogy. No more gooses
Cast of Characters:	Nettie Crowe, Sara Pezzini, Belinda Gutierrez, Michael Hannigan, Richard Stadler

---

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    With the heroes gathered around in the Candle, Booke & Belle, they managed to garner enough information to re-trigger the gateway that Nettie had been taken through. And just as Torny had explained from his limited vision, it was like someone turned on a great, infernal shopvac and sucked others through the gateway -- leading to a short fall, followed by...

    SQUISH

    A very, very soft landing. Soft and squishy. And slightly foamy. Soapy. Like falling into the spongy offal tissue of cow stomach, except pepto-DISMAL pink and reeking of brimstone.

    And before our heroes lays their path, guarded by noxious smelling mushrooms the size of buildings, draped with caffeine-fueled spider-webs and its denizens in shining blacks and reds, malevolently twitching on their broken spinnings.

    Down to where the bubbling waters of a yellowed pond looms.

    There are a few imps calling across the over-warm, heavy air in their infernal tongue.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Sara is exceedingly grateful she didn't land and instead tumbled through and instantly hovered above whatever it was they were on. The armor had been deployed before even trying to find this portal, so that for a change her clothing would be waiting for her. This realm, this place, it was all too familiar to Witchblade, and immediately she is in the struggle against the entity to maintain control of herself and not go on a killing spree that would leave the others unprotected.

"Oh joy," she muttered then sucked in a deep breath. "He is not happy, so very unhappy... and if anyone wants to know what the imps are saying, he's willing to share."

Belinda Gutierrez has posed:
Patience is the hardest thing to learn, especially for the young; so difficult to master, so easily discarded. It is also a night of revelations-- and of scents, horrific and disgusting and foul. It began with the words:

"I am Belinda Isabella Francesca Gutierrez..." Simply stated to the air-- to the crystals, glowing darkly, deeply red. Deep breath-- inhale, exhale. Focus. And then the Change.

Muscle, flowing, tearing, swelling. Unravelling and reknitting anew. Skin, flesh, tearing away, shredding to transparency-- hidden again as fur swiftly grows, covering the horror that is so briefly shown. Fur, flesh, ivory fang-- the crackle of bone and quivering, breaking--

"...I am Silverdane," she affirms, the second part of the mystic phrase. THe crystals shimmer, their hot scarlet light answered as her eyes gleam. "I am CALLED!"

The teleport, the gateway. And then--

"...Dios, preserve us," comes the throaty whisper. Woman for wolf-- Silverdane!

Michael Hannigan has posed:
While Rick was off gathering resources and Belinda waited with her already prepped pack. Mike also did preparations of his own.

He took a nap.

What? 90 minutes is the sweet spot for nap length. And a well rested Mike means-

Well let's just say better he's well rested.

And as they're sucked into the gateway, the musician finds himselfusing his Phantasm ability once more. His mirrored form does land upon the squishy ground, but from the lack if indention in the suds, there's nothing...physically touching it. He just looks like he's standing in it.

Mike looks over to Belinda. There's a pause as he takes in the wolf form before he continues, "So, for reference. HOW bad is the smell here?"

Richard Stadler has posed:
     As Stadler had promised, it took 90 minutes... 87 and a half, if you were counting, but it was good to have some time to make sure that Belinda hadn't gotten nervous and rushed in early. But it had been a bit of a lie because just getting the gear didn't mean donning and sorting it. That took an extra 30; enough time to place on olive drab fatigues, run duct tape over glove and boot openings, and, in a mix of thinking ahead and following his own playbook, clearing the M50 gas mask on his face for a good seal.

He was the type to keep a good set of magazines preloaded in stock, just to save time in places like these, which made loading up the vest take a good seven minutes. Checking the SCAR and the M&P only took a minute, but it was extended because... quite simply, he hadn't seen Belinda actually chant and warp into her... woof form before. Silverdane?

Questions, he held onto; there had to have been some, and he wasn't exactly comfortable pulling on this much kit with a student who saw him in a suit jacket and tie for the most part, but there was nothing for it, as they moved past the gateway in the fireplace, finding themselves in some.. springy, biological feeling surface. Along with large fungi, the type that made you realize mushrooms were alien and really should be burned right down to the mycelial matt.

There were spiders. Large ones, from the look. And those imps. And Rick was grateful for the preparation. He wouldn't be, soon; it was warm for this gear, and the sweat was going to accumulate.

"Can't tell." Rick says, a gloved finger tapping against the mask faceplate with a tink, voice tiny through the vocalizer. "And I really don't want to. I suppose none of you need to be reminded to hydrate." He says, nevertheless reminding them, before looking to Belinda. "You... look like you have a sensitive nose in that... form, Ms .Gutierrez. You all right?"

And to Sara, he inclines his head. "You look like you might have the experience to take point here. I'm afraid I'm a bit one note in my capabilities today."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    The whole of the area seems like it is built to squick those with weaker constitution, and the whole of this small subsetion in one of the Hells doesn't seem particularly populated. It's not got demons and devils looming overhead -- but that might be because the owner of this realm keeps tight control.

    Overhead there is the beating of boney wings.

    Wreathed in shadow, clinging to it like a bad idea, this huge fowl soars overhead, almost draconic in its expression. Its head was entirely skeletal, its bones having the same charred quality of steel that has been through a house fire, ashy in reflection and blackened by smoke. Its feathers seem to drip noxious oil, and slowly it flaps its skeletal wings, keeping aloft by fel magics.

    In its chest there appeared to be several growths, looking like some sort of succulent plant...

    ... or fungus.

    Its call rattles over the surrounding mushroom and fungus forests before it heads towards the pond... the same direction that Nettie's scent seems to linger.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Narrowing her eyes, Sara scans the area slowly to get an idea of where they are, where they need to go and what will try to stop them. "Not too many things here that will stop us," she starts, then gestures toward the Imps. "They aren't guards or fighters usu..."

Stopping dead her eyes shoot up to the sky and the metal wings on her back shift slightly to change her angle. "That should not be here," she states bluntly. "Here's the plan, I'm going to distract that thing, attack it if I have to, the rest of you get to Nettie."

No sooner had she stated the plan then she was headed upwards toward the fowl shaped demon.

Belinda Gutierrez has posed:
There was counting, to be sure! And if the semi-solid watcher had not been an ever-present reminder...

"Apocaliptico," Silverdane remarks in answer to Mr. Hannigan's question, too distracted to translate from the Spanish to her other tongue. She inhales, exhales, chuffing as she rubs her jaw, the lupine nose. "But shall manage. And be sick later; no time now." Quivering from tip to toe as she gazes at the alien landscape, the unspeakable world grates against keen senses like ground glass, nails across chalkboards. Harsh scents, vile sounds and sights.

The stuff of nightmares.

Yet she forces herself to breathe, to acclimate, fighting to focus pained senses through the malevolence that permeates the air. The ground squishes where she takes a step; fangs bared, she growls at the air, the mushroom trees, the cobweb draperies; she focuses, shuddering as she fights for scent, that needle in the haystack, the calm and perfect and center of the orderly world. And against her better judgement-- she falls to all fours, scenting at the ground, testing the air, eyes gleaming behind her mask.

"...that way," the wolf-woman announces suddenly for the sake of the others, ears quivering as she jerks her head upright. Towards the pond. The wretched water. "She is there!"

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Hearing the general summary to the extent of the smell, Mike nods. "Lovely." He responds.

It is in fact. Quite the opposite.

One noticable benefit to bring Rick here was how quickly things got organized. Leadership was chosen without any contest to the appoinment. And with said leadership, they pull a Scooby Doo of sorts with Sara playing decoy while the entertainer takes part in the recovery team.

Upon the wolf-woman's indication of the direction Nettie is located. The phantasmed one is already moving that way.

Richard Stadler has posed:
     Well... he did ask Sara to take point, didn't he? Though he hadn't expected her to simply... leap up into the air and head toward the demon goose above them. He would have /preferred/ some organization, but it worked as it was; a quick view of the target had it flying, which w3as odd, given the boney wings, but it had feathers, dripping oil that made Rick grateful he had though to bring a hat. One that he'd have to burn later.

Mike was heading forward in the indicated direction, as Rick nodded to Belinda. "Good. That takes strength, making sure you keep things under control. Remind me to see if I can find a mask that'll fit... well. You as you are now."

The growling, the barring of fangs from what was an up and coming Astrobotanist was still a bit unnerving, but Rick had been getting a bit of a tolerence to the weird stuff. Not so much that he didn't have his rifle up, or was wondering if that fungus on the goose seemed to be infesting, infecting it.

"Don't rush off." He warns her, moving to place a gloved hand on the shoulder. "I don't like it, but stick in front of me. Call out anything you think is threatening." He notes, his hand moving back to the underside of the battle rifle, his dominant hand flexing slightly on the grip.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    So two wolves, a witchblade and Rick walk into a Demon Swamp...

    The place is unreasonably hostile in its humidity and heat. Oppressive and smells bad.

    The Witchblade and its wielder engage the Goose, who snaps its head to an unnatural angle to regard the two.

    <Child of a creator. You are not welcome in my realm. Turn back, or I will destroy the instrument of my child's murder.> it drones, its voice ringing in the heads of all who are in the realm.

    The smells get worse. The heat draws up further. There is a rattling of bones and rotting flesh as the so-huge and zombie appearing goose turns to strike the Witchblade back down to the spongy ground with a wing.

    And right about then is when the group may spot what was likely the home of this creature -- a large opening in the ground below them, a massive maw with jagged teeth and the reek of rotting goosefat.

TAnd inside, fires burn in acid green to counterpoint the pepto pink outside.

    What do our heroes do?

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Reaching the same altitude as the goose, to be at eye level, Sara hovers there. She's in range for the thing to lunge at her, but at present there are no weapons seen.

"This is not your realm, you no more belong here then we do," she replies plainly. "Give back what does not..." and then she's interrupted by the demon gooses attempt to knock her out of the sky.

At first it looks like she might actually get hit, but Witchblade responds quicker than Sara ever could and she is simply not there to be hit by the giant wing. She is gliding along beneath the thing, as a massive blade appears in her right hand. She'd tried to be reasonable, that failed, so the sword was going for the fungi inside the rib cage.

Belinda Gutierrez has posed:
Belinda shall surely be mortally ashamed later. Milkshakes-- all the milkshakes. After rescue, cleaning, fixing the entry door--

Focus. /Focus/.

Silverdane nods at Mr. Stadler's directive; though she lopes a bit ahead, she stays near-- the better to clear scent, as best it can be. Leading below the battle forming above. The distraction of Blade against Bone-- following scent and track to the cave, the sickly green fire that glows so eye-wateringly balefully. Silverdane pauses for a heartbeat, a moment, scentiong at the air with a shuddering grimace.

"Please stay close," she cautions the pair nearby, rumbling softly. Business. "And caution, Mr. Hannigan. I do not know if things here can hurt you, even when you are not all there."

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Mike is feeling pretty alright when it comes to all the extra scents pooling up in the general area. He still can't smell squat. But it also means he's not getting any smelly forewarning of any changes to the situation.

As such he looks to Belinda as she makes her caution. Being he can't track Nettie, he's not going too far ahead, glancing back to adjust his pace to be more in line with the other two.

Richard Stadler has posed:
     Stadler looks up to the goose at the echoing voice in his head, grimacing slightly through the lens of his mask. He... hated voices speaking into his head, and everyone seemed to be doing it lately. More importantly, however, he disliked how the goose had a point. Hadn't he heard the goose at the harbor avenging someone? WAs just just a cycle of violence?

Maybe. Sad part was Rick would rather have a Greywitch than a demon goose on the prowl, so he was about to help possibly eliminating a family line.

Once again, he was glad to be wearing a mask; even through layers of filter, he seemed to be getting the slight twinge of rotting fat and putrid flesh. A part of him was frankly worried what happened if the mask got torn off, but he could at least mentally prepare for it.

And at the hole, with teeth, Stadler moved to bring his rifle up, scanning through the attached optic over the green flames erupting through the pit. "I really don't want to climb down there. Ms..." He starts, before trailing off. Does he still call her by her name in this from? "What do you smell down there? Anything of Ms. Crowe?"

Despite his assertion, he lowers his rifle, and moves to open a pouch on the vest, pulling out a bundle of paracord and a few spikes.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    <It is my realm because I have claimed it! Stay out of things your puny human mind cannot comprehend! I AM THE DEMOGORGOOSE!> it roars out, sounding like the bellow of an airplane turbine as ut turns and tries to barrel roll, slowly, showing those growths along the ribcage.

    And then it shows that those are not growths. They are BEAKS.

    And the beaks lift up, parting, multiple smaller goose heads snapping at the witchblade, screaming as a blade slices through flesh and braincase and trying to get a hold of her, sharp teeth on tongues seeking to rasp against the armor and grip at flesh and drink blood!

    The others coming to the cave down below, where the noxious green fire burns, and it stinks. It stinks so awfully. And while Belinda is tanking it more than Stadler (with human olfactories) and Mike (who isn't affected by it at all), it seems to belch the stink as the yellowish water from the Goose's pond drains into the cave.

    And they might hear it.

    Just under the rushing sound of fire and water.

    A weak crow's caw, and the flit of dark feathers.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Beaks, teeth, blades, even guns, none of those things can get past the spike covered protective armor surrounding Sara's body. This fact is made even more clear as the tendrils of metal spread out to ensure that every inch is covered, the blink of an eye would miss the moment.

The sword easily cuts through flesh and bone, though honestly she had not been expecting heads. "Sorry my large boney friend, that's not how it works!" she calls back to the Demogorgoose. "And my mind is /HIS/ mind and he has declared your life forfeit!"

Her next attack isn't as nice, instead of the stomach, she moves with the demon as it rolls and heads forward the head. Whether it was Sara or Witchblade himself was never clear, in fact it could be both in unison now. Whomever it was, the goal of the pair is decapitation via broken neck bones.

Belinda Gutierrez has posed:
Silverdane quivers at the sound, vibrating with a shiver. A sound from Home, in this terrible place; it is all she can do not to toss the emergency bag aside and plunge into the depths of the malignant cave. But she holds, restrains-- even if every instinct screams otherwise.

"Corvax," she answers Mr. Stadler, chuffing gently. Oh the smell. The eye-watering smell. The wolfgirl grimaces as she reaches to the sash at her side, reaching beneath for.... a medical mask?

Tugging at the simple fabric before she secures the hidden pouch again, she draws a breath-- exhaling a soft, low call, a howl to carry through the cavern entrance and jagged teeth-- heard the caw, and sounding her reply with a long, mournful howl!

"They are inside," she answers at the end, tugging the medical mask on with difficulty. Long strands stretched, ruined for any real purpose. But good enough for now. Rising, she checks the strap over her shoulder, the medical bag firmly secured before she moves to the rocky entrance.

"Allow me first," she cautions, not even arguing if the two Misters will accompany. "If someone falls, I can catch."

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Mike looks over to Rick as he states not wishing to go down. "If we have to, I can jump in instead. I'm more than acquainted with nightmaric situations."

With so much of the sensory cues miss-able in Mike's current state, the visuals and the sound are focused on more. As they near the cave and the sounds of a familiar corvid. (But not too familiar as they already established by calling another by the same name)

When it's confirmed that the others are available, he starts forward only for Belinda to insist on going first. He pauses, looking over to Rick readying his cords and spikes. "Considering the teeth... Hypothetically, If the cave is living. What do you think will happen if you hit one of those spikes in?"

Richard Stadler has posed:
     Stadler moves to look at the spike in his hands, when Mike mentions it, before sighing to himself. The spikes are put away, and the rope is taken, as Rick looks for a place to tie it off... when one wasn't apparent. He supposed he could risk jamming this into the creatures... what were they, gums? But one of his flaws was that he knew how to improvise at times, before sighing, and looking over to Belinda. "All right, then. Just get down there, and... let me know when you're ready."

God, the very least he could do is cover the two people who could leap down there like superheroes with the rifle while they were moving.

He hard the caw of a crow, just like the rest of them, though to him, it just sounded a bit like more birds down here. Was there a bit of feathers in that direction?

"Let's pick up the tempo." He says, looking up and wincing at the voice screaming in his head, watching Sara and her companion aganist the goose from hell, with... Oh, god, were those /goose heads/? How the hell did you destroy something like this into ashes? He could feel a slight amount of nausea at the thought of them, and viciously clamped it down. "I feel like we really don't want to be down here much longer."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "No one wants to be in literal Hell." comes a chipper voice. "If you do there's probably something wrong with you, like masochism, or buying into the whole GOOP thing from /Gwenyth Paltrow/."

    An ink-black imp hangs upside-down as he looks to the trio decending into the depths.

    "Someone's feelin' not-so-jiggy with it! Undeerstandable. The whole 'not being dead and punished' thing. You know you could just die. An' then you'd PROBABLY end up elsewhere. I gave her the same advice but the broad's too stubborn to accept it!" he bemoans.

    There's another weak caw. And Corvax's scent gets stronger -- Crow, Lowtide, and Rum.

    The Demogorgoose bellows frfom all of its myriad mouths. It curls its body sinewiously, bending in an impossible fashion as it tries to crush Witchblade between its upper torso and belly, all those mouths reaching forward to take bites out of Crime-fighter and devour the blade forged in ancient years alike!

Sara Pezzini has posed:
It was nice of the Gemogorgoose to accommodate Sara's desire to get in close, in fact she lets it wrap around her like a boney blanket. One thing cocky demons always forget, and even those who /know/ what Witchblade is forget... they cannot get to the creamy center of the armor, also known as Sara, no matter how hard they try.

Once she is encased in bone, the creature can't see the sword go away so it has no idea that she is about to use the divine energy of Atum, the son of Gaea, against it. Balls of energy explode from the palms of her hands, and even in close range, the energy spreads like fire over bones, flesh, the air if it needs to. No, it won't kill the thing, but it will hurt like a mother.

Belinda Gutierrez has posed:
Silverdane glances up at the dark imp, eyes narrowing as she gazes balefully. "Advice appreciated," she remarks to the Imp sarcastically-- trying not to growl.

Too much. Keenly aware she probably is NOT the most fearsome growler in this place!

Checking depth of the leap, handholds, judging.... for about a heartbeat. Then, leaping down, one hand braced on the wall to steady her fall, claws digging in to arrest her speed (and trying desperately not to think about how not-rock the meaty wall feels!).

Down, to the cavern floor. Everything, cast in green from the baleful flames. And the decidedly unpleasant step as she growls this time, shuddering at the touch of the floor. And again-- /focus/.

"Abuela?" she calls, voice carrying strangely, oddly, with even echoes warped in the bowels of this place. "Corvax?" She sniffs again; the scent of sulfur is ugly, thick, but equally so-- rum, spicy, tangy. Crow feathers. And Mrs. Crowe!

Less time for caution; she moves towards the source! "Be careful, senor!" she adds, voice a hushed rumble of sound.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Mike nods. "I'm not going to argue with that sentiment, Rick. Let's go find our friends."

Mike jumps into the cavernous opening, falling quickly before applying the air breaks. Feet set on what... might be considered floor?

To the imp's bemoaning of Nettie opting not to give in. He arcs a brow. "The nerve. Well, we'll just go retrieve her so you don't have to be surrounded by people who disregard your advice."

He glances up, keeping watch for the moment where 'It's raining man' becomes 'It's raining men.' He gives a slight chuckle.

Hey even in Hell dimensions you got to keep that humor.

The humor's lost a bit when he sees the freshly made gouges. Well. That probably got rid of the point of warning Rick. "...really?"

As she walks off, he glances back up to Rick. "...Okay. Rick! I'll catch you!"

Richard Stadler has posed:
     Stadler looks over to the sound of that voice that's speaking the obvious, giving a not quite stern look toward it. "Oh, it's understandable, all right. But I think that I'd want to give it a few weeks before I make any decisions like that. Please move along, sir." He says. Honestly, the best thing here would be to get through this will a full magazine in his weapons. Boring, but the best.

Not that there were some injuries conducted, as Belinda leaps into the fray, gripping and tearing through the mound of flesh they happen to be in. Well, if the damage was already done...

No, that would be a time issue at this point. Lord knows doing something because it felt familiar and not optimal was something he really should avoid.

"Oh, great." He grumbles. As if being caught by a student wasn't embarassing enough. "If I break my legs down here..." He trails off, backing up a bit, taking a moment to breath, before running to the lip, and leaping off the edge.

If he missed, tuck and roll.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    You know that warbling, garbled, drowning sound effect made in 80's cartoons whenever a large creature goes on the attack? That's the sound The Demogogoose makes. All those heads and beaks and razor-sharp tongues lashing against the Son of Gaea, the energy of Atum, the wrecking of the Witchblade tears parts of the demogorgoose apart, landing on the spongy, fleshy, bruised ground below. The goose bellows, and then he turns, bringing his legs up and trying to whack Sara away with his thick, shield-like feet!

    Inside the cave, the trio lands -- either on the ground, or in the arms of a Phantasm, they are safe from pieces of rotting, decayed, demon goose falling on them.

    Though one of the fungal-goose heads falls into the cave right after Rick. It's about the size of his torso from cut to beak.

    Belinda would track the scent of the crow first; Corvax can be found, half-sunk in the spongy ground. His feathers appear to be rotting. He's struccling, and appears tired.

    And then, twelve yards off, Nettie is slowly disappearing into the wall. The back of her head has been sucked into the spongy wall. Her elbows and heels have been consumed. Her hair is stringy from sweat, skin bruised and lacerated.

    And everyone who is alive in this cave may find that the floor's becoming hungrier, and is trying to suck in the feet of the rescuers. IT's like walking through a very liquidy silly-putty.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
That should remind the demogorgoose just who it was dealing with. The cockiness of Witchblade showing through, and leading to Sara being kicked away like a football through goal posts. Sometimes an all powerful entity in your brain could be a hindrance, not a boon, and as Sara skipped across the spongey ground to slap into one of the overly large mushrooms... she remembered that all too clearly.

"Oh so now you get some fight beast!" she screams, jumping into the air, ignoring the pain of the cracked rib because she knew that it would heal by the time this fight was over. "Well come on then! What are you afraid of?!"

The massive sword reappears in her right hand as she bolts through the air toward the demogorgoose once again. "You do not get to fly away this time, this is your end!"

Belinda Gutierrez has posed:
The battle above, a distant sound-- Witchblade and Demonic Goose. Belinda-- Silverdane snarls silently as her eyes adjust, a furious sound erupting from her lungs as he catches sight. Her mouth opens, yet no words emerge; caution takes a distinct second place as she lunges forward, gouging at the floor as she struggles to retrieve Corvax from the hungry ground.

"Capitan," she whispers, kneeling, working with deft care. Claws cut, rake; she forgoes caution and tears a chunk from the surface-- a meaty hunk of mostly-crow and bloody bits. Cradling the bird to her torso, she moves towards the greater morass-

The wall entrapping Nettie.

"Sirs!" she exclaims with wide-eyed not-quite panic. "Please help!"

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Mike cheats a little. As Rick is backing up, Mike is lessening the distance as he sort of raises like he's on an unseen elevator. The added benefit of this is Rick's not quite up to full speed by the time he reaches Mike and the musician wraps arms around the teacher to slow the fall.

Now.

There are ...quirks of the ability and as Mike is more focused on not letting the teammate die, he's not focused on things like-

Oh...

Making the rest of the body tangible.

So while there is a force that definitely catches Rick and starts lowering him to the ground, his legs, quite visibly go THROUGH what should be Mike's lower body due to the momentum.

But the fall has stopped. Then Rick is swung quickly to the side to avoid being hit by falling goose head. Rick is lowered by the invisible elevator riding Mike. And upon reaching the bottom, Mike releases him.

"If we had more time, we could have made that a bit less awkward." Mike sort of apologizes. "But we got a wolf who has gone lone' to catch up to."

Kicking off against a near wall like it was the side of a pool, the musician effectively swims after Belinda in time to hear the cry for additional help.

EEK

Arms flailing, the floating phantasm redirects his swim over towards Nettie. A hand grabs on to Nettie's protruding hand and Mike starts to feed his energy into her.

Once she's sufficiently Phantasm'ed, he provides the instruction. "Nettie, close your eyes and step forward. We're getting you out of here."

Richard Stadler has posed:
     "Oh, let's not kid ourselves, Mr. Hannigan." Rick says, after finding himself wrapped up by the equivilant of a ghost before slowly, slowly being lowered to the flesh ground by what seems to be a floating torso. At least he didn't have open... paws like Ms. Guiterrez, but he didn't like how his boot treads squealched and slightly sank into the surface of the floor as he was walking. He briefly considered attempting to spray his boot soles with pepper spray, but geese didn't react to capsaicin the same way people did. It meant just doing this with brute force.

Which he accomplishes by, when that goosehead falls next to him, slamming a boot heal into the head to make sure it wasn't going to become a problem. The problem with being around flesh is that you had to be very careful where you were shooting.

"I get it, though. Can't let the wolves outpace us..." He notes, and he does see these two objectives here. Belinda moving to cut the first out of the floor, and needed help with Nettie, who was being, from the looks of it. Eaten alive. He's moving to the opposite side of Nettie herself, and reaching to his vest, brings out the next best thing to an irritant.

Most people didn't realize Glock made knives as well as guns. Maybe the goose could taste the lettering as he carefully felt around Nettie's head, around the hair, before nodding. "Let me know if you feel anything sharp." He says, matter of factly, before he jammed the knife into the wall, and moved to cut.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Squealched, sank in, and if anyone's gotten that moisture from the lower sponge on them, it begins to tingle... bad. Like when you let Pineapple sit too long on your tongue.

    And Nettie's left eye opens. It's bloodshot. She gives a grint of a sound, and she takes a shallow breath "Go. Take the crow. Thought for a moment that I'd done something to cross one of the Riders. That it all finally caught up with me. If it's eaten my back, I might not make it out. The sigils -- the --" she then pauses. Realizing that she's not all there.

    In the physical sense.

    "... Lords of the dark that is the most queer sensation." she whispers, and she looks over to Phantasm. "Is this how it feels all the time? Goodness. you poor dear. My brain's rather startled at the moment." she states, and she slowly, haltingly begins to step forward.

    That seems rather awful.

    Not quite as awful as what's happening in the 'sky'. The demogorgoose was contending with the Witchblade, ancient eney, and it rattles its skeletal wings as it lands down on the ground, and as the sword reappears, the goose rears back and gives another watery bellow, and from its chest all those beaks and heads begin to snake out, slowly, like playdough being pressed out.

    Ask not who the goose honks for, Witchblade -- IT HONKS FOR THEE!

Sara Pezzini has posed:
That was a lot of playdough heads, which merely meant a shortly sword appearing in Sara's left hand as she goes to work hacking and slashing her way through them. Was it easy? No, the skill of the wielder was required to deliver the justice of Witchblade. Was she taking hits to the armor that caused bruises beneath it? Yes she was, but they would heal when the time allowed.

For now all of her attention was on removing the snake-goose-playdough... things, trying to work her way closer and closer to the demogorgoose with each stab, each slash, each moment that passed. Determination was one of Sara's strongest personality traits, which worked just fine for Witchblade's purpose.

Belinda Gutierrez has posed:
Silverdane watches with rapt fascination as Nettie begins to fade, subtly shimmer--scent vanishing from the world like night into day. "Gracias!" she whispers gratefully, stepping aside before she sets the medical bag down, kneeling alongside it. The ground is moist, icky, stubborn; the werewolf too is just as stubborn, and the worst felt is that unpleasant tingling-- trying to eat where bare flesh touches membranes, regenerating anew so swiftly that the digestion barely registers. Unzipped, searching quickly-- a flask is removed, a thick bottle with a dark green liquid inside. She spares a second glance as Nettie tugs free, then draws another bottle from the contents. Dark red, bubbling on occasion like a carbonated liquid, eternally shaken and ready to burst.

"We cannot stay Abuela," she murmurs, moving up to her phased form, either bottle held in her grasp. "The green one, quickly. The red one... carefully. Slowly." She draws a sharp breath, pursing her lips as she exhales. A murmuring in Spanish.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Despite Nettie's 'Forget me, save the others' speech, Mike doesn't let go, and instead smiles slightly as she stops only to switch it over to how she's feeling, or in a case, not feeling right now.

"Everything and their price and all." Mike comments, acknowledging the observation but cutting it short to allow more focus on the escaping.

Unaware of what's going on with the floor, Once Nettie is free of the wall and within the range of the doctor to... well, be a doctor, Mike stops feeding his energy into her, allowing for her to be tended to, or... according to Belinda's prompting, get her drink on.

Richard Stadler has posed:
     The small amount of vindication Rick felt in making sure to bundle up for hostile environments was something that kept him going through the difficult times; though, it was hardly a happy moment to know that Belinda's feet were probably in the first stages of getting digested like Nettie's back and elbows. "We'll worry about what parts are missing after we get you out of here. I don't think Ms. Gutierrez would feel comfortable knowing the last sight of you was being slowly eaten." He says. The knife he was digging behind her head was unnecessary, and after she's pulled out of the wall and handed off, he makes a precursory look over Nettie. Not that they had time for him to do much more than make sure she wasn't streaming blood.

"Ms. Gutierrez, I need... a septic spray, if you have it; Large bandges, gauze. Don't take them out now, wait until we're secured. Ms. Crowe, you have about 10 seconds to tell me if you have a heart condition." He says, reaching into his own gear. The blue cap comes off the generic epipen, before the orange tab is jabbed unceremoniously into her thigh for a rush of energy. "You're going to feel that wear off, so let's start moving, people."

"...We /can/ get out the way we came in, right?"

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "No. Have to find a different way --" Nettie begins, and then she pauses.

    "Mr. Stadler I'm a hundred and sixty nine years /old/ I probably have a lot of conditions!!" she states, wrongly affronrted to Stadler, and then she begins to tilt, and teeter, and then she takes both bottles that Gutierrez hands her.

    "Crow me." she states, holding out her other hand as she flicks the caps off with practiced flicks of her thumb, and then begins to down both potions. At once. From the same hand, while waiting for her crow.

    She is bleeding. Both eyes and ears. She's got a lesion on her shoulder and her arm.

    "Any longer than the sigils might have been eaten off. That would be abd news for all of you poor sots who followed me into Hell. Who's in char--"

    And the cave is shaken by the war cry of the demogorgoose.

    Which as Sara and Witchblade have been slicing through, plucking away at its body, it finally seems to run out of heads.

    And just the skeletal one bends down. Slowly. Its black eye sockets stare to Sara.

    "And so you defend a murderer... let it be done then, Child of Gaea. End this."

Sara Pezzini has posed:
A mere mortal would likely run in fear to be under the gaze of a monstrous creature like the Demogogoose, but Sara had the metal spine of Witchblade to keep her in her place.

"Creatures such as you and your kin belong in the hells," she states firmly, adjusting the larger sword in her hand. "You do not get the rights of murderer or being murdered when you leave your realms to mingle with humanity. The laws of balance are clear on this. You broke this law, your kin broke this law... and now we will cast you out for all times. Should your brood come looking for more trouble, they will face me and they will die."

If this had been a living, breathing creature of the primary realm of humans, aliens, mutants, and other natural beings... Sara would have hesitated, she would have considered all the factors at hand. She would have taken the time to understand who or what was murdered... but this was a demon, and Witchblade's purpose was to keep things like this away from humanity.

Gathering up her strength, extending the sword to the length of a zweihander, there was no pause in her strike to the Demogorgooses neck. If more than one blow was required, then she struck again, and again, until it was dead.

Belinda Gutierrez has posed:
Silverdane nods, quick to retrieve Corvax from safety atop the bag, away from the greedy, greedy floor. She hands the dark bird over, taking the bottles back from Nettie in return. A quick sniff at the air, a searching glance-- the wolf frowns, but she grudgingly accepts the moment with a sigh. That sigh pauses at the demon goose's hellish screech; she glances quickly at the ceiling, frowning as she kneels down to zip up the bag.

"Time to go!" she announces firmly, shutting the bag, tossing it over her shoulder as she rises. "Mr. Hannigan, if I lift up, can you do..." She pauses, waggling long fingers. "..that thing you do, and get everyone to safety? Float out, or-- something?"

The gurgling screech carrries to her from the battle, along with the sudden sounds of silence. The ragged stench.

And a cautious glare upward. No imp interference!

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Hearing the question from Rick, Mike glances the way they came. But Nettie's protest causes him to look back. Belinda's question gets a nod before he looks to Nettie. "I'm assuming that means you got the way out already in mind. If not, I can probably give a ride out to those who can't climb."

Richard Stadler has posed:
     Stadler pauses for a second. "A different way... well. I hope that you might know a way to find it. I'm really not looking forward to finding out what this floor tastes like, long term." He notes, as he tosses the empty epipen into the green fires around them. "And I suppose just let me know if you have an infarction. Be very inconvienet, of course." He says, looking concerned at the bleeding from the eyes and ears. hemorrhaging in both those places was not good, and he would wonder exactly how much blood she had left to spare.

He'd move to keep her supported as they came up with a plan, hearing the call of the demogorgoose. "I really hope Detective Pezzini is still alive out there. I would love to have a clear exit out of this pit, at least. Ms. Gutierrez has the right of it; we need a way out. If one of you can get to the top, I have rope."

He pauses. "It occurs to me that bringing that broom of yours would have been useful. As for whose in charge, that depends if you have a way out of here."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    The Demogorgoose is no more. Its body digests itself, rapidly decaying as Sara swears none of its family will ever bother the world of the living again, the winds whipping up, hot and moist, and really quite awful before the whole of the dimension begins to slowly deterriorate.

    <<Don't you worry 'duckies'. This one is on me." a voice echoes.

    A swirling vortex opens above the cave. It smells like tea, and dragon's blood and burnt candles. It smells like New York City Streets and home.

    Nettie, having finished both potions, and Corvax (who doesn't look flight capable, but is perching, exhaustedly, on Nettie's shoulder.

    "Right, mates -- off we get. Homeward bound 'an' all. The kid's probably mostly dead at this point."

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Mike looks to Nettie to see if she does indeed have an alternate method. But upon her confirming she didn't, he sighs. "Alright. Then we're Peter Panning out of here." He holds out his hands to each side, directed towards the two oldest people in the stomach. "Nettie, put Corvax in your pocket and take my hand. Rick take the other. I'll provide the pixie dust substitute. You provide the happy thoughts."

Mike looks over to Belinda, "If you'd be so kind as to lead us out?"

Richard Stadler has posed:
     Well, there they were. Sara had done the hard work, and, luckily, Stadler didn't have to shoot anything. Honestly, it was refreshing not to have to worry about spending 50 dollars on a box of ammunition for once.

Nevermind that the Epipen was a hundred or so. Well, you couldn't win them all. Stadler couldn't smell anything through the mask, but the sheer feeling of the urban jungle of Manhattan was reassuring-

"...I'm sorry, Peter Panning? Was there a stage production I missed on your Wikipedia page?" He asks, before rubbing the bridge of his nose and thinking of a warm apartment, extra strong coffee, and that fascinating documentary on the war in Sianking he had queued up."

Sara Pezzini has posed:
The deed was done, and Sara took only a moment for a breath before looking up at the swirling vortex. In her mind Witchblade was ecstatic over the death of a powerful and old demon, but Sara still felt the pangs of having killed something. It was never good, but it would pass.

The vortex meant an exit, which meant the others had found Nettie and were preparing to depart. Lifting herself into the air she headed in the direction they had gone, only to find them flying out. That would be a question later, for now she joined them in the flight toward the exit out of Hell.