7532/1000 Faces: Dead to the World

1000 Faces: Dead to the World
Date of Scene:	25 August 2021
Location:	The Underworld
Synopsis:	A strange gate appears in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Brave souls dare to venture where the living must, into the Underworld, to find a means to sway the balance back against the Court of Death. What monsters lurk in the dark?
Cast of Characters:	Jane Foster, Hela, Sara Pezzini, Phoebe Beacon, Radha Tackeray, Rien D'Arqueness, Morrigan MacIntyre, Melinda May
Tinyplot:	1000 Faces of Death

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Hela has posed:
The darkness drops again but now I know
     That twenty centuries of stony sleep
          Were vexed to nightmare...
              -- W. B. Yeats

Night still clings thick and syrupy to New York. The city that never sleeps certainly dozes, ground down to a weary stumble through the cloying, humid shadows. Thus it takes a while for everything to the situation unfolding at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, unlike cities already touched by sunlight and the startling discovery that fresh black obelisks and alabaster Corinthian columns stand in places where they did not minutes and hours before.

These obelisks and columns that appear largely in cemeteries or battlefields would go without too much comment except as a particular amusement if it weren't the uncanny darkness stretching between slender stone or marble pillars. If it were not for the things that come /out/ as opposed to staying /in/.

A security guard manages to reach the NYPD with warning of some kind of black gate appearing in the courtyard of the Met's Temple of Dendura, the only authentic Ancient Egyptian temple anywhere in the United States. Right before some kind of deranged crocodilian monster emerged from the void and chomped his friend on camera, he reported seeing people walking through the museum without tripping any of the alarms, largely because they seemed to go right through the walls. And they stand, row on row, staring at the gate.

Mayhem's probably broken out since then. The Russians do not take well to an obelisk in Red Square. Attempts to rip down a pillar in Hiroshima is met with the near instantaneous reconstruction of the thing within sight of the Atomic Bomb Dome. And that is before the dead start standing restless vigil.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
A message to the NYPD was all Sara needed. She had been waiting for the next signs of something happening since Cael came to her apartment after the last one, and here it was. The decision is made quickly of how to proceed. First to a secluded location, out of her clothing and activate Witchblade. The metal tendrils explode from the silver bracelet on her right wrist, wrapping quickly to form the gauntlet the artifact is most known for. From there the tendrils shred through the few remaining articles of clothing she wore, completely naked was never an option, to form the armor over her body. In a matter of second the last of the metal wraps up over her head to form the helmet and a mask slides into place to conceal the upper portion of her face.

Leaving her clothing with her motorcycle, she leaps and takes to the air, heading for the museum.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    She arrived as quickly as she could once a notification had been found, and when she arrived it was in armor, better prepared. The Gotham girl pulls off her helmet, her biking jacket over her chest piece and her gloves dull, matte gray. She had her medical pack and throwing knives, she had her staff, and she felt as ready as she would ever be to try and defend New York.

    Her hood was up, over her hair, but she hadn't put her domino on yet, quietly making the approach to the Met, her left hand flexing and stretching as she made her way, her stomach twisting and upset as she looks to the museum itself, boots tapping the pavement before she hops a barrier to make her way to the entrance.

Radha Tackeray has posed:
Radha Thackeray would like to say something cool and stylish here, like 'I felt a great disturbance in the flow of time' or perhaps 'my readings all drew me here, to this place, at this time.' Something which would be ominous and yet evocative. Something that speaks to a spiritual flowering that is, within her, sadly at the sprout level, at best.

But perhaps it wouldn't be too off beat from that, because Radha is nearby when the obelisk appears...

... she just isn't at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Radha has been doing delivery. For money. And perhaps that is its own thing, like casting tea leaves. It means that her first five minutes of the crisis are in a bakery shouting about "what is going on" at bakers and clerks who immediately begin yelling in a language she does not even kind of own. In the end, they opt, wisely, to flee away from the direction of Central Park.

When it becomes clear they have left, Radha went ahead and helped herself to a big cup of coffee, as payment for the annoyance. She finished it before walking back out, and around the block, and seeing the Met.

"Oh... oh shit," Radha says, blanching. But she doesn't run away; but rather, towards. "shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit" Radha says to herself. "Why is this happening in the museum SHIT I do not want a frigging ART museum destroyed by angry GHOSTS /agh/"

"I suppose they're not that angry," Radha says as she crosses the helpfully-very-quiet-right-now-due-to-the-ghosts street, moving towards the museum. Towards the front entrance.

If I wanted, I could probably take anything I wanted out of the museum right now, Radha thinks as she gets nearer and nearer to the entrance. Am I thinking that because I'm awful? Or is it stress?

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
    Relaxing in her hotel room, Rien is reading a rather large tome when something starts feeling wrong. Nothing definite yet, just a general feeling that somewhere nearby something is disturbing the normal flow of magical power. It starts as a little nagging feeling in the back of her mind, but quickly grows.

    Death magic.

    With a sigh and shake of her head, she closes the book, mutters a quick phrase that shrinks the book down small enough to drop into a belt pouch and takes out a map. Another quick incantation and the flows of magic in the area are revealed, including a dark blotch at the Met.

    Standing and replacing the map in her belt pouch as well, she shakes her head and picks up a few items, tucking them in various places. Two minutes later, she steps through a portal in her room and appears outside the Met in a silent flash of light, already scanning around the area to make sure she hasn't come out in the midst of enemies. This close to the source, she can easily feel that it comes from inside the museum, so starts making her way around the building, looking for a subtle way in.

Morrigan MacIntyre has posed:
Morrigan wasn't sleeping well since the last encounter with this death situation. And she was still feeling a bit guilty over Strange and Constantine being gone for the moment. When she'd gotten notified via the magical 'oh shit' network there wasn't a second thought given, she'd made sure she was wearing shoes. Once that's double checked she'd stood to walk to the door of her office and opened it. When she walekd through she came out on the other side in one of the hallways to the MET.

She'd been there enough it was easy to remember locations. It's not too far from the obelisk and other weirdness that's going on. The violet eyed woman heads for the outer courtyard to see if she can sneak a peek at all of this.

Melinda May has posed:
The fact the obelisks started showing up all over the world is the main reason May was dispatched to the New York site. SHIELD, for all that they're only very recently returned to the light, still doesn't take kindly to things that sow chaos around the world. And May is one of the few non-WAND agents who's had experience with this sort of thing.

More's the pity for her.

The STRIKE Commander pulls up in a black SUV, at least three others following her. As she slides out from behind the wheel, she gives orders to the team that's come with her. "Secure the perimeter," she tells them. "No one gets in or out who can't actually help." She actually does allow some exceptions in a city filled with metahumans and magic weilders. God knows, it helped during the Bronx Ice Palace crisis.

Thus, garbbed in a SHIELD tac suit, with ICERs and more lethal rounds on her thighs and a couple of strange cylinders thrust into her belt, she starts moving toward the museum to locate just where this obelisk thing may be.

Hela has posed:
As dawn still stains the sky a false blue and warmer pink, the disarray in the Met is visible before anyone approaches the doors. One hangs open, wedged by a cinder block hauled from who knows where. Police first on site haven't the wherewithal or means to quite comprehend what goes on. Sneaking in through a fire exit is possible, though the cameras guarding the billion dollar collection might be silent witnesses.

From the Great Hall, the Temple of Dendura stands apart through the Egyptian Art galleries. Good signs point the way through dimly lit sections full of funerary masks, statues, jewelry, and countless tomb offerings. Long papyrus and cloth strips covered in hieroglyphs display vast sections from the Books of the Dead and other Egyptian law codicils with translations painted on the wall. A few peculiarly dim figures flit past the sarcophagi imprisoned in glass to stand before the monumental sandstone buildings. Gorgeously engraved blocks form the sanctuary across an open square from the matching entry that define a sacred perimeter. Gods of sky and earth in typical Egyptian style, graceful if rigid, join rows of hieroglyphs. They should not be awash in violet-red light.

That light originates from the gate formed by a column and a black obelisk slammed into the middle of the court. Ancient languages illuminute every flute and side, ranging from Latin to Sanskrit to Aztec, of all things.

Hela has posed:
Around the temple... a crowd has amassed. A crowd like any can find in the five boroughs, with a notable exceptions. Grandmothers in their cozy daygowns, teenagers in ironic band t-shirts, Wall Street financiers in fancy suits or immigrants in modest attire. Even the odd alien might be among them, along with sailors from a different age, the Radium Girl victims still glowing faintly, Revolutionary soldiers. Not a one of them contains any colour that isn't in monochrome, all of them staring at the Underworld gate. They wait. The living barely produce a concerned look.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Witchblade lands outside the museum, noting the presence of May she offers a nod before starting to head into the building. This was the sort of madness that the Witchblade was created for, to deal with the magical assaults from the realms that should not be crossing over. As she moved toward the building, she reached up and the helmet around her her wraps away long enough for her to activate the comm unit that will link her to May's communications, in case the Agent needed some back up, then as she moved her hand away the metal wrapped back into the place.

There is a definite feeling of everything being /wrong/ as she steps inside, and the Wtichblade already knows the sort of magics in play. She follows the sensation, through to where the gate is located, looking the room over slowly. In her right hand the metal tendrils from the gauntlet form a bastard sword, which she grips tightly as she starts her investigation. The languages are many, of those Witchblade knew many, but the message remained the same.

>>"Upon entering this Realm, you must announce your presence to all,"<< she says aloud and into the comm. >>"Alright, death magics and an open invitation, what could possibly go wrong?"<<

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The signs point the way as Phoebe simply enters into the Met from the main entrance (honestly, with crocodilian creatures eating security guards, who's going to stop an armored hero in a hood?)makes her way towards the temple, what should have been a sanctuary for worship for a man and his wife, now an art piece for appreciation to the comman man.

    Phoebe pulls down her hood. Her hair was in two low puffs, hardly the usual well-kept braids as she moves forward, she sees the illuminated temple, awash in its reddish glow, minding the obelisk.

    She breathes out, looking to the writings, snatches of Coptic and Heiroglyphic catch her attention, but it was the Themysciran tongue, almost as close to her English, she reads, and then she looks at the gate.

    She raises her left hand, palm up. She brushes her fingers against where beneath metal and kevlar, a white magical circle traced in ink lay, as she looks to the girls with their mouths and skins glowing with toxic radium once used in watches and paints, tapping her comm array to try and find open channels.

    She'll have to sad face at tim for a hacking module. She looks to the armored Witchblade, and gives a small smile and a two fingered wave as she pulls her hood back up.

    "We really should learn not to ask that question." she states. "We taking bets on what's through the gate?"

Radha Tackeray has posed:
Radha lingers on the threshold of the museum for a moment, before she leans her head down and enters the museum as if she owns the place. From here...

From here it doesn't take a lot of effort to guess where the problem is. Radha lingers in the lobby for a moment, chewing the inside of her cheek as if having second thoughts about this. Look, she tells herself, I can go tell someone else if it's too bad. It seems, not hostile, yet. Just... (Her eyes go to the false dawn) ... Strange.

This reckless behavior means she is slightly ahead of the incoming police officers. She looks over her shoulder and calls towards the woman with the transforming gauntlet and sword - that is to say, Sara - "You should know! It's saying up there," and here Radha points, "'Upon entrance to this realm, you must announce your presence to all.'" She is pointing at a bit of Hindi text as she says this.

"I imagine you can read Spanish or something," Radha continues. She then claps her hands together once. "You -- oh, you're speaking already, sorry." A moment passes as she considers Phoebe as well.

"Sssssoo," Radha says, "I don't want to place any bets at all, but I have the feeling that given the subtle messaging, it's more of an invitation than anything." (Am I just being contrary? Radha thinks as she turns to regard the gate, clutching a backpack strap as if it contains a secret weapon.) (Her own backpack strap. Not someone else's. That'd be weird.)

"Is it radioactive or something?" Radha asks sort of the general area. She is stepping towards the gate, though it will take her a bit to go through-- it is, after all, Quite Something, and if armored magic police are on hand, well, they might at least have input.

Hela has posed:
On the Underworld Gate, the Hindi and Spanish glyphs shimmer and transform to a completely different set of text, the script scrawled as though it has always been present on the black basalt needle or the alabaster column.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
    Making her way around the building, Rien considers the security system. When it comes right down to it, she's not terribly worried about appearing on camera, but the police could be a problem. They tend to not let civilians into these sort of events. This problem is, of course, easy to handle when one is a sorceress.

    A few phrases in Enochian later, she fades from view and heads right for the front doors, slipping in past anyone the police might have covering the entrance. Following the cold call of death, she quickly makes her way to the Temple and it's sudden new acessory.

    Once she reaches the courtyard, she looks over the crowd of restless spirits, also scanning for anyone alive in the area. Usually these things require someone to summon or activate them, so at the moment all her senses are very alert for anyone out of place here. Once others enter the area and start discussing the message, she dismisses her spell, fading into view.

    "So I'm not the only one who felt thing happening. That's good to know, at least." She contemplates the ranks of the dead standing before the gateway and adds, "So it's a planar gate, if that was not already obvious. Have you gotten any clue as to who might be responsible?"

Morrigan MacIntyre has posed:
"Upon entrance to this realm, you must announce your presence to all." the Irish woman states. Morrigan's violet gaze is aglow with so much death in the air. It happens sometimes. She gives a look over the glyphs and there's a sigh, "And here I was hoping it said speak friend and enter." the woman states as she arrives to stand in front of the gates that are there. She stares at the spaces and there's a look to the others after a moment, "Gates opening are rare. Might be a good chance to see if we can find Constantine or the Sorceror Supreme. But...we could also die horribly." she states in a somber tone.

Melinda May has posed:
Seeing Pezzini there actually gives May a bit of comfort. She knows the Witchblade is a walking tank. Since she doesn't know what they're walking into, having a tank whose capabilities she's actually familiar with on hand is a serious asset. She flashes her badge to the local constabulary and loosens one of her ICERs as she enters the museum.

Her boots are quiet on the tiled floor. She taps her ear comm briefly, acknowledging one of the perimeter agents that tells her about the monochrome crowd gathering outside. She's actually already aware of them, feeling their sense of expectation and longing seeping into the back of her mind.

When she reaches the gate, she hears Pez give the translation. Her eyes fall on a series of words she can translate on her own. "Entering which realm?" she asks, glancing to the younger agent -- who, while she may not be here as an official SHIELD operative, is still an agent in May's book. "This one, or another? 'Cause I'd say that's a pretty big announcement."

Sara Pezzini has posed:
The changing words gain Witchblade's attention. Which language it was that she read didn't matter, though there was a bit of a wonder of how she looked Spanish, or maybe the woman had been talking to someone else.

Again when she speaks, its aloud and into the comm, >>"If I had to guess, which I don't, we're talking about a gate into one of the Hells."<< Now she adjusts the volume of her voice so that only May on the comm can hear her, >>Further writing says, pass the black gates which hold back the souls of the dead. Be bold to tread ways irretraceable. The living alone shine brightly to find the Word in the Stygian storm that would consume the world. Let the heavens echo the outcries of the First Law! This is definitely a gate to Hell. If you intend to enter May, which I would strongly urge again, be ready for shit you've never seen before, and be ready for me to protect your ass.<<

Glancing around to the slowly growing crowd outside this gate, she speaks up more clearly, "This isn't the only gate, they're popping up all over the world. Reports are coming in through the FBI and the NYPD about it. It may be time to bite the bullet, enter and announce myself."

Radha Tackeray has posed:
"That part over there just changed," Radha announces as she sees the flickering text. She reads off of what is probably the Hindi part, on the theory that a lot of people speak Spanish.

It takes her a moment. "Pass the black gates which hold back the souls of the dead," Radha says, after a moment of thought. "Be... bold to tread ways you... cannot trace back. The living, alone, shine brightly to... where is the verb... ah, to find the word in the storm of Stygia that would consume the world. Let the heavens echo the outcries of the - One Law? No, first law."

Radha's lips purse for a moment.

"You mean that guy with the coat who looked like wet trash?" Radha asks Morrigan. A moment passes. She adds, with a sort of dull horror, "He's *DEAD*?"

Radha takes a deep breath and turns to make towards the enrance. She pauses, on the threshold, to turn around and call to Morrigan, "What does the Sorceror Supreme look like?"

Hela has posed:
On the Temple of Dendura, incised divine figures line up row by row to observe a winged woman receiving the gifts from a grateful Egypt. Weapons -- bows and swords, one distinctly in Sara's possession -- are laid at her sandaled feet. Near ground level, rows on rows of people in linen kilts, greatcoats, jeans, and t-shirts hold out their hands to the sky imploring. Alligators and crows move among them. Arrows fly and strike immolated figures crying out. Owls cling to the fruit on a tree, skulls piled beneath the boughs. A man wields a misshapen hammer to flatten a skeletal dragon. A familiar woman with eyes painted purple and another kneeling with a tophat on hold up their hands defensively against an enormous serpent being struck by lightning.

The winged woman holds out a hand with an ankh to another smaller woman holding scales, a feather in one and a scroll in another. Both of them have faces turned to the gate, in complete inconsistency with Egyptian side-on art.

Melinda May has posed:
May nods briefly to Sara. "I read Spanish," she tells her. Which means that, so far, there are enough languages on the weird plinth for her to keep up with the changing messages. She secures her ICER back in its holster and switches out to lethal rounds. She also moves one of those fancy cylinders on her belt to a more accessible position. She may not be wearing the stupid Star Wars getup from the recent Secret Warrior's mission, but she's brought a couple of her new toys, just in case.

"So, I don't know much about Egyptian heiroglyphs, but those look like something out of an 80's music video to me." She gestures to the images of heroes battling various skeletons and such. "Or, you know, the 6 o'clock news after an Avengers' mission." 'Cause she's pretty sure that one guy is Thor. And the woman with purple eyes? She turns to look at Morrigan. "You got an Egyptian twin?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I understood that reference, Dr. MacIntyre." ohoebe states quietly.

    She can't really argue that John might have looked like trash. "... but if there's a chance John's through that gate --" Phoebe states, and she takes a deep breath, and she starts to the gate.

    "IF JOhn's in there, he could need my help." she states, to bolster herself as she glances back to Radha.

    "Has a beard. Not like Wet Trash." she states with purpose, she takes a deep breath, and she takes steps.

    "... John Constantine can't be dead. If he was... the one who's hunting me? Might have already found me." she gives a grin.

    "I have a whole lot of hope to bring to the game, now." she states the absolute certainty -- and then she looks back to the temple inscriptions.

    "Uh..." she states, and she pauses.

    "... the artwork is changing. That armored woman wasn't there a couple of seconds ago, and that is definitely not standard." she explains, and then looking to the red-violet light, she brings up her hand, and brings her own Light. A quarter-sized piece of sunlight, trying to brighten up the room as she strides forward, her palm up and illuminating with a palm-full of solid-looking light, and she announces herself:

    <Phoebe, Friend of Themyscria, Daughter of Caroline and Charles Beacon> she whispers in her third tongue, and then passes through the gate. If the artwork is changing, so is the story.

    There is always Hope, that that lifts her heart.

Hela has posed:
On the Temple wall, a slender deviation might just be unseen. Beaming rays spread out over a chipped corner. A small figure holds out a hand with a round object given barely any detail. The stiff pleats and stylized folds of a billowing cloak spread like bird's wings. Feathered points ring the neck to look like a pointed, standing collar. For anyone who has seen the Sorcerer Supreme, there he is.

Hela has posed:
The Underworld Gate displays darkness, an unyielding shadow. Between the Corinthian column and obelisk, nothing can be seen but that. Phoebe's light makes no difference to this as she steps through. Recoiling shadows whirl and twist around her, and the mystically inclined will feel something snap into place where the inchoate masses were before.

Three hundred forty three ghosts collectively tremble. Many shift, drawn together, clutching.

Violet-red fire wreathes one and it evaporates, shrieking in a terrified cry. <<No, Mama, not here-->>

Another two are ripped into a whirlpool in the ground, scattering the others. Still they stare at the gate, rather than the spectral destruction.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
    The artwork on the Temple catches Rien's attention, both because it is not in the normal Egyptian side-on style and, more importantly, it is representing the people in the courtyard. She hmms, then points out, "This is the normal representation of Isis, which makes this one" pointing to the one with scales, "Ma'at, but normally it would be a heart being weighed, not a scroll."

    "Something very strange is in motion here. For starters, why are we and other heroes showing up on this? I don't see, hear or smell anyone else here who could have kicked this off, so either it is being kicked off from a ritual elsewhere, or they opened this and left right away, possibly though the gates."

    Taking a couple steps towards the gate, she continues, "Now, I've been to Hell before, well, a Hell anyway, but if this leads to the Egyptian Underworld, it would be rather different."

    Watching Phoebe step through the gateway and the ensuing spiritual destruction, those with good hearing may catch a muttered, "Merde"

    "Ok, that was probably a bad thing. We may not want to go through until we figure out a little more of what's going on here. I'm not sure if that spirit was simply destroyed or sucked into the wrong realm of death, but both are very bad things."

Morrigan MacIntyre has posed:
Morrigan gives a look to Rhada and there's a bit of a frown, "That I cannot answer. Not sure he and his girlfriend are married, but...I don't know really." she offers. Then May gets her attention with her twin comment and she shakes her head, "No, that is Zatanna, myself and Apep...from when they attacked and we had to employee a lot of magic to hold back the ocean." she frowns. "That," Morrigan points out the stand up collar, "Is the Sorceror Supreme." she points out. "If we're going through the gate, make sure to follow the rules. There are deifferent laws down there than up here." she frowns deeply at that. "Uh oh...Phoebe." she shakes her head. "Well...all or nothing." she nods. "I'll keep everyone as safe as I can." she states as she heads for the gate. "Morrigan MacIntyre, master of the mystic, healer, friend to the dead." she announces as she goes through.

Radha Tackeray has posed:
"Oh! ... That was the SORCEROR SUPREME? I thought he was there to- I mean I thought he might have been John's uncle or something," Radha says to Phoebe, eyes wise. She turns round just in time to catch sight of --

"I think that the longer we wait, the worst, because that is the guy himself right there," Radha says, gazing at the familiar outline. She shifts her backpack round, reaching into it and drawing out a small pocket knife. (What?) With this, she marches forwards.

"I am Radha Thackeray, daughter of John and Jesminder," she states as she does so. She repeats this a few times, perhaps not sure *exactly* where the key point is.

When the dead scream, she starts stepping a lot faster.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
It's not difficult to spot the sword, so familiar to the the Witchblade often uses, though there were some irrelevant differences, it is still obvious. It was strange to the woman who bore Witchblade now that it would be the sword in this image, and not the gauntlet, but far be it from her to correct what ever wielder of death magic this was. She was no expert on Egyptian hieroglyphs, but one of the previous wielders was.

"No, previous wielder of Witchblade, Cleopatra herself," she offers to May. All of those memories were a part of here when it was needed, that's how it worked. Some game in dreams, others come to her in her mind as if they are her own memories, but she knows them to be from previous wielders. "I'm going in May, if you decide to follow, remember to announce yourself... you do not want to go pissing off the entities in there."

Just as she starts walking toward the gate, the images start changing again, the ghosts are pulled into the vortex. This was going to suck in so many ways... sometimes trying to keep a secret a secret, oh well here goes.

"I am Sara Pezzini, wielder of the Witchblade!" is announced, then she steps through the gate.

Hela has posed:
At the Underworld Gate, whole streams of language vanish. Themiscyran evaporates. The hieratic and demotic collapse on themselves, leaving the black basalt exuding a deeper darkness. Ancient tongues of Latin, Sanskrit, and Attic Greek are streaked aside. Each who steps through the Gate's veil is gone, crystallizing a deeper sense of order among the darkness. Small things pieced together. The dead collectively sigh each time. They otherwise do not move except when members of their number are sucked into whirlpools: stark green flame, a deep blue, one hot red bordering on vermilion. Those flames burst with a fell, wicked magic unlike the Gate proper for the second it exists.

Melinda May has posed:
So, first, there was a necromantic ice palace in the Bronx. Now, there's a death gate at the Met. "Random question," she says dryly, drawing a weapon as she follows the others, automatically falling back to take the rearguard position. "Why does it feel like all the magic that turns up randomly in this city is death magic?" Just askin'.

No, she's not backing down from the fight. Never has, never will. That's just part and parcel of being the Cavalry. Probably being the 'Caretaker', too, though everytime she hears that title she thinks of her high school janitor. Mr. Jannisse was a pretty cool old codger, but she wouldn't really wanna be him.

Then again, she does spend a lot of time cleaning up other people's messes.

Finally, she enters the gate. "Melinda May, Agent of SHIELD," she says darkly as the magic wraps around her. "What exactly are we walking into here?" She grips her pistol in her hand, straining to see in the darkness.

Hela has posed:
Beyond The Gate...

The first step feels like leaping from a diving board. It's stepping from the sun into a cave. Tripping over a threshold where everything is different, the very weight of mortality coalesces into a tightening flame around the heart. The very vitality comes rushing from the veins, becoming a hard knot like a jewel throbbing in the chest. An involuntary breath is almost certain, warmth exchanged for the cool, still air of a place untouched. Not without traces of warmth: myrrh, cedarwood, wine lend a soft fragrance.

On the other side of the gate is what very much looks like some of the more spectacular tombs ever discovered. A stunningly painted space, of jeweled lapis blues and warm sandstone yellows. Images reflect many of those in the Met itself, except the real thing, elaborate layouts of the Book of the Dead. Here are preparations for the departed to reach their eternal reward. In the middle is a single focal point: a golden three-legged stand with a stone bowl atop it. A clay jar sealed with honey and written over in hieroglyphs stands beside it. Both face a wall with that winged image of Isis. Roughly a meter away, standing opposite her, is the embodiment of justice, Ma'at, holding up a scale with a feather. The other dish lies empty. What could indeed be missing...

(OOC: https://youtu.be/E3aNbNxKS6s?t=2309 for a bit of inspiration)

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
    When people start stepping into the gate, Rien starts scanning through the writing and pictures, trying to see if there is anything that indicates what is happening to the spirits when people go through the gate, a warning, a dedication to an entity, anything out of the ordinary. She's studied such things in the libraries of Clan D'Arqueness when she was being trained. Either way, once she has looked for a moment, she shrugs, casts a protective spell on herself and steps into the gate. "Rien D'Arqueness, sorceress and demon hunter." is her introduction as she enters the gate.

    She appears where the others who have stepped in were deposited, looking around the area. "Interesting, continuing the Egyptian motif. I find myself wondering what power is flexing it's muscles and messing with the spirits of the dead."

Morrigan MacIntyre has posed:
"The Underworld it would appear." Morrigan states to May as they end up on the other side. Is everyone accounted for? She looks around so that she can count heads. The heaviness of the magic makes her head swim for a moment, a hand rising to pinch the bridge of her nose as she tries to get a level head. Her eyes then move to the scene in front of them. "There's no time." she mutters.

It takes her a moment to focus, for all the colors to race in vividly. "There are very powerful ritual magics at work here." she states as she moves. "Ma'at's scales being empty is insanely...weird." she grimaces.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe keeps her light in her palm -- just in case it was dark on the other side of the gate. Myrrh, the sweet perfume of the tomb, cedarwood incense, the dark scent of wine.

    Phoebe looks at the layouts of the Book of the Dead, picking out the spells she had been trying to commit to memory, catching the names of gods and kings of Egypt, meshed together in such a tapestry created over dynasties. In a strange sense, it felt almost familiar as she looks around the tomb.

    "Amazing." she whispers, and excitedly, trying to ignore the weight on her chest, the pain of all this magic against her head and heart, the difficulty of drawing breath -- and she swallows down that knot in her throat and trying to ignore the jelly in her knees and the pit of her stomach as she steeled her resolve, and concentrated on that light in her palm. Magic is the application of will, and there is so much going on all at once. Phoebe's stomach threatens to vacate.

    She swallows down the thickness and bitterness of the world around her, gasping out:

    "This is a test. The report said there were crocodile-like creatures. Did anyone see the footage? Do we have to be concerned about one of us being fed to Amit?" she questions.

Radha Tackeray has posed:
"shhhahhhhh," Radha breathes out as she crosses that space and finds herself --

Somewhere else.

It smells... Eastern.

"I am Radha Thackeray, daughter of John and Jesminder," she repeats once more, on general principles, and then pulls something out of her backpack. It is... a plastic toy. In particular, it is a twelve-inches-tall articulated robot toy of something brightly colored with prominent, articulated hands.

Radha looks around. She does not do anything with the plastic toy.

"I don't think it's a motif," Radha states.

"I don't suppose any of you have a spare heart with you," she says a moment thereafter, face tightening.

Hela has posed:
In the Heart Chamber, the brilliant paintings that have somehow survived the centuries embody spells from the Book of the Dead. Foremost are those depicting the great weighing, though Anubis takes a backseat to Ma'at, and Thoth stands further back in shadow to record the soul's deeds. Extravagant detail lavished on the various preparations and hymns are laid out, along with the more uncommon spell to appeal to the Heart of Treachery. Nephthys appears on another wall, aiding Isis with traditional tasks and the casting of the spells. An owl watches from a column holding up the starry ceiling. Curiously a smooth line indicates water, floating in it a stone half-white, half black.

The sealed jar in honey contains the symbols for good life and fine smells, the joys of the afterlife for those who seek the Field of Green.

Melinda May has posed:
Automatically, as she tries to regain her balance on the far side of the deathgate, May finds herself empathically seeking the emotional signatures of those around her. It helps to be able to identify friend from foe. And, perhaps, to sense any foes that might be approaching. Providing they even *have* emotions.

She falls silent as the others -- clearly magic users and occult experts of some sort -- start making comments. May's not usually much of a talker, anyway. Especially among strangers. She has a whole lot of questions, mind. But she may need to get them answered by Sara, later...

This is why she plays rearguard. Because something always sneaks up from behind and she's good at hitting such things while the eggheads figure out the mysteries.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
    Being more used to places heavy with magic, Rien is not overwhelmed once she steps though the gate, but can certainly feel the weight of magic pressing in on her senses. Glancing around the tomb, her gaze falls on the actual jar beside the stand. "I wonder what is in that jar. It seems rather carefully placed right where the weighing is supposed to be done. Given the other option for that, I think we want to check the jar first."

    Looking over to Phoebe, she shakes her head and holds up one hand, three claws extending from her knuckles, glowing lightly blue from their enchantments. "Physical fights I can handle. Let's check the jar, because this place wants a heart for the ceremony, and that kind of thing can sting a bit."

Hela has posed:
The honey-sealed jar can be easily cracked open, the thick and resinous seal popped for the ceramic lid to come away. The smell within is two parts Finnish sauna to one part wood smoking or grilling chips. Redolent cedarwood and small bits of frankincense remain preserved inside, handfuls of them chopped up to not much longer than a digit. Exactly the sort of thing someone would use today for a barbecue or a firepit!

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Once through the gate, the armor surrounding the Italian takes on a very, very faint glow, shielding the woman from the effects of the magic in the room. Sara realizes the magic is there, can feel the Witchblade blocking it, and slowly as she starts looking over the area they're all in, she realizes exactly what is going on... that empty pillar needs a heart to judge.

Finally she seems to settle into the situation, looking around for where May is and slowly making her way over.

"We're going to have to leave a heart there," she indicates to the empty location. "To be judged. We might get lucky and find one in that jar, but that would be /way/ too much luck given this whole situation."

Radha Tackeray has posed:
"I could, uh, I could make a... fake one," Radha says, warily, "but that will take a moment and also I do not know if we want to risk screwing this up." This one seems more dubious to her than walking through a cosmic door into a modishly Egyptian tomb.

"... You're going to hope everyone will touch everything for you, won't you," Radha then asks Rian.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I know it wants a heart --" Phoebe breathes out, and steadies herself. HEr stomach protests, and she turns to Rien. "Those are woodchips. It's not a canopic jar-- there's no guardian on it. It's probably offerings --" she trails off, working through the Heiroglyphic she knows. "I can probably work through the spell itself." she takes a deep breath, and lets it out again, shakey-- and then the jar is opened "... and probably used for purification." she states. "Besides... what good would leaving a heart do if it was someone else's?" she considers.

    "They believed having the heart was a requirement for the afterlife, other things went into jars, but they always had the heart in the Mummies -- and..." she looks disturbed "Pretty sure you can't fake out a heart to Ma'at. That's literally a test of truthfulness, so plus side, we get it back... maybe." she steeples her fingers.

    "I've repaired organs on others, but never totally regrown them." she looks about, and then pulls down her hood.

Morrigan MacIntyre has posed:
"None of you are going to like this, but...a heart is needed to leave. If one is not given then we're all stuck here and that's not going to do anyone any good." Morrigan states as she looks to the scales. Then she looks to the others, "So, we're going to do this. I'm going to give up my heart. You ladies are going to continue on your journey and stick to the rules of the Underworld and hopefully we'll get our two missing gentlemen back to the real world." she states.

Uh oh. She was using the Doctor tone. "We aren't going to freak out or anything like that. It'll be fine." she adds.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
    Shaking her head, Rien speaks after Morrigan does, "No, we'll be using mine. That is, unless you also will regrow yours in an hour or so. There's a certain advantage to having a rather powerful regeneration as one of your mutations." She scans over the others and asks, "So, who's good with anatomy? I'm kind of tough, but not quite 'cutting my own heart out' tough. This is going to hurt, so I'd rather not have it take any longer than needed."

Radha Tackeray has posed:
"Will you be alright?" Radha asks Morrigan.

She looks at the others. Back to Morrigan.

"I mean, I use my heart a lot," Radha continues, "for feelings and, I suppose, blood... mostly the blood. Um." She holds up her pocket knife. "I..."

Then she looks at Sara. "Oh! YOu have a... sword. I suppose if they're going to grow it back, then you're doing them a favor, really. Everyone. A favor, I mean."

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Sara turns rather quickly to look at the woman speaking, she doesn't know her, but there has to be a better choice. She would give her own in a heartbeat, no pun intended, but Witchblade would never allow it. Wielders of the Witchblade, those found worthy by him, are far more rare than might be believed. Even as a police officer, as a member of SHEILD, a living and breathing example of willing to sacrifice for the greater good, she could not offer up her own heart.

Then another speaks, and this one says she can survive it by regenerating and Sara breaths a sigh of relief. "I do," she comments to Rien, the bastard sword in her hand changing to a very small, sharp looking knife. No she does not just plunge it in, she's not that callous. "Are you certain you can survive this? I can remove the heart, it won't be pretty, it will hurt like hell, but I can do it quickly... I just need to know for certain that you will be alright."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe stares

    "... do you want to do the rite for the Trecherous Heart yourself or do you want to have a pep-talk from the one who glows in the dark?" she offers quietly, and she reaches into her backpack -- and draws out a cloth roll.

    "I can perform it cleanly. The heart removal, I mean. I'm... you know..." she states, looking at the pack. "NEver removed a heart before though."

Morrigan MacIntyre has posed:
Morrigan gives a look up to Ma'at and Isis when people start pulling out knives and things and Rien says they are going to use her heart. "Ah well then." she nods. "You'll need to burn it after you're done. It's what the wood chips are for. Just think of it as doing your own hibachi." she offers. "I'm not sure how much they are going to be liking the given a heart only for one to grow back...but we'll figure that out." she states quietly.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
    Rien looks over to Sara and draws her own claws across the back of her hand, the wounds closing almost as soon as they are made. "I'll survive, it's just going to hurt and put me out of action for an hour or so." She sighs and finds an open area of the floor to lie down on. "I don't know how they'll react, but it seems a better choice than killing one of us."

    Glancing around the area, she says, "Anyone have something I can bite down on? This won't be fun to be on either end of, I'd think."

Radha Tackeray has posed:
Radha says, "I'm going to go stand on the other side of this pillar, and I'll scream if I'm attacked. Ta," and then she does exactly that because she doesn't want to see this. (This also gives her an opportunity to examine the walls, hopefully intensely enough to avoid hearing it.)

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Ah... local anesthetic." Phoebe offers, and she pulls up another item from her bag. Because she's a medic; she's got all the fun toys. "It'll pinch." she offers to perform the anesthetizing for the heart at least.

Melinda May has posed:
May doesn't offer her heart. If they're looking for a relatively sinless vessel, she simply doesn't believe her heart is that. She carries too much guilt over Bahrain. And a dozen other ops. She's a SHIELD specialist. That means she's a killer. Murder, however well-justified, is still a heavy sin.

Her eyes dart between the other woman as they plan... what? To murder one of them? Or... Damn, she hates magic. "I have a bad feeling about this," she mutters, sliding her gun away and pulling out the two cynders from her belt. There's a whoosh as her hands wrap around them. Two blazing blades made of crackling plasma ignite from their tips. She's got fire handled. They can save their magic for other things.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
This is not what she signed up for, but what had to be, had to be. She steps over to Rein, watching the wounds heal as quickly as they are made, then nods. "Alright," she voices, but in her head she is already preparing for the quickest way to do this that might not be to excruciating. There wasn't a way.

"Get her something to bite down on," she practically orders, then offers to help Rein lay down. "And once you do, don't watch. I do not want people seeing this."

Once Rein is ready, in position, and Phoebe has given the area a good coating of anesthetizing for the area, Sara takes one slow deep breath, then there is no more hesitation.

The knife enters quick and hard, right through the bone, in a deft stroke. Because of the armor her strength is beyond human, right into superhuman, so she doesn't even pause and cuts a circle around the heart, through the bone. You'd think after doing that, there wouldn't be a problem with what came next, but Sara has to take another breath before she quickly reaches to pick up the still beating, thankfully not regenerating, heart from Rein's chest.

"Right, I'm never doing that again," she states as she stands and moves to place the heart where it needs to be. "Someone else can deal from here..." she backs up, way up, unable to take her eyes off Rein.

Morrigan MacIntyre has posed:
Morrigan doesn't really have a part to play, she's more information at this juncture. She does however watch Sara cut out Rien's heart, because Doctor's have seen a lot worse sometimes. That and she's watched people die horribly lately so she's sort of weird mentally for the time being. She gives a soft murmur of words to make sure that this goes as planned...and that they don't end up fighting Isis, Thoth or Ma'at over this.

Radha Tackeray has posed:
"Oh, god, the sounds," Radha quails from behind the concealing pillar.

Hela has posed:
These violent delights have violent ends
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,
Which, as they kiss, consume.

In the Heart Chamber, the goddess of justice waits with eternal patience. The feather shines in the dark. Isis extends her gloriously lapis and viridian-studded arm, wing feather outstretched in an endless arc of welcome. Their kohl-lined eyes watch the vicious assault on unmarked flesh, struck down by a blade charmed by the eldest light. Blood will flow. The crack of bone will rise.

The gaping wound in Rien's chest fills in with a milky green light, the heart filling in first as an ephemeral facsimile down to the inert ventricles and muscles pulsing just the once to spill through the hollow. Cracked bone likewise takes on a plasmic form, and for all the blood that should absolutely spill even with the healing factor, there is less. The wound throws off its own eerie pallor, like peering up through a shallow coastal sea or seeing sunlight pass through a river filled by reeds. It's all very clearly not mundane in any way, ectoplasm by another name.

The agony she isn't quite spared, though the damage isn't quite the same had Sara reached in and knifed her on the street. Small mercies?

So waits the stone bowl on the golden tripod, just large enough to accommodate a good helping of woodchips. One heart. Melinda's blazing blades, an unconventional way to ignite them. Typically said chips, even with the plasma assist, would take a time to ignite. They don't. Fire roars up golden, smoke pouring off Rien's heart in blackened swirls billowing in an invisible wind kicked up by the divine rites wound into the very matrix of the tomb. An image of the heart appears in the empty golden scale. The feather starts to rise slightly.

Out of the whirling, billowing embers comes... Rien. Albeit Rien with completely black skin, wrapped in a white linen dress under her chest, and a pair of bone pectorals marked by jet beads over her breasts. The claws are the same, her eyes burning with the same flames that lustily devour the heart. No heed is paid to the dish. Nor to Radha behind a column, or anyone else but the one who tithed. Rage and calculated malice explode forth with all the mirrored frenzy the living woman herself possesses. And all of the skill.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
    When Sara starts to lower the blade to her chest, Rien closes her eyes take takes a deep, calming breath, then holds it, making sure she doesn't bite her tongue as the wave of pain hits. Thanks to the local, it's not as bad as it could have been, but it still hurts like hell. At least Sara does it quickly, and after a spray of blood initally, the ectoplasmic heart connects to her arteries, keeping her from bleeding out. The wound starts to close over the replacement heart, and after a moment she sits up in time to see the dark facsimile of her leaping from the brazier.

    "Well, that's just great." Hoping the ectoplasm will hold until her healing replaces the actual heart, she rolls to her feet, enchanted claws tearing out of the knuckles of both hands as she moves to face the dark copy of herself. "I did not go through that in order to make the evil me to hurt the people I'm trying to help." She puts herself between the dark Rein and the others, waiting to see what that other her will do rather than attacking it right away.

Melinda May has posed:
May slides into the gap between Rien, the others, and Rien's evil twin. The others, whatever martial skill they possess, are magic-users. She, however, is a fighter. An old-fashioned, high-tech-wielding, been-fighting-for-more-decades-than-many-of-them-have-been-alive (many, not all) fighter. She lets out an attention-getting shout of challenge, albeit not one that forms any single word, and those plasma blades flash. She has absolutely no idea if they'll be effective or not. But since they did serve to ignite the heart that seems to be powering the fighting spirit, she's kinda hoping some sort of sympathetic magic clings to them.

Not that she has any blessed clue how sympathetic magic works.

Doesn't matter. She's gambling that, in this place of the dead, the dead can die as easily as the living. The dead... and weird necromantic spirits. So, her swords flash, her body dances, and it probably becomes quite evident just why she's considered one of SHIELD's most elite combatants.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
It was taking Sara a moment to grasp what the hell just happened, but when Rein gets to her feet and starts talking, that moment is passed. The knife once again becomes the bastard sword, and over her left arm a large shield forms.

This is what the Witchblade was designed for, incorporeal, smoke created, figments of the imagination, it didn't matter when it came to Witchblade, they could all be cut and destroyed just as equally as flesh. She doesn't know the others there, or what they are capable of, she knows May can handle herself and hopes to all the gods out there those plasma swords effect spirits. The others however, were they combatants? Not knowing, she moves to place herself between them and the others, just in case.

Morrigan MacIntyre has posed:
Morrigan's not really expecting the ebony version of Rien to come out ready to kick everyones ass. There's a moment taken to gather that neon violet and now black energy of hers, she takes care of one thing off the bat, she tosses up a protective shield around Radha given she's off and not going to be fighting it appears. "I wonder what pissed her off!" she calls to the others.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe quietly recites the spell, in English since everyone seems to speak THAT one: "I am the benu, the soul of Ra, who guides gods to the Netherworld when they go forth. The souls on earth will do what they desire, and the soul of Rein will go forth at--" she ebgins, and then she sees the blackened form of Rien come from the pillowing smoke. She breathes out in a soft curse. "UP!" she calls out, and she draws out one of her long throwing knives, and puts herself between Morrigan and the shade.

    It takes /every/ ounce of her to not joke about it being worse. She learned her lesson in the Laughing Magician.

Hela has posed:
Other Rien doesn't hesitate. Claws burst forth in their vicious elegance and she lunges through the smoke that offers some screening influence with a powerful leap that means to take Rien down. Claws slammed into the ectoplasmic wound in her chest that glows that soft jade hue would be an ideal option, though crossed cuts to simultaneously deflect blows and inflict maximum damage are likewise in the mix. The techniques aren't flashy, rendered efficient by applying maximum strength and speed while minimizing how far she opens her guard.

And like Rien, the Other Rien shares that stilted healing factor, though in the Underworld, both of them struggle for it to operate at full strength.

Still, that blessed violence gladly mows down any interference like threshing wheat unless it provides truly any sort of challenge. It's a tomb, they only have so far to go, hiding around pillars or moving backwards. How plasma blades work against enchanted claws is another matter, but flesh is flesh. It burns.

This isn't a figment of anyone's imagination but the real, in-the-flesh, bloodless dark reflection of Rien d'Arqueness herself, and it will see her dead before it is.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
    Claws meet claws in a dazzing display of high-speed combat. Perhaps not surprisingly, Rien and her dark twin seem to be evenly matched, both reacting almost identically to the other's attacks. So much so, that very few attacks actually land. One thing that may tip things in favor of the actual Rien is the protective spell she enacted before stepping though the gate. Well, that and the fact that unlike the dark version, Rien has other people here to help in the fight.

    "I could use a hand here, she kind of knows all my moves" she comments while moving to block another series of attacks "Anything that distracts her would help."

Radha Tackeray has posed:
"The scales of Mat," which Radha doesn't say quite right because she read it in a book, "measure your sins and everything, right? Maybe she had a lot of sins. She has that attitude, the 'I have a lot of sins' attitude, but that is just my opinion, really, oh god are they alright? It smells like burning flesh. I suppose it... is..."

"Is the smoke moving?" Radha then says, having peeked around the corner, very cautiously. "I... that means something, doesn't it, or is it just the breeze from the, the claws and - the - killing?"

Morrigan MacIntyre has posed:
Morrigan's first instinct is to hit Rien with ALL THE MAGIC that she can muster, but she makes a guess that it's not going to be a good idea, so she doesn't. But what her eyes do see is a gateway forming...and then a form. "Radha, go to the gate, but we can't get out until not Rien is dead. Don't kill our Rien!" she calls out. They're in a chamber, words carry. And she didn't want folks to hurt the other one.

Then she looks back to the smoke, "Ah...yeah...it is." she frowns as she moves to figure out what is going on.

Melinda May has posed:
Given Rien doesn't know May, it's pretty likely OtherRien doesn't know May. So, yes, the SHIELD agent is happy to provide a disctraction. While the claws are a bit of a problem -- chances are they're fairly effective, even with her tac suit -- the fact May's blades will affect the ebony figure's flesh makes her all the more confident she can do some damage.

She moves in to flank the figure while its attention is on its progenitor. Her blades flash with an expert's skill. She'll hit whatever she needs to hit -- ribs, limbs... but she'd really love to slice out that jugular. One step at a time, however.

Hela has posed:
The night-black skin common to the dead in Egyptian afterlife helps Other Rien be visibly separated from Rien herself. The two of them clash and collide, and while she might be concerned about guarding her back, her driving momentum is to destroy the mutant who ripped out and burnt her heart. Kicking flaming cedarwood ashes and chips at others, she dashes around the pillar and practically rebounds off the ceiling for an advantage, murderous rage a hazard with that degree of dirty fighting.

How quickly May can weave in and dash under that guard is limited somewhat by how fast Other Rien can jerk out of the way, taking a mild burn but not a satisfying deathstroke. Meanwhile the green-black archway keeps forming between Ma'at's scale and Isis' feathers.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Help is requested, so help is given.

Sara moves from defensive to offensive, stepping into range of the dark Rein with the razor sharp sword. She times it, waiting, patient for the right moment, then when dark Rein is busy with an attack against their Rein, she takes one step forward and thrusts the full length of the sword through dark Rein's back, through the dark heart, and stops short of impaling anyone else on the other side.

"How's that for help?" She asks, then give the sword one twist before yanking it upwards. She really had no idea if that will kill it, but one thing is for certain, there is no quick recovery from a weapon designed to destroy spirits and it's like.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    PHoebe shifts about, keeping her eyes on the very agile Shadow Rein, and as she comes around the corner she activates a shield, using it to re-enforce her edfensive position and helping to guard Radha. The shield is round, adn has Heiroglyphics on it, wards of protection as her eyes narrow, and she brings one of her throwing knives up to bare, taking aim and trying to hamstring the dark one from a distance!

    "Keep up the fight!" she calls, looking at the gate as it forms and taking a little step back.

    "Judgment is coming!"

Melinda May has posed:
May doesn't have superspeed, it's true. And she can feel the rage pouring off the ebony spirit. Fortunately, she knows how to channel and deal with rage. Rage is her power-up.

Sara lances the ebony spirit with her eldritch blade. May swings her swords, thrusting them deep into the thing's torso from the side and ripping in two separate directions. If the blades are as effective as they should be, she'll cut the thing in two while the Witchblade holds that heart in place.

Radha Tackeray has posed:
"Ah! Oh, thank you," says Radha, who was pressed up against the back of a pillar, even if this may have actually been slightly more perilous than the opposit. To Phoebe, she says, "I suppose all of this is old hat to you."

"For who," she asks Phoebe, but from her tone this is a rhetorical question entirely.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
Once Sara and May impale the dark Rien, the real one rips her enchanted claws through the double's throat. Between the three women, the copy falls, probably in several pieces from the brutal attacks. Rien blows out a breath, then looks to May and Sara, "Thanks, that was just about what I was looking for."

    She nudges one of the pieces with her foot, then shakes her head. "Never fun fighting yourself, you always know what you're going to do." Looking over at the gate forming, she adds, "At least it looks like we have a way out of here, so that's a plus. Would hate to go through that and still be stuck in here."

Hela has posed:
In the Heart Chamber, the death of the black-aspected version of Rien comes not kindly but with as much violence as she wished to inflict. The tripled aspects of pain rushing through her rebound right back to her original as the last ashes of the burning, living heart are consumed in full. For the real Rien, the sensations are mirrored: swords cutting her body, claws piercing her, the betrayed hatred in those black eyes watching until their golden fire vanishes.

The feather in Ma'at's scale dips slightly but mostly stays level. Lights begin to fade in the chamber, exhausted until only the stars remain overhead in their faded silver-white paint and the fallen embers on the ground fade to black. Ashes strewn and smoke heavy in the air fade in the stillness reasserted once more over the tomb.

Finally, the last vitrine lines fill in the archway between the pair of goddesses, the gate finally swinging open.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Panic fighting? No. Supernatural Panic fighting? First time!" Phoebe confirms from beneath her hood to Radha, her glowing shield fading as the fight ends. She takes a deep breath. "Okay. So... judgement of Ma'at down." she states, and she looks to the ashes and smoke fade in the tomb. "One way out, and the only way is forward." she states, looking to the rest of the group before she brings her light back to her palm. THe spark of light illuminates her dark face and eyes.

    "Isis, mother of a thousand names, watch over us as we journey through." she murmurs quietly, and she goes to make ehr way through the gate, holding up her palmful of light to try and light the way.

Morrigan MacIntyre has posed:
Morrigan gives a look to the scale as it dips a little and there is a moment where she was sure that they were going to have to figure out how to take out something else. She gives a soft sigh of relief, "That was...unpleasant. I'm sure there will be more of it. But we should move before anything else rises." she states.

Radha Tackeray has posed:
Radha clasps her palms together and dips her head in echo of Phoebe's prayer, glances towards the other - lingering on Rian with a bit of a grimace - and then, still cradling her robot toy, moves hastily through that door.

Hela has posed:
GRAVESEND STATION
Where they land is a twisting, switchback walk past shadowed hints of a city. Sandstone blocks turn to grey tiles, interspersed here and there by headstones, interlocked bones, and ruined buildings all slapped together in uneven layers like a cake. The path leads one way, descending with rough-chopped steps that eventually become concrete and then replaced by the bony, chewing maws of an escalator at irregular intervals. The utility stairs feel eventually spits them out on a rail platform.

Hela has posed:
Gravesend is an abandoned stretch underground, serving a city that never sleeps, at colliding points in time. Metal girders twisted and snapped off of skyscrapers tempest-toss'd by Loki's attack mingle with 19th century brick facades smeared in soot. The whole structure rises from the dark in eerie angles locked together, as if someone with no concept of curves attempted to reassemble the bones of a leviathan of the deeps. Sailing ship spars, gone silvery with age, cross over a narrow path made from cobblestones and partially melted guns and cannons from the Battery. Old things, Revolutionary things. The path is hewn by an abandoned stretch of subway, the years all wrong. Graffiti burns on the tiled walls, but even down here, there is no colour and very little light to see by other than the steel-black rails.

A train pulls up on the opposite platform. A collection of mismatched cars from the 19th to 21st centuries claims to be going to Barbican, but on its arrival it just sits there, chugging and clunking and not bothering to close its doors. Its few passengers sit in silence, unsurprised. The livery marks it as the Great Western Line.

A black-and-white board above the benches announces the Eastbound Star Line train is coming from the opposite side, but doesn't say when it intends to reach The Crystal Palace. Never a good sign, a sign without a time.

On the far side of the track, an enterprising graffiti artist with little fear of electrocution has smeared the tiles.

Two directions, two means to leave. A few scattered shades stand on the platform, vaguely human in clothing and size, but incredibly wrong in other ways. Limbs too extended, faces gaunt and eyes hollow if they have distinguishable features at all.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
With the gate now clear and visible, Sara gestures toward it before positioning herself beside May to head through it. She may not have arrived as an Agent of SHIELD, but she still felt obligated to protect her fellow agent. It had nothing to do with the fear of telling Phil she'd lost his partner in hell, nope, nothing like that at all... this was entirely a need to ensure that a friend didn't get left behind.