8848/Path of Glory: All That Remains

Path of Glory: All That Remains
Date of Scene:	02 December 2021
Location:	Alley off of 11th Ave - Hell's Kitchen (Midtown Manhattan)
Synopsis:	Detective Sara Pezzini brings her consultants, Cael Becker and Jonathan Sims to the latest site of the serial murders in Hell's Kitchen. While there, with the help of Lasariel Weiss, Phoebe Beacon, and the ghostly visage of Virgil Solomon, they start putting the pieces together for this disturbing and dire tale.
Cast of Characters:	Chas Chandler, Sara Pezzini, Cael Becker, Asariel, Jonathan Sims, Phoebe Beacon, Hope Svelgate
Tinyplot:	Path of Glory

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Chas Chandler has posed:
    The call comes over the police dispatch at around 9:12 pm that night. Officer Johansen is the one to give the information to Detective Pezzini. "Yo, Pezzini, you got another one. 11th Ave." There could be little else he is talking about. Sara had been given something of an infamous case around the precinct. After all, what could spook the Bulldog Detective Russo? "Sounds like this one is pretty fresh. Might want to take some clothespins." He chuckles as he walks away, pinching his nose in imitation of a foul smell lingering in the air.

    The scene in the alley of 11th Ave is still new. Patrol cars, as well as a CSI truck, firetruck, and an ambulance have blocked off access to both sides and police tape lines the alley further in.

    Still there is a crowd.

    The string of victims in Hell's Kitchen has garnered its own group of rubber neckers--as these things often do. Fear breeds curiosity, right? Both sides have a mass of onlookers hoping to catch a glimpse of a mutilated corpse.

    A stoic hard nosed seargent tries to corale the onlookers on the side of the alley closest to the scene--after all this is too strange for any sense of uniformity. "Alright people. Go back home! Nothing to see here!" she calls out, her New York accent thick with disgust. As expected, her words fall on deaf ears as the throng of onlookers still linger near the tape.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Anyone who was anyone knew the case Pezzini was working. Russo had taken a personal leave of absence and passed the case directly to her. To most of the NYPD that meant the case wasn't just gory and disturbing, it also meant there was some weird element that went beyond normal reason. Sara only got called in for those cases, and this one certainly met that standard.

Cael was called first. As her partner, she needed the information and location, so she got the first call while Sara was getting on her motorcycle. Jonathan was the second call, his new credentials safely tucked in her jacket pocket.

Arriving on scene, she took the Sargeant's initial report, then waited for the other two to arrive. She's seen the last scene live and in person, no clothespin required, but she did have some of ointment that forensic specialists used under the nose in case Jon or Cael needed it. This sort of crime scene was likely new to them, so she was prepared with ointment and rubber gloves, and prepared to order the forensic team and photographer around when the others arrived.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Arriving by motorcycle is the most reliable way to avoid getting stuck in traffic in New York City - even if, at one point, Cael ended up moving at a slow speed on one of the city sidewalks to traverse a particularly congested bit of road. After parking her bike at the edge of the tape, she slips her 'consultant' lanyard on over her neck and remarks to the woman manning the tapeline, "Pezzini called me in." This is doubtlessly backed up from a sign of acknowledgement from the detective, so Cael is allowed in, ducking under the tapeline, and meandering over to her roommate's sign, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket. She makes no attempt to move further into the scene just yet - as it's always best to let forensics do their thing, so the evidence isn't compromised in anyway.
    "What do we know so far?" she asks without any preamble.

Asariel has posed:
It is complete coincidence that Lasariel is in Hell's Kitchen. Or maybe she was out here looking for burning corpses. One may never know. When the white haired woman spots the police lights and the gathering crowd that's off down the way there is a frown that is given, "Well, so much for a quiet night." she murmurs to herself as she hugs her jackets a bit more tightly around her frame.

She looks around for a moment and decides that she might have a plan...it might be a very bad plan, but it's hers! The illusionists pulls on the strings of ether, drawing them around herself as she gets to a building next to the alley and finds an old rickety fire escape to climb up.

Thank god she gave Gio the night off.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    So here's the thing--this kind of thing really... /isn't/ new to Jonathan Sims. He was a med student, he interned at Arkham, he's lived through multiple invasions of New York... and that's not even getting into the parts of his past that are firmly sealed in Oxford police records. So dead bodies aren't new, and multilated bodies... well. Let's not get into it.

    He makes his way through the crowd and gives one of the detectives a flate stare. "Dr. Jonathan Sims, forensic psychology consultant. I'm sure Detective Pezzini has my credentials." His tone is one of a man who wants to deal with /zero/ nonsense. He's in a suit, carrying his sidearm in a shoulder holster, looking more like the MIB he's turning into than a typical forensic consult, but... enh, whatever. They'll let him through.

    He does make a face on arriving at the crime scene, but it's a face of sympathy more than revulsion. "Good lord," he mutters as he steps up next to Detective Pezzini, but again--sympathy more than revulsion. No one deserves to die this horribly. He lowers his voice and adds, "I'll take a, ahh... /look/ once the extra people are out of the way."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Fear breeds curiosity. No greater curiosity than one living in the Curio several blocks away. Already up on the roof this evening, Balm, uncostumed, has been in the crowd below once or twice, looking on with horror at the crucified as they were found. Tonight, she was on the rooftop. She knew the New York police didn't put nearly as much stock in costumed vigilantes as her native Gotham, so she was watching through her domino, taking it all in. Except the smell.

    Thank you, Red Robin.

    The hooded healer and investigator draws one knee up to rest her arm on, cross-referencing. MO's. Crimes. Where victims were found.

    She breathes out through her nose, reading through the feed of information that comes up on her HUD, quietly looking over the scene from above.

    "Discovery matches the others, officials are moving in to begin inspection. Record time of official investigation beginning. Search for unsecure memos blocking informat--" she pauses a moment as she hears a familiar voice, eyebrows rising up as Jonathan Sims makes his way in.

    "... and the Archivist is there. Oh gooood. At least if the recording misses anything, I can ask him." she remarks, mostly to herself.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
Those who have the sight to see ghosts might notice a figure at the edge of the crowd surveying the scene. An African-American man in his forties. He's dressed professionally black slacks and a shirt and tie are worn under a heavy trench coat. From within the coat is the glint of what looks like a police detective's badge. Of course it couldn't be Virgil Solonmon, that old NYPD detective has been dead for years.

And yet unseen by the gawkers, overlooked by most present is the ghost of Virgil Solomon, weaving through people who will never even know he was there to get a closer look at this latest victim. If the expression on his face is anything to go by, he really doesn't like the pattern that seems to be developing.

"Oof, you poor son of a bitch." He regards the corpse with the sort of sympathy only the dead really have for their fellow dead.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    The forensic investigators already have a set of photos and preliminary crime scene overview, complete with diagram of the body in question. Those CSI guys--while often more aloof and less personable than the average detective--know their stuff. The CSI lead hands over a folder with a number of photographs of the body and a diagram of the scene with pertinent information.

    This one is as bad as Officer Johansen had indicated. The stench of burning flesh, wood, hair, and polyesther linger around the corpse. The 12 foot cross is as charred as the ones before it. From the prelim report the wood used is hickory this time around. The body is that of a woman if the charred remnants of a dess and the curly blonde hair are anything to go by. Prelim reports found a wallet, no sign of robbery as it still contained cash and credit cards. ID named the holder as Elizabeth Byram, age 24.

    Like the previous ones, the victims wrists and ankles are jabbed with large (almost rail spike sized) crude nails, fastening them securely to the wooden cross. This victim is missing their eyes and hands from look of it. Everything else, from a cursory inspection checks out as the prior scenes have. Cauterization wounds at eye-sockets and wrists. Fire has no clear accelerate to get to the level of burning flesh to black. What's more is that this one looks to have been done elsewhere. No sign of any sort of struggle in the alley otherwise.

    Those with eyes on the spirit world (or lingering in it as is the case with Solomon) would notice an additional figure at the base of the cross. It appears to be a young woman. Her form is shivering as if crying, though no sound comes from her form. There appear to be spectral chains leading from the flesh of her ankles and wrists binding her to the base of the cross.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Making sure to pass Jon his credentials, Sara waits for all three to be present then offers over rubber gloves to each. She glances toward the crowd and gets that whisper in her mind, the reminder of what it is to see the living versus seeing a ghost. Her eyes then follow Solomon as he moves. Her father used to talk about the man and there he was, in the fle... ghostly-flesh.

"Jon, you see him?" she mutter/whisper asks, then starts down the alley toward the actual scene and where Solomon went.

Stopping just before getting to the corpse itself, each of her steps matches those of the forensic team, making sure to step where they have already stepped. Her eyes shift from Solomon to the ghostly figured chained to the corpse, already knowing it is the person who just died without having to ask.

This is usually when Witchblade does his thing. Sometimes to show her images of what occurred, how it occurred, hints and clues offered in the images. Since the spirit of this victim is already here, trapped, he won't have to try that, unless for some reason that spirit can't speak at all. This process has become a common occurrence at crime scene, it was something she couldn't control, it happened entirely on it's own. She still allowed time for it to happen in her investigation, even if she looked like a glassed over, distracted person when it happened.

Cael Becker has posed:
    As the gloves are offered, Cael pulls them on with practiced ease, her gaze tracing over the form of the corpse with an expression of pity on her features, more than anything else, before a look of cool dispassion displaces it. Unaware of any spiritual presence, she turns her attention to the forensic tech instead. "Have you found any suspicious prints?" she asks. Given the public locations of murders, finding //prints// had never been a problem. But finding prints that matched across scenes, or prints that were on inciminating objects like the nails was the real concern, of course.
    Her gaze goes to the woman's ID - already secured in an evidence bag. "What did we find on her criminal record?" she asks - clearly assuming there was one to be had.

Asariel has posed:
Las finds a place to perch like a rooftop gargoyle and see if she can see anything from the rooftop that might stick out to her. And being unseen might help her not get arrested or pushed off. She gives a look over the alley, letting her senses reach out and she can feel the slight ping of something familiar...but at the same time she's not entirely sure what it was.

~I wonder if an angel is involved...~ she whispers in the tongue of the angels. Might not be the best idea in this situation, but hey! If something answers in Enochian she'll at least understand it!

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon pulls on the rubber gloves and takes the ointment, to put under his nose. Then on into the alley after Sara, carefully stepping in her wake. He notes Virgil Solomon standing there and actually nods to him before he suddenly remembers the man is a /ghost/. "I wondered if you'd have noticed," he says to the man that no one but him and Sara can see.

    Then he sees the victim bound to the base of the cross and closes his eyes.

    When he opens them, he takes several steps back, until he bumps up against the wall to the alley. "Isis protect us," jumps to his lips. Eyes wide open, he /stares/ around the alley.

    What he's seeing is white-gold script covering every surface, the ground of the alley, the walls up the building, script that glows with magic, thrums with it. The body is filled with that magic, the fire and all the other damage. The cross, the nails, the chains, the ghost herself...

    "Creation and cleansing, light but filtered through a dusty strainer..." He puts a hand to his chest. "Gods, that's /Enochian/. Purer and more perfect than we've ever seen. What..." He doesn't want to ask what could have done this. It's... sort of obvious, what might have done this, if only one thinks for a moment.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe was sitting, mask recording, and she was considering alerting Jon to her presence -- professional curtesy and all. He's the only one she knows down there -- and then she hears Enochian. *She* can't speak it, but she recognizes it. She straightens up a moment, and she purses her lips as she reaches for one of her side pouches, ready to switch out her armored gloves for her leather, when she sees John's reaction. Her head tilts, and she closes her eyes. and removes her right glove. She brings the tip of her thumb to the tip of one of her throwing knives and slices it, and then presses it to her own forehead.

    That's dirty, and cheating, but sometimes --

    -- sometimes it's worth it. Forcing the third eye wasn't pleasant by any means, but she narrows her eyes behind the mask, and she slowly takes a step backwards, a little more into the shadows, drawing her domino slowly upwards and away from her eyes, knowing it's not going to record what she's seeing anyway.

    And then she brings her hand to her hood, and she activates her subvocal.

<<I'm above you on the building to your left.>> she states. The Outsiders-bound electronic communication device (probably has some punny proper name), buzzes with a new alert from BALM.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
"The one who lived." Virgil Solomon jokes glancing in Jon's direction with a wry expression before the seriousness of what's before him overtakes him again. Apparently they know each other.

Virgil then kneels down next to the weeping girl from whom no sound can be heard. "Miss, can you speak?" He asks, fearing he already knows the answer. A ghostly pen is pulled from his coat as he reaches down to test the chains that bind her to the cross.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Witchblade takes in the sights of the alley the feeling of the magic is older than even Witchblade and the artifact seems confused. There is a sense of /I don't know what I'm looking at, and that bothers me/ to the sense of the artifact on her arm. Whatever did this was older than the planet. Which combined with the information provided by Jon can only mean one of a few things.

    The tech looks at Cael with a bland sort of expression. They've seen some of the worst and deal with some of the worst. After the third one of these, another isn't going to phase them. "No prints. Like the last six. Either really good gloves that leave nothing, some weird spook shit," Cael is given a knowing look, "or something more up Pezzini's alley..." Which is translation for weird 'supernatural' shit. "Quick search shows nothing of her in the system. But we did find what's in bag 8."

    Bag eight contains three tags one with a designer brand name on it. Another with a retail tag from Macy's. And a third with a pricing list of $230.00 on it. All show signs of scorching, but none were destroyed. Odd that the dress would still be tagged if she was wearing it.

    Nothing answers the white-haired woman's words. But the residual feel of familiarity litters the alley from the cross. To the body. To the very stone of the buildings and street. Whatever did it, their power still lingers and odd or not, its presence is almost unmistakeable.

    The ghostly girl shudders as the ghostly cop asks her if she can speak. She looks up her expression stricken and pained. Her eyes pour with blood that is still red despite her otherwise grey-white appearance. Her wrists still bleed as well. Whatever killed her in life, seems content to torment her in death as well. She opens her mouth to speak and no sound comes out. Another chain wraps around her throat, though where it goes from there is unknown. As his ghostly pen touches the chain there is a spark of golden phantom light at the point of contact and a distict smell of ozone fills the nostrils of those who are perceiving that spiritual world.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Reality rushes back in and Sara blinks a few times, having missed what occurred while Witchblade showed her the unseen, and shared his confusion over it. Confusion often pissed him off, though this time he seems only a bit peeved, perhaps he was just being nice.

Looking around, she makes certain her gloves are on, the sharing causing her a moment of disorientation before her head clears enough to start looking around. The forensic team would see to the evidence, but she still liked to take a look around herself. Sometimes Witchblade would point her to objects that might get missed, as if the whole concept of finding a murderer was some sort of game to him... likely it was, given he liked to murderer to maintain the balance.

The she-ghost is gazed at for a moment, even as she listens to the tech speaking to Cael about things being more up 'Pezinni's alley'. She was used to that sort of talk, and it wasn't untrue so why bother to say anything about it?

"We got an estimated time of death?" she asks as she looks over the body, and ghost, letting Solomon deal with her for now. This wasn't exactly the best time for her to go talking to thin air, there were still officers and forensic techs around... section 8 police style was called getting fired for being insane.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Shoplifting?" Cael says in disbelief. "Someone did //this// to this woman because she stole a dress?" Sick fucking- She takes a deep breath in, and lets it out slowly, before giving the tech a nod. "Thanks. Looks like you guys were pretty thorough," she remarks, heer gaze shifting next to Jon as the man backs away from the scene in shock. Her gaze flicks to Sara, then back to Jon as she approaches the man. "Sims. Hey - you good?" she asks him uncertainly, following his gaze but not seeing anything of interest. "What are you talking about?"

Asariel has posed:
Las looks over the words on the walls and there is a chill that runs down her spine. She wasn't sure it was a good idea to be up here...or anywhere near this really given her past. She moves carefully from the ledge she was perched on and heads for the fire exit down back to the street. She wasn't really going to be able to offer much help and she was a bit nauseous all of the sudden with all the Angelic lingering that was going on.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. He doesn't close the Sight, he just... needs a moment. The extra phone he carries in his jacket pocket buzzes and he pulls it out, blinks at it, and then glances up, ever-so-briefly. Then he pulls out an ear piece, puts it in his ear. The one that doesn't have the SHIELD earpiece.

    He turns away for a moment, murmurs, <<Eyes in the sky, might be helpful. What can you see, Balm?>> No reprimand for being here, just professional courtesy, with a brief smile.

    Then Cael's talking to him, and he looks up at her. "There's a ghost," he says, loud enough to be heard but not loud enough to carry down the alley. "Two of them, actually." He looks to Pezzini and says, "That's Virgil Solomon, formerly NYPD. He's worth listening to." Then he adds, "Like I said... there's magic /everywhere/. Enochian script, which I cannot understand but at least the Archive recognizes. It's..." He stares at the woman's ghost. "It's... /light/ magic. Cleansing. Creation. It's..." He has to close his eyes again. He sounds shaken.

    "It shouldn't have /done/ this. Not... not /this/ kind of magic. It shouldn't be /killing/ people."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    <<Going to need a couple.>> Balm murmurs back in to her communicator. <<It's Enochian, isn't it? I've recorded some of what I can recall, but I can't read it -- but I recognize the lettering from some of the mandalas.>> Balm recalls, and she moves a little further into the light as the other rooftop gargoyler makes her way off. She purses her lips a moment, and then she looks down into the alleyway. <<It's thick with magic. The hair on the back of my neck's standing up, whoever -- whatever did this, it's not playing around.>> she frowns. <<Enochian, crucifixes, sacrificing of sinners with burning from the inside out -- either someone's got a real Old Testament appreciation for the classics and knows their bindings...>> she states, and she takes out a little notepad, beginning to copy down some of the patterns. See if Red can pull anything from his resources.

    <<But I'm too new to the crowd to know anyone with this kind of skill. Not in this language.>>

Hope Svelgate has posed:
Ghost pens, it would seem, conduct ghost electricity just as well as real pens conduct real electricity. At least that's what it looks like to anyone who can see Virgil that happens to be looking that way. When the pen touches the chain there is a crackling spark like a whole lot of electricity is shooting through Virgil's 'body' such that it is.

He manages to let go, dropping the pen and leaping back looking a bit shaken, but thankfully he's already dead. The pen for its part continues to crackle with whatever energy it absorbed from the chains until it fades from existence without its owner's spiritual energy to sustain it.

"Ugh." He groans. "Those chains might as well be live wires. I think it is past time to kick this up the food chain."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    The CSI tech calls to Pezzini, "Everythings in the report I gave to your partner, but mortis and general putrefaction puts it anywhere between 2 and 12 hours ago." She eyes Cael and Jon dubiously. Pezzini's consultants were always so... strange. "We'll have a better idea when we can get the body down and do an full autopsy. We'll let you do your thing, let us know when you're done." With that she waves a hand in the air the other lab techs filter back toward their truck. Leaving the alley to the detectives and their rooftop onlookers.

    The draw of what is down there might be enough to stay the white haired woman's departure. Something more lingers, calling to her, drawing her attention to the alley. A tantalizing taste of what she has within her very body. Like calling to like.

    The ghostly woman looks at the others, and seems to touch on Jon's words. She tries to hold out her hands in supplication to the four (three real, one ghostly) observing her and is jerked as the chains binding her to the cross reach their limit. Still no sound escapes her, the chain coiling around her neck like a living snake would around prey.

    To Phoebe's eyes some of the symbols make some sense and there is obviously a series of repeating "words" perhaps. The message is there, they just can't read it, but maybe the other rooftop watcher might be able to.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Head cleared, Sara walks over to where Jon and Cael are standing. She offers the tech a nod to acknowledge the words spoken, but her attention is now on her 'weird' partners.

"Sorry about that," she offers first. "Had to go through the usual moment of 'what the fuck' with him before I could start thinking straight."

Glancing now to Solomon, she offers a slight nod to thin air, at least from everyone elses perspective, "Any insight you might have is greatly welcomed."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "What the hell does Enochian mean?" Cael asks with bafflement. "I don't do this magic nonsense - remember?" she reminds the man with skeptically raised eyebrows that remain instinctual for her. She glances back at the corpse, then at both Sara and Jon as she adds, "Cleansing? Well... That's what they're doing, aren't they? Going after criminals. Cleansing of sins." She doesn't know much about religion, but she can connect those dots. "It seems our victim may have been a shoplifter - but she doesn't seem to have a known criminal record. Though - who knows. Maybe if we can still lift prints off her, we might solve come cold cases."
    She lets out a sigh before she adds, "So what all are you two seeing that I don't? What's //your// theory on how our attacker gets his victims onto the cross? Could this be a group? Or you think we're talking about a single assailant?"

Asariel has posed:
Lasariel gets down to the ground level, dropping her illusions and there's a look down the street where she could see sanctuary...then back to the alley where all of this grizzly business has been going on. She makes a decision as she heads for the line of cops that are keeping people back. "Officer." she waves a hand at him. "I..." she stutters a bit, "could I speak to one of the detectives on this case? I have some information that might be helpful to the case, but it is not for a lot of folks to hear." she frowns to that. Keeping things secret sucked.

She didn't know anyone here and her contacts were at other departments. "I can read the language that's on the wall in there. If you could tell them that I'm sure they'll know what I'm talking about." she smiles to the officer a bit brighter, using some of that Angelic charm of hers to get him to do what she asked.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Enochian is the language of the angels," Jon says, and then as much to Balm as to the others: "Which... I suspect might be... I'm not certain any /human/ could have done this. Not on their own." His hands flex at his sides for a moment.

    Then anger flares up. Shoplifting? /Shoplifting/? He reaches around to twist the bracer on his left wrist and it's a good thing the forensics team has cleared the alley because the Archivist looks like a proper superhero now. While the costume appears--blue and gold beads over white linen, a yellow-gold pleated skirt, a cape that looks almost like feathers attached to a necklace of beads and citrine, an ibis mask, the feather of Ma'at on a crown--he explains in a clipped tone to Pezzini and Becker:

    "The alley is /full/ of magic. There is Enochian script everywhere, which I can recognize but cannot read. There are other things, words and mandalas, which I do not recognize, but I know another who does, if they're willing to consult." He's talking about Balm, up on the rooftop. "The body is full of magic. The cross is full of magic. The nails, the wounds, the ghost... she's bound to the base of the cross, and the chain keeps her from speaking. The other ghost, Solomon, tried to touch her, but seems to have been electrocuted for the trouble." That last for Cael; Sara surely could see what had happened. "The very /air/ is full of magic, Agent Becker. Old Testament-style judgement... for /shoplifting/." Fury drips from his tone. It's out of balance. It's not what that magic is /for/.

    Then the Archivist steps forward and fixes the kneeling ghost with a yellow-gold glare that can be seen even through the mask. "/Give me your statement,/" he insists, voice firm and commanding. "/How did you die?/"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Way to keep the powers on the DL Archivist." Balm states, and she breathes out. She uses Jon's theatrics and changing into the costume, and she uses her grapple line, and decends from the rooftop, down and to the side as she's called for a consult. She's got her domino back on with its white eyeshields, and even with the staff with its snake winding up over her chest in slightly-shinier-than-matte, she gives a nod to the group.

    She's not nearly as theatric. She simply ignotes a light in her palm, and she brings her hand down, breathing out as she focuses, and she tries to learn those mandalas. She had seen the patterns. Let's see if there's anything in the circles, anything familiar as she feels it out -- how to bind, or how to unbind. How to unbind the bound spirit at the foot of the cross.

    She feels a bit in her stomach. This LIttle Light compared to all the experience of the Archivist.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
It takes a good minute for Virgil Solomon to shake off whatever those chains did to him. "Oh, you can see me? Well ain't that something." Clearly this isn't something that he is accustomed to. "Whatever did this, seems to want her to suffer for eternity, unable to move on. Touching those chains is like sticking a fork in an electric socket and she's completely wrapped up in them."

Virgil pauses glancing skyward for a moment, "I'm not sure what you do or don't believe in, but it looks like someone upstairs has gone and flipped their shit." He pulls out a ghostly cigarette and lights it up, perhaps to take the sting off. "This is above my paygrade, but I do know someone who will probably take an interest if she hasn't already." He turns and watches when Jon begins to do his thing, watching curiously. "Well, this is new."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    The cop at the line blinks at Lasariel with confusion for a moment, the woman's magic settling over him with air like precision. "Oh... uh... if you have information for the detectives..." he steps aside and lifts the tape. "Please... go ahead... tell them..." Nevermind that the woman has no badge, no creditials, no sign of being an authority. She had something that could help the case... and she was so *convincing* after all.

    Theories had abound around this case from the previous reports from lead Detective Russo. But nothing had ever panned out. Part of what forced the man to leave. Too many unanswerables. How was there no struggle to get the victims on the cross prior to their death? There were clearly no physical means of coercion that got them up there. No drugs or chemicals in the victims' systems. Hypnosis or some weird metahuman or mutant that caused people to do as was asked--even into harming themselves was also positted but... there wasn't enough evidence.

    The words of the Archivist fall on the victim's spirit and something strange happens. A pair of ethereal dark-skinned feminine hands reach up and grasp the constricting chain around her throat. Strain is shown as the grasping hands pull and pull and eventurally the chain is loosened. Not gone, simply loose for the time. The hands vanish, their work done as the woman speaks.

    "I... I deserved it..." she says sobbingly to the Archivist. "I was a thief. Even this..." she tug at her ghostly rainment; an echo of what she wore in death. "I ripped it straight from the rack. It's... it's what I do. I steal. Two hundred dollars for a dress is a joke." She sobs. "But... he made me realize. He told me that I had to atone. That stealing was a crime and crimnals... like me... had to be punished." She breaths out a sigh. He was so... beautiful. So majestic. I just... all I had to do was what he asked of me and I would be free of the burden. But..." her voice grows darker. Hatred drips from her words. "He lied. It hurt. The nails in my legs and arms." Jon can feel the hammer blows of terrible force coming down as his ankles and wrists are pierced by rail spikes. "His blade of molten fire piercing my skull, tearing out my eyes." And Jon feels the searing heat of the sun burning in his eye sockets. "The feel of my hands being dipped in boiling water as he severed them. It all hurt so. So much." Jon's wrists burn with agony as the phantom pain of the woman folds in on him. "And then his fire... so majestic. So gorgeous. I couldn't look away and it just..." There's a tearing feeling in Jon's chest that is not his own. His blood boiling and pumping through him at an alarming rate. His heart feels like its bursting right out of his chest and everything is light and heat and joy and pain and then. There is nothing.

    As the woman speaks, Phoebe's magic is unleashing into the alley and the area bursts with light. Strange symbols in a language unknown to the mortal realm are painted along the walls, the ground, and up the sides of the buildings around the scene. The primordial Light of Balm even manages to illumine the figure of the ghostly woman in chains bound to her body's cross as she spits out the end of her tale to the Archivist. Even the form of the smoking ghost cop, Virgil Solomon, is outlined by the "supposedly" little Light put out by the masked young woman.

    As Balm's Light gives outline and form to the chains binindg the woman, Witchblade whispers in Sara's mind. /I can free her! Strike the chains! Give this poor creature her final rest! Set her free!/ The emphatic nature of the artifact's consciousness might seem offputting but the indignation that this violence was done in the name of 'balance' seemed to aggrivate it to the point of demanding that such an action be taken in her name.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Sara moves closer as Jon steps forward and compels the spirit to speak. She doesn't know all of his abilities, all the little secrets that explain who he is and what he can do. What she does know is that he has magic and talent to him that is useful, and his actions proved that.

She had just been about to offer Jon some sort of comfort, perhaps reach out to lay a hand on his shoulder to remind him he wasn't alone, when her world disappeared for a split second of time. That same distance from reality that always happens when Witchblade speaks to her. There is exactly five second of time in which the will of the woman and the will of Witchblade 'discuss' the option. Those seconds, one beat of the heart, one breath into the lungs and then the silver bracelet on her right hand expands into the gauntlet and the tendrils of metal crawl up her arm to her shoulder to armor her entire right arm. One more breath, one blink of the eye and a bastard sword appears in her right hand.

It was moments like this that Sara despised, those time when Witchblade made demands and acted before she could truly reject it. Unable to fully stop him from doing what he wanted to do, he did what he desired and the result was the jacket and shirt being ruined. At least it's not everything... she really liked the boots she was wearing.

Without the slighest pause from moment A to moment B, just one more heart beat, she steps forward to strike the chains holding the spirit in place with the bastard sword. That one step and the remainder of Sara's clothing is shredded as the entirety of the armor wraps into place, covering the woman from head to toe, not a single area of flesh showing. To those who know Witchblade and how he works, this level of armoring means he feels the threat is the highest possible.

As Witchblade strikes the chains there is a blinding flash of golden electricity and the chains burst where the blade struck freeing the spirit. Sara is fine, no harm done at all, no reaction to the retaliation of the chains at all.

So much for a secret identity, perhaps she can bribe the new arrivals not to say anything? Maybe one of them would know how to replace her favorite boots?

Cael Becker has posed:
    A lot is happening at once - Phoebe is given a skeptical look, as is Jon's new attire, even though she'd caught a glimpse of it once before. Without comment, Cael looks around, taking in the strange writing, the mandalas, as well as the appearance of the two unfamiliar spirits - and the familiar form of her sister looking as horrified, disgusted, and angry as she herself feels as the chained spirit begins to speak. "Fuck me," she murmurs quietly as the story is spoken, and she shakes her head at this.
    "We're up against - what? A fucking angel? A legit, and clearly insane, angelic fucking being?" She's not sure what to make of that - but she does know where to find the small key to lock on Sara's motorcycle amongst the shredded clothes now contaminating the crime scene. "Change of clothes in the top box?" she asks.

Asariel has posed:
Lasariel gives a dip of her head to the officer, "Many thanks." she tells him as she ducks under the caution tape and heads towards where the group are gathered around the area. "Do you need someone to translate for you?" she asks as she stops not too far from the walls, she didn't want to go near the body. Her looks were a lot like her fathers and uncles so she was probably easily in the 'majestic' category. She clasps her hands nervously in front of her, awaiting what people would say or do. Maybe they'd kick her out?!

"The energy feels angelic...but there's something dirty...not sure if that's the right word, but that's what I feel." she tells those that she doesn't know.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The Archivist just stands there as the ghost's words ring out, held in place by the statement. On the one hand, it's been a while since he got a /proper/ statement--the Tower Ravens didn't /quite/ count--and it fills the tank /right/ up. So that'll be good, going forward.

    But... that was a /hell/ of a thing to experience, first-hand, as if it were happening to him. Every pain, every emotion, on top of having a /damn/ good idea of precisely what killed her--and, bonus, he gets to relive it in dreams for the rest of his life! Fun.

    Given all that, it's not really surprising what happens to him while the Witchblade's coming out, while Lasariel's walking up, though it might be to those who have no clue what he actually just did: he faints. Collapses right there in the alley, the superhero outfit fading into his regular clothing.

    He can introduce Balm once he comes 'round, which won't take too long. And reply to Cael and Lasariel and Virgil. But that was a /lot/ to take in.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
Virgil blows out a long stream of smoke raising his eyebrows when the woman begins to speak, calling herself a criminal and describing the punishments that were visited upon her. And then Jon faints.

"Well shit." Is the ghost's oh so eloquent response and he lets out a sigh, only to then watch wide eyed as the Witchblade goes full breaker of chains. Taking a moment to 'breath' he just flicks away the spectral cigarette. There are some things even spectral nicotine can't help you cope with. "There is someone I need to go talk to." And with that he turns and starts to walk away.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    The spiritual lightning arcs and flashes along the walls, further illuminating and even etching the Enocchian words into the bricks themself as the chains are shredded free from the ghost. The ghostly woman's bleeding seems to cease as soon as the chains are removed and she breathes ot a sign of release as he form starts to fade and rise. There are no words from her as she disappates into the beyond.

    The show of armor earns the detective startled glances from her colleagues.

    Without warning, words start to form in golden-white scrip high up on the wall, well in sight of the crowds gathered at the barricades. More Ennochian, the light bursting forth mixing with and overpowering Phoebe's own. The audience of civilians gasp and start to disperse out of fear of being caught in a potential return of whatever thing killed the poor woman.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Several muttered phrases in Italian are offered as Sara keeps her back to the other officers and the crowds. She knew eventually this was going to happen, that at some point it would all come out, she had just always hoped it would be later, much later than now.

"Top of the right saddle bag," she mutters to Cael, and then the light show begins.

Instinct kicks in and the wings sprout from the back of the armor as she drops to knees and uses them to shield Jon. She may not know why the man went down, the possible reasons for it is a list longer than her arm, but if this light show was some sort of warning of impending danger, she'd make sure he didn't get hurt.

She casts her masked eyes toward Lasariel. "If you can translate, please do so," is offered, even as she keeps the sword in hand and body ready for what may or may not make itself known now. The rest of it she would have to deal with later as she barks out to the other officers, "Get clear of the area! Now!"

Cael Becker has posed:
    Jon's collapse drives the thought of fetching clothes from Cael's thoughts. She pockets Sara's keys for the moment, and moves towards Jon to take hold of him under his armpits, lifting up his torso as she proceeds to start dragging him back, and away from any potential threat.
    They're compromising the hell out of this crime scene.
    This thought is immediately followed by 'it's fucking angels, Cael. You think the physical evidence is going to solve this?'
    "I've got Sims," she tells Sara as she struggles under the man's weight. "Com'on, Sims. You alright? Wake up, Jon. I know you're in there somewhere, Jonny-boy."
    The last one is meant to gall him into consciousness. Hell, she would punch in the face anyone who called her something like that, unconscious or not.

Asariel has posed:
Lasariel gives a look up to the script that is being spelled out and that unease between her shoulders, "You are close but still so far. Perhaps one of you is fit to be judged by my hand." she gives over to the group of agents and officers.

That was going to be it, but the woman closes her eyes and there is a wince that follows as she presses her hand against a wall, "Not now..." she mutters as she tries to scoot along the wall and get herself pointed in the direction of the Laughing Magician. She probably wasn't going to make it home, so maybe she could get a drink before falling over and dying.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon blinks awake on 'Jonny-boy' and mutters, "Shut it, Stoker," before he notices that it's... Becker dragging him. Oh. He pulls himself upright, away from the woman, clears his throat.

    "Sorry," he says. "That's new. It's fine. I'm fine." A pause. "Well. I'm going to have a hell of a headache, and that's /not/ the sort of thing you want to re-live every night, but I'll be okay."

    He glances in the direction Lasariel is going, noting her so that he can track her down later, and nods to Virgil as he leaves. Gesture to Phoebe. "This is Balm. She does this kind of thing, sometimes. The Light. It's perfectly safe." He smiles, briefly.

    Then he looks to Pezzini, expression serious. He's unfazed by the armor. Superheroes do that kind of thing, right? "It's an angel," he says firmly. "I cannot tell how powerful, nor which precisely, but I should be able to recognize it if I run into it again." A pause, and then, "I am going to need to get into the other crime scenes." It's not a question, and maybe it should be, but there's a kind of authority in his tone that he's probably not even aware is there.

    He pulls out his phone and starts tapping at it. "I'm going to alert the rest of the Justice League Dark. I don't think this is really... more 'official' territory." By which he means SHIELD. "Chas was already aware of the murders, but they need to know there's a vigilante angel running about Hell's Kitchen. Who knows who might be next."

Sara Pezzini has posed:
With no impending danger showing itself or making itself known, Sara straightens up and the blade in her hand fades away. At this point she is faced with two options.

One was to stick around, get her clothing from her bike, make it obvious that Sara Pezzini just went all Witchblade. Or two, take flight and deal with her motorcycle later and clothing later, but clothes were really nice to have.

"I'll get you into the other crime scenes tomorrow, but for now I need to make an exit," she offers to Jon, and Cael as she is feeling exposed in a way she wasn't used to. "Can we meet up some place to talk this out, maybe one of you can get my bike there?" Added as a mutter under her breath, "Fucking clothing..."

For a moment she looks to Phoebe and offers a nod of greeting as she says, "Thanks for your assistance, you're more than welcome to meet up with us." Then her eyes move over to Lasariel as she starts to depart, noting how she's moving and that she seems to be in some kind of distress.

Decision made, she moves to Lasariel and offers a, "Let me help you." before scooping her up and taking flight. Her thinking, whether the woman was ready for it or not, was to get her away from the scene that seemed to be the cause of her distress and to some place she felt safe, which she was pretty sure she'd be told, or have it screamed at her along with 'put me down'.

Cael Becker has posed:
    As Jon begins to respond, Cael slowly and carefully relinquishes her hold on him - making sure he's steady and secure before she finally releases his arm fully, and takes a step back. "Struck a cord, did I?" she asks. For just a moment, there's a flicker of mischievous amusement in her gaze, before she sobers up again, looking towards Lasariel as the woman intones the message. "You are close but still so far - perhaps one of you is fit to be judged by my hand?" she repeats. "What the fuck does that mean? Jesus fucking Christ..." She could use a drink.
    Nodding to Sara she adds, "I can get the bike to you - but we'll need to go back and retrieve //mine// eventually." She watches the woman fly off, nodding a bit distractedly to Phoebe, before returning her attention to Jon. "You're sure you're good, Sims? We could call in an ambulance to check you over?"

Asariel has posed:
Lasariel gives a nod to the woman that's offered to help. "I just need to get to the Laughing Magician." she tells her. "And thank you." she adds as she tries to keep her thoughts all together, but it wasn't going well. She wasn't sure if the woman knew what the Laughing Magician was, but she was hoping that they'd get there. And that a certain tall and handsome bartender wouldn't be too upset by the sudden drop ins.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon gives Cael a smile, though there's strain around his eyes. "There's nothing wrong with me that paramedics can fix, and I have one at home that knows my baseline better anyway. Let's go get that drink, and maybe... I don't know. Try to sort this out." He runs a hand through his hair, and waves a hand. "It's fine, Becker," he says. "Don't worry about me."

    /He's/ worried. It's the first time a statement has hit him that badly. But he can pretend otherwise.

    "Give me a minute, Becker? Just... just a moment. Please." He rolls his eyes as she indicates a /literal/ minute, but, well, turning her back is good enough.

    He faces the cross still standing in the alley, frowns at it. "I won't let you hurt them," he says, firmly. "Whoever or... /whatever/ you are. This is /wrong/. Listen to your own book's words: 'For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.'"

Chas Chandler has posed:
    The only response given to Jon is the crackle as some loose brickwork from the latest words topples from the side. But there is a *sense* of acknowledgement. A feeling that some unseen eyes have taken the Archivist's words and are realizing a challenge when it sees one. This enouncter is far from over. In fact, it seems like it has only just begun despite the count of bodies already lined up on the slabs of autoposy rooms in the Smilow Research Center. All that remains to be seen is how many more casualties will this encounter claim before it's over.