8938/Path of Glory: In Nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti

Path of Glory: In Nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti
Date of Scene:	18 December 2021
Location:	The Laughing Magician
Synopsis:	The exorcism of Chas Chandler goes off with a resounding success as Chas is exorcised from the Archangel Michael, leaving the Archangel free to continue his plans for Universal Reclaimation without the pesky hang ups of mortality holding him down.
Cast of Characters:	Chas Chandler, Jonathan Sims, Cael Becker, Lydia Dietrich, Rien D'Arqueness, Zatanna Zatara, Phoebe Beacon, Meggan Puceanu, Asariel, Hope Svelgate, Michael Demiurgos
Tinyplot:	Path of Glory

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Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas has somehow been moved to the stage. Mostly for the sake of ease of all the mystical energies accumulated in one place and also for the fact that the stage allowed the most room for the circle inscribed in the wood floor.

    The birthday boy looks well enough, if a bit more scraggly than usual (been a while since he's seen his beard trimmer.) But his clothes are clean and his body looks washed. The negative energy accumulated in the criss-cross of chains over his form from shoulder to ankle rests in silent confinment. They move with him, but make not a sound. His newest addition: the set of massive wings (10 foot wingspan, 4.5 feet in height) on his back--the right pristine white and gold and magnificent, the left a tattered rotten and bloody ruin--have forced the chains to bunch at his neck and waist, but they hold firm nonetheless.

    He looks to be in a state of meditation, his eyes are half-lidded and focused somewhere not wholly in the Laughing Magician. His breathing, a conscious act for him these days, is slow, measured, and steady. One hopes that the meditation is in prep to assit those who are going to be putting out mystical energies to remove the (now unwelcomed) guest that has taken up residence in his head.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon's been making sure people gathered at the right time, that everyone has the supplies they need, both mystical and in terms of having been fed and watered and such. He's no expert at exorcisms himself, though he'll do whatever might be needed--read from a book, provide power, sit around glaring at the archangel.

    He's worried, about the consequences of this. If they don't do it /precisely/ right, Michael might just turn around and try to kill them all, and that would make the situation far, far worse.

    With Constantine having left after setting up the circle, Jon now hovers near the front of the stage, frowning while he waits for those who know the last bits of set-up to finish putting them in place. He's thinking over potential options, and waiting to see that everyone's gathered and ready before the appointed hour--which is, for something as big as Michael the archangel, presumably a particular /moment/.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael is in place and prepared as well - though her own preparations are not the same as the others in the room. The young agent has a slightly new look since the last time everyone saw her - having recently had her bobbed hair style cleaned up, and a vibrant rainbow of colors dyed to the lower layers of her blonde hair. It peeks out at time when she moves, or when she runs her fingers through it.
    That is far from her mind, however. Instead, she simply sits in a booth towards the back of the room, fixing Chas with her baleful gaze. In front of her is a shot glass with a small amount of amber liquid at its base - and a mug of bitter, steaming coffee.
    Lingering in the room is the odor of lemon-scented cleaning products, as if something had to be cleaned recently.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Lydia is not much more than an observer to these proceedings. She doesn't have any magic of her own anymore so she's not going to be able to help with the exorcism. However, she has a backup plan in case things go south. Earlier she had Jon etch a complicated circle on her back in magic marker. It would have been better if it was engraved in her flesh, but she'd just heal that within a matter of moments rending it useless. Still, this is better than nothing.

She made sure to feed before coming here tonight. She might need to use a lot of blood tonight and the last thing anybody wants to deal with after casting an archangel back to heaven was a hungry vampire.

So, she stands in the back, letting the people with magic have the room, praying to God that they won't have to activate the circle.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
Rien was gone for a while today, heading home to ritually purify herself in preparation for a most unusual exorcism. When she returns, she's actually in a white hooded robe with gold embroidery at the hem and sleeve cuffs. She's looking calm and centered at the moment, which given the situation must have taken a certain amount of effort.

    She looks around the room and nods to the people preparing to metaphysically wrestle with an Archangel. Moving toward the stage, she starts examining the circle Constantine drew there. He's good, but it never hurts to have someone check your work, especially in a life and death situation like this one.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The circle glows quiescent for the moment, waiting to be woken from its slumber by the power of the magicians gathered in the room. Zatanna stays near Meggan, less for the cake and more for her channeling power. After a deep breath, her sapphire eyes move from face to face, stopping on Phoebe, then Jon and Rien, then Lydia and Lady Death herself, as they marshal themselves to separate Chas from the entity that inhabits him, named now.

A name that would set Rome and most of the Christian world on its head were it known. Last of all she focuses on Chas, seemingly removed from them, perhaps readying himself to resist what is to come.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe has been in and out, in her own books, in other books, in Zatanna's books, researching compiling, learning, When she comes back down from her apartment she has her green-handled switchbade, a braizer, and pebbles of Frankincense in a cloth bag. She was wearing a tank top this evening, showing the burned, whorled flesh from a dark magic attack on her left shoulder. She's sitting on a barstool, and looks to the winged form of her adoptive father, dark eyes narrowed as she taps her fingers against the denim of her jeans.

    This has to work. She won't accept another outcome yet.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Impressive cosmic powers seated in the Laughing Magician call for preparations. John Constantine may be absent in person, but with them in spirit(s), being responsible for getting Meggan, assorted gear, and Chas' birthday cakes to the threshold. While John managed the circle, she safeguards the occult assortment of objects in a battered bag, cakes, and a few tarts hidden in a box for the vegan or dietarily restricted.

One's composed of matcha chiffon crepes in about a thousand layers with flavoured pastry cream and matcha panna cotta on top, a trio of metallic balls and shimmering mint holiday trees around a cab there. The other's more classic, a gently spiced layer cake wrapped in meringue buttercream, caramel, and crunchy speculoos cookies with a tasty crown dotted in Guittard chocolate and espresso balls. Stress baking with love is what she does.

Starry motes casually wander around her midnight-black hair. To mystic senses, she vibrates louder than any leyline in the vicinity, practically crackling.

Asariel has posed:
Lasariel had to wrestle with something, but it wasn't Chas. It was herself. The white haired woman had appeared through the doors before the appointed time for everyone to gather and get this going. Dressed in jeans, boots and a t-shirt, she stands outside the circle with the others and is quiet given the circumstances. This isn't a social hour for her, this is a time to get things done and get them done right.

For the observant, there are speckles of dried blood on the shirt that she wears, down her arm and over her hands. Apparently prepping for evicting angels was somewhat bloody work. "Just let me know when we're ready to go, I have an offering that will help." she tells the others.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
In the middle of the bar space there is a small flash like a sparkler being lit, small sparks of light seeming to erupt from thin air, from the fabric of space itself as the point of a blade glowing with orange-red Chaos energy. The blade slices downward, small tear becoming a gaping rent, and from this glowing sparking portal steps none other than Death, Lady Death.

Who invited the Hell Lord? Does anyone really ever invite the Hell Lord? But here she is in all of her pallid glory, questionable sartorial choices of strategic leather and chrome, and glowing blade in hand. As she steps away from the portal, the gaping rent quickly reseals itself as if it never was.

Heeled boots clack across the floor as she strides across the space towards the stage with a slow and deliberate gait, before pausing to inspect the captured Chas-Michael for the first time, at least in person. She takes a moment to inspect the mystic circle being set up, before her glare returns to Chas-Michael. "Nice wing." She sneers at the captured angel.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas' eyelids flutter open after a moment and he looks to the gathered as if seeing them for the first time. "Oh... I'm... in the bar proper... that's.. new..." he mutters under his breath. Apparently, he'd been meditating for some time. He looks to the (seemingly) scantily clad Hell Lord and gulps back a lump of absolute terror. "...Thanks...Jon's work..." he says to her in reply before tearing his attention away from her.

    "Umm... thank you all for coming here to help with this..." he says to the others gathered. "Being free of my mistake will be the best birthday present I've ever gotten..." Then under his breath, he adds. "If I survive it." He scans the room. "Ummm... I guess John was called away by a wave, huh?" he asks the opalescent haired Tuatha. "Which one of you is kicking this party off then?" he asks, feeling a bit sheepish and put on the spot such as he is on the stage.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon turns as Lady Death enters and nods as if he expected nothing less. Of course she's here for this. Why wouldn't she be? "Thank you for coming," he says. "Your energy will be helpful--and your sword will be appreciated if it comes to a fight." Gods, he prays it doesn't come to a fight.

    At Chas' words he sighs and says, "S'pose that'll be me, then." He's been coordinating this whole thing, after all. He turns to look around the room, at the people gathered. The Justice League Dark, some more powerful in the ways of magic than others but gathered for common purpose.

    He clears his throat, and says, "I... before we started, I wanted to say that... I have faith in us. In our ability to... handle this. Whatever happens. We're the right people, in the right place, at the right time. We can do this." He looks back to the stage. "But... Chas is right. Let's get started."

    He twists the bracer on his left wrist and his form shimmers slightly, the Archivist outfit with its beads and pleats and cape, ibis mask covering his eyes and feather of Ma'at on his brow. He pulls out his staff and shakes it so it's fully extended. He's prepared to channel energy into the circle, but he'll be following the experts in this one, Rien and Lasariel in particular.

    He looks around at each in turn, then nods. "Shall we?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    Chas speaks - and Cael's jaw clenches her gaze flicking to that little glass with just a hint of amber liquid setting in front of her. Instead, though, she picks up the coffee, taking a sip as she watches the assortment of odd individuals arrayed in front of her. Her gaze remains fixed on the drama playing in front of her, her expression wary.
    God she hopes it doesn't come to a fight. Maybe Jon'll be wrong about the end of the whole fucking universe.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Lydia watches the from her spot behind everybody, with her arms folded. She doesn't like this. She doesn't like that the archangel Michael has gone off the deep end and decided that humanity was a mistake. He was supposed to be the protector, the defender of Israel. How could have this have happened? What kind of god would have /let/ this happen?

Certainly not the one that she believed in. This whole situation raises many questions that her faith just can't answer. Maybe God has faith in them that they can handle this threat? Maybe they just don't care. Either way, the result is the same.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
    Since she was inspecting the circle to begin with, Rien takes up a position just outside of it, then waits for the others to also take their places. She seems almost wrapped in the calm that her purification ritual had imbued her with, but at the same time she's almost buzzing with gathered arcane energies. She's ready for a fight if one comes, but hopefully that won't be the finale of tonight's efforts.

    If she survives this, Clan D'Arqueness is going to be finding out as much as they can about angels in preparation in case this happens again. Apparently both sides of the coin, angels and demons are both now problems to be dealt with. But that is for after tonight's event.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zee takes an audible breath through her nose and adjusts the sleeves of her jacket. She repeats her glance around the room, acknowledging Lady Death with a nod.

The room crackles with potential power, she imagines how New York, how Hell's Kitchen might look from on high, the Laughing Magician spilling occult light out of its confines like a bonfire on a dark hill. To her right, in her occult vision, Meggan sparkles with magic begging to be released. The circle calls to begin.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    When it's Chas who does the talking, Phoebe relaxes a little bit. He's still there. That is a Good Sign. She gives a small smile, and wordlessly slides off her stool, drawing down a little to look him in the eyes.

    "We got this." she states with the Utmost Conviction. After all, she had faith in the facsimile John, the real one's gotta do better work, right?

    She breathes out a breath, trying not to betray her anxiousness over the work that's about to begin, and she rubs at her damaged left shoulder. She's ready.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Producing an ombre birthday candle engraved by peculiar runes and symbols, Meggan presses the pointed base into buttercream. A match sparks to light the wick and produce a warm golden flame. Faintly humming the cadence of "Happy Birthday" at a low volume so as not to interrupt the others brings a sickle smile to her lips. Only at the end will she speak, "Happy birthday, dear Chas-- and Lady Death..." before going back into the final refrain. Because when was the last time someone properly celebrated Hope's birthday?

"And Michael too."

Really!

"Bother when it sneaks up on you, isn't it?" she adds to Chas, in a roundabout question. His feathers wreathed in the nullifying chains bring the Tuath de Danaan into silent, deeper study. Leaning a little past Zatanna to get a better view, she teeters in place, staring at the unseen as her vertically slashed pupils simply vanish and her sclera leak starlight under frost-lapped lashes.

Asariel has posed:
Lasariel had left Chas' birthday present in the back room yesterday during her visit, sadly there was more stuff to do today and she'd not brought the other things. When people start moving to the circle she takes up a place as well. Given things were about to start up she goes ahead and does her offering to the powers that be...or the powers that would be powering the circle up.

She raises her hands, cupping the feathers inside them, three pristine...if bloodied angel feathers. With a soft whisper of Enochian they ignite. Her vivid gaze stares into the flames, watching the feathers char until they burn down to ash.

Once that is done and the flames are gone she lifts her eyes to the man onstage, her lips part to blow the ashes into the air.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
"Pathetic." Is apparently the first word that comes to Lady Death's mind as she looks upon the form of Chas in his Chains of Oblivion. "You wanted power? Then seize it and make it your own. You think the Angel being gone frees you of your mistake?" The Hell Lord is not impressed, not at all.

She shoots a look in Jon's direction when he thanks her for coming. "We will see if you still feel that way when the dust settles."

The hand not holding the sword begins to glow brightly with the fiery blue energy of the Energy Arcane, shot through with sparkling points of white Holy light. "I think it is time to wake the baby." She grins as her nigh malevolent gaze returns to Chas once more.

Extending her arm forward that mystical grip infused with holy power seems to grasp Chas' throat, indentations like fingers are pressing in visible in the flesh, as suddenly it is given a rough shake. "Mikey, it's time to wake up and get the fuck out!"

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas watches as the others take up positions around him with a smile. To those with their vision on the mystical world Chas himself is a beacon of energy, the fires of creation seem to be burning right behind his eyes. He nods and seems to relax as the light of the cirle glows brighter with the influx of ambient powers around it.

Lasariel's ashes fall on the circle and the glowing white-blue turns a vivid shade of silver tinged red as the power of her faethers fuel more into it. The man inside smiles solemnly at her for her input and then is jerked up a bit suddenly as the unseen power of Lady Death takes him by the throat.

    The man within the circle screams in agony and those attuned to the mystical can see a whisping form of a young disheveled man in punk rock attire slip from the body of Chas. He looks down at the suddenly lifeless body and flips the man two middle fingers before disappearing into the aether.

    There is a burst of golden light the body form and the eyes are no longer the eyes of Chas Chandler. Instead the golden orbs of Michael stare at the Hell Lord. "Ah... the illustrious Lady Death. We meet once more. I must say, I am perpetually intrigued by your involvement in this matter." The smile he gives her could almost be called a leer if it was from someo other source. "But not at all against it" His eyes sweep across the others. "Such a gathering for safety of humanity. I am quite touched by your courage... futile as it is." As he speaks cracks begin to form on Chas' body and light in the form of sigils and swirls begin to flare underneath over his form.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The Archivist stands at his place outside the circle with his ankh-topped staff placed in front of him, both hands gripping it. As Meggan lights a candle and Lasariel blows ash into the circle he closes his eyes and begins to pray, his words in a language few in the world yet understand. A dialect of Egyptian old before the Pharoahs rose, the tongue of the ancient Archivists, that Michael calls the Watchers.

    "/Great Mother, Terrifying One, you who birthed the world and oversee is growth. I believe You know this thing we face, and its intentions for Your children. I beseech You to intervene with the Eater of Hearts, to grant me the power to channel the Void even in the absence of this creature's heart to weigh against Ma'at's feather. We seek not to destroy him, but to return him from whence he came./"

    He opens his eyes in time to see the disappearing spirit. He heard Michael and Lady Death's banter... but he glares at Michael in lieu of an answer. He's said what there is to say, and he's not the one directing this circle. He's just providing power.

    His form jerks for a moment and then an aura of ichor comes up from the floor beneath him, surrounding his body with the same kind of nothingness that creates the chains binding Chas and the angel. Those up on and near the stage might hear the grunt of pain and exertion, but he focuses and holds out his staff, moving the aura down its length to join Lasariel and Lady Death's power flowing into the circle.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael spares a brief glance for Meggan as the woman lights the candle on one of the cakes, a frown pulling briefly on her lips before she pulls her gaze away. After all, it's only moments later that the real 'excitement' starts. The sight of those golden eyes return, and Cael tightens her grip around the mug of her cup, her jaw clenching. She slowly lowers it to the table, picking up the shot glass to take the smallest sip possible of the amber liquid. She even licks her lips to get the last drop of it, before she'll pick up the coffee cup once more, continuing to watch the proceedings with tensed posture.
    There's nothing she can do and nothing she can offer to make this safer, or more successful, much as she wishes otherwise. Fuck she hates feeling so useless.
    She's unable to keep the worry from her features as the strange black ichor begins pouring from Jon - this is all part of the plan, right? It must be. But it's disturbing to watch, regardless.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
    As the angel speaks to the mystical group gathered around the circle, Rien's eyes narrow. However, anger can wait until the problem at hand is dealt with. As the others begin, she also starts chanting, letting null energy flow through her and empower the circle. As the sigils appear in light on Chas' body, the ones in the circle begin drawing in light, as if each sigil was a micro-singularity.

    As the ritual continues, she extends one of her claws from her right hand, slicing it across her left hand and allowing several drops of her blood to fall onto the circle before the wound closes itself back up. The claw retracts, but she continues to chant the words of the exorcism, pouring as much power as she can channel into the spell.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna has a wildly inappropriate moment when she wants to sing happy birthday at the top of her lungs, singing the Angel out of this plane of existence. Words do contain magic. Blinking, she clears her throat and watches the form flow from the winged figure in the circle.

In that moment of near laughter, she catches sight of a familiar form in a white chiton on the other side of the circle. The form glows for a moment and a dark haired being nods; it centers and brings her back to why she is here.

Rien's blood drips into the circle. Other gods have been invoked, under her breath, "Hail Persephone, full of strength and beauty. ... Blessed are you and blessed is the cycle of your life. Holy Persephone, queen of life and death, pray for your children now, and in the hour of our need. Blessed be."

Zatanna's blue eyes glow as she stretches her hands out toward the circle. Pulling a tangible flow of magic in the form of light and directing it at the circle.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    All part of the plan.

    Phoebe's dumped the pearls of resin into the braiser, and lit it with a word. Her eyes go briefly around the room, all people who want to see Chas returned -- except maybe LD, who really, really seems to want to just fight Michael.

    She doesn't add her blood to the circle, but she does crouch down, her eyes set on Chas as Michael takes over the body. She breathes out, and brings her fingertips to the edge of the circle, chanting, directing, containing, control; her own Light glowing bright as it trails from her fingertips in a coppery, rosey tone up her arms, meandering its way.

    Her intent was clear: She wanted Chas back.

Asariel has posed:
Lasariel doesn't have the extra information that others do about Chas having extra lives, so when he goes limp there's a moment where she feels like she's suffocating, but she pushes that energy and everything else that comes with it into aiding Rien and others with the circle, because the quicker that Michael vacated the quicker they could try to make heads or tails of this mess...and she wasn't going to have a breakdown in the middle of the LM.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
When she golden light explodes from around Chas as Michael awakens there is a sizzle pop sound, like Lady Death had just stuck her hand into a raging bonfire, as the mystical force is withdrawn. And true enough as she slowly shakes the hand in front of her it looks roasted, the 'armor' of her glove actually damaged. If Michael was expecting her to scream out though, she doesn't allow him the satisfaction. Instead, clenching her teeth against the pain, she uses the burned hand to give Michael the middle finger. "Safety of humanity? I just want to see you burn." She replies with cold venom.

Having said that, Lady Death points her Chaos-Forged blade Apocalypse at the binding and banishing circle and begins summoning the vast power of the shard of the Odin Force within her mixed with Lucifer's own power and dumping a fiery blue and red deluge of mystical might, Energy Arcane and Hellfire, into the magic circle. Not for humanity, just to tell Michael he can fuck right off.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    More energies swirl into the circle and Michael's expression is passive as the light around the base rises in a column concentrated power. A shudder rolls through the form and more of those cracks appear over Chas' body, covering him entirely in pulsing canyons of light. "An adequate circle of power" the Archangel replies casually.

    As Lady Death pours a torrent of her own power into the circle to mix with the growing forces of Power Cosmic, Negative Energy, and Angelfire from the others, he smiles at her. "Faithful to the effect you want to achieve. Though... I regret to inform you that your effects are not absolutes."

    The column reaches the ceiling of the Laughing Magician and goes through it and those with mystical senses can feel something isn't quite right with the circle. There is a sense that instead of banishing or exorcising the being within, this power is doing something else entirely.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    That terrible ichor drips off the Archivist, curls in whorls on the floor before it disappears, surges down his staff and into the circle. His body shakes with the strain of channeling that the negative energy continuously; this isn't how he's meant to use this power, the usual filters aren't in place. There is a price to be paid for all things, after all. But it's working, such as it is.

    He chuckles at Lady Death's reaction to Michael. But before he can comment, he feels that resonance of something... off. He grips his staff and frowns, though he keeps channeling.

    "What's going on?" This to, well, the people who might know. Did they put a sigil out of place? Mis-speak a syllable?

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael agrees whole-heartedly with Lady Death's sentiment - and for just a moment, a ghost of a smile flickers across her features. She takes another sip of her coffee - but the angel doesn't seem distressed, or pained. Indeed - he still seems... confident, and that worries her. She can sense none of the magic - she understands none of it. But she can read people well enough.
    ...and Jon seems worried.
    Setting down her coffee, she pushes herself to her feet and reaches under her jacket for her pistol - as if it would be able to help. But it's not even there. //Alis// still has it. "Shit," she mutters quietly.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
    Rien keeps chanting, though the ritual seems to have taken a different turn then expected. For the moment, there seems to be nothing to do but continue on and hope whatever Constantine created with this circle is going to be helpful. After all, whatever it is has had more energy poured into it than was easy to comprehend. She has to believe this will work, because the alternative is simply not acceptable.

    In fact, she pushes even more energy into the circle, looks at the column of light and uses a pause in the ritual chant to growl "I hope this is calling your father to slap you down."

    About the only thing keeping her standing at the moment is her healing factor combating the exhaustion of the power she's channeling, but she's going to need a vacation when this is over.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Can you tell a being to fuck right off with love? Zatanna wonders and turns her head to look at Lady Death who holds no love for the being in the circle.

It's a heady mix: Persephone's power flows into the memory of the conversation had with Jon, Constantine and Meggan the night before. Love, the Lady of Springtime and Death understands. Ringed by the forces of the universe, even the old powers of the Underworld want this thing gone, the Angel seems to flourish, bathing in their attentions.

The power burns through the homo magi's veins as she directs it into the circle, willing it from this plane of existence and trying to show it why. A faint tremor begins in the homo magi's knees and wrists. If a conduit is weaker than the power it channels, it will burn out before long. She turns her head toward Phoebe who wants nothing more than one of her fathers to survive. Then, she remembers her own father and allows that longing to flow into the magic. When all else fails. Maybe love?

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    This should be a banishing. This should be a Banishing. This Should Be A Banishing.

    There is something wrong, and Phoebe can feel it.

    She curls her fingers, and she begins to flood the circle with her own power, not just channeling, not just directing, but entwining, weaving, and she breaks the chanting:

    "Can you feel it? Can you SENSE it? This isn't One-Way!" she calls out in warning, and she switches the chant. The white circle on her wrist glows as she releases it, extending her aura around her, Warmth and Healing and Light and Protection, and she begins to chant. Her eyes take on the same coppery glow as her hands as she tries to add an additional layer to the circle on the fly.

    Contain all the power in that pillar, everything that might come down as Phoebe switches to protection mode!

    Anyone able to sense magic now senses the full extent of Phoebe's primordial light.

Asariel has posed:
"I don't mean to alarm anyone but that pathway he's opening is going heavenward and I feel like we're about to have the heavenly hosts dropped on our heads...quite literally!" Lasariel calls out as the calm that she had was starting to come undone. Her hands clench into fist as she tries to take a ragged breath, trying to think of what she could do in the moment to offset whatever Michael was doing with their circle.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
Lady Death lets her burned charred hand drop back to her side now, still glaring at Michael. This isn't how its supposed to go, there should be more screaming, why isn't he screaming? She /really/ wants to hear him scream. Something is definitely off.

With only one good hand her choices are more limited. Rather than feed the circle further though, the pale warrior instead levels Apocalypse at the form of Michael-Chas "Enough games, just fucking bleed already." And summoning primordial Chaos energy from the ends of Infinity, the raw formless power that existed before Creation, to launch a searing blast straight at Michael.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    The cracks on Chas increase and the being bound in chains rises from the ground. He looks to Phoebe as he hovers and says, "Indeed it is not. You deign to dismiss the Guardian of Israel; The Revelator; The Slayer of the Dragon. Yet you do not understand that opening the path to my home is not a voyage of strife or pain. It is an invitation. One that I am happy to accept!"

    Perhaps it was fate, perhaps it was coincidence. Perhaps providence intervened for this to happen. As the blast from Apocalypse stikes the form of Chas, his body explodes in a cascade of red and gold light and a ghostly figure of a middle-aged woman with oily black hair wisps off as another soul from Chas is freed.

    There is a tearing sound as reality itself screams in protest and the very foundation of the building shake as a red and gold explosion fills the containment field that Phoebe erected, obscuring everything within.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The Archivist has felt something like this before, on the top of the Wayne Enterprises building in Gotham, when a witch unwittingly opened a portal to the realms of the dead and summoned forth Skelos.

    This is several orders of magnitude worse.

    Lasariel's words make him take a step back and yank the staff away so it's no longer pouring power into the circle. It's too late, but he's not fueling Michael's portal any more than he already has. He focuses his will and starts to extend the negative energy, infusing it with his own shielding magic, creating a shield of energy drawn from Nullspace between the circle and the rest of the room. Any members of the Host that decide to come down into the Laughing Magician are going to have to go through a wall of Void.

    "Brace for incoming," he says, gritting his teeth against the strain of the energy he's channeling. He doesn't trust that Lady Death's blast has ended this. Not in the slightest.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Alis, my gun," Cael says in a sharp tone. When that does produce immediate results, she shoots out a single, commanding, "Alis!" She holds her hand out expectantly, while keeping her eyes fixed on the stage, and everything that is happening there - her heart thudding in her chest, and trying to leap up into her throat. This cannot be happening, this cannot be happening. Jon said his friends could handle this shit. What can she do against //angels//? Against the power that had kidnapped her from her own bed with such ease?
    Beside her, a diminuative teen of asian descent - still seemingly dressed for a day on the beach - appears and slaps a pistol into Cael's hand. Cael checks the clip, before raising the weapon to train it on where Chas should be.
    "Jon - what happens if I fire a gun through those circles?" she asks simply.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
    Rien also stops powering the circle, glaring at the figure still contained within. "Tell me, did you actually talk to your Father before starting a crusade to destroy his creation? Because I'm betting you didn't and He might be interested to hear that you've decreed his creation a failure. Rather presumptuous of you to judge His work."

    Folding her arms across her chest, she continues "And while you're destroying the universe because of humanity's failings, did you stop even one second to consider the myriad other races that also live in this universe? Or are they all condemned because you have some kind of hardon for destruction?"

    Smirking slightly, she fires off one last comment, "What's the matter, human women didn't want to make Nephilim with you? That flaming sword the only one you've got that works?" Ok, there might be just a touch of Logan channeling through at the moment.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna feels a cool hand on her arm. Is she the only one who can see the cloaked woman next to her? The forms shimmers, red and gold and white, beckoning her to stop. The magician lowers her arm and steps back from feeding it.

She watches the figure in the circle warily then hears Cael's question. She shakes her head no though the question wasn't hers to answer.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe has her arms up, her head down, tears on her face. She can hold it -- she THINKS she can hold it -- but at what cost. At what cost? Is it worth it if Chas perishes entirely? SHould they stop?

    Could they stop?

    She hears Rien's mouth, she feels the others stop, She feels the flow interrupted. Tears tumble down her cheeks, her nose wrinkling in concentration as she stumbles over the words of the containment spell she was working, and she slowly, slowly, dalls down to her knees and whispers "Zee -- what if we can't do it?"

Asariel has posed:
Las is going to have a very very large therapy bill the next time she visits her doctor. Which is why she pays her so much in the first place. 'You're losing him.' her mind screams at her. But at this moment Lasariel was trying not to let anything else through...or make this situation worse than it already has become. She doesn't dare lose track of the focus for the moment, not wanting to trip up the others. Right now they just had to ride it out.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
"Oh you think you're so fucking clever Michael? Maybe we just invade Heaven then and slaughter you all in your own home." Lady Death throws back her head with an insane laugh as if everything happening is goddamn hilarious to her deeply scarred psyche.

"Bring. It. On." A mad grin begins to spread across her face, as the grip of her good hand tightens around Apocalypse's hilt. "You know, I always thought I'd finish conquering Hell first, but if it's war you want, then war you shall fucking have!" Apocalypse is raised high, defiantly, as the myriad of mystical energies at Lady Death's disposal begin engulfing the blade in swirling colors that might even be pretty if not for their terrifying potential.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    The fire and dust clear and what stands in the midst of the containment field is not Chas Chandler. The extremely tall man inside is possibly the most physically attractive specimen of masculinity ever to exist on earth. His long blonde hair cascades down his back in a waving waterfall that is as controlled as Lady Death's hair is chaotic. His physique hits the perfect point of chiseled tonality but he is not overly muscled.

    He wears a simple surcoat over full plate armor that gleams with golden light that is more pure than anything found on Earth. At his side is a sheathed longsword of simple make with a worn leather wrapped hilt. In one hand is a short hafted spear with a gleaming steel blade at its tip. The only part of him that is marred is the left wing, still burned and bloodied from the work of Lucifer's bale water poured on it by the Archivist three days prior.

    It should also be noted that he is no longer chained. He hovers and looks on thos standing in attendance. "His work?" he asks, turning to Rien with magnificently gleaming blue eyes. "Were you there at the birth of Creation, child? I was. It was the word of the Presence that commanded the Universe be made... but it was the hand of Michael Demiurgos who reached out and willed into existence all that is and all that will be."

    He slowly descends to the ground and it's clear he is close to or exceeding seven feet in height. His blue eyes turn to regard Phoebe and Lasariel. "Fear not! Your loved one is not dead. He is simply fulfilling his contract with me. The Gates of Heaven still need a guardian. He will stand sentinel and be given a place of honor when the cycle begins anew." His gaze tracks to Zatanna and looks at the figure next to her. "Hades' wife lending her power to one who channels a trickle of the Source. I give you a chance to return to your husband's realm and await the new world there. My task here should not take long."

    The blue eyes fall on Lady Death and he smiles to her. Hope Mariandottir Tott," he says and there is a ring to the words, he is Naming her. What you have become is so far from your potential." He extends his free hand to Lady Death. The circle seems no obstacle to him. Come with me. Join me in the destruction of humanity that you so wish for and stand with me as we use the power given to me by My Father as we reshape the world in an image more suitable to sustaining itself without error."

    His eyes move around the room and fall on the Archivist. "I give leave to those who were not instrumental in my binding. You may depart freely and gather your affairs for the coming storm. Those who were instrumental," his blue eyes shift from Rien, to Zatanna, to Meggan, to Jon, and finally to Lydia, I will exact my retribution upon you now. For your part in using the energies of Entropy to attempt to contain my form."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The Archivist stares up at the perfect male form, tall and beautiful, but nothing rapt nor appreciative fills his mind. Later, he might appreciate the perfection of the archangel's form--but now, he is focused. Terrified, but focused.

    Michael reaches through the containment circle as though it isn't even there. The conversation from last night spins through his mind. Banish the being that formed the universe? They cannot. Fight him? /Can/ they fight him? Can even Lady Death, with Apocalypse, defeat Michael? He doesn't know. But love... Meggan might have been right. Maybe not Zatanna's idea of a love bomb, but willing sacrifice just might turn the tide.

    And at any rate, he really doesn't want anyone else to be hurt. If they fight, here and now, /someone/ will surely get hurt. Someone he cares about.

    He drops the shield of Void energy, drops the staff, drops the Archivist transformation. He shakes off the bracer and lets it tumble to the floor, pulls his ICER out of its shoulder holster beneath his jacket and tosses it down. Weapons that will do no good against an archangel, but it's a symbolic act.

    Jon steps forward, hands spread. "Take me," he says, in a tone of desperation. "I'm the one that ruined your wing. I'm the one that's been defying you." He swallows. His legs are trembling with exhaustion from channeling all that power. "I'm the one set to Watch you. Take me, and let them go."

    It's sincere. The archangel, at the least, can tell that. If this means he dies, or suffers an eternity of torment, so be it. If he /can/ save Rien and Zatanna, Meggan and Lydia, from Michael's retribution? That alone is worth the price.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Jon? What the fuck!" is the immediate reply to the Archivist's words.
    Cael decides she's not wasting anymore time waiting for anyone's permission. This is clearly - //very// clearly - unraveling before her eyes, and she is not letting it take her friend. She is not going to pull Jon off a cross to be examined and autopsied and buried. She is not letting this son of bitch get into Jon's head, and twist him around until he delights in his own torture and murder.
    He told here everything was going to be alright. That his friends could handle this. Well, fuck.
    Advancing on the angel, Cael opens fire with her pistol, intent on emtpying her clip into the center mass of its chest.
    Just. Fucking. Die.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
    She looks back at the angel standing before her and hears his words.

    And it pisses her off.

    "Like I give a fuck if you're the one He worked through, it's still His power that you used and His word that commanded you to do it. So you've still got one hell of a nerve deciding on your own that it should be destroyed. That call is His and His alone, so what are you playing at?"

    She shakes her head and admits, "We can't fight you, that's obvious. But I think the only thing wrong with this creation... is you. Something is broken inside you. Why would Michael just one day decide to destroy everything without the Creator telling him to do it? What's wrong with you that you think you can substitute your judgement for His? I suggest you give that some very long thought because the last angel who took this sort of thing on himself now runs a place a lot warmer than your current home."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Tears blur Zatanna's vision, obscuring the perfection standing before them. Beside her Persephone's disembodied voice rings in the room, "I will not leave her. I chose her, nor was the choosing done lightly. You do not belong in this realm. Didn't Luke say: "Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? And not one of them is forgotten before God? Will he stand aside while you slay his sparrows, Proud One?"

Phoebe's question breaks Zatanna's trance and while the Goddess speaks she turns to the young girl to crouch and take her into her arms, she whispers, "We won't give up. He knows nothing about love. But we do. Stand up with me and face him. We can't let him take Jon."

Arm still around Phoebe, she turns to face the Angel,"No. Or you will take me, too. You are broken and know nothing in your pride of what was given us."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe feels the change. She feels the exchange. Everything about this screamed of its wrongness. The coppery tones in her hands keep up, her dark eyes rising as she beholds an Angel of The Lord in ALL of His Terrible Glory, taken the form of a man before her. He is both beautiful and terrifying -- she knows now why they greeted mortals with 'Be Not Afraid' -- but there was no Glad Tidings.

    Chas was gone. Chas was gone and this Angel meant harm for the remainder of her family. Her arms curled around Zatanna's, her mouth open, jaw shuddering, molars chattering as if she was suddenly freezing. Every rapport of Cael's pistol makes her twitch, spasm, cry out as tears poured down her face, repeated whispers of 'no, no, no--'

    Paisi Sabry. CHarles Beacon. Caroline Beacon. The False John.

    Chas Chandler.

    The containment spell she was trying to wrought on the fly fails as her heart sinks in her chest, her left hand going to her sternum, grabbing at her own chest as she gives a sharp wail of grief.

Asariel has posed:
"Well, at least I know where I got my looks from." Las breathes out as Michael floats there in all his angelic douchebag glory. It wasn't vanity. It was just an observation. She looked nothing like her mother. She was seriously going to have to ponder out which Angel was her dad and send him a strongly worded letter. Or staple it to his forehead.

But the realization of what HAPPENED hits her and there is a heartbeat between the sound of wings fluttering, Las' eyes glowing and the now winged woman running straight for Michael with a rather practiced gait that leads into a jump kick...but with Lady Death swinging her scythe there's a bit of a dreaded feeling that she might get hit instead.

That's alright, yeet her into the Abyss!

Hope Svelgate has posed:
Lady Death has stopped laughing now. Maybe it is the fact that Michael dared to use a name that she hasn't heard in centuries, a name that was a symbol of her own weakness and helplessness during her early days in Hell, a name she had all but forgotten so long ago was it cast off, and on top of that, he used her /father's/ family name. The sheer anger radiating off of Lady Death is palpable, almost electric in the air.

"Hope is dead Michael. All that awaits you, is Death!" And with that she brings that blade coruscating with so many different frighteningly destructive mystical energies down upon Michael's arm, with every intent to sever it just below the elbow because /that/ is her answer.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    The angel stares at Jon and opens his mouth to speak. The sharp bark of the Glock Gen 5 goes off over and over and over. Round after round make contact with Michael but he doesn't even flich. He turns his blue eyes on the woman and sighs. "My time with you is finished, Shelley Mason." There is again the ring in the air as he Names the woman. He sighs. "I give you leave to depart and your continue to show defiance."

    His eyes shift to Zatanna and then Rien. "Mortals, even those among you who touch the barest hint of the Source of all, should not attempt to put classifications on the motivations of beings that you cannot fully understand." He shifts his gaze to Phoebe and frowns before shaking his head. "I know my words have reached you and yet you do not listen. Understand, your father is not dead. He lives as the favored sentinel of the Silver City."

    He goes to comment further when there is a scream of defiance from Lasariel and Lady Death's challenge. Without seeming to cross the space in between one place and the next he moves to interpose himself between the Chaos Sword and the Nephilim.

    A number of things happen at once. Their is a flash of brilliant light as Half-Angel connects with Archangel's side and the silver-haired form of Lasariel goes flying across the room and into a table and chairs. She breathes but doesn't stir further. At the same time the Sword connects with Michael's armor. There is a terrible cacophony as the two powers: Apocalypse's Hellfire forged blade and the Heaven forged plate war with each other for supremacy but in the end the blade bounces off of the arm as if it were made of folded canes instead of Hell imbued steel.

    "I give you chances for continued survival beyond the Remaking and yet your turn them all away... Foolishness." He scans the room. "But I am not without compassion." He turns to look at Jon still standing there waiting to be taken. "You would sacrifice yourself to save them all. Commendable. For your compassion, I give you time and freedom. The others will be free from my retribution... but I will exact mine from you for your transgression upon me." His wings, ruined and fair, flex. "See to your affairs. For I will be coming for you."

    He looks out over the room once more, turning slowly in place. "Look to the Epiphany for the coming of the End of Days. And pray to whatever gods you may serve. They all have their own purposes. One is as good as another." He bends at the knee slightly and pushes off from the ground with tremendous force. There is a crash as the ceiling of the Laughing Magician gives way and the roof of the loft apartment above also is torn free. The sonic boom that follows barely a second after is a tremendous thunder clap of exclimation to the destruction wrought in his departure.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon flinches at the gunshots, as the bullets go by him, and then even moreso as Lasariel and Lady Death attack to no avail. His eyes widen and he opens his mouth to cry out--but then there is the ring of sword on sword, Lasariel goes flying.

    There is a sudden weight upon his shoulders as the angel pronounces his fate. A Doom that falls upon him, inescapable as entropy and time. He gasps at it, eyes filling with tears.

    And then the roof of the Laughing Magician blows off and Michael leaves.

    He knows he ought to do... something. Turn and reassure the others. Comfort Phoebe in her grief, see to Lasariel's wounds, reassure Cael. But the terrible weight of the thing he agreed to pulls him down and he sinks to his knees in the ash and dust left in the archangel's wake. Wraps his arms around his chest and curls in on himself, sobbing.

    At least they're safe, right? The others are safe, and he has time to try to figure out what to do. The others are safe. That's what matters. No one else will have to suffer Michael's wrath in his place. Not again.

    But, oh, is it /terrifying/.

Cael Becker has posed:
    In despair, Cael had started to turn her weapon on Jon - on her friend, determined not to let him be taken. Determined not to let him suffer as she had. I was better to die, swiftly and mercifully.
    But then Michael speaks - granting them time, a momentary reprieve, and her aim wavers.
    After Michael has blasted away, she lets her pistol drop nervelessly from her fingers as she closes the distance between herself and Jon, and sinks to the floor herself, to pull the sobbing man in for a one armed hug. "What the hell, Sims?" she murmurs. "We can't let him take you. We won't. I won't-" She's trembling as she kneels on the floor in place, tears starting to streak down her cheeks.
    "Cake is the fucking worst," she mutters.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
    Rien stands where she has been the whole time, but is now looking up at the hole through the upper floor of the bar. What few pieces of debris hit her are ignored as any wounds they make close up seconds later. After a moment she looks around the group and says "That.. did not go well." That one might win understatement of the year if the universe still exists when the voting comes around.

    Perhaps she should be terrified as well, but she deals with the end of the world every ten years and is already trying to figure out the next move in this particular dance with death.

    Seeing that Cael is taking care of Jon she goes over to Lasariel to check her wounds. Normally she'd spend a little energy on healing the woman, but she's running on fumes at the moment. "Can someone see to her? I think I need to talk to a bunch of people right now. We have a lot of work to do in the time he's given us. And Jon, she's right. We won't let him take you. We just need more allies and a _lot_ more information."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe takes a few deep, caliming breathes. She physically looks to be in pain, but with effort she rises up out of Zatanna's arms, and she swipes her palms across her eyes.

    "OF course, of course -- I got the wounded." she straightens herself out, shoving aside her own panicked, dark feelings, and goes to tend to the wounds of others.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
The sound of Lady Death's teeth grinding together as the sword bounces from Michael's arm is /audible/ and then the archangel is gone. Her face contorts and she just screams in fury for a moment before wheeling aroind on where Jon is sobbing. "Stand up! Is that really all your fighting spirit amounts to, ready to throw yourself on the pyre and consign yourself to your fate? Pathetic." She seems absolutely disgusted with him. "Stop diving face first into your own grave and /fight/!"

She growls glancing down at her mangled hand, and spins around slicing another rent in space. "Useless." She spits the word like a curse. "I'll give him his war. He. Will. Die." and with that she walks through the portal.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon flinches as Lady Death yells at him, but it seems to pull him out of his terror enough to be aware of what's going on around him. Something somewhere in her words got through, and he takes a deep breath. Finally registers what people have been saying to him. He draws in a deep, shuddering breath.

    "I'm a doctor," he whispers after her, "not a fighter." Maybe he'll have to become one, though.

    Finally, he peers around at Rien. "Won't /let/ him?" He laughs, a little shakily, through the last of his sobs. "Even if you could /stop/ him... no. No. I made a bargain. I will honor that bargain. I will not give him /more/ reason to hate us by backing out."

    He swallows, managing to get the rest of the sobbing under control. "If it helps," he says, "I know I won't /die/ from whatever he's going to do." Another shaky laugh. "S-small favors, right?"

    His eyes track to where Phoebe is tending Lasariel, and he says to Rien in a hollow tone, "Yeah. We've got people to report to. Keep... keep in touch." How can he promise Phoebe they'll get Chas back? Promise Cael everything will be okay, that they'll handle this? Look where those promises got them.

    Even if he dealt with the world ending once a year, Jonathan Sims does not have the temperament to be blase about it. It's going to bother him, at least for a little while.

    "Sorry, Cael," he says softly. "I... I know I said... and we /will/ figure this out. I know we will. I just... I just don't know..." He doesn't know if everyone will survive. But that's always been a possibility.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "You won't die? What the hell, Sims?" Cael counters - anger leaking into her tone. Anger is easier. Anger is safer. "What's to stop him from doing to you what he did to me? He'll find some petty crime - some time you were jealous of a fucking neighbor, or stole a candybar as a child, or worked on the fucking Sabbath - and- and-" God, Cael, what are you doing? What are you saying? Why make this any worse for him, like he can't imagine his fate on his own?
    "...we won't let him have you," she insists quietly, before she starts abruptly patting Jon down. Finding his phone, she pulls it out without so much as a by-your-leave, and levels it at him.
    "Now unlock it," she commands simply.
    //Someone// needs to get Martin here to talk sense into this idiot.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
    Rien looks around, takes a breath and says "Ok, so now we know how much trouble we're in, and yes, it's fairly terrifying. But I'm by no means ready to give up, and I hope none of you are either. We need to talk to everyone who can help, any contacts you have, we need a lot of info on angels in general and Michael in particular. He _must_ have a weakness, and we need to find it. "

    She heads for the door... magic may or may not be working normally in the bar, but it's polite to step outside.

    She pauses at the door to add, "This isn't over, and I don't think any of you are ready to give up, at least I hope you aren't. Also, we will probably want to contact the Justice League and let them know what's going on, I think this has gone beyond a JLD thing at this point. And I don't know about you, but I wouldn't mind Superman standing between me and Michael next time we see him. But for now I'm going to go do some talking, because if I stop to think about this, I may just break down."