7728/1000 Faces FINALE: Requiem

1000 Faces FINALE: Requiem
Date of Scene:	07 September 2021
Location:	Temple of Kulkulcan, Chichen Itza, Mexico
Synopsis:	Atum's judgment is rendered: mortals have proven themselves worth of undoing the gods' hubris. The gods struck down their peers who defied the natural order. A Hell Lord's gambit fails. Let them all be as it was, imperfect though that is. Until we meet again...
Cast of Characters:	Jane Foster, Hela, John Constantine, Stephen Strange, Thea Queen, Zatanna Zatara, Vintridr, Radha Tackeray, Morrigan MacIntyre
Tinyplot:	1000 Faces of Death

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Hela has posed:
The Temple of Kulkulcan, Chichen Itza
To say things are going poorly on the Yucatan is like calling the Great Red Storm a little tempest. Darkness throws most of Central America and a healthy chunk of the Caribbean into the deepest night despite it being a summer day. The sky churns like a hurricane, the eye for that great super-storm focused on a greenish beam blown up from the crater punched into the wide plains that contain Chichen Itza. Two thousand square miles of rainforest lie flattened, and the tangled trees within a hundred square miles is completely charred flat. Chicxulub Crater that ended the dinosaurs is part of the site, and it may very well be a second coming of a cataclysm.

Greenish flames blaze from several structures as part of an activated ward that encloses the Venus Platform, Ossuary, and Temple de las Columnas. Nothing else at the site has survived aside from the central pyramid, raining down in shattered molten globs of stone or glass. They cause spot fires on the desiccated vegetation but largely cause little concern to the shades of the dead. While they can die, it's not from fire or bombardment.

The countless dead gather in their multitudes in every direction. Most of them huddle in terrified heaps or clumps. Those who run have discovered there isn't anywhere to go. Any trapped by the death wards simply evaporates in a blast of magical energy if they hit the great death ward.

The Temple of Kulkulcan is at the bottom of a fairly impressive crater but intact. The lone entrance is at the west door, guarded by all manner of fierce and unnatural servants of the death gods. Serpents and horrific arachnids are but the least troubles, and the very enchanted vines themselves might not be particularly amenable to anyone going through without having an arm or leg ripped off. Blood and light stains the ceremonial platform at the top and the steep steps leading halfway up give the one way in to the Court of Death's power.

John Constantine has posed:
    When Amut shows himself, the purpose of John's spell is complete and those vines that were connecting him to the Demogorge vanish. Man didn't plan for the landing and with the vines gone and him falling, that landing is with a serious *thud* ...and a soft groan.

    Wait, he's alive? If everyone else is thinking it, they're not alone because John's thinking the same damned thing. He shouldn't be, he rightfully should not be alive. Perhaps it was something in the blood he used to spell the seeds? Some of that blood as, after all magical, some mutant with healing factor built in. So yes, he's alive with a beating heart.

    That heart just happens to be laid bare to the world via a hole in his chest wall, a little bigger than heart sized and in the shape of an eight pointed star. Good thing he fell on his back, aye? He lays there for a moment or two, coughing and spluttering up the blood, bit of tissue and other nastiness that happened before the wounds began to heal and then stopped just at the point of saving his life.

    Gaining his feet again might take a moment as might figuring out exactly what happened before he hit the ground and came around.

    He's awake enough though to mutter, "Bollocks..."

Hela has posed:
Only seconds ago, there was a monstrosity the size of a city that easily absorbed the life forces of several gods and took the combined blasts of Balder wielding the full Odinforce, the ascendant gods of death, and a fallen angel of death only to grow larger. Any who witnessed the fight from a distance might have witnessed the repeated attempts to down the Demogorge were repulsed, and involved him eating at least two mighty combatants. (https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/villains/images/2/24/The_Mighty_Thor_Vol_1_8_-_Atum_%28Earth-616%29.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20130616210654) The same horror devoured the Juggernaut and Cyttorak's offerings with it.

Thanks to combined machinations all around, the mortal world may be given a reprieve of a few minutes. But only that. In the Demogorge's place stands Atum, burning white-hot against the corrupted night brought down by a death ritual. Light wreathes his head hot as any star. He gestures with one finger.

<Let the dead judge the living. Should they find you wanting, then I shall fulfill my purpose to correct the cosmic axis. I will devour the corruption and create a clean slate for life to begin again. His voice rolls across the ground in a language that any can understand. The world shakes to its liquid-metallic core, and he narrows glowing eyes. <The cry for justice began with the dead. The degenerate gods used the dead to break the Great Law, and bring together their realms as one in defiance of the First's edict. The greatest injustice was brought against them first when the Underworld entered creation. Undo it or I will.>

Stephen Strange has posed:
In the sky, almost lost in the darkness, a tiny speck of a mortal floats behind a giant circle of green and white, the once bright sigils fading as the purpose of the magic wrought is fulfilled. Descending down, even as the focusing lens dissipates, is the Sorcerer Supreme of this realm, Stephen Strange. The forces he had just channeled, a fearsome combining of unbending time with unwavering truth, can still be seen, as traces of the enchantments that bind the dead to this plane are still visible, for those attuned to such.^

Yes, Strange is still in motion, though it will be a while before he would channel that much force once more.

Even as he descends, feet seeking the comfort of solid ground, the sorcerer regards the god. Atum, brought to bear with a combination of the seemingly insane plans of John with the timeless truth of Strange. He needs to ensure that the god of Judgement is sedated. That means...the wrong that the Council of Death has wrought needs to be corrected. But how?

Feet touch down, and answers are given. A rippling of time and space manifests in front of Strange. Not his, for certain...but a familiar pull. Confusion grips the doctor as, from this distortion, an object is found. Embedded in the ground before him, it pulses in a light all its own. One that the good doctor is quite familiar with.

A soft voice breaks the silence...and Strange is surprised to find that it is his own.

"Illyana. You shouldn't have."

For the next task, the sorcerer cannot use brute force. A hammer simply will not do. This will require precision. The sorcerer was a surgeon once before.

And now, he has been delivered a scalpel.

Let the operation begin.

Thea Queen has posed:
<I need access to the special arrows> <Which ones?> <ALL OF THEM!>

That was pretty much how the messages went between Thea and Felicity. And then Thea was getting all the trick arrows to bring. Well, all she can reasonably carry. And with a focus on the explosive and incendiary ones. Weakness to fire had been a thing she had noticed on those creatures. (She will leave the boxing arrows back in the box)

And finally dressed in the red and black of her Red Arrow costume Thea exhales, eyes closing before she murmuring. "So I am -really- doing this..."

"I am ready." committed tone. Maybe a mistake for a lowly mortal to get involved in such but no going back now! She would see this to the end.

And then she appears in the middle of chaos. Bow on one hand, sword on her back along with her usual quiver and ..., a new one? Seems like Persephone had a gift. She casts a look around the battlefield, looking for familiar faces maybe. And really trying not to look directly at Atum!

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Some performers take long hot baths; others drink to get over the post-performance adrenaline. Zatanna likes long walks through the crowds of whatever city she finds herself in. On her last night in New York, she was on a post-performance wander when the graffiti found her. She didn't find it.

The song sounded like street music, a busker eccentrically practicing by himself. It drew her into the alley like the Pied Piper. There she met the Goddess of Spring, who she fell in love with, who then promptly threw her into the maw of death.

The stench of burnt vegetation and flesh is overwhelming at the foot of the pyramid. Its form, the dizzying steps to the top are iconic. Slowly coming to her feet, Zatanna tries to filter the welter of impressions that press on her.

Atum speaks. The innumerable dead crowd around her, swaying in the wind created by a voice that dwarfs the crack of thunder and the rumble of earthquakes. It threatens the end of the world.

The hair stands on the back of Zatanna's neck, and her knees feel weak. The Goddess, speaking in riddles, had told her that she would have to climb high to find the womb of the world and then crawl into it. Surely, she can't be alone facing a God. She casts a spell, driven by fear, one tiny atom in the face of a storm.

".em ot slatrom rehto laeveR (Reveal other mortals to me.)

Turning toward the pyramid, she walks toward the steps to begin the long climb. On the first step up she catches sight of a ridiculous pair of purple PJs worn by her ex. Hardly reassuring. Then bubbled in magic, she catches sight of the Supreme Sorcerer.

Vintridr has posed:
    The dead cry out in confusion and fear - and even though she may have walked away from Asgard centuries ago, Vintridr never stopped hearing their call - nor neglected her duty as a psychopomp to guide them. She hasn't sat well ever since this disturbance began, even though she found few answers on her own.

    When Macha called her and explained the situation, she heeded the summons immediately, and even before Atum speaks, the Valkyrior walks among the shades, offering what reassurance and succor she can.

    She's comforting the shade of a child -- too young, so many entirely too young -- when Atum's verdict rings out. Her face turns grim briefly as she listens to the terms, then she smiles down at the child, giving him one last pat on the head. "I have to go now. Don't be afraid - we'll make this right, I promise..."

    The Valkyrior does not usually make promises she isn't entirely sure she can keep, but if she fails this one, there won't be anyone or anything left to call her a liar, so why not? She straightens up, all business once more, as she turns to look at the ward holding them prisoner, eyes that can see the living and the dead studying the patterns, examining the tendrils of magic that sustain their power, her gaze following them back to their source - the temple at the center.

    She turns and begins to walk toward it, a rainbow shimmer flowing along her body and leaving her armour and regalia in its wake.

    "Well met, Young Queen," she greets Thea as the young womman suddenly appears. "You too were summoned to help set this right?"

Radha Tackeray has posed:
It never happens when you want it to.

Radha Thackeray, returned to the greater NYC area after an encounter with the divine, had mostly been shellshocked by this encounter. She had spent a lot of time by herself. She had returned to the airbnb room she had rented with money acquired by petty crime, which had, miraculously, neither burned down nor been despoiled, and watched the sky for a while.

This is a lot of why when the moment comes, Radha has dressed down. Cotton slacks, sneakers, a T-shirt for a band she liked in high school. In this outfit she curls in the corner of the rented room, and when the storm seems to move past, she looks up -- to see that the precious thing, grown of living wicker in strange and birdlike form, is expanding.

What had been a sort of jackdaw is now becoming a sort of arch, and through that arch a strange wind runs, breathing the air of Mexico into New York City directly.

"Oh," Radha says. Then, "Oh, shit."

She had taken one precaution, at least, before all of this. The beat up nylon backpack she picks up to take with her clanks; this time, she bought toys made of *metal*, which will at least make her feel better.

Thus armed, Radha Thackeray walks through the gate, through the strange distortion of space -- it feels like being pushed forwards, breathed /in/ instead of /out/ --

IN MEXICO, there is an undulation in space which shades through wicker, and then Radha walks out, and then it slurps shut behind her, the wicker jackdaw nearly falling before she reaches back to catch it in a half crouch. Breathing out, Radha turns her head to look round at the presence of - The Sorceror Supreme!

"Oh! They were looking for you!" Radha says to Stephen Strange. A moment later, she says, "Are you really the Sorceror Supreme?"

A moment further, and Radha reaches into her bag to get out the tin robot toy, turning her head to say, "I like your jammies," to John Constantine, in the tone of someone who has just been in a plane accident.

"Oh good you have weapons," Radha says to Thea Queen then, and after THAT she has to do something like a diabetic fingerstick to... get her robot toy... ready, somehow. (At the end of the world, she feels less self conscious about it, at least.)

Hela has posed:
The Temple of Kukulcan, Entry
Tidy stepped platforms crawling with horrors present the first obstacle to entering the pyramid, above and beyond the fact the staircase running halfway up is particularly steep. A run alone would be difficult without dealing with the blood and ichor dripping slick over the stones. Add the animated vines eager to entangle everything and the stalking monsters, and the hazards increase when trying to reach the one black door punched in the side of the staircase. It's not going to be a cakewalk and the first willing sacrifice to run the steps invites giant bats the size of bulls and swan-necked centipedes to descend on them. Then there are the phasing huntsmen spiders that John, Thea, and Vintridr have encountered, happily sidestepping through stone to take a swipe.

Carved serpent heads form a line around the entrance, and the doorway practically leaks death magic so bright it would flatten the average mystic -- had the Time Stone not been in play, anyway.

Morrigan MacIntyre has posed:
Morrigan's here and being rather quiet given the last forays that they have had against the last death gods. That and she just might be tired. That's always the best thing to assume. She wears no armor, because that's what magic is for in these times. She does have her leaf that Macha gave her pinned to her jacket though. Because you carry hope with you.

John Constantine has posed:
    Get up, get up, get the fuck up... It's a little mantra running through John's head, maybe his own voice, maybe not. John rolls over onto his hands and knees and, for the first time, notices the hole in his chest. For just a moment, he feels he might puke at the sight of it, but this time he gets it under control and just mutters to himself, "Well, that left a fuckin' mark, didnit." That...

    That's riiiiight! Demorgore, the spell, end of the world, Atum. Bloody hell! GET UP! He struggles himself to his feet in all his PJ bottomed/trench coated glory, only not really. His shirt's shredded, bloody, he's missing a damned shoe - how did that happen? He's pale from blood loss, his head's pounding worse than the worst hangover he's ever had - that's saying a *lot*.

    He wobbles, but doesn't fall. One foot in front of the other lopsided gait due to... one shoe, he heads for the Temple's entrance. He's not *running* anywhere, so it's unlikely he'll get there first.

    In the moment, the only thing he has to offer in the way of combat? Defensive shots at anything that comes near him, or ducking.

Stephen Strange has posed:
A hand reaches out, claiming the gift send from one sorcerer supreme to another. In response, the Soulsword shifts, welcoming Strange, taking a more traditional long sword form, though the stylings are still there. This *is* the Soulsword, after all.

Then, he is being addressed. Strange turns to regard Radha. "They?" Oh, right...the Underworld. "Oh, yes. I found them."

Then, in response to the second question. "Hmm, yes, the last time I checked."

Right. Time to go. Strange beckons, pointing towards the door to the temple with the tip of the sword in his hand. "We need to go there and undo this atrocity." Who is he talking to? Whoever will listen! He himself doesn't wait around, but instead heads for the door. Slow at first...but gaining steam the more he moves.

Thea Queen has posed:
There's a brief, raised brow given at the PJ-dressed Constantine, and a comment, "Rough night, eh?" because nothing like some absurdity to take her mind off the actual, stressful situation happening right now. Creatures, including those damn phase spiders she hates, a supposed God. A place they -need- to go to or they may just well all die. Yes, she knows this is going to be -hard-.

So she smiles. Time to do or die trying.

"Lady Vintridr.." A warm smile on her lips to the Asgardian, "Yes, indeed. I am glad to be by your side in this battle." a respectful nod given her way, then to the others that are gathering by. Radha's 'toy' gets a curious look from her too. But she won't be questioning it!

As Strange speaks on their objective she looks to the others, "Shall we? It's time to show them we won't go quietly. Not at all." a beat, "I will try to keep those flying creatures off our backs." and she makes a point of showing such by drawing one of those special slaying arrows and shooting it at one of the flying critters.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The metallic pong of blood that slicks the steps battles with the stench of burnt flesh. Zee, similar to John, wears a trenchcoat to cover her performance clothes, fishnet tights, and running shoes for her walk - almost as incongruous as purple PJs. Yet, it is the least of her concerns.

Black shadows descend on her as she scries the results of her spell. A fart in the wind of magic that swirls around the pyramid. Death in every form imaginable and magic that harks back to the beginning of the world deafens her magical senses.

She ducks, yelling off! "Off. Get back." Batting at the forms with a frenzy that only spiders and snakes can cause.

An impossibly beautiful rainbow appears on the periphery of her vision. The Sorcerer Supreme moves upward toward the same goal, joined by a regal woman she knows as Thea and the rainbow wielder.

Bless all beings of light, she is not alone.

Pointing ahead, "Onward and upward?"

Hela has posed:
Thea's arrows go flying, and one of them unleashes a vicious murmur when set into flight. No fletching adorn the ends from any bird, but the slender shaft has no problem travelling straight and true. When the star-iron tip meets with the shadowy, inchoate body of the flapping bat, it utters an unholy shriek that sends more of the stones rocking. Its essence goes flying out through the hole punched through it, and the ichorous tendrils of night land in a perfectly acceptable puddle.

If only that puddle were not linked to the River of Hate.

A centipede rushing at Thea and Strange near the front of the pack passes through that innocuous little watery blotch, barely noticing the splash. Its feet start to burn and the caustic drag backwards mingles with the blood slipping into the Styx, and oh, how it starts to unravel.

Vintridr has posed:
    Vintridr nods at Thea. "I may have partaken of Idunn's apples, and old age won't take me, but technically I do still count as mortal as far as Atum's verdict is concerned." She smiles. "Convenient, at least."

    She nods at Strange, then draws her weapons and moves to cover Thea's flank, her sword slashing at vines, bats, centipedes and phase spiders alike. "Have a care; these things will take your life's blood in an instant if they've the chance - and while I'd be honored to carry your soul to the Halls of the Victorious Fallen, I would very much prefer not to have to do so for quite some time yet."

    In between strikes she takes a few moments to study the statues and inscriptions on the pyramids. "Paeans to the Court of Death - an alliance of sorts among the mightiest death gods. Seven thrones for seven Powers..." She scowls. "Hela always was known for her love of dramatic gestures..."

Radha Tackeray has posed:
Radha instructs her robot toy, which has had what look like shivs attached to both of its forearms: "Follow one step behind me. If I point at something and say 'chakravarta party,' cut it to pieces."

Radha then sets it on the ground. The robot toy follows after her, using the shivs to assist in stair climbing.

"Um! OK," she then answers the Sorceror Supreme. She gives the swaying and bloodied Constantine a passing look, even as they move along. Despite her stout little guardsman, Radha is not eager to get in front of everyone, cradling her wicker bird against her T-shirted chest.

"I suppose, looking at all these stones, that I should be glad that I didn't die, because it seems as though dying was really a very bad plan in general in the past," Radha says as she climbs. "I hope that's going to change, at least, now, given everything. Um!"

A centipede wriggles out of some vines, which Radha had been avoiding, and she follows the sensible combination of

1. Shriek
2. Point
3. say "Chakravarta party!"

At which point the funny little robot toy diverts from its faithful pursuit to plunge five-inch metal shivs into the neck of the centipede-like creature; much to its ichorous chagrin.

Morrigan MacIntyre has posed:
"So many magics at work." Morrigan mutters to herself as she looks to the daisy chained together different types. This is all quite concerning, but also something she'd only see once in her life. Hopefully. Then there's bugs and Morrigan lets neon purple and black tendrils seek carpace to rip and punch through. No bugs for her tonight.

Hela has posed:
Fighting their way through a host of monsters trying to take solid chomps out of them is not easy. Vintridr and Strange's blades whirl and Thea's arrows sing, felling the creatures with almost vindictive glee. But there are only so many fighting and almost endless numbers of staggering wraiths, phasing spiders, and one too many eager serpent-fanged lumbering horrors that resemble wolves and walruses combined with creatures of the deep. Opening a very narrow route is no easy task, forcing a run over slippery stones that will surely skin some knees or fatigue aching joints without an assist.

The black door ahead sinks maybe two meters in, barely enough for three people to stand altogether too closely. It takes a sharp right angle against a parade of greenish-white glyphs and sinuous magical threads visible to all. The narrow shaft that slopes gently down to the beckoning darkness, dimly lit at best by magic.

John Constantine has posed:
    With each step forward, John gets a little of his strength back. Truth be told though, it's not *his* strength he's gaining back; he likely shouldn't even be moving at all. It's strength of will and hope loaned him by the likes of Chas sitting at the end of the bar staring at a little plant and quietly cheering to himself when a new leaf sprouts. Or Phoebe cheering right out loud over same, or Nettie smoking like a freight train but offering a little 'yes, my Old Boy!' over the same. Even Renee, who mostly loathes him for the way things turned out with Chas is cheering alongside Geraldine. Maybe somewhere out there a half-fae girl is doing the same.

    The seed implanted in it may be gone now, but it sprouted there and he's still carrying the love it put in his now bared heart, literally. It beats strong there, visible to all through that hole. John cracks a half grin in Vintridr's direction. "Somethin' like that, luv." Rough fucking three months more like.

    At the bottom of the stairs he plucks the Silk Cut from behind his ear - the lucky one he keeps there always that managed to stay put through it all, it'll be replaced at the end of it, if it isn't the end of him - and lights up with a Zippo gifted him by the best mate and cabbie in all the realms between Heaven and Hell.

    His trek up those stairs will be much like his trek to them, ducking, weaving, a lob of fire there, something kicked back with a blast of force over there; nothing unless something gets too close. Precarious moments come, a slip that bangs a shin on a stair, one that nearly sends him toppling back down them backwards but he *keeps going*. ...unless, of course, he's stopped by something that gets through his defenses.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Trying to contain her fear, Zatanna takes hold of her panic with both hands. Unfortunately, while twisting to get out of the hold a vine grappling for her ankle she catches sight of John and the hole in his chest.

"Criminy , John," she gasps. "You look like a bleeding saint."

Yelling, FFO, KCAB!" She fights her way up the steps to the portal with the others.

The darkness looms ahead. With a glance around her, she hesitates before rippling her fingers, ".nretnaL"(Lantern) An old fashioned lantern with a mesh wick appears in her hand which she holds high, throwing the glyphs on the wall into relief.

A whiff of tobacco reaches her and she knows that John will not be far behind. The whirr of the metallic robot climbing the steps is reassuring. She hears the twock of arrows piercing time and magic, it brings her hope. Zatanna steps into the womb of the world deafened by a million magics.

Radha Tackeray has posed:
Radha keeps herself close, tightly together, half-hugging herself and still cradling that wicker bird. The faithful robot, after some really unnecessary defacement of the dead bug, stays with her; the darkness doesn't bother her.

"Thank you," she says to Zatanna when she produces light, because it means she can keep her phone in her pocket. (And, somehow, that feels woefully inadequate in a place like THIS.)

Stephen Strange has posed:
It isn't just denizens of the deep, dark magic that Strange's borrowed blade hunts. It is enchantments that the sorcerer hunts for, as well. The reason for Atum's arrival, the grievous wrong that is to be righted is the fact that the Council of Death linked their consolidated power to this, the realm of the living. And..that they sacrificed so much dead for it, as if they mean nothing. That needs to be rectified.

For Stephen, who has seen how the enchantments are woven, it is careful work. Which, when descending into a temple overloaded with death energy, just adds a degree of difficulty. A thrust here, a slice there, and ties are severed. More will be needed before the shackles of the dead are freed, but the bindings are loosening.

Thea Queen has posed:
Big centipede coming her way. This is not good. But luckily Thea is surrounded by worthy warriors, she rolling back to dodge away from being crushed while the centipede is made short work of. And so the arrows continue to rain. Taking out a critter here and there, a mix of her own arrows and the ones given by Persephone. But she reserves the latter for the really big ones as needed.

Fingertips are hurting already after all the shooting and she is breathing heavily as they climb up those steps, closer and closer to the entrance.

"Keep going in." Thea says, "I will hold the back." and she tries to, shooting at any approaching to bite them away from going in.

If or when everyone is in she will do the same, to move after the rest of the Fellowship, the light in front from Zee making her able to follow along. "How are you holding up, Vinnie?" she asks, near breathless.

Hela has posed:
Zatanna's shout sends the vines reeling backward and snapping like someone just took large shears to them. The beating wings of a descending lindwurm crash into a wall of force, screaming loudly in a shrilling voice of rage that only hastens the heroes' pace into that dark tunnel skidding on a series of smooth interlocked blocks down into the crater and the pyramid itself.

Behind them, trouble. A volley of flechettes barbed in black energy crash into the wall, one slamming through John's fleece jammies, leaving him barely grazed. It stings at least.

Radha's jackdaw croaks, "Tempus fugit, you brief sweet thing, be swift on the wing. Your hour is soon past, nothing can last, can be cleaved unto, can be dwelt upon. Now, now, hurry through!"

Ahead of them, trouble too: shades lie dead, for even the dead can die. Burnt husks seethe with energy as a reptilian creature with curling horns and barbed claws utters a horrific shriek that radiates off the stone, sending a wall of sonic force at them. It's not far behind.

Vintridr has posed:
    Vintridr's sword and shield are seemingly everywhere at once, slicing through a centipede's head here, bashing away a pair of bats there. A phase spider lunges out of the wall only to find that blade buried in its jaw until the point erupts from the back of its head. Vintridr slams the thing to the ground and uses her foot to pry it off her sword just in time to parry another strike aimed at Thea. They're making headway, but not quickly enough - and time is off the essence.

    She looks sideways toward Thea. "This is where we part ways, Young Queen. Once I have their attention, get inside as quickly as possible. I'll join you when I can. This is not up for debate. Go!

    With that, she raises her sword and shield and lets out a howling yell, every third rune running along her armor and blade flaring with light.

    Three separate strands of magic blend together to empower the Valkyrior: Divination, to guide them to where they are needed; Death, to see beyond the veil and gather the souls of the victorious fallen... And Life, to keep them safe and guide them on their way.

    Most of the creatures here do not have the sentience to comprehend this. All they see is abomination -- essence akin to their own, mixed with their anathema. It is not to be borne. Vintridr is already charging away from the group -- and the mass of creatures follows suit, converging on the Valkyrior with a collective screech of hatred...

John Constantine has posed:
    Zatanna's comment causes John to laugh a little, that turns into a cough that turns into him spitting another glob of tissue and blood on the ground; that one's been stuck like a furball in the back of his throat since he came around, so thanks Zee.

    "Not even bloody close, luv," he comments after he wipes his mouth on the back of a pale, shaking hand. Those that know him well definitely notice his lack of 'fight'. That solely defensive thing of lobbing fire and doing little else isn't like him in a situation such as this, but the boy's done gone and shot most of his wad by way of sprouting seeds of destiny and vines shooting forth from his chest. It's all he can do to keep up and he even staggers a time or to trying to just do *that*. And that little grazing hit actually takes him to hands and knees before he scrambles back up again.

    One foot in front of the other, it's the only option. So he goes along, likely in the shadows of those that can do the things he can't at the moment. Zatanna's light becomes a blurry focal point for him to follow along behind until he's lulled into a near trancelike state from it. He snaps back to awareness when a shadow flickers oddly and draws his attention back to potential dangers. Duck and weave, John, stay the fuck alive.

Radha Tackeray has posed:
THE BIRD OF WICKER SPEAKS.

Radha's tension rises upwards and her jaw tightens as Thea behind them states she will bring up the rear. Ahead of them, screaming, dead-of-the-dead, and some sort of looming, clawed... creature, a shriek that she could swear makes her ears bleed. Not literally, at least not yet, but it is a near thing.

Radha breathes out.

She dabs the bird's beak with her bloody finger and cradles it closer. "Miss Zatara, I think it is telling us to hurry up," she states, with a little more firmness behind it than her earlier dithering.

"Is there a, center, or a core or something," Radha says as she stares ahead, "because - ah, yeah, I suppose that makes sense, going to have to go down, then."

What should I tell this bird to do, Radha thinks desperately, sweat running down the back of her neck. Maybe there's a spell I can have it say? Does that even count? Is it the rules, or is it the intention?

Thea Queen has posed:
With Vintridr turning to go do what Valkyrior do best which is to charge into the thick of battle Thea can't help but both be awed but also to frown briefly in worry, "Be safe. We will meet with you later." no fear in her voice. She knows it will happen.

And with that her attention goes to what is ahead of them once the door is left behind them. The pyramid. The descent into the bowels. The howl of the lizard coming their way. It makes Thea wince at the sonic force it displays. "It seems to be on our way." she tells the others.

"Ideas on how we get through it?" She looks around the area, then deeper in, looking for a way that could help them past the creature without having to engage. Somehow it doesn't seem to her as if this one would fall as easily as the ones outside!

Hela has posed:
The lizard is too big to just sneak past, and it takes up most of the shaft, which is a rectangle barely eight feet tall and probably four feet wide at the most. Short of passing through the stone walls or some serious feats of acrobatics, no luck.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The scream rivets Zatanna in place. Tears spring to her eyes, haloing the lantern light that cuts through the darkness. Every prayer to save a loved one, every plea to bring back the dead, the grief of the world flows through that cry. Then, holding a hand to her head, she takes a step. The magic is like a knot of squirming eels.

The Sorcerer Supreme's spells cut through tangles, Zatanna can feel them dissolve and be replaced by the power harnessed from the teeming dead.

The glimpse of John nearly breaks her resolve to continue down into the pyramid. Desperate to reach into the teeming spells, she almost forgets one of the first lessons she learned, simplicity. She has light in her hand. Let her use the light of love to break through these terrible arcane bonds of death.

First: ".nhoJ ot htgnerts gnilaeH" (Healing strength to John.) He probably thinks that she never forgave him. Wrong.

"Downward," she replies, gathering hope until the sound of claws scrape on the steps below her.

She stares uncomprehendingly into the dark until the shape takes form, "Lady Thea, how are your arrows against, um, dinosaurs?"

Stephen Strange has posed:
The approach of the giant lizard is not a mystery to anyone. Certainly, the shrieking of the bloody thing is one clue. The second is that it literally fills the narrow shaft that the group needs to descend.

Of course, that will not do. Not at all.

With a shake of the head, Stephen shifts into action. It would appear that he has had quite enough of this one. "Hold your arrows. This will not take long." The good doctor reaches out a hand....surprisingly...the hand that is not wielding a rather sharp looking mystical blade. Instead the finger splay out and Stephen whips his arm forward, as if he was throwing something, like a flying disk.

Which...is exactly what happens. A thin circle of yellow eldritch might flings out, flying straight and true...

Right for the base of the lizard's neck.

Vintridr has posed:
    Vintridr keeps an eye on the retreating group even as she engages the horde, just in case something bypasses her. When she notices that none of the creatures are willing to follow the group inside the temple, she shifts her own battle from a full-on frontal assault to a fighting retreat, backing slowly toward the doorway before diving inside.

    She crouches there for a moment longer, catching her breath -- this would be easier if she allowed herself to tap into the Berserker aspect of her abilities, but right now she dare not give up that much control of her mind -- before standing up, securing her weapons and sprinting down the stairs in pursuit of the others.

Thea Queen has posed:
Thea is midway through into reaching for an arrow, a type she hasn't used yet, when Strange calls to take on the beast. And when the Sorcerer Supreme asks for it? Young Thea certainly abides! Even if she does finish drawing the arrow all the way and knocking it on her bow. Just in case it needs a stimulus to stop fighting after the eldritch blast shot by Stephen.

Fingertips tremble. She could really use a whiskey right now.

"Hopefully we won't have to find out, Ms. Zatara." A faint, tired smile given her way.

Hela has posed:
The razor disk flung from Strange's fingers whips forward and the lizard lowers its head to ram into the nearest opponents. Zatanna's light shines on the black pits of its eyes, fathomless hate burning in reflection. Claws scrabble across the stones, and it might have overestimated its hand in dealing with opponents. While the spell might seem to miss, it hooks back around.

Thea's arrow neatly strikes into its barrel chest, sending a streamer of mist bursting in its silvered wake. The cutting edge cleaves through its enchanted hide, and clean through the other side of the neck, splitting vertebrae. Enchanted symbols flare on its scaled carapace and die in fizzling notes, leaving the stench of dry desert winds and burnt wood in its wake.

A gout of salty lizard ichor sprays back to the group. Stinking orange blood forms a fan hitting ceiling to floor.

John Constantine has posed:
    "I got this," John murmurs so softly that it might not even be heard. A little louder the next time, "I got this..." Louder the next time and more confident, "I got this. Just stand back, I got this. Get ready to run."

    He shoots Zatanna that crooked little grin, one so reminiscent of when they met, when they were just kids really, all charm and cocky arrogance and charm, so much charm.

    But... then Stephen steps up so, John falls back, the spell started fading from his murmuring lips. Likely for the best, lets the crazy fool wind up with a giant lizard chasing him around like a Benny Hill skit.
    He's not as pale as he was a moment ago, bruises and dings fade, the trembling hands are steady now, but his heart's still laid bare through an eight-point star shaped hole in the middle of his chest.

    Back at home, those sitting close vigil over little plants, give another cheer, in whatever way is theirs, at a tiny bud turning to a leaf thanks to Zatanna adding a little bit more love to that battered, bruised, broken, laid bare heart. It's all part of the human condition innit? Helping one another through the darkness and the pain, cheering the little successes amid the giant losses and mistakes? Zee just went one step more toward proving the point of it all.

    He reaches up to wipe sprayed ichor from his face with a hand that's just as covered in the stuff, spits on the ground, looks at his ruined cigarette and announces, "I need to call my travel agent, this trip to Mexico can bloody well sod off."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Lantern light spills wildly in all directions as Zatanna tries to duck the lizard turned battering ram. A whirling disc of otherworldly light drives the lizard neatly into the Queen's arrow splashing her stiff white tuxedo shirt orange.

"Ugh," she mutters to herself, wiping her face. Holding the lantern aloft, the light only trembles slightly in her shaky hand.

"Wait until you taste Mama Ajaniame's tortilla's John. You'll forgive him and make reservations for next year." She huffs a laugh and sets her shoulder back.

"I have a feeling the best is yet to come."

Skirting, the beast that lies already rotting in their path she descends into the belly of the pyramid.

Hela has posed:
At least the way beyond is clear, if long. After the horrific wurm, they might only sense the howling and vibrations of a battle above.

The sloping shaft sinks further and deeper into the heart of the pyramid, ending in a gaping pit where the floor falls away into stygian darkness. The five meter wide fissure pools with foul magic, the kind that obliterates flesh at a touch. On the walls beside it, the friezes dimly depict the winged figure and Ahriman casting screaming humans in.

Beyond the collapsed floor lies an enormous semi-circular room that shouldn't fit entirely within the actual pyramid. Gleaming obsidian floors stretch out to the walls, both writhing with ghostly grey and undulating electric green currents, that echo of death magic vibrating softly. There are no obvious doors. Instead, four thrones are melded to the walls: one of bone, another of ivory, a third of bloodwood, a fourth of electrum.

A kneeling humanoid statue with splayed clockwork wings and a scythe crossing its lap could well be the bastardized blend of an angel with technological nightmares. Four pairs of chains link to the thrones and its limbs where the statue rests dead centre in the Chamber of Ascension.

Vintridr has posed:
    Loud footsteps in the sudden silence as the monster falls herald Vintridr's return. She glances around the area as she comes to a halt next to Thea, her eyes taking in the dinosaur's corpse and the point of an arrow sticking out the back of its neck. "Well fought," she compliments the young woman, then draws a dagger as she steps forward to kneel by its head.

     "Would you prefer one of its scales or a tooth for a trophy?" she asks, looking back up at Thea. Yes, yes, time is of the essence, the fate of all reality is at stake and all that, but a moment can be spared to secure the Young Queen's first proper battle trophy. Some things are important.

John Constantine has posed:
    John's hand slips into his pocket to fiddle with that little bluetooth speaker he came into this with. It's not obnoxiously loud, it's a little thing, pocket-sized and all. But to those closest to him, Jackie DeShannon pelts out 'Put a Little Love in Your Heart' and John strides on forward with a skip and a dance to his step, even a finger snap here and there. Head bobbing, even singing along. His previous foray into performance may have been Punk Rock, but the skill transfers.

    The Laughing Magician has gone MAD finally, innit so?

    He stops at the fissure in the ground, but that damned horrible song just starts over at the end, on repeat it seems. Someone else can deal with it, he's busy, dancing?

    Mad, he's gone MAD.

    But back home? Plants sprout more leaves and bigger buds form to perhaps become flowers next?

Radha Tackeray has posed:
"I can see why he's the Sorceror Supreme if that was magic straight up," Radha says, in silent marvelling even as the orange blood spouts everywhere. "Necked it, completely."

Deeper they go.

A pit on the walls. A pit before them. Radha lets her attention go down to the bird.

"When I point at something and say 'Krishanmurti overdrive,'" she informs it, "I want you to fly at it, however you can, and... strike it." That is the best she can do right now, as they move. The air is thicker, and the sense of battle above is increasing.

And then they are faced with an enormous gap in the floor!

Radha tries to stay well clear of it. She squints, past it.

Then she looks towards Zatanna and Strange, scooting a step clear of the dancing man as she says, "I don't know if it's a good idea but that thing looks like some kind of a machine, doesn't it. Um." She sucks her teeth. "If you can float me across this I can probably make it move and I have no idea if it's a good idea or not."

She addresses the wicker bird. "What do you think."

Thea Queen has posed:
Note to self. Get some of these arrows as a permanent addition to team Arrow. Specially as the arrow she just shot seems to do the job of cutting through the huge lizard! Just the minor detail of all the gory orange blood on them. Yet it's a small price to pay.

"Guess we did find out ...." She mutters over to Zee, wiping some off her domino mask and shaking it off her hand and onto the floor.

Vin's return, and then the announcement that a prize must be got from the creature has Thea arching a brow. But hey, just go with the flow. Even if time is indeed of the essence! "Lets go with a scale." easier to scavenge too. And once that has been done it's time to move in and onto that new Chamber.

Her eyes go to the various thrones, then the statue. Then to the Dancing Magician. "Uh ..." but she doesn't ask further for now.

Her focus goes to Strange and Zee, the ones more versed in these magicks, then to Radha, "Do these thrones represent each of the death gods? But shouldn't there be seven?" a frown, "Or eight in this case."

Hela has posed:
Radha's jackdaw warbles its agreement, wicker beak clacking softly shut. Bone-white twigs beaded in jet buds make that soft rubbing sound for a moment, and then it flaps its wings in readiness. "Oh, yes, yes. I shall."

That's far too much excitement for a little bird of no particular durability to go cause mayhem of a sort against whatever the animator might point out.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Faced with the abyss, Zatanna raises her lantern high to search for a way across. The fissure eats the light. Measuring the leap, she knows that only magic will get them across. But, then what? The four thrones waiting to be occupied thrum with power as does the impossibly large hall.

Light catches the side of the Homo Magi's face as she swivels her head to glance at John. She thinks she understands what he is doing. The man who never showed anyone his heart now walks with it bared to the world. She wants to break into a chorus of "All you need is love. Love. Love. All you need is love."

Breaking out of her reverie, "I can put you on the other side. I can put us all on the other side. But what then?" Pointing at the thrones. "A throne for the each of us to destroy or dismantle." She flails a hand looking for her words - the very stuff of her magic. "We are facing hate. My only answer is love, in whatever form will work best. I'm very open to ideas. It's just a feeling but we don't have much time."

Vintridr has posed:
    Vintridr nods and busies herself for a moment, picking an appropriately large and distinct scale, then carefully works it upward with her dagger before worrying it free as intact as possible. She places it in a side pocket for now - she'll properly seal it later; for now it's time to continue on.

    As she party reaches the central chamber she scowls and scans the area.

    She nods at Thea's question, then answers. "It's possible that three of the gods involved are... Mistaken in their belief that the power will be shared evenly among all seven," she suggests. "Not all of the gods depicted are particularly known for the honesty of their bargains."

    Zatanna's comments are given due consideration. "You make a good case, but I wonder if the symbology here isn't the hatred, but the chaining of the proper course of life and death, suborning it to the power of those on the four thrones. If so, the act of mortal hands breaking those chains could be enough to undo their working..."

John Constantine has posed:
    Finally the song changes.

    ~'Let Your Love Flow' by the Bellamy Brothers. Same theme, vastly better song.

    Indeed, Zatanna, that big, beautiful broken heart that he constantly hides from the world with snark and attitude, arrogance and being a downright *asshole* most of the time. But the truth of it? He'd lay down life for anyone here once and the people closest to him a million times over. Fuck all, he has Lady Death and a little beacon of Hope living above his bar because they needed his help and had no where else to turn. He's been beaten to the core of himself, to the point of giving up so many times since this mess started.

    One thing kept him going through it, the TRUTH of his heart, that John *fucking asshole* Constantine actually *cares*. So shine the fuck on little bloke from Liverpool that knows a little about a little, take the armor off that caring heart and show the fucking world. ... and maybe bring a little light to those around him, a little 'englightment' and inspiration, as it were, in the darkest hour in the process.

    For Meggan.
    For Chas.
    For Nettie.
    For Phoebe.
    For Geraldine.
    For Renee.
    For Annie.
    For Paul.
    For Zatanna...

    Let it fucking *shine*.

Radha Tackeray has posed:
"That sounds brilliant really," Radha says to Vintridr. "I'll do the best I can, yeah, great."

Once they are across -- Radha moves quickly and without hesitation towards the chains. Either this will work, Radha thinks; or it will do nothing, or it will do something bad to me, or it will kill me outright.

As she lays a hand on the bloodwood chain and then another hand, tugging and pulling and trying to get it loose, she reasons through the rest:

Kill me outright: Well, I'd beat the rush.
Something bad: I'll soon be dead anyway.
Nothing: No worse off.
Success:

Radha has a hard time envisioning success then, due to putting some effort in.

Thea Queen has posed:
"Those materials..." Thea will point to those thrones once they are across, eyes narrowing. "They seem to go towards the depictions there were in the walls above. Of the Gods." she points to the electrum chair. "That would be Pluto's most likely..", a glance to the bloodwood, "Iku." then towards the ivory. "That's Sedna's I'd say.." she turns her nose a bit, a glance to the bone one.

"That one I am not entirely sure." The throne made of bone.

Yet with Radha starting to pull on a chain she tenses, readying for trouble. Which means drawing out another arrow. And yes, fine. She finally starts tapping her foot to the song Constantine is playing out.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
It was perhaps the simplest spell of this whole journey. Zatanna wafts them to the other side of the fissure just out of range of the winged beast linked physically and magically to the thrones.

"It makes sense, Lady Vintridr." Break the chains, break the chains, the refrain repeats itself as she walks to another set leading to the ivory throne. Fitting for her in a way with her constant studies. Each of them will find their path. Now, she must find her own.

Kneeling, she lays hands on the metal, which is so cold that she is afraid her flesh will meld to it. John's fight with the world smacks of the streets where he come from. Zatanna hides hers behind a veneer of sophistication.

".sniahc eseht trap ti teL .ecitsuj sa llew sa tsrif ycrem gnirb ti teL .lla su laeh ti teL .sthgir ot dlrow eht gnirb evol teL" By far, the longest spell she has ever cast in possibly the direst circumstances. (Let love bring the world to rights. Let it heal us all. Let it bring mercy first as well as justice. Let it part these chains.)

Hela has posed:
In the Chamber of Ascension, a flash of magic is all it takes to bypass the deadly fissure. No sacrificed souls or bodies this harrowed eve, though with Atum very much prepared to take the living to a person, does it matter?

Their arrival inside the chamber changes nothing about it. The statue does not move. Polished bronze and iron join to rarer metals that shine with staggering realism. Circuitry in microdetail runs down the spine, melting into the complex turning keys and wires, fibres, and chips that signal a combination of organic style and inorganic means. The scythe itself is a single sharp point of magic: endings. There is nothing nice about the long reaping blade or the adamantium haft, inscribed by ancient Mayan glyphs and symbols.

When Radha touches it, the metal is warm. The bloodwood chains pull away from the bloodwood throne, freeing its left leg.

A drumbeat shudders through the chamber. Then another. A steady beat thrums through obsidian and the magic shot through the walls leaps like the visualizer to a Nine Inch Nails song.

Its eye sockets gape around an utterly inhuman face, and it's not beautiful. Curved metal plaques curving over its 'nose' cover the cheekbones to the chin. Sinews and wires bleed together in horny protrusions erupting from the front of the skull, curved and wild edged plates are sinuous and serrated, rippling with carved symbols that probably mean something, to the right denizen of a Hell Realm. The scythe comes sweeping up.

In Strange's hand, the Soulsword roars alive with white fire.

Hela has posed:
In the Pyrrhic Odeon... the wall behind the Throne of Bone turns to black glass, a clear sheet. Through said looking glass darkly lies a room occupied by only two features: some kind of coloured mist floating over an oblong pool with a bone ladle. With some effort, they might spot a small hole in the floor.

Thea Queen has posed:
Did they just trigger the protector of the chamber? That most likely means they are doing it right. Break the chains it seems! So Thea makes a run over to one of the chains that is not yet being handled. In this case the one made of bone. She hadn't identified this one but no problem!

And just in time for it to turn to black glass. Great..

Without hesitating she reaches up to the bone chain in an attempt to yank it out, all the strength of little Thea put into it, features contorting with effort. "Do we all need to pull at the same time?" she asks.

Vintridr has posed:
    Vintridr's hands close around the bone chain just upstream from Thea's, an uncharacteristically angry frown on her face. "Perhaps you'll count this as treason, your Highness," she speaks flatly into the air. "... But this was never yours to claim."

    With that, she yanks with all an Asgardian's strength, pulling the chain from its rings.

    When the chained figure starts moving, she moves quickly to stand in front of Thea, shield up and at the ready to protect the Young Queen...

John Constantine has posed:
    The music is still playing in the background, from his pocket but John stops singing softly along, he stops dancing and just says, "Whooooaa, hold up, luvs!" He gestures toward the Scythe and mentions, "That there says something about the curse, the stolen first breath, the end of ends."

    Too late?

    Oops?

    This time he's ready to join a battle should the need to do so arise, but that song is still playing in his pocket and he's still carrying around a lot of love in that battered heart.

Hela has posed:
Ivory falls to Zatanna's words, the clinking links stretching and collapsed. The angel's other leg comes free.

In the world above, a black-haired goddess crashes to the knees and reaches flayed fingers up to her face. Salt tears run from Sedna's face, and she curls on herself. The screams do not impress Atum, but she doubles over. The drumbeat in the Chamber of Ascension grows louder.

---

Bloodwood already surrendered. The throne drips ichor where the chain came away. The angel stands.

---

In the world above, a Yoruban god moving among the flattened, charred trees turns sharply and shouts. A hawk skirls a war cry, dropping from the black sky as the Ghede storm a path to Iku.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The chains melt in her hands like ice under intense heat, like it is running from her touch. It confuses Zatanna, who when she pulls her hands back, realizes she has paid for the last spell with flesh. She is willing to pay it, if only this magic can be set right. The King of Hell belongs in his domain, not on earth.

"Why do you look for perfection?" she asks the room, she asks the demon behind her. The question is put to all the deities gathered in the belly of the pyramid. Zatanna has no idea where that question comes from though it fits with that song playing from John's pocket.

Stephen Strange has posed:
A hand clutches to Strange's chest while his other, holding the Soulsword, reaches out, placing the sword at arm's length. The white flames are held away, even as Stephen shudders, regaining his composure. "There's...infernal magic here." How could he possibly know that? For the other spellcasters, there is magic, certainly. Powerful magic. But....infernal? How deep is that?

Two hands to the blazing white sword. The sorcerer trusts in the gift given freely...and channels through it. Seeking. Searching. Looking for that tiniest of threads.

A Hell Lord had a hand in this. Strange knows this. After all, he is quite familiar with at least one.

And no, this is not from her. The wrath of the sword is proof enough.

Need to find that thread...and slice it asunder. That will reveal whose hand is to gain from all of this.

Hela has posed:
Bone chain crashes to the ground with contemptuous ease as Vintridr pulls it from the matching throne. Not even a fraction of the strength was needed. Black glass on the Odeon shatters. A sheet lands, lending access to the room proper. The mist coiling over the pool is strangely tinted violet-red.

Louder, not so much drowning out John's music as bleeding through it, the heartbeat that accelerates and slows in time. Each person living there hears their own mortality.

The angel's right hand with the scythe comes free. Ticking, hissing, the clockwork wings open.

<The world is imperfect.> A response resonates from somewhere in the angel's chest. <Flaws may only be corrected in death.>

John Constantine has posed:
    "You're wrong, flaws and imperfections are what make the world more beautiful and in doing so, make it perfect." John states simply and with conviction. "Without them, we'd all be the same, free will would mean nothing."

Thea Queen has posed:
"What will Hela think of you now, Vinnie?" With Vinnie going and pulling on the chain Thea was starting to handle that means there is only one left. Well, only one thing to do about it, and that is to break the remaining one. Pluto's. She will leave the philosophical or magical debates to the ones in the know. She is here to do a job.

Save the world. Try not to die. All good things!

Reaching up to the electrum chain she pulls on it to take it down before pointing over towards the hole in the other room. "Might be other thrones underneath." she suggests. And time to go in. So she does, moving into the mist, and towards that hole that leads down.

Radha Tackeray has posed:
Radha can hear her own pulse even as that clockwork angel reveals its hideous face and rises. It speaks, and -

- Radha thinks - haven't I done that same thing?

Is that why I'm here? she wonders, even as she hears, feels her heartbeat, pressing forwards and breathing heavily. Hugging her bird, she doesn't answer the creature. She moves towards the hole, sinking down to a crouch. She even, after a dizzying moment of interior doubt and wondering if she's about to have a cardiac arrest, leans forwards to peep in the hole.

"This is very, er, this is very... yonic," Radha says.

"God, I can't remember what it was now, I'm too freaked out," she babbles to herself. "It was something about the first law or something. I wish I'd wrote it down. Bird, do you remember it?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Heartbeats. Many heartbeats overlaid on each other resound in the chambers. The hole in the ground amplifies the sound until Zatanna feels her head about to explode. The answer must be right in front of her. The elusive thread leading back to the mind and hand that put this all into motion disappears down that hole.

"We're going straight to hell," she says aloud. "And, yes. Only the dead are perfect. But that's not what we want." Zatanna marches into the room that was hidden behind the glass. She reaches with palms flayed to blood for the ladle, flinching when she picks it up.

".thgil htiw siht lliF"(Fill this with light.)

Liquid light fills the bowl of the ladle. Bending down she pours the light into the hole, hoping it will reveal the thread and break it.

Hela has posed:
The moment that Thea touches the mist, stepping within its wine-purple swirl, she becomes nothing heavier than vapor. Her intent to head down the hole in the ground becomes effortless when she hasn't a physical form to worry about.

The hole in the ground resonates with the very music of her spirit.

What's a visit to a pyramid without a little soul music to go with John's more eclectic tastes?

Zatanna plays another resonant chime by pouring light down there, the clear tone singular as she sends it running down. Her own, on the other hand, is a wickedly complex rill of arpeggios on the ear.

John Constantine has posed:
    John offers a crooked grin and a middle finger to clockwork angel and, well, if down's the only option, down it'll be. Isn't the first time he's gone down, won't be the last - read into that what you will.

    Into the mist and down the rabbit hole, his song still playing loudly from his heart and softly from that little speaker, it is then, innit?

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
It's a singular experience becoming a cloud and disappearing into mist heavy enough to flow downward into the hole. The quirky side of Zatanna wonders if she is turning in a clockwise or counter clockwise motion as the mist reaches her neck.

Down she goes.

Jubilant when she coalesces in the room, the magician forgets her wounded hands until she claps them together.

Wincing, she asks the others that appear one by one, "One line is broken. The ivory line. Do we break the others?"

Radha Tackeray has posed:
Radha, dithering, does not dither long; becoming mist, it seems, is what to do. She leaves her bag in the hallway, though she takes the bird, just in case future generations will find a mute anomaly.

Then, down the hole, a gray-blue cloud that slithers, swirls, and congeals, it seems.

"Sure! I mean, why not, if we're breaking something in here," Radha says while she rises upwards unsteadily.

Stephen Strange has posed:
There is no need for confirmation from Strange. The seed of evil, so to speak, is down that well. The same well that Thea now descends, transmuted into a mist.

But, she is most likely needing assistance. And, frankly, Strange was always one to want to do things his own way.

And, with that, Strange does not take to the air. But, instead, he performs a scan...and...yes, it does open up to a larger chamber! The tip of the sword spins lazily in the air as Strange invokes a portal. One that seems to open up to a room that is quickly filling with familiar purple mist. He turns to Radha...and just misses asking her to go before she mistifies.

Oh well.

With a shrug, Strange steps through one way and into the other, with the hole in the floor now above him.

Thea Queen has posed:
Becoming mist is ..., a surprise. Or maybe not *so* much. They are here fighting Gods and creatures of legend. Becoming mist? Could be worse! They could be dead. And then there's a doubt. "I hope this doesn't mean we .., died?" a look to Zatanna as she gets into the mist too. Being weightless is certainly different from the norm.

She follows down towards the room with the various rings, "Guys, we need to get down here and ---" pause as Strange just steps out of from a portal of his own making. Show off! A nod to Zatanna. "Breaking the chains seems to be the way. But I thought we had broken them on the room above?" a beat, "At least the *one* you pulled on did break." which might be an hint.

She steps towards the chains, considering them. "Maybe we need to break them with magic?" she isn't sure.

Hela has posed:
The clockwork angel may be held in check by the questions. With the chains shattered upon it, the creature has the freedom to move and that terrible scythe comes crashing down in a sweep that bites through the electrum chain dragging in jagged angles across the ground.

But the retreat into the Pyrrhic Ossuary has begun, and those fleeting survivors turned to mist have the advantage of moving through the narrow tube in the floor.

Another discordant note rings through, the dissonant register of clashing punk notes cleaved down the middle by a low bell tone that hurts the ears. Then brighter, lively chords cascade in their entwined harmonies as Radha dives through with her hope at her breast in the form of a jackdaw that sings pure and clear.

The only song not to be heard is the Sorcerer Supreme; Vintridr shall follow the Young Queen's path, though the dolorous chiming rolling with regret and satisfaction pours out in a softer tune. For the lifespan of the shortest rings hardest here. Though it's only a matter of time, presumably, before the clockwork angel's pursuit comes for them, its tread grating and harsh, the wings creaking...

John Constantine has posed:
    Weightlessness isn't new to John, it's not as if he doesn't take regular Walk Abouts in the Astral. Singularly, not much of this is *new* to John, it's the collective that's new. "She broke it with love," he murmurs. "Not magic." Or at least that's what it seemed to him, sure the words were backwards and Zee's signature style, but it's the other thing he's known from the woman in the past that shone brightest to him.

    ...she did love him once and he her.

    Who knows, but John steps forward to the next set of chains if no one else does and pulls. ...even while he's pushing everything he has in his heart into the effort. Can't hurt to try, right?

Radha Tackeray has posed:
The bird in her arms is singing, and when Radha looks at it, it doesn't seem to be quite made of wicker any more. It feels a little like bone, and for some reason as she briefly manipulates its wing she is reminded of the texture of dried noodles. But -

The red spot is still there.

She holds the jackdaw up. "Here, let's try this, we don't have time. Dear Bird: If you see a chain in the way of justice for the dead, fly to it and destroy it. If you see no chain any more, come back to me."

The thing seems to flutter in her hands - and this time the statue does move in full, spreading out two proper wings and a secondary pair behind it, ones that kind of messed with the jackdaw image. After a preliminary hop, it jumps loose, flapping.

Radha curls her fingers.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Right," Zatanna says softly sighing. "We've let it loose." A song pops up in her head, vying with the music of spheres that the others who braved the heart of the pyramid brought with them. She glances at Sorcerer Supreme who walks in silence. She can't help herself, under her breath, "Chain, chain, chain. Chain of fools."

When she gets to 'Every chain, Has got a weak link, I might be weak, child, But I'll give you strength, oh yeah.' She sings it aloud, smiling at Radha.

".nwod su dloh taht dertah fo sniahc eht kaerB. (Break the chains of hatred that hold us down)

Hela has posed:
The King's Chamber crackles into existence. Here the light shines dimly from the force of the magic found, though the lines of necrotic black energy rolling off the shattered line of ivory thrust through the floor casts weird, watery shadows.

The chamber itself is a perfect circle, balanced in the heart of the pyramid. No sarcophagi are here. In fact, there is nothing at all that stands out as furnishings. The melded walls are smooth to the touch, one continuous ribbon of stone. Similarly the floors shine. Only the soul music passage piercing the ceiling interrupts the arching roof.

Eight rays of hammered materials converge from the glorious mosaic encircling the circumference of the large round room. Bone, electrum, ivory, bloodwood are but half. Another is riven of black iron. One's almost indistinguishable as matter at all, a stream of /stuff/ that behaves like a liquid and solid at once. Don't ask, it's complicated.

It practically shrieks with magic at every turn in the hushed gloaming. Zatanna's light forms motes that hang in the air, shining glyphs, the very substance of the word she used to invoke it. Her hair is full of flowers. Likewise Strange's portal is made from the invoked parts of the will. Vines wind around his hand, a pair of star iron shards lodged in the scars. Radha's bird is no mere bird, but a rippling mantle and a flash of light in her palm. Thea's arrows are their constituted rivers, dripping water. John's heart is a seed, ripened to bursting.

Stephen Strange has posed:
Love conquers all, is it?

Stephen with the blazing sword in his hand is in a rather unique position. Should he continue to search for that small infernal seed that he sensed with his very soul? Or, shall he take his turn upon a set of chains and use the power that love has given him to break the enchanted chains asunder? That love...with the physical manifestation represented by the very weapon he wields.

Or, how about both? Both will work, will it not?


With that, Strange releases his hold upon the sword.

Is it possible to be in two places at once? Strange seems intent to try.

Thea Queen has posed:
Love, eh?

Thea lets out a breath, watching the changes they seem to be making with their joined *will*. Magic? Or maybe just flawed mortality given form. She smiles, finding her own love. For her family, that was almost lost and came back to her. She won't let them die. So she goes forth, taking hold of a chain that is free, in this case the electrum chain, and places one hand atop it. She doesn't pull on it. She simply focuses and lets her own feelings pour out, infusing it with her own mortality, or at least with what she is willing to come out..

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Perfume floats on the air of the circular chamber. Light and beautiful music vie with the dark throb of magic that still beats in the heart of things. That darkness is the key. Yet, Zatanna's smile is bemused when she reaches up to touch the flowers in her hair and sees the vines growing on Strange.

Nothing is free in the world of magic. They must break these lines in order to return to life. Zatanna reaches for one of the organic substances in the chamber. Bloodwood. Kneeling she touches the line, imagines the lovely tree that it once was and with sorrow breaks it apart.

John Constantine has posed:
    That's why he's here isn't it? To let that seed planted in his heart burst forth? It's already done it once, in the literal sense. If there's pain to it, that likely shows on his face, but mostly he's just smiling. Let it burst if that's what's to be. He's carrying enough of the people that love him and have faith in him inside that blackened thing that he's pretty certain he could light the Eastern Seaboard with the brightness of it.

    ...Words murmured in a moment, voices familiar only add to that brightness. "Do what your old man says, Sprout. Uncle John'll be home soon with bedtime stories to be told. Did you know there are LIZARDS in Mexico the size of HOUSES?"

    What the hell, black iron... it matches his black heart and soul right?

    Gods but he loves that little girl and her dad, Chas, best mates since acne and awkward.

Radha Tackeray has posed:
"It's like an echo of this one from upstairs. As above, I guess, except above got messed up," Radha muses, didactically, even as she walks towards the really bizarre one - hesitating - and moving on instead to the ivory chain; grasping it, with a grimace at the flickering light that was the bird (is the bird?) and moves to break the chain.

What DO I hope for? she thinks. It seems to surprise her a little.

Something better. Justice, Radha thinks. Not torment and pits and power-games for people even after they've died--

Hela has posed:
The rays on the floor shatter.

Radha's hope sinks into the ground and the jackdaw wings ahead of her. Its clawed feet sink down and yank one of the hammered ivory chains in the ground. For an instant, two other aspects stand in place; one with a cloak of feathers, one with flaming red hair, and both superimposed on the same place rip free an arm of the spell.

Zatanna's words are inexorable against the spells that hold together, sending careening shards of bloodwood reforming into a tree with tall branches and spreading leaves in a place where it probably never bloomed. The accelerating process glistens with spring.

Electrum sizzles and snaps. Another chain down, forming jagged blobs of metal that try to reform and instead go scattering to pieces. Thea's wishes push them apart, and the rolling ingots are ground down to dust while her pulse sings.

Another set of chains in John's hands sizzle, but not with hellfire. Spiked vines spreading the links apart until they're little better than chunks left behind.

Black iron goes up in smoke, mana feeding spires of starlight that leap and plunge in radial patterns to destroy the tether.

Life dances from a soul-crafted blade plunged inside the quark soup, sending that spiral flowing away in a crackling mess. A single pomegranate aril drops to the ground, cracking open, spreading a glittering bead red as blood, dark as wine.

Thea Queen has posed:
An exhale escapes Thea as the chain snaps, scattering to pieces. Some weight seems to lift from her shoulders, all that anger and guilt she has towards her real father being let go even as she lets love enter her. A murmur escapes her, "I know .." who is she replying to though?

The back of her hand comes up to wipe across her eyes. Must be all the dust in the chamber doing that. Because she surely must not be crying! Lessons are learned though. Life is too short and precious to be spent angry. Maybe there is another way to live than how she has done so far.

It's a good dream at least.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Stars shine through the leaves of the bloodwood tree. Persephone walks where only death and the iron grip of power was likely to reign. Vines flourish in the place of iron. Zatanna knew that John had that in him. She walks to Radha's side, "That was totally rad, you know." Then, she nods at Strange with a faint smile.

"Are we there yet?"

Stephen Strange has posed:
Inventory is taken. All but two lines are shattered. Only the lapis lazuli, shimmering in the mystical light, and the greenstone remain. "Once the final two ties are broken, I do not know how long this temple will remain standing. I will create a portal to get us all out if one of you feel so inclined to do the honors."

The hand spins in the air once more, as firefly sparks alight. Here, the portal is more solid...more defined...as the vines upon his arms incorporate themselves into the portal. Is it that there is another there, offering up assistance in the only way possible? Subtle, but there.

A chuckle is given to Zatanna as the portal materializes fully, the wind from outside bringing fresh air to the chamber within. "Nearly there."

John Constantine has posed:
    When John's chain breaks, he falls flat on his ass, lanky legs all stretched out in front of him. He takes a moment to touch every little bit and bauble he's brought with him from the origami sun and moon pinned to his lapel that's likely squished, to the keychain, to the tarot card in his pocket with a bloody thumb print, the zippo lighter, an invitation to a little girl's birthday party in another pocket, that goofy blue tie with its gold Ferris wheels, a nun's wedding ring on his left pinky and finally, he runs a hand down one thigh over those ridiculous pants that were picked out by a little girl with nothing but love in her heart for her Uncle John.

    Thank you... thought with each touch.

    He lights a Silk Cut with that very lighter before struggling himself back to his feet again; it's a thing he's still able to do because of one other person here that still might have a little bit of love in her heart for him, to Zatanna, the, "Thank you, Zee," is out loud.

    He's still just a man though and one that's sporting a fist sized hole through bone and muscle clear through to his heart... that's still beating true and strong, broken thing that it is.

    "... I think I need a doctor when it's all said and done."

    But it'll be done soon and tomorrow night he'll tell a little girl a story about Lizards big as Houses. It'll have a different tone than the one here tonight, there won't be terrifying clockwork angels or ghost spiders or death Gods or Demogorges, but it'll have what this one seems to be leaning toward at least.

    A happy ending.

Radha Tackeray has posed:
As she grasps the chains, as they break, Radha tilts her head. She seems to hear something, to see something perhaps. Not just that visage of a redhaired woman, and then she seems to be attending closely, before swallowing and telling Strange, "I'll... Here, I can try to do it, then."

Who is that talking to? Radha thinks.

Is it...

It feels guilty, somehow, to Radha; guilty and like she wants to cry, but maybe it's the stress. She moves on towards the greenstone chain, though she pauses to say, "Ah, alright, are you ready then? Don't -"

("Is that actually a hole through your body," Radha says, having finally gotten a head-on angle to Constantine.)

"Don't take long but --" Her hand hovers, warily, over the chain. When some indication, even if only a nod comes -- she goes for it.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Stage business takes organization. Zatanna's steps into the role while Stephen arranges for their escape. This place will crumble into dust when the bones of its magic are transformed.

Lapis, the color of the night sky just as the first stars appear. It has so many positive meanings. The Egyptians thought it brought courage and wisdom to the one's possessing it. Murmuring to herself, Zatanna touches the stone, knowing that she is at the end of her strength now. "Crumble to powder," she whispers, the words not even reversed. She's too tired.

Thea Queen has posed:
Make amends later. Now it's time to get out of here. Break the chains, get into the portal. Thea joins with the rest of the gang as they prepare to destroy the final ones, a nod of both thanks but also of reassurance given to the group, smiling more widely than the usually reserved posture she normally takes as the Red Arrow. She does seem ...., better.

"Go ahead." This said to Radha. It was time to get out of there!

A glance to John. "I am *hoping* that whole ...." and she gestures to where the man's heart used to be, " ..., thing gets fixed when we get back. That's not exactly something a doctor can fix." well, there are heart transplants. Technically.

Stephen Strange has posed:
John's comment about needing a doctor earns a reply from Stephen. "I do believe we will be able to find you a doctor, John." Even in the most serious of tones, there manages to be a slight smirk. There must be confidence there.

But..then Strange suddenly frowns, tensing as he seems to sense something new.

No. No...he *hears* something. The body language alone betrays that.

And, Strange responds. He takes no effort to conceal his side of the conversation...yet, he knows that speaking would be irrevelant. The intended audience will know what he would say, regardless.

"Old habits die hard, master." A pause. "It is certain that other methods are present. Forceful actions would provide their own solutions. But, to heal allows for the betterment of the whole. It allows us to become stronger."

Another pause. "I do hope the surprise is a pleasant one. Now, if you would excuse me..."

Strange shifts, turning his attention to everyone else. "Alright. Last stop, up and out. Please mind the gap and exit in an orderly fashion."

The portal out awaits...

Hela has posed:
Another line snaps and the final thread the spell holds by is down to a single band of greenstone. So much weight suspended on something that cannot possibly hold. Whispers pass through the chamber, prayers or benedictions, cast upon the wyrd wind as the ritual falls.

"I've never asked you for anything, Mom. By heart and dream, hear my plea this one time. Weave a happy thread through our fates. Open the way back..."

Above the shades tremble and shudder. Walls that no longer separate the living from the dead cannot halt a rising breeze from sweeping the plain of Chichen Itza and travelling far further.

"Sometimes life is just about that second piece of cake. Because I can choose to. You know? It makes it worth it!"

Storm clouds and magic swirl around white-hot god of judgment turning his pitiless gaze across the shades, the ruined landscape, the gods still battling it out along with the few mortals willing to risk themselves. He sees through pyramid walls.

"I just want her home safe and sound. Nothing else matters."

Hela has posed:
The portal is open. On the other side of it... A little shade comforted by someone in passing peers around another knot of frightened pale souls. <It's all right now. Can we go now?>

Atum raises his hand. Something tugs on the fractured spell and it vanishes just like that. Light pours from his eyes and his mouth, wrenching the world back to true. The Temple of Kukulcan comes rising out of the crater. Bedrock rebounds in an instant. Broken chunks of stone reform into the ancient complex abandoned by the Mayans. Pillars rise and delicate serpentine artwork forms where obliterated by spells.

Flattened forests stand back upright, their leaves reforming, bark made whole. Waves flung to devastate islands reel backwards to smoothed beaches, risen structures.

The Underworld cracks apart into its constituent pieces. In a breath, the dead vanish. There is no transition -- they are gone as reality reasserts its sovereign existence and the ordered realms of death return to where they stood. Oh, philosophers can argue all the live-long day about how it's arranged beyond the varied Rivers, but the Great Law snaps into existence anew.

Gods devoured were already restored, left staggered on the battlefield. With a gesture, they go hurtling off like fireflies in the night to their rightful places. The Court of Death is banished in a heartbeat by the same stroke.

Sunlight cracks through the darkened clouds overhead. The god of judgment lingers a moment longer. "My mother says second chances are not given to make things right, but are given to prove that we could be even better after we fall."

John Constantine has posed:
    It's seriously a little difficult to put one foot in front of the other. He's still walking a little weird, still missing a shoe, might have bit of rock stuck in the bottom of the bare foot now. John's heart's still out there for everyone to see, through his bloody and and shredded shirt.

    He's tired, so fucking tired. But he makes it through that portal... only after everyone but Stephen does; unless someone shoves him through first. Because that's just who is, the little mage from Liverpool that knows a little about a little and not much about a lot. First one into the fire most of the time, by his own stupid mistakes and blind leaps, last one out typically by choice. The human condition, mistakes and all, flaws and darkness and guilt, anger and joy and even hatred sometimes, love and hope and one foot in front of the fucking other because of some of it and in spite of the rest, that's John Constantine.

    Fuck you DEATH GODS, humanity? It perseveres, dunnit?