9026/Path of Glory: Who Will Prepare

Path of Glory: Who Will Prepare
Date of Scene:	10 December 2021
Location:	Abandoned Office Complex (Hell's Kitchen)
Synopsis:	The investigators into of Hell's Kitchen find the missing crime scene of the Papal Killer and discover his most vicious killing yet. Threats are made and then he appears! Is this the start of the final confrontation, or just a prelude to something more?
Cast of Characters:	Chas Chandler, Tim Drake, Rien D'Arqueness, Sara Pezzini, Jonathan Sims, Meggan Puceanu, Hope Svelgate, John Constantine
Tinyplot:	Path of Glory

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Chas Chandler has posed:
    The address lising that Tim provided leads the group to a hollowed out office complex off 10th Avenue near the West 48th Street crossing. It's not a large building but it stands a respectable 3 stories and might have once housed a number of offices for lawyers, IT firms, or administrative companies.
        Now, either out of negligence or disuse it has become a broken shell. Broken windows and doors that are mostly off their hinges dot the faces of the building and, like so many others in the district, a general malaise of decay rests over the frame.

    Immediately, one thing marks this different from the other scenes... no visibility. If the murder is in the building itself, it begs an obvious question: *Why?&

Tim Drake has posed:
    The relevant info has been passed along. All of Red Robin's notes, the evidence he's collected, and the analyses he's run on said evidence have been passed over for review by the group investigating the killings.

    And now, having led everyone to the abandoned office complex, he... does what Bats do best. Lurks, broods, whatever word you want to use for it. He's already gone through the crime scene, now it's time for those with enhanced or magical senses to do the same.

    As it turns out, switching out his costume for one with significantly less red and a lot more black and grey makes it really easy to blend into the shadows. The hood helps a lot, too.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
    With a silent flash of light, Rien steps out of empty air in front of the building. Looking around, she spots the small group of League members and strides over to them, nodding a silent hello. "My research hasn't turned up much. Angels aren't easy to deal with." She shakes her head, "I hate working with negative energy, I always feel like I need a bath afterward. But if we can find it, I can hold it for a time and between all of us we might be able to banish it, but they really can't be killed on this plane."

    Turning to look over the building, she shakes her head, "Lovely spot. Gives more of a demonic vibe than angel, but then angels shouldn't be killing people, so what do I know?" She looks to Sara and adds, "Shall we go contaminate your crime scene?"

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Arriving to the given location, Sara leaves her pea coat on for the time being and waits for the others to get there. Latex gloves are passed out as each person arrives, because like it or not, in the end she had to call it in and she doesn't want any of them leaving finger prints. The destruction of the others evidence doesn't matter really, no amount of forensic science is going to solve this case anyway. In her mind, she's pretty sure this is the case that will end her career anyway, so why not just go all out and go out with a bang?

Once again she tried Cael's phone, speed dial #2, and once again she gets voicemail. That freaks her out on many levels, but there's nothing to be done for it right now.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon is wearing his suit today, the better to look like a proper police department consultant, but he's fiddling with the bracer on his left wrist. For once, he's impatient to become the Archivist, the better to investigate the crime scene--but also, to keep his emotions in check some. They have a plan now. They just have to put it in place.

    He looks to Rien. "We have a plan," he says firmly. "Lydia Dietrich and I actually turned up a great deal on angels. Found out they can be in multiple places at once, for one thing. We came up with a binding circle we'll be using in two different places, fueled by energy from the Anti-Matter Universe. Then, once we've got it pinned, we'll do an exorcism--evidently while being in two places at once?" He shakes his head. "Zatanna and John should be working on the exorcism. If you can channel the right energy, that would be /immensely/ helpful for setting up the circles, or even just holding the damn thing in place while we bind it."

    He frowns at the building. "Of course... first we have to /find/ it, which means laying out bait. Pezzini, have you gotten ahold of Becker yet? I wanted to let her know we've got a plan so we can go ahead with using you as bait, but..."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
The Red Robin's notes may be committed to memory or a couple scans on a secure server, though nothing that Oracle would consider impressive. Bits and pieces to touch upon later, or summon with a touch from a phone, may prove useful.

Meg approaches on foot, followed by a passel of faithful shadows cast by the decrepit office complex and those surrounding her. A faded zephyr chases after her, giving a quizzical flapping to the long, non-descript trenchcoat at least one size too big for her narrow shoulders. Yet somehow for all that she remains silent. Neither does she slip on the kerb rendered wet and slick by the recent bout of cold weather. A plain tie in the same hue as her bowtie before, just unknotted and smoothed, sways lightly round her neck. There's method to this madness, whatever it is, though arguably that comes from someone who happily spent an evening as a cat on a murder investigation.

Gloves will be taken and pulled on, though she makes a bit of a face doing so. Latex, not her favourite substance, has a rubbery, ASMR-thick crinkle that cannot be avoided. She nods to Sara, and then turns back to regard that imposing shell thick with wrongness of a sort. "No wonder the property value's so low." Jon says an awful lot of technical things followed along with somewhat easily, though with her, who knows?

"Energy's the easy part, if we need it. Best talk with John about that, though, he knows the bit about how to balance me better than I do."

Hope Svelgate has posed:
A short while after Jon arrives, a figure comes walking down 10th Avenue. Many people walk down 10th Avenue and most of them would not stand out. The woman isn't dressed too out of the ordinary, wearing black sunglasses, a billowy white blouse tucked into a simple pair of black slacks, and low heels. What may catch the eye though is the reason the heels pretty much need to be low, she would already easily be over six feet tall without them and with them is closer to six and a half feet tall. Her long voluminous blonde hair has been bound back into a plaited braid in an almost medieval ornate style that reaches easily to her lower back. The sum of her presence, while passing for normal, creates an effect where the other pedestrians are quite willing to get out of her way.

Eventually the realization may dawn as she gets closer, particularly on Jon, that this towering unfamiliar figure is walking straight towards the man.

John Constantine has posed:
John, for his part, is not dressed as John Constantine. Maybe he really does only have one shirt and coat, or maybe he simply looked in the wardrobe this morning and tried something new. Whatever it is, he's wearing a Crystal Palace FC jersey with matching scarf wrapped about the neck. He wears a long-sleeved, dark shirt underneath to cover his arms and a pair of slate grey trousers bloused into a pair of heavy stomping boots.

"That little Bat fella takes us to the nicest places," he muses wistfully, leaning forward at the waist to peer into the office complex, "Remind me to give him a big kiss when he pops out of the shadows to give us the willies."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Assuming everyone moves inside, the ground floor is composed of what might've once been a lobby. Directly across from the entry is a set of double doors with a worn placard above the doors labelling the place: Big Fish Grill. To the right, stairs climb for several feet, then turn a sharp ninety degrees and continue before turning ninety degrees once again as they go up. To the left are a set of metal lifts both are emply of their cars with their doors only partially open. There is little in the way of light inside.

    Red Robin's report indicated the body was on the second floor in a room labeled "205: Host Limited." The company that used it before was a catering service... but it has long since fallen on hard times and away due to bankruptcy. Only one way to go then: Up.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Still shadowing, is said little Bat fella. Close enough to listen and observe. He might even already be in the building, though that's anyone's guess, really. Was that the faint sound of footsteps in the stairway leading up? A rustle of cape?

    Perhaps.

    "<<You've got incoming,>>" Red Robin reports for Jon's benefit from where he's peeping through a window up above, looking down at the street. Hard to miss Hope's arrival nor her determination.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
Rien shrugs, saying "I think most of us are used to working in miserable places. They seem to just attract the less savory types that we tend to have to deal with." She looks around the group, then asks, "Shall we?" and heads for the doors. Glancing at the broken elevators, she opts for the stairs up to the second floor.

    A minute later, she steps out into the second floor hallway and starts scanning for 205. Heading up the hall, she stops in front of the correct door, then looks to Sara and asks, "Did you want to do any actual police work on this, or are we good to open it and go in?"

Sara Pezzini has posed:
With a pair of gloves pulled on, Sara tries Cael's phone one more time.

"I told her about meeting up here last night," she says as she stares at the phone. "She should be here, but she's not answer her phone... that's not like her, at all."

Voice mail.

"Jon, Cael /never/ fails to answer," she says as she shoves the phone back into her coat pocket. "In the time I've known her, she's always answered, even when I woke her up she still answered... I don't like this at all." Now her nerves kick in and she starts a little pacing action as once more the phone come back out for another attempt.

Seeing that Rien is heading in, she glances from her to Jon, then to the phone. "Son of a bitch..."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon blinks slowly at Meggan and John both, and then... smiles. "Don't you know where that thing's /been/, Meggan?" Does he mean the coat or John? Maybe both. But it's a fond sort of statement, gently teasing, as much to take the edge off his own nerves as anything else. "Thank you both for coming, though."

    He frowns at Sara. "Keep trying," he says. "Maybe her phone doesn't have any signal, or is... out of battery, or something." The excuses sound lame, to his ears. "Her mental ward's still up, at least." He doesn't like the feeling that settles in his gut, though.

    He glances up and down the street, noting Hope coming along. "I think we'll want to let her in." He nods down the street at the 'incoming' Tim warned them of. "It'll be, ahh... cleansing and light," he notes to Meggan and John. "Potentially Enochian script."

    Then he steps inside, so he can twist the bracer, eyes glow, outfit changes. Yes, has a bloody magical girl transformation now, go ahead and snicker.

    He takes his time to walk through the building, on up to 205, sweeping his gaze around looking with his Sight for any lingering traces of the sort of magic they're looking for, but Sees nothing. "Nothing on the way up here," he notes to Rien when he catches up with her. "We're looking for cleansing and light magic, Enochian script. There may be a spirit, if you can see them."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"Properly, I do. It likes to tell me about its adventures, 'cause no one else is gonna write an ode for it." The right proper suepct would get a pat, but a shrug will have to do. Meg catches a smile tilted to the Yehohananim. With her hands buried in the pockets of the trenchcoat, its treasures still hidden, the blonde scans the building's exterior and interior. They won't hear her much behind them except for the occasional flutter as the wind bids her a fond farewell and lurks outside like a faithful hound.

"Not feeling anyone out of the ordinary in here." The blonde frowns a bit. "Don't think that Cael went ahead, Ms. Pezzini." Her melodious accent runs Scouser with a bare sheen of the Lake District flooded around the edges to distinguish it, most of its Celtic lilt watered away.

"Place is rotten with damp and death, though that's rightly to be expected from the notes." Positive uptick for Red Robin's handiwork there, though the concern leaving a mark between her brows. "D'you want me to have a look up the lifts? I can be back in a trice and give warning of any troubles up there." The merest traces of hesitation hold her back, glancing again to Sara and the phone in hand. Then to Hope, for the newcomer holds interest in the reactions she throws -- and that excellent outfit.

If they want her to hover ahead, she will; otherwise, she tags back behind John, where no one will be unfortunately blinded by the ghastly deep energy source in a human silhouette. "Cleansing's the worst bit, you know?"

Hope Svelgate has posed:
There is a momentary pause outside of the building, as Hope stops to look up at the structure as if making some mental notes about it in the back of her mind, before striding towards the entrance and interior in the direction of where Jon went.

It is hard to imagine that she actually belongs, but she acts like she does. That aura of confidence that of course she is entitled to be here, she is entitled to be anywhere. There is not even a shred of shyness or hesitation as the sunglass wearing blonde simply walks onward towards whatever her goal is as if she owns the place.

John Constantine has posed:
"He's got a costume now," John points out to Meggan as Jon makes his quick change, "That's how it starts. Next thing we're all gonna be wearing skintight bodysuits an havin' eight packs. I'm not going to the gym, Meg. I went to one once and never again. The grunting. My god, the grunting."

He nods his head a little when told what they're looking for. But rather than start casting spells or pulling out any sort of mystical device, he just starts to sort of ... pace around. Nudging things with his boot, peeking behind scraps of furniture.

"And another thing," he says suddenly, turning to point at Meggan, "I'm not coming up with a silly justice name. That's ridiculous. Bad enough everyone calls me the fuckin' Laughing Magician. When was the last time I laughed? I snicker, I sneer. Laughing Magician makes me sound like a raving lunatic."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    As the party makes their way down the second floor corridor, the room in question becomes more a more noticeable to those with Mystical Senses attuned and active. There is a bright golden glow outlining the third door on the right of the corridor. The light doesn't seem to be providing any actual source, it's just a measure of the power inside the room. A placcard beside the door reads "205: Host Limited" looks like this is the place.

    Inside is a barren room. There are small bowls that seem to be set into the stone they glow with an soft gold that is visible with our without the Sight. In the middle of the room is the cross. It's charred like the previous one but the body on it is blue in color. Not burning. It's a woman who appears to be in her 30s. Her hair is dark her skin pale when natural. Her state at the moment is anything but. She is frozen solid. Her clothing, her skin, her hair all of it is flecked with ice. Her skin is blue tinged mostly but her hands are black with frostbite. The entry points of the nails at her ankles and wrists are also black. There is a small pool of standing water around the base of the cross but the body itself doesn't seem to be thawing in any capacity.

    To those with the Sight the room GLOWS. Script of some unknown spiraling script cover every inch of wall, floor, ceiling. The cross itself and the body also glow with the same golden eldritch light. At the base of the cross is another--corpse. It's a spectral thing, but it too looks like it is splayed out in a crucified state mirroring perpendicular to its original body. Golden chains hold it to the ground in its agonized T-pose. There is a dark gash at it's throat, and it doesn't look to be moving. There will be no statements from this shade of how it died.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
    Rien waits at the door, muttering a quick spell to be able to see spirits and magic. She also uses her regular senses, not that she expects an angel to leave a scent trail, but you never know if you don't try. As Jon comes to the door and explains what he's looking for, she nods and replies, "I can help with holding it once we manage to track it down. Not my usual type of target at all, but I can channel negative energy into a greater circle, it's just distasteful."

    She scans the door and the frame around it to see if any energies linger there. She will not open the door but waits for the rest of the group to get here, just in case. "I know Enochian as well, so I can spot it if we have anything inside. Given that Red Robin was obviously here already since he found the body, I don't imagine anything is lingering in there, but it's always good to be ready."

    Once the door opens and the scene inside becomes clear, she winces and mutters something about needing magical sunglasses. She looks over the room and body, then shakes her head. "From what you've said, it appears this one is different from the others. I do hope we're not dealing with more than one." She starts trying to identify and read the writing on the walls, leaving the body to the people who have seen the others to look over.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
For a little bit longer Sara paces along the front of the building, trying Cael's number one more time. Every fiber of her being is screaming that something was wrong and for the first time, in a very long time, she was torn between the job that needed doing and the friend and partner who meant so much to her. In the past two years she had already lost three partners... she wasn't going to let it happen again.

Shooting into the building like her ass was on fire, she took the stairs two at a time up to the second floor to join the others, but only for a moment. "Jon, I can't lose another partner," she states, not giving any fucks about anything or anyone else in the room at the moment. "You got this covered, so I'm going to go find Cael because I swear to all the gods that if something happened to her..." She doesn't finish that, she doesn't need to. It should be obvious what she didn't say.

Turning quickly she heads towards the stairs she just came up. She can't read Enochian, she can't see the angel, she can't help here. She can call this in later, when she knows Cael is safe.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The Archivist nods absently to Meggan. "Check on up the lifts, would you, please?" His eyeroll at John's teasing can't be seen behind the mask, but he does smirk.

    "Wasn't entirely my idea, mate," he says. "Family thing. At least 'Laughing Magician' conjures up power. 'The Archivist' makes people think I'm a librarian." Never mind that he... kinda does look like one. He eyes John for a moment. "You could keep this getup and call yourself 'The Footie.'"

    It's deflection from what's waiting for them. He's trying not to be overly serious, he's trying to keep his emotions in check, but Pezzini's nerves are ringing up and down his spine, whispering in his ear. And the banter drains away as he steps into the room and sees the cross. The spirit... dead, there on the ground. He rocks back a little. "I've got this, Pezzini," he says. "Go find Becker." A beat. "Call me when you do." He's as worried as she is, but maybe the angel will show itself here. Or maybe it'll go after Pezzini, on her own--and she should be able to hold out until they get there, right? Assuming Cael didn't do something stupid. She wouldn't have offered herself as bait without talking to them first.

    He takes a deep breath and steps into the room. "Oh, no," he says to Rien. "This is the same thing. It's just that, if you believe Dante, the worst circle of Hell is reserved for those who betray." He laughs and shakes his head. There's nobody stopping Hope from walking right into the room with them.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
As she soars up the lift for a quick check of the empty, abandoned tunnel, Meggan hovers in spots. Ignoring gravity gives her leave to pay attention elsewhere to the small things people tend to overlook. Vents in the walls, ceilings, potential marks that could be from moving out or someone clinging desperately to a doorjamb. After a thorough examination, she comes up empty-handed and not dirty! Being Gaea's bright one has some advantages. "Too late. Scarpered out through here, by the looks of it. Might make a departing trail of some use."

Before she comes within three meters of entering the holding cell of a corpse, she is already lagging. The bracing of her back and tightened shoulders provide no sufficient barrier against the rave environment, all blaring psychic noise and seizure-inducing, flashing mystical lights.

Hands fly instinctively to her temples to press in. Reactive adjustments try to compensate for the multisensory onslaught, a veil ripped back to stun her solid emerald eyes. She needs longer to drink it all in. Wherever John is, she plants her tattooed hand on his arm as an anchorage against blazing Enochian symbols without end in their psychotic mambo line. "Wish I'd brought a paracetamol, not that popping the bottle does any good." Thought that counts. "Need a moment," she warns Rien and Hope, Jon still ahead of her too. The temptation to drag in that energy rises and falls in waves. Do not want dead angel victims. Do not want.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
"You mean you are not a Librarian?" Hope asks as she strides into the room. Did Lady Death just make a joke? "I just assumed with the random spouting of historical information." Of course she doesn't look like Lady Death right now, just a very tall and imposing Scandinavian woman who has wandered in off the street acting like she owns the place and seems to have a specific interest in Jon.

Though her eyes find Meggan as well and there is recognition there. After all Meggan walked in on the tail end of that fateful day in the Laughing Magician when she nearly Reaped the creature posing as John Constantine.

The woman's reaction to the magic is noted with seeming indifference as she looks over the scene of the cruxifiction and her eyes fall upon corpse with its throat cut. "Typical fucking angels. And they say Hell is bad."

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
After following the scrawling words around the room, Rien glances over to Jon and says, "Well, she certainly managed to piss the thing off." She turns to the group and explains, "I can't read it exactly, but the general idea is that she (with a gesture to the corpse) is a traitor or betrayer. I have to wonder if she was somehow working with the angel and then betrayed it, since this is a different manner of death from the others."

    She glances down at the slaughtered ghost and shakes her head, "Killing even the ghost also makes me think it was personal, it didn't want her to be able to tell anyone about it. Or that is my guess on the situation."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The Archivist sighs. Glances over at Meggan, leaning on Constantine. "Hey," he says softly, "it's alright. Stay outside for a minute if you need to." His tone is worried. Something's wrong, and he's tensing for whatever's coming. He glances at Rien. "Personal... maybe. There's one way to find out."

    Then he peers at Hope as he walks further into the room. "Do I know--oh." The glow behind the mask brightens a little as his eyes widen. "Oh! I didn't expect--"

    Another step backward, as he's talking. He freezes, and his voice changes. Gone is the speech of Southern England. In its place, a thick Bronx accent, pitched up in tone.

    "Why did this happen to me? What did I--a law abiding citizen--do to deserve this fate? I mind my business. I pay my taxes, I even volunteer. No need for a damned retribution laced angel to come after me."

    For those who haven't seen the Archivist's monologues before it might be a little disconcerting, the way he just stands there, talking.

    "It happened the night before I got here. I was walking home from work--I'm a stock employee at the grocer--and then all of sudden I hear the beating of wings like... a flock of crows or ravens or something big. Everything goes dark and then I'm here... in this place. Glowing bowls and cross and all. The thing that took me. I couldn't see it. It was too bright. But I saw its wings; at least four of them. The really big angels had more than two wings right? Anyway... we talked. And... it made sense. It was rational. I had been giving tips to the police about possible crimes in the neighborhood. I mean... most of them were absolutely bogus, but if one led to an actual arrest? That's easy money and good work for the community, right?"

    "It called me a betrayer. A liar. A bearer of false-witness. Which... I mean, sure I am. But I only want to do good for the neighborhood, right? Then it handed me the nails. It was a simple thing really. About as easy as putting up a really heavy box on a shelf. Bam. Bam. Bam. And the nails were in. It's funny. I didn't even feel them. I was cold. And numb by that point. Then... everything got really bright when he drove in the last one. And I thought I saw... eyes on the wings. Hundreds of eyes on every feather of the wings. Watching me and weighing me for what I did. I... I don't really know what happened after that. I guess. I guess I was dead?"

    He reels a bit, shakes his head. Long, deep breaths. "Good lord," he mutters, in his own voice. "Red Robin, did you hear that?" Maybe the statements don't go over comms.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
"Pathetic." Hope says as she continues looking at the corpse, but then she isn't exactly known for her sympathy. Though she takes a small amount of amusement from Jon's dawning realization. Her judgement doesn't seem to change much as she hears Jon recount the spirit's story.

"She nailed herself to the cross, completely dominated by the angel, wasn't even able to try and fight back. Utterly pathetic." Something in the statement the Archivist is collecting makes her tightly clench her fists and for a moment there is a look in her eyes like the she might try to strike down the fallen a second time. "Telling lies to see others punished, humans really haven't changed much."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    There is nothing else to be done in the room for the corpse and its ghost locked in ice and stasis. Silence reigns in the room and then the words in the angelic script fades from the walls leaving the room in a golden light much dimmer (from the bowls) if still supernatural in orgin.

    A number of things happen at that moment. There is the sound of glass shattering and Jon feels a spell of his working sever.

    Then different words on the wall form, still in that strange spiraling heiroglyphic script in a single line and a sense of being watched falls on the rooom at large with a seeming greater focus on the tall woman with her disdain for humanity.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
    Rien is still looking between Jon and the corpse when the words change. Looking closely at them, she follows them around the room, muttering to herself. Going over a section a second time, she seems to be trying to sound it out, then nods.

    "Well, this isn't good. This section says something like 'humanity's weakness is it's indecency to each other.' And over here, 'Those who want to stop the inevitable find my latest judgement.' It sounds like our visitor has found another victim."

    She looks over the group and asks, "Does anyone have the slightest idea what could have thrown an angel this far out of balance? It's inflicting the ultimate judgement for really trivial offenses."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Pathetic?!" The Archivist glares at Hope. "/Most/ people couldn't stand up under the onslaught of--"

    As the sound of shattering glass comes over the room, there's a bright orange flash of light near the Archivist's heart. He clutches at his chest, and his eyes widen. "Becker," he whispers. "Oh, gods. Oh, /gods/. I should've listened to Pezzini." He swallows, clutching his fist around something that isn't there. "The angel has Cael Becker."

    He peers at Rien, and then spits, "/Nothing/. She's right," he indicates Hope, "this is just their normal overwrought /bullshit/. Put a toe out of line for some arbitrary rule and be punished forever. At least my gods have the decency to just /end/ things."

    He raises his voice and looks around the room. "Come out here and face us, if we're so weak! Tell me again how who I /love/ is worthy of eternal punishment! How your god that /forgives/ and /loves/ also sends people to fiery torment for the slightest transgression!" He clenches his hands into fists, glaring around. Someone has a problem with angels, clearly.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
Rien's comment elicits a laugh from Hope, "Why does everyone keep thinking this angel is out of balance? This is how angels are. All the wishful thinking in the world won't change that. They exist to judge and to uphold their divine Order. Their commandments are very simple and straight forward, do not kill, do not steal, do not lie. The scope doesn't matter, only the crime. It would seem the chance they've been giving humans to get their shit together after the son of Yahweh died for their sins may be coming to an end. Perhaps they have just run out of patience. The final judgement has always featured prominently in scripture.

When the glass shatters and the mystical atmosphere of the room changes, Hope looks at the writing and sneers. "Oh, look who decided to show up." A wicked smile begins to curl across her lips as she can /feel/ the attention on her. "Let's drop the charades. If you want me, come and get me!"

And suddenly the woman standing there looks a whole lot different, like a Norse Valkyrie who had a makeover in Hell. Bone white skin and hair, burning white eyes accented with what looks almost like blue flames. She holds up one hand and a great magical blade glowing with the raw power of Chaos magic appears in it. Within her other hand comes a wicked looking runeforged scythe, as Lady Death drops all pretense of illusions to stare down the divine interloper.

The scythe arcs down breaking the chains binding the soul to the frozen cross and then comes around again to bury the blade in the soul corpse's chest causing the soul to burst into flames of Hellfire that spread up the frozen cross, until the whole thing is a brilliant conflagration, in an utterly defiant challenge to Heaven's enforcer. The gauntlet has been thrown down.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    There is a flash of ultra-bright light in the room. Like the noon-day sun bursting into creation in the midst of the room. A figure steps out. Six pairs of wings and a myriad of eyes frame the humanoid shape made of light.

    "Your choice of partner is not something I will punish you for Watcher" he says addressing Jon directly. His voice is a myriad of other voices blended into one. "There are so many more things for you to suffer and atone for. Love is hardly your greatest crime."

    He looks around the room, noting Meggan, John, Rien, and Tim before he smiles and his eyes fall on Lady Death "You're close. That's good. But you are still ignorant of the greater plan. You wanted me to face you?" he holds out his hands at his sides. "I have come."

    He glances past her and frowns at the smoldering ashes of the cross and its bound body and spirit. "Peace would've come for her had you gone a different route." He gestures to Jon. "He could've allowed her to rest in peace. Tortment now awaits her for eternity. I suppose I shouldn't expect much more from one such as you. Should I Great Lady?"

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
    At the sound of the glass breaking, bone claws rip through the skin over her knuckles on both hands. They are engraved with mystic sigils and glow slightly with magic as she drops into a crouch, eyes going flat as she goes into combat mode. She begins to move to flank the angel as it faces off with Lady Death.

    "And since when has it been your job to come to Earth and force people to crucify themselves over minor transgressions? Funny you have time for that, but I have to spend my life banishing the demons who keep coming here with no help from you or your so-called god. Seems to me this world is better off without you."

    She whispers something under her breath and the claws darken, seeming to draw light into themselves as she imbues them with negative energy. She growls slightly, still circling the angel. "I _hate_ having to do that."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The Archivist glares at the being that he's seen so many times, in so many statements now. "Piss off," he snaps. "Where's Becker? Is she still alive?" His voice betrays him. Oh, /gods/ let her be alive.

    As he speaks, he takes a step back, giving the more capable combatants room. He's not the sort to go toe-to-toe with this kind of thing, and he's thinking fast. He twists one hand in a sort of 'drawing up' gesture, and shimmering light surrounds each member of the group, a feel of cool water washing over them. A barrier, in case the angel attacks them, a shield somehow made of water.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
Lady Death's face .ecomes a macabre grin as the Angel shows itself, "Oh, well this makes things easy." There is a certain mad glee to the way she says it as she points the Chaos-Forged blade Apocalypse at the entity.

She lets out another laugh that does not sound entirely sane at the Angel's words about the soul, "Having second thoughts about your judgement? It's on you. I'm not about to abide those who bear False Witness with indifference to the suffering they cause."

Her eyes flash dangerously, "And I'm not about to forgive any who stand by while the pious are condemned to die and made to endure Hell!" That's all Angels in her mind for those keeping score. The fiery blue glow of her Energy Arcane wraps around Apocalypse, seeming to consume the blade entirely before a bead forms at the tip, swelling in size until it burst forth like a laser, lancing out towards the Angel.

"Now DIE!"

Chas Chandler has posed:
    The angelic being looks at Jon and moves to open its mouth to respond to Rien and the Archivst in kind. Then the blast from the sword strikes it. There is a moment of intense light, like looking into the heart of a sun for a nanosecond and then the being is flung through the wall of the building, creating a large hole in it's wake.

    There is a flutter and the six wings right it in the air beyond.

    "Formidable... I had hope to test my might against you and you do not disappoint" the being says. There is visible damage to it; one of its wings is charred and blackened, a number of the All Seeing eyes are put out, oozing liquid light of their own. However, the being is not deterred.

    "I will give you this..." the being of light says the sneer is heard as much as seen in its words, "she lives. The question is can you find her in time. What is more important... her or me?" Then with a inclination of his head and a burst of light, he flies off, leaving the building and its inhabitants with options.

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
    Watching the exchange between Lady Death and the angel, Rien moves a bit to the side, then watches the thing get blown through a wall. And then taunt them and fly away.

    "Ok, this may be a problem, but I'd say we need to find Cael before we worry about that thing. And maybe call in some backup, because that was not hurt nearly as badly as it should have been. That blast was painful to watch on multiple levels and it was only a little damaged. I'm good, but that may be at a totally different level."

    She looks around, then asks, "So, thoughts? Best way to find Cael before that.. thing kills her?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    There was supposed to be time. There was supposed to be a chance to lay Pezzini out as bait, to let the angel take her, let the Witchblade protect her, give Lydia time to finish the circle, brief people on the plan, coordinate teams. They were supposed to do this /properly/. Nobody was supposed to get hurt.

    The Archivist should have known better. His ancestors know all too well the old saying: 'No plan survives contact with the enemy.' His ancestor even took a statement from the Prussian general that was the originator of the term.

    He watches the angel get blown out the window, then right itself in the air, speak to them, and take off. He turns, cape fluttering, to look at the others, particularly Meggan and John and Rien. Lady Death, he figures, will do her own thing. "Go after it," he says. His voice is tight, all the emotions buried down somewhere deep so he can /focus/. "The plan was to chase it to the Laughing Magician, but wherever you can pin it down. An inverted circle of binding surrounded by an inverted ward against entropy, all fueled with negative energy from the Anti-Matter Universe, should hold it in place." They don't have earbuds. They can't coordinate. Too late, too late. "I'll call the others, send Phoebe and Zed your way. Lydia and I will bind it wherever Becker is."

    He swallows. "Good luck," he says. And then he's running out the door, pulling his cell phone out of a pocket in those poofy trousers.

    It's already ringing.

    "Pezzini?" A pause. "Yeah. I know." Pause. "Oh, thank the gods for Alis. Look, give me a chance to call a couple of people--we're going to need to bind it and exorcise it. Lydia and I worked up a plan--"

    Then he's out the door and down the stairs, running to wherever Sara is.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
Lady Death's insane smile doesn't waver even slightly, if anything it grows as the Angel flies through the window and the battle lust threatens to consume. She tilts her head to side and then the other with audible cracks. "Go find your friend, it's not getting away. I'm just getting warmed up." She doesn't seem at all inclined to wait for any sort of backup, in fact she seems to be genuinely enjoying this now, but then she really doesn't seem sane.

That fiery blue mystical energy begins to surround her feet as she stalks towards the hole blasted in the wall, steps no longer actually touching the ground as she floats in the air following the Angel out through the opening.

"You're a fool if you think her plight means anything to me." Lady Death calls after the Angel as she emerges from the building. "Don't run, this is just starting to get fun!" With a grand flare of Energy Arcane, Lady Death flies off after her angelic quarry!