7727/1000 Faces FINALE: Threnody

1000 Faces FINALE: Threnody
Date of Scene:	07 September 2021
Location:	Temple of Kukulkan, Chichen Itza, Mexico
Synopsis:	The Demogorge comes to devour the gods of death and those who would raise a last defense from Earth against him. But will they succeed in convincing Atum not to levy his judgment in a reckoning of the dead? Pray your shades have something nice to say...
Cast of Characters:	Jane Foster, Hela, John Constantine, Fandral, Aldrif Odinsdottir, Rien D'Arqueness, Stephen Strange, Blackagar Boltagon, Cain Marko, Balder

---

Hela has posed:
Temple of Kulkulcan, Chichen Itza

When shit hits the fan on this scale, the world has to take notice. Whole Mexican states huddle in the sweltering heat without power. An oppressive darkness crashed down when the subtropical day turned to night a little before 1 p.m., sweeping across the Yucatan Peninsula into the Caribbean Sea. Countless reports speak of ghosts and the dead souls manifested inside that darkness, and they are not limited to Mexico, merely the most numerous there and in Central America.

Airspace around Mexico's Yucatan Peninsula as far as Cuba and Belize is shut down on account of the unearthly tempest churning around a ghostly green beam of energy stretching into the ionosphere. The focal point, a hundred miles from the city of Merida, centers directly upon the Mayan temple of Kulkulcan.

The enormous pyramid dominates the flat landscape, topped by an impressive ceremonial platform where the discharged plume of death energy roars heavenward and carves a path into the earth. Though long ruined, it appears exactly as it would in the height of Toltec power, lividly painted serpents and murals dripping with grandiose colour. Vines and flowers wind across the stepped terraces, adding a surreal element of colour that aptly disguises the doorways burrowing into the pyramid's inner heart, and the smaller one concealed within. Magical symbols burn. Wards seethe in luminous detail and every leyline feeds into a concentrated nexus of power thick with the resonance of death and stasis. The Court of Death stands at its triumph, having merged their domains and the Underworld with it.

But the gods are not alone. Shadows stalk along the balustrade, some humanoid and the grand majority not. Mythical creatures and horrific beasts ranging from lithe black dogs to feathered serpents and wraiths slink along the steep stair. The grounds resonate with rhythmic claps as energies discharge violently, the divine reordering of the universe well underway thanks to several gods of death assembled in their might and majesty. Cries echo from myriad lips, nearly all dead. Aside from a few tourists cowering in catatonic terror, the legions of shades ranging from ancient Egyptian charioteers and Victorian miners, slaves to Spanish conquistadors, World War soldiers to victims of migration and gang warfare all shudder with a singular cry.

"The hour of death has come!"

A shadow drops from the tempest, nearly as large as a city itself. That form looms greater than the asteroid that slammed into the proto sea and carved out Chicxulub.

John Constantine has posed:
    John hasn't slept since before the party at the Laughing Magician started last night. After it was all about spells and preparations and after that the news from Mexico started pouring in. Without even a stop off at home between England and the shit storm, he was in Mexico, doing what he could, running mystical triage, casting protections, keeping hope lit in the form of candles, getting people off the streets.

    When the time comes, when the zero hour hits, he's already exhausted. He's also wearing a pair of pajama bottoms sporting little dancing skeletons in purple top hats, a braided keyring is tied to the drawstrings, his tie's blue with little gold Ferris Wheels printed on it, a sun and moon bit of origami is pinned the lapel of his trench coat, a nun's wedding ring decorates his left pinky finger and he carries a tarot card with a bloody thumb print in one pocket. A bluetooth speaker somewhere on his person pumps out 'Your Love Has Lifted Me' by Rita Coolidge. Fool has done lost his ever loving mind.

    From one of his pockets, he pulls a simple plastic baggie containing about a dozen assorted seeds, nuts and berries. He opens the bag and holds it out. "Figure a snack's in order, pick one, aye?"

Fandral has posed:
Fandral looks out over the chaotic, monstrous, horrendous, apocalyptic scene before them, a hand resting on the pommel of his sword. He's clad in his trademark green, trimmed in black, his blonde hair grown long enough and tied into a braid to keep it out of his face. He has another little braid in the beard on his chin.

"You know, I often avoid these sort of conflicts. I'm more of a traditional adventurer, suited for forest and the wild, although I occasionally foray into cities where wine and women are more easily available. Midgard cities are fabulous, actually, I've been enjoying them immensely. Mortals are so delightfully in the moment. I can almost feel like I"m one of them."

"But then I'm reminded that most of my friends are gods and that the end could come at any time and, inevitably, the call will come to bring my sword to the fray. And by my honor and my life, I swear I shall do my best, fight until I fall, and will spill the blood of the enemy with the ferocity of a great cat of the jungle."

He reaches over and takes a berry out of John's pouch, popping one in. "But I just want to note, for whatever bard ends up recording the tale of this fell battle, that this whole thing sucks immensely and I don't like it."

Aldrif Odinsdottir has posed:
Reaching out, Angela takes a berry from the bag and looks at it before looking at John, "I'm assuming these aren't normal snacks." She has been with him this entire time, acting as a sorta bodyguard for the man. Oh what trouble a random seagull and a human can get one angel into. Well, sorta angel. Either way, Angela is currently sitting on a nearby rock, casually looking around at the effects on the environment.

"This madness will have to come to a head soon." She states and then looks back at John, "The world itself cannot take it much longer and I doubt it'll stay just here." She casually looks up and then looks back to John, "Oh and JOhn. I'm going to want top shelf liquor when we're done. Something very good. Strong." She states and points at him.

She's currently wearing her typical metal bikini. SHe is on the job after all. She really needs to think about updating her style but that's an idea for later.

"Fandral, why do all of you Asgaredians always focus on such stupid things like fighting until death or whatever? It's like all of you are excited to be killed." She shakes her head, "Fighting for balance makes far more sense. I don't know if all the stories about your lot are true but you are all mostly insane."

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
With a silent flash of light, Rien is suddenly there. The amount of magical power going wild here would have called her from halfway around the world even if she didn't know Constantine. She took his post seriously, but rather then just lending her power, she's here in person.

    The magically inclined would currently find her a little hard to look at due to the enchantments radiating energy. For starters she is dressed in her 'work clothes' of leather pants, high boots and a thick leather bustier, all of which have protective enchantments on them, encasing her in a skin tight protective field. Atop this is a second protective spell encasing her in a bubble of force. Her claws are already out, glowing more brightly then their normal dim bluish glow, carrying extra enchantments against spirits.

    Coming through near Constantine, she hears his offer and after just staring at the pyramid for a moment moves over to him, replying "I assume this is a little more than just a snack, oui? Even when fighting Truth I have not seen such a display of power." Even as she speaks, she takes a berry from the bag he is offering.

Stephen Strange has posed:
There has been surprising little from the Sorcerer Supreme leading up to the journey to the temple. In fact, it wasn't until just moments after John arrived with his portable soundtrack that Stephen actually made his presence known. And...there was good reason for that.

The sorcerer was preparing. Much like studying for a final, only with a little more at stake. After all, it did not necessarily mean the end of existence as most know it if he was to fail an exam in college. This is decidedly more important...and therefore he needed to study. Really, to psych himself up, though he would not admit that to anyone. This was perhaps the most important challenge he has faced...

Okay, well, one of the most important challenges. Definitely top ten.

A side glance is given to John as Stephen steps up. Appearing no different from any other time, with his cloak on his shoulders and his amulet upon his chest. "Be careful. The Council of Death is pulling form the leylines under the temple. The corruption is palpable. This is not going to be easy."

Way to state the obvious, there, Doc...

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
The sudden departure of a companion is always a certainty to draw one's attention. The abrupt cancellation of a moment as they are summoned away leaving but nary a trace of their previous moment. But the growth of tension, echoing through the world was an insurmountable thing to ignore. Calls of distress that have been growing finally breaking through. The eruption of the energy springing forth from the Mexican region, visible to eyes even beyond the atmosphere has spurred others to notice.

From the destination he had been calling home for some time the singular form begins to descend from the sky, dressed in a black outfit etched over with silver lightning bolts across up the chest. The descent continues until black booted feet land upon the ground and he begins to look around. As he settles, he steps forth slowly taking stock of what is before his gaze, then seeking to find others that do not seem to be enthralled. Steady footfalls bring him amongst the midst of the others, then slowly he reaches to his side, producing an old styled chalk slate upon which he writes. Then, the message is turned to face others. ~Perhaps I can be of assistance. Blackbolt.~

Hela has posed:
A moment of victory. A man in a wine-dark suit of all things stands atop the temple, chanting. A gesture from Pluto and seven lights shine briefly. Whole swathes of the dead vanish, briefly reappearing on the platform within the green beam. Its blazing light obliterates them to nothingness in a moment. Surging power pours skyward as pandemonium reigns, the dimensional boundaries thrust into a new alignment. Creation rocks on a cosmic axis. The realm of death is but one place, and its dominion rooted on the Earth.

---

Clouds rip apart, displaced by a titanic force burrowing through the storm surge. It would cast an even darker shadow across the heaving ground if any light permitted.

The Demogorge drops like a stone straight for Kulkulcan. Something vaguely bearing a humanoid likeness crossed by a stocky lindwurm surges down to the ceremonial platform where the death gods gather. A dull hide, darker than starless space, ripples with thickly corded musculature. Friction leaves a weird grey aurora wisping off broad shoulders and four enormous limbs that define a sharklike, bullet-shaped body. Wind pouring off it slams into the earth, blowing anything away that hasn't been secured or possesses some way to fight back. The Demogorge's size alone is terrible, but the yawning maw stretching halfway across its huge face is the kind of thing to awaken vestigial terror even in divine hindbrains. Especially so.

The shades held fast in their masses, rank and file, suddenly move. Moans rise in chorus Many crash to their knees or stare in staggered confousion. Others surge forward to run, only to hit the complex spell-wards prohibiting their passage. A howling wail rips through the dead, a blood-curdling ululation.

They have no time. Judgment of the highest order has come, crashing down with its mouth wide, repulsed by blasts of magic that barely seem to score its hide.

John Constantine has posed:
    "Aye, just a wee bit more. Only on per and try not to get pregnant for a bit after, I'd give it a month at least." Odd bit of instruction that.

    Once everyone that's decided they'd like a snack has one, John seals the bag up and shoves the few that remain back into a pocket on the inside of his coat. The song from the little speaker ends, starts again. Man has so many pockets in that damned coat that he's searching for a moment before he finds a little box carved from solid oak.

    When he pops it open, there's another seed inside. "So, I need to know, pride set aside from all of you, which one can bloody well get this to the Demogorge without dropping it, without dying and losing it in the process. It just needs to touch skin, that's it... it'll do its job from there. I could try to get it where it needs to go magically, but I can't predict what my magic's going to do here. I need a guarantee, we need a guarantee, on this one."

    He glances to Stephen and then away again, out over the mess of it all. "Didn't think it would be. Can you keep me alive long enough...?" For what, he doesn't mention other than to add, "You'll know when long enough is when it happens."

    But they're out of time. "Take it!" Someone, anyone that can get it there, just take it. Once someone bigger, stronger, less squishy than him has the box and the seed in it... he's doing something that goes against everything in his nature. John Constantine is seeking cover. Staying alive now, even though his death may very well be the outcome later, is sort of tantamount to his plan playing out.

Fandral has posed:
Fandral cocks his head at Angela, "Because we don't die very often. Thus, the impending possibility tends to loom largely in our vibrant and shining minds. And because there is nothing greater than you can offer when you're immortal. Well. Mostly immortal," he says.

"Especially to those of us who only have bright steel to keep us from Hela's cold embrace - no offense, wherever you are, milady," he cries, drawing his sword and starting to run forward to begin slashing through...whatever can be slashed.

Aldrif Odinsdottir has posed:
A look up at the sky and Angela whistles. She takes one step back, as if trying ot take it all in and then nods, "Ah, that'll take a lot of time to cut through." She then casually whips out one of her blades and looks the thing over, "You didn't mention it'd be so big." She grins, "This will be exciting and unlike some idiots here, I look forward to telling the story of this myself." She then looks over at John with a blink. She looks down at the box. Without even giving anyone else an opportunity to say anything, she casually grabs the box and then shakes her head at John.

"I'm the fastest being here and I can fly, John. I'll plant this thing deep into one of those black eyes if I have to." She smirks and then looks at the thing before looking up at the massive beast overhead. She flips her blade around once and looks back toward Fandral.

"Nothing? I offer its life. I think that's greater." SHe points at the great thing with her blade and then she shrugs. A moment later, the ground craters as she takes off like a shot. A big grin on her face as she watches the thing ahead of her.

"Dinner is served, you overgrown monster."

Cain Marko has posed:
There's a strange sound in the distance. Maybe easy to miss due to the giant god-eating monster showing up amidst a bunch of literal gods. It's a sort of...crunching. Smashing. The occasional animal shrieking in alarm. It grew steadily closer as the group of people prepared to save the world. Eventually, one could see trees in the jungles around the temple swaying and falling over, though only in one specific direction, and seemingly in a straight line. A line aimed for the site of the ritual being performed on the temple. And then once that line is drawn closer to where everybody stands, a loud voice can be heard shouting.

"I'M GOING ALREADY YOU BIG RED SON OF A BITCH! GET OUT OF MY GODDAMN HEAD! GAHHHH! I WISH I COULD WRAP MY HANDS AROUND YOUR THROAT YOU UGLY PIECE OF-!"

Then a last tree goes toppling over, and a large red-armored figure emerges onto the flatter area around the temple. Moving... around six hundred or so miles an hour. Once he realizes that he's almost to his destination, the person in question digs in his feet to start slowing down. This is a sort of gradual process, since he's MUCH better at building momentum than shedding it. Twin furrows dug into the ground as he slides forward, eventually coming to a stop maybe a dozen feet away from the assembled heroes. And whoever else might be there. The Unstoppable Juggernaut, late to a party he was never invited to, glowers at the temple in the distance and the monster on top of it. "So that's what I'm suppossed to smash then? Fine. Now shut the hell up." He looks around at the assembled group, belatedly noticing them. "Eh? What are all you assholes doing here? Did somebody shout in your brains too?" Then he notices John, and squints at him. "Wait, you're that limey son of a bitch from last night." He seems to be in a somewhat bad mood. Which most superheroes would be more used to than the one he was in last night.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
    Staring as the Demogorge drops through the clouds, Rien shakes her head disbelievingly "I'm shocked that all of clan D'Arqueness hasn't felt this and shown up." At John's question she turns away from the massive gathering of death before her saying, "Normally I would say I can take it, but this.. Never have I seen such a thing."

    She looks around at the group, then when Angela steps up she nods, "Then I will spend my time trying to distract the things that will undoubtedly try and stop you."

    With a gesture, she also rises from the ground and then shoots off after Angela, ready to engage anything that may try and stop the other woman's progress.

Stephen Strange has posed:
There might have been an answer for John from the Sorcerer Supreme. Really, it was just on the tip of Strange's tongue. Something to the effect that he would try. But...the reply is cut short as the clouds part and the being that the gods have nightmares about drops from the heavens, directly down on top of the pyramid. Any reply is dead and gone...which would soon be the fate of those that dared to tip the cosmic scales unless something is done, with the Earth hanging in the balance.

The sorcerer turns to face his foe. Or, rather, foes...for it is not only the Great Hunger that needs to be dealt with, but that which summoned it from its slumber, the seven death gods that now find themselves face to face with legend-made-real. The fact that John actually runs for cover is registered, briefly. Sensible.

It isn't the same for Stephen Strange.

A fingertip touches the amulet on the chest. Then...calling out. "It is after the death gods. They are still full of power, so beware. But, perhaps, we can use that to our advantage."

Enemy of one's enemy is a friend and all, right?

Hela has posed:
Bursts of energy roar from the Temple proper. Opening his wings, Azrael hurls himself from the stones, trailing vortices that hardly destabilize Demogorge in the slightest. The fallen angel swivels around to unleash flechettes that radiate across the God-Eater's body, vanishing into the leathery ebon hide.

He is not alone in the firefight. Whiro, the Maori god of death, raises black-stained arms tipped in elongated blades the length of a truck, ramming them both in a stain of infernally-tainted death energy through Demogorge's monstrous body. Such weapons seem laughably small next to the titan as they drink considerable energy.

The strikes, together with those of the 'angel' slamming into him are turned swiftly to defeat as the Demogorge pulls on their divinity, pulling back on it with the force of a black hole devouring its companion star. A field wraps around it, scorching hot and bitter cold, as the beast starts to tear apart the primordial matter infused in the children of the Elder and First Gods. Whiro's body takes but seconds to disintegrate into primal dust, rippling through the beast that grows even as Angela closes to strike.

Other than the necessity of getting up the stepped pyramid, nothing keeps Rien from closing on a target. Its exclusive interest for the moment is ripping into the gods -- Asgardians included -- and stripping their protections away. The furious defenses raised by Hela and Pluto are the only two working in concert, their shields a rippling storm that flash when they teleport across the battlefield, ensconced among the keening shades.

John Constantine has posed:
    Anyone familiar with John Constantine are probably waiting for his insane leap into some mad plan that will either work or end with him on his knees and begging, in his mind, for mercy. Nothing of the sort happens. He's not exactly 'cowering', but he's definitely seeking shelter behind something big, stone... anything will do. He's also cloaking himself, making himself invisible, such that it works against what they're up against.

    Even should it work at all, he's sure to give himself away with the occasional 'cover fire' tossed out in the form of a blast of force, or a lightening bolt, or even a ball of Hellfire. It's few and far between though and only if he sees someone in trouble. From time to time, his aid may come in the form of a protective barrier to mitigate damage or stop a blow, particularly if Angela seems in danger. She has to get there, please let her get there.

    All in all, a VERY low profile for the Laughing Magician.

Fandral has posed:
Fandral moves rapidly, showing his ferocity and his skill, recognizing rapidly that, facing the minions of death, he must use his abilities to their utmost. He isn't equipped in the way of Angela, Dr. Strange or the Juggernaut - Asgardian he may be, but he is a hero, not a god, and he must rely on his wits and his steel to keep himself going.

Still, he has his part to play and he knows how to play it to the hilt, a whirling dervish of sharpened will, keeping the lesser fiends from plaguing those who stand the most chance of dealing an end to the Council of Death. Perhaps, indeed, he'll even fade into the background, little more than a footnote in the song that comes to be of this night. But he will not retire from the battlefield until his blade is well-stained with the ichor of the wicked.

Balder has posed:
When Balder Odinson returned to Asgard, he immediately went to the throne room.

He needed to speak with the Allfather.

"Father!" He calls, the armored King sat upon his throne, Gungnir in hand, his wolves Freki and Geri prowling at the side of the golden chair. Odin One-eyed gave attention to his son. "Hela calls upon the forces of darkness, Midgard may be devoured by what she has unleashed upon the realms...The Demogorge has awakened. I need your strength to defeat it. If Asgard must prepare, then let it prepare...but Father, send me in your stead to slay the beast and stave off Ragnarok for one more day, one more hour, one more minute if that's what I can buy us." Balder descends to his knees in reverence.

"Please, father. I have asked nothing if you. Give me the strength to hold this monster off." Odin looks upon him with the wisdom of the ages...and extends his hand.

From the heavens, a massive beam of what can only be described as raw magical energy descends upon the Demogorge with the wrath of the stars as its force bears its weight down towards the creature! Rallying behind it is Balder, clad in gold and purple, axe in hand, radiating an energy that the world reacts to. The ground trembles, the sky broiled. Balder wielded the Odinforce, for however long his body could sustain it.

"Fall he back before the blade of BALDER!"

His voice books towards the monster.

Asgard sends its regards.

Cain Marko has posed:
He gets here and suddenly everybody is moving towards the ugliest thing he's seen since he walked in on Blob in the Brotherhood locker room? Fine. The Juggernaut isn't entirely sure what exactly is going on. But apparently Cyttorak, that suddenly mouthy asshole, wants him to go after...whatever that is. He grunts loudly, then starts to run forward again. Aimed in the same direction as before, feet pounding the ground with enough force to tear into the priceless ancient historical ruins. In a much shorter time than you'd expect for his size if you never saw him move before, he's charging up the ancient ziggurat towards it. His tactices are about as subtle as a boot to the face, launching himself towards whichever of the godeaters feet were closest and slamming into it at full speed. The thing is probably stronger than him. But, he's still unstoppable. Letting out a deafening roar as he digs in his arms around that disgusting hide and keeps moving forward. Trying to..... topple it to the ground? Drag it off the the pyramid? Who even knew. This is just how he solves his problems. Charging at them. Maybe it'll at least distract it for a few seconds.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
    With the Demogorge distracting the death gods present, Rien concentrates on lesser threats. Well, lesser in the sense that they aren't gods, but rather the god's minions. About that power level, however, is what Rien has been training to fight since she was five, and what most of her magic is designed to counter. Being that she is flying, the ground based monsters are less of a threat, though she does throw bolts of mystical energy their way to try and help the people trying to get through on the ground.

    As a swarm of noxious insects close on her, she slows and starts slashing at them with her heavily enchanted claws. Two, then three of the insects fall to her, then she is past them and still headed towards the Demogorge. Spotting a rather large, tentacled beast in Fandral's path, she whips a hand towards it as if throwing something, and a second later an invisible force rips through it's head, dropping it to the ground.

    As she gets closer to the Demogorge, she rises higher, aiming herself at it's eye with claws extended. It's not likely she can get through it's hide, but maybe the eyes are vulnerable.

Aldrif Odinsdottir has posed:
Flying at it, she watches how it reacts to others and then looks at the box. Angela smirks as she looks at it, holding it up in the air before looking back briely to John before she looks back at the monster. She's not just a Hunter of Heven. Until her dismissal, she was the Hunter of Heven and staring at the being before her she almost seems to realize its weakness. She whispers something to herself.

"Gluttony." She chuckles softly and then looks briefly at the seed in the box before looking at the monster, "What was it that man said in that show?" She casually flies to before the Demogorge and smirks.

"Fat, drunk, and stupid is no way to go through life." She then suddenly is a burst of speed, flying directly into the Demogorge's mouth, laughing as she does.

Hela has posed:
In Asgard, Odin All-Father does not remain long. A look of haunted horror crosses a face seamed by the years and he lifts Gungnir twice. On the third ringing blow to the throne room floor, he has vanished. The council must know.

Hela has posed:
In Chichen Itza... Flames in eldritch green bloom upon shades. Any witness to the catastrophes in the Underworld will know what that signals, the imminent demise of the marked as their deathly lifeforce goes streaming through the aether and clashes along the immense ward-lines set down in complex glyphs on the shaking ground. Welling lines of fire emerge from the blood-soaked ground, setting the ancient volcanic stone that John hides behind aflame. Semi-molten slag starts raining down in gouts, setting things aflame and at least smelling terribly.

The Ossuary, Venus Platform, and Temple de las Columnas all ignite in eldritch grey walls, forming a seal that clashes against the Demogorge's hungry bites and sweeping blows of its arms. Vicious sparks fly as divine spells are sundered and knit together when it claws at Ahriman's armoured form, gouging wounds through self-healing soulsteel as he hurls hellfire braided by the charged blasts from Sedna, Iku, and Pluto.

Angela's godhood, just as Fandral's and Balder's, is seized and torn by the building aura around that titanic horror. Even at a distance, Demogorge's aura hauls on them, stripping each breath, each onionskin of vitality. Angela pays for that arrogance, besieged by a rainbow drag on her arms and legs that rips back into the creature already burning. The quartet of death gods send a charged font enough to crack the bedrock a hundred meters below Chichen Itza. The Odinforce collides in a secondary beam, gold that burns through its hide and ripples out across the Demogorge as it grows larger, knobby spines erupting from its vertebrae and sinking back in as it begs bigger. So lands the Juggernaut in all his crimson fury for an apt foe, the two of them cycled back into a curtain of force that bashes livid green lightning for two miles up and around. Has the seed hit and struck the gullet? Who has the vision /that/ sharp in a fracas throwing lightning storms and boiling the air to know?

Rien is going to have to jump mightily to close that distance.

John Constantine has posed:
    Move John, burning isn't conducive to the entire staying alive until the right moment plan. But for just a brief moment he's just frozen, wide eyed, when Angela flies straight into that gullet. But that wide eyed expression isn't horror or anything of the sort, it's appreciation and ... well, a little kinship.

    Was he actually able to fly so easily himself? He'd have done the same damned thing. He actually lets out a whistle, go TEAM before he's bounding away from being melted alive. Dodge, duck, run, cover, toss a blast here, a bolt there, a shield up every now and again. Just stay the fuck alive, Constantine.

    Just stay alive long enough.

Stephen Strange has posed:
Hesitation exists, if only for a moment. Enough for the chosen of the Vishanti to assess the battlefield. The dieties upon the field, both corrupted and pure, are all contesting the great devourer. And, as they do so, more and more does that great Hunger take notice. There is not long now before the Eater of Gods will decide that the Asgardians facing it will be just as filling as the quickly dwindling Court of Death that awoken it from its slumber initially. Not much time left at all.

And yet, time is the key.

The sorcerer's arms cross, palms outward, as he rises into the air. This tiny, insignificant speck of a mortal advances towards certain doom. As he approaches, the arms slide across one another, the hands centering directly above the amulet resting above his heart. The fingers position themselves, tips splayed out, with the thumbs and index fingers touching...

Then the hands shifts, and the amulet opens.

A voice cries out through the air. A mortal voice, yet somehow heard, resounding. "Child of Gaea! Horror of the divine! Return to your slumber! Remember yourself as you were! As Atum!"

As the amulet opens, Strange is enveloped in a brilliant emerald light, radiating forth. The sorcerer lifts his hands to the heavens, his arms twisting in the wind that suddenly seizes. Spirits in flight freeze in mid-terror. The living creatures smart enough to flee hang in place, before they are released. And...the Demogorge, great terror, slows to a crawl, fighting against something that may be more powerful than it.

The flow of time itself.

Cain Marko has posed:
     When something actually stops their forward progress, it catches the Juggernaut by surprise. Then those oversized teeth clamp down on him, and he grunts at the feeling of them grinding into him. It actually hurt, dammit! He punches the thing right in the tongue with a fist, a blow strong enough to level a skyscraper! Or at least put a good hole in it. That doesn't seem to work though, and he feels as though something were draining out of his body. He didn't like the feeling, and unpleashes more blows.... until the thing snaps its head up, tossing him high into the air. He swears loudly as he goes up, ending up looking much smaller before he reaches a peak, then starting to fall back down again. He tries to aim himself for the top of the Godeaters head, and re-engages his unstoppable momentum. Lets see how tough you are when I core you like an apple! (Spoiler: He's not going to core it like an apple.) The time stopping might also make it less effective.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
    Breathing a silent thanks that her magic does not have a divine source, Rien adjusts her flight to bring her to the Demogorge's head, watching Angela hit by it's power she adjusts her flight path towards the woman, looking intently to see if the seed container is dropped. If so, she will try and catch it to bring it the rest of the way to the Demogorge. That level of concentration makes her an easier target, however, and a stray bolt of power from the battle going on strikes her. There is enough force in it to rip through two levels of magical protection and her left shoulder, drilling a neat, two inch hole through it.

    Cursing loudly in French, she continues her quest to make sure the seed gets to the Demogorge as John said. Even as she speeds up slightly, her wound is already healing, closing over the hole in her shoulder.

    And then time itself comes to a virtual stop.

Hela has posed:
The Eye of Agamotto opens.

The green light from the Eye ripples outward from the concentrated shard of Creation at its heart. Behind those beams comes the essential ordering of reality, the act of revelation. It takes no special power to perceive countless thousands of glyphs and sigils stitched into elaborate words that form the fundamental building blocks of controlling and shaping reality through divine means.

The ward spells, the boundary-merging rituals that shaped the Underworld into a single realm ascended into the living world. Summoned creatures bear the incantations that brought them into being. All of John and Rien's arcana flash into dazzling detail. Hela's knotwork webs threaded through every last one of the shades and quite a few of the living is a thing of supreme beauty. Balder's artistry with the Odinforce is formed from rainbows and the kennings he drew down from hanging upon Yggdrasil. The unstoppable determination of Cyttorak scintillates on Cain's skin.

The Demogorge is shown to be judgment incarnate, a blazing god, a dutiful son, an endless devouring hunger fattened on the ichor and spells it consumes. Within it are dotted stars, each of them pooling and ripped asunder, from the brightest speck down to a slurry of infernal and celestial energies almost indistinguishable from its own. Its rage draws from the sobbing dead curled up on the ground, the mended fracture lines of the death realms, and when its black eyes rise, the slow undulating response has the force to dust a small moon.

<<I will consume you all for the evil you have allowed.>>

Balder has posed:
Balder can feel his strength waning, retreating in the face of the Demogorgon, but courage perhaps alone keeps him going. The beast seems to grow from the energy he just blasted it with. Okay...magical energy is food.

Noted.

So Balder molds the world to strike at this beast. "Forgive me for taking a page of your book, brother." The clouds begin to formulate into a terrifying storm. "In the name of Valhalla, you will YIELD!" Massive blasts of electricity, force, and raw power strike at this beast.

"Sorcerer! Do not hold back!" Balder calls toStrange as mortals and gods alike fight against this eater of stars, if the makers.

Whejthe beast slows, Balder raises his weapon, and calls upon a small sun in his hand, intending to essentially blast this thing with a massive explosion.

Cain Marko has posed:
The Juggernaut had ended up pretty high in the air. As he comes down, he's moving at terminal velocity. "PRETTIER PEOPLE THAN YOU HAVE TRIED YOU UGLY SON OF A BITCH! HERE'S A FIST IN YOUR EYE!" Nailed it. Cain does happen to come down right on one of Atum's eyes. Which probably doesn't pop it or anything, but having something that can't stop hitting it probably still doesn't feel great. He immedietly starts pounding on the possibly bloodshot eye once he does finish moving, hammering his fsts into the thing and roaring. Do focused on that, he doesn't even notice as a slow-motioned hand grabs him, and then proceeds to toss him into the creatures mouth. He bounces on its tongue, then as the teeth start to grind down on him he shouts out, "CHOKE ON ME YOU PIECE OF SHIT! CHOKE ON M-!" It's hard to see, but either he was swalllowed, or he ended up ground down by god-eating teeth. THEN swallowed. The latter not described in detail for the more sensitive viewers in the audience.

Hela has posed:
Four death gods come apart, one of them absorbed into the Demogorge's fleshy arm. Ahriman screams and twists, lashing out with his weakening strength to inflict all the damage he can. By the time time reverses, he has already started to evaporate.

Molten rock rains down in patterings of skyglass. Bombardment comes by way of falling trees and rock bombs ripped from the soil, those twisting lianas aflame to lash out like death adders with sharp fangs. A wave of these directed by the surviving death trinity further hinder Demogorge -- and any unfortunate sod getting in range. They fight for their survival.

Pluto drops his hands and a pair of adamantium swords form, gauntlets extending into full articulated Roman battle armour. The vicious cutting edges start circulating in a wheeling motion, sacrificing the trapped dead to fuel the spell he slashes with vicious force against anything willing to stand in his way. He plows the two blades in an X into the ground, draining the fading shades in his vicinity, and sends a volley of metal spikes heaving up to help skewer the Demogorge. Woe to anything inside, since the lifeforce draw only redoubles when the Great Eater has to heal the damage.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
    Rien spots no sign of the seed box, so continues her flight towards the Demogorge's head. As the Juggernaut plummets down into one of it's eyes, Rien speeds up the does a quick fly-by on the other one, reaching out with her right hand to jam the claws into it's eye and rip across it, trying to at least damage it and make the titanic creature have a harder time finding it's targets. The claws are enchanted to damage all kinds of mystical and otherworldly opponents, but this is an order of magnitude she can barely comprehend.

     All she can do is her best, and so here she is. At least the shoulder wound has healed as she keeps moving across the eye as full speed to try to avoid Juggernaut's fate.

Aldrif Odinsdottir has posed:
Deep inside the monster, a woman grumbles and yet stands. She's weakened. More so than she's ever felt in her entire life. Her existance has been strength. She's stood up against Heven's greatest enemies. Fought monsters as big as this even. Just none that were so designed to specifically drain divine energy. However, draining divine power does not stop an assassin of heaven. Deep inside the beast, nearly on her last leg, Angela pulls up her blade.

"Balance must be restored. I have given you so much. It's time for something else ot take back." She drives the blade deep into the horrifying intestinal wall she's made her way to. She then drives the seed, right into the wound and pulls back so it can close. She then slumps against that disgusting and foul place, unable to keep herself standing without aid and looks to the spot that now contains that seed.

"Looks like you might have eaten something that'll disagree with you."

John Constantine has posed:
    It might be a record, John Constantine still hasn't done anything stupid... or crazy... It might even seem that he'll go through the entire battle without pulling one stunt that could easily be the end of him. It sure looks that way.

    He's still running and dodging and trying to stay alive when it hits him. He had no idea when it was going to and when it does, it takes him completely off guard. The seed he'd implanted in his own chest, the thing that wormed and burrowed its way into his heart the same as the one Angela made sure got where it needed with such courage. It sprouts and then it *bursts* from his chest. He screams, long and loud, who wouldn't?

    At the exact moment, the same happens with the seed inside the Demogorge on a much larger scale. Not that the thing notices the wounds when they happen. And it's unlikely that anyone will notice the pattern the exit wounds will make on the giant beasts skin when connected; an eight pointed star. All eight vines shoot out in John's direction, seeking out the connection spelled between their seed and the one inside the heart of a bastard bloke from Liverpool that just knows a few things about some stuff.

    When they meet in the middle, John is pulled off his feet, into the air, eight vines wrapping around the single until nine seem to become one.

    Connection made, first the man himself is laid open to the heart of the monster with all his flaws, all his mistakes, all his regrets, all his guilt and shame... and all the love in his heart for the people waiting for him at home, waiting and watching their little sprouted seeds for any sign that things will be okay in the end. Those little sprouts begin to grow, their unfaltering faith in him reflected back.

    Next, the stories, the little slices of life told in a little bar in Hell's Kitchen and the hearts and souls of those who offered blood and tale freely move through that connection. Humanity, a study in progress, not perfection, is shown through that connection with all its flaws and nicks and dings and darkness, but also all the love and hope and light and striving to do better, to be *better*, getting up again after falling down, hope for tomorrow through the losses and hardships; what it means to be alive.

    ...and John's pleas, perhaps his final ones, for mercy on them all. For they do, despite all their flaws and mistakes, deserve a chance to be better, to fix what's broken, to listen better, to learn from their mistakes and *grow*.

    Limp as a ragdoll up there, arms out, back bowed slightly, white button down stained red, he doesn't move. Is he alive? Dead? Somewhere in between? Hard to say.

    One thing's certain, for those expecting something insane from John Constantine, he just pulled that rabbit out of the hat.

Stephen Strange has posed:
The light of truth and the flow of time have a two-fold purpose. It is not only to slow the onslaught of the dreaded Demogorge. Not merely to stall. But more. So much more.

The concentration needed to command time is vast. Almost too great for a simple mortal to muster. But, it must be done. It has to be. There is no other option.

The sorcerer's arms shift, the hands drawing arcane runes that shimmer in the air, emblems rippling in untold potential taking form. As the fingers sketch impossibly through the very fabric of time, the chosen of the Three Above All speaks. "There must be balance. In order for there to be light, there must be darkness. For all the evil that exists, there, too is righteousness. To devour one is to diminish the other. Your mother, great Atum, knows this. Her sister, Oshtur, knows this. You, yourself, knew this once. Before...before the Hunger that you are now consumed you. You knew this." The sigils finish, a vast shimmering circle of brilliant emerald and diamond light pulsating before the sorcerer. "Now then! It is time you relearn the lessons forgotten long ago! Remember who you once were...and see just what you have become!"

At the climax of Stephen's words, the stalwart mystical protector of this realm shoves both of his hands forward, sharply, thrusting forward a concentrated beam from the Eye. That beam strikes the sigils, where it narrows....gaining focus. Gaining purpose. A more concentrated ray erupts forth, striking the Demogorge in the center of the roughly humanoid form.

Striking the heart, symbolically if not physically.

The jade incandescence causes the great devourer to tremble, the edges of its form blurring as time seems to rewind around it. The arm of the Demogorge shifts, losing the definition of one of those four death gods previously devoured, materializing into view. Two of the sorcerer's companions, one having just delivered her own gift for the great beast and the other with the colourful demeanor may find their way back out aided with the reversal of fortune. Yet...these are only side effects of the real intent.

Truth is blinding. Unrelenting. Unforgiving. And, with time itself interwoven around it...unescapable. The essence of what was, of the true son, of Atum, is plucked from the dark recesses of the Demogorge's mind...and then lifted up on display for him to see.

<Look. Look at what you have become. Is this really what you intended?>

There is no quarter from the truth. There shall be no mercy from the Sorcerer Supreme.

Hela has posed:
Who are you? Who is the soul behind the eyes clouded in bloodshot pain? Gods battle to carve open the source of their destruction, all the while being bled of their life energy. Even the mortals are not spared, their candles burning increasingly low as the God-Eater thrashes in its time-slowed bonds. Not even he can overcome that command.

Those fighting him are exposed, their sins flayed to the Demogorge's unfailing knowledge, but they remain a mirage. Such a strange disconnect between those trying to claw or burn holes into its body for a punishment meant to be intimate in every other way. They are a mystery, the mortals and immortals, the real people beyond a litany of misdeeds, a dram of divinity, a handful of abilities. Hopes and dreams don't matter.

Only the sin.

The monster's thrashing movements may be slowed. The rhythmic draw snuffs another life. Jabbed by metal spikes, the blades that connect it to the ground slip out as the wounds heal over and reform. Its back bows, the massive, city-sized construct lifted in a paroxysm capsizes the great temple to mere rumble. Each heaving blow shatters the bodies within it, hurling them together in a cosmic stew made nearly as much of background radiation as primeval sludge: the stuff of life.

The life it stole. The life it continues to devour in gulps, a system running out of control, scything down the mortal candle and reducing Angela and Cain to mere husks in a matter of seconds. Writhing roots from the Underworld river descend and sweep up again, transformed not into woody stems and bursing with leaves, but the stricken threads come undone from the loom. Small scraps of life woven on the Tapestry by skillful hands, measured and snipped free by willing sacrifices. What are memories if not snapshots of a place or time? Green radiance comes burning through the aether, driven by survivors from Demogorge's last purge.

Someone teleports away, winnowing through space.

<Why? You, in your brief and finite life, would question my right to seek restitution? To correct the cosmic axis shattered by the hubris before me?> The sky inverts. Dark becomes white, and the intensity of a true sun that would make even Balder's seem to be unworthy by comparison ignites. Godhead in its vast incandescence gives Atum an impossible quality to look upon, and he hurls his arms wide. Explosive energy comes jettisoning out of countless fissures in the husked body, roaring outward in concussive waves that send massive fractures through the very firmament and straight up to the vault of the heavens. Wracked pangs of memory thread through him, and each spasm ringing with its terrible clarity focused by them all is not without cost. <Let your virtue be the measure of justice, if you can claim to stand before it.>

Azrael crashes to the ground bleeding corrupted fire. Sedna goes screaming to her knees, thick hair aflame despite her efforts to shift through watery forms. Magic writhes in wracked agony. Angel feathers burn, the Odinforce convulsing and rolling back on itself in another wave blowing the gods further back from the epicentre where Atum the Judge stands. Still held within the blinding circle of truth and time, he says, <Let the dead judge the living. Should they find you wanting, then I shall fulfill my purpose.>

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
    Reaching the edge of the eye, Rien is struck by a wave of magical power as the vines burst out of the Demogorge and connect with John that throws her away from the titanic beast. She drops from the air, stopping her fall only feet from the ground. Being in front of the vast monstrosity may not be the best place, but it's where she is when that enormous voice speaks it's message, waves of mystic energy battering her.

    All else laid bare, Rien stands, hoping her deeds say good things about her. She's trained to fight demons, one in particular, since she was five. She's crossed from her own timeline into another in pursuit of that demon and trying to save her mother. Almost her entire existence is aimed at the goal of protecting others, so she stands and awaits what comes next.

    Hopefully she passes the test, as being eaten wasn't part of the plan today.