((this is a bit of an rp I'm in, my character's kinda taking a solitary side quest. If anyone would like to rp, I'm up for it))
With a groan, Nyx rubbed her head and gritted her teeth. The first
thing that occurred to her was that the ground on which her head rested
was nothing like the pillow she would have preferred. The next thing
she noticed was the cold numbness about her temple and the thick scent
of iron congesting up her sensitive sinuses. Grimacing, the cherub
attempted to rise, but could only lift herself by the elbows before her
temple began to throb with excruciating pain. Where was she, how had
she gotten there?
Opening her sore, violet eyes, Nyx cursed inaudibly, or perhaps simply
in her mind. She could not tell and she did not care. What now
perplexed her more than her concussion and bleeding temple was the
scenery splayed before her. She lay strewn on the barren, red sands of
urban hades. Her aching body seemed to absorb the whistling clouds of
sienna that extended for miles and retain a certain redness itself.
Leave for her own, bloodied form, there resided nothing but flat,
voracious dirt.
Groaning, the fallen rose slowly, suppressing the pain with a gasp. The
last thing she could recall was being pushed aside by Artemis. She must
have fallen in the process of being transported. Being snatched so
abruptly from the mortal world and abandoned in the most desolate
wastelands of hell could only mean one thing: the big guy was
mad...furious, even.
Limping slowly, Nyx continued for several yards, trying to analyze her
current state. Magic was out of the question, it would incapacitate her
for hours. The longer she made him wait, the more she would lament. At
least she was invulnerable to the endless maze that hexed this
particular part of the underworld. Many a poor soul were sentenced to
an eternity of thirst and solitude in this reality, a punishment
reserved mainly for vengeful lovers and lawyers.
As she painfully made her way across the red land, her feet kicked up
red dust that covered her shins. The very ground seemed to cry out to
her in thirst which, in turn, emphasized a thirst of her own. Though
it was only a recent development, her mouth soon grew dry and her body
as parched as the desert around her. This was part of the torturous
hex placed on the boundless maze. But the cherub continued,
distracting herself with thought of mayhem and destruction. By now,
she had such a blood lust that she was contemplating the instigation of
some indigenous genocide.
It seemed eons before Nyx reached the chilling river Styx. Where the
out lands of Hades were a martian-like desert of solitude, the
transition towards Styx was something else entirely. The blinding red
dirts soon became eerily vibrant grasses of green and blue. The heat
disappeared, too, but the cool, spine-tingling sensation that replaced
it was only a small improvement. Even the sky, a universal canopy left
unaffected by all beneath it, seemed to be a new blanket entirely, one
without a singular light source, but a soft, daunting blue glow.
Mists and fogs full of elusive images were a commonplace. Every few
laborious steps, something seemed to dart past Nyx in her peripheral
vision. The two environments, desert and plains, were radicals of one
another. One was ceaselessly hot, dry, sparse, and alone, the other a
bone-chilling enigma that made one wish they were alone.
Still, the cherub trudged on, limping violently. She made nothing of
the spirits; she had an agenda. But, they made a commotion about her,
they always did. A particular thing about unearthly figures is that,
despite the fact they could not identify a seraph from a minion in
life, the dead can always tell the difference. She was a heavenly
creature, and they knew it. Swirls in the mist and stomach-churning
wails stalked her, beckoning for release, for salvation. They were
desperately mislead. Some realized this and began, once again, to
dissipate amongst the swaying grasses in the still night.
The river itself, which rested at the bottom of a small slope, was a
wide, iridescent creature whose current was flowing, but in no
particularly identifiable direction. The lively fog that inhabited the
hills so restlessly hovered above the river, stopping a an invisible
plane about two stories above the 'waters'. Awaiting her knowingly
among the glowing waters in an ageless, wooden dingy was a just as
ageless man. His misleading, youthful features were almost elvish, the
smile across his fair skin mischievous. His long, snow white hair fell
to his knees in an elegant braid full of much smaller braids. What
struck most upon first meeting this man, however, were his completely
black eyes. There was no distinction as to where his pupils were, but
somehow, Nyx could always tell when he was looking at her.
”Greetings, fair Maiden,” the man bowed humbly in a white tunic and
leggings. The only thing with color on him was golden trim along his
collar.
”Fair Maiden? I am just as much a 'fair maiden' as you are youthful,
Jenner,” Nyx chortled, which was much unlike herself. He had an ability
to bring out the worst of her.
At her reply, he smiled wider. The man closed his eyes and relished her
bell-like laughter as if it were the finest, rarest gem in any
dimension. He took joy in few presences, and this cherub's just
happened to be one of them. He could remember the day he first met her.
Something compelled him to offer her his favorite, most appealing
facade, for he did not normally look this way. He loved to strike fear
into the souls traveling to their doom by procuring his most obscene,
atrocious guises possible. But Nyx...she was different. Nyx was a
sadistic killer with a sense of humor few but he could find. Nyx was
the damsel and the distress, Nyx was that extra day of school sent to
torture children in the summer for enjoying that snow day. In truth, he
probably loved her, but who had time to love?
When the cherub set foot on the opposite side of Styx, she turned to
Jenner with a grin. Where most would utter a warm goodbye, neither of
them said a word as he pushed the edge of the boat off the shore. The
familiar silence said more than any goodbyes. Soon, he faded into the
mist, and Nyx was left in an introspective daze, her glossy eyes
staring blankly at the wake of the small boat in the water. The spirits
that swam, trapped within gave the liquid a unique and petrifying
appearance. If one focused long enough, the faces of lost souls
taunting others into the water became unique and distinguishable from
one another.
Shaking her head from the stupor, Nyx turned around, ready to head for
the gates of Hell. She had been summoned, that meant the high power
himself had some sort of agenda for her. The reality of being summoned
could drive a demon to insanity, for the tales of torture, and the
sparse of triumph, were very tall indeed. She was either doing well,
or, as she suspected, royally damned. If Hades himself tugged her from
the mortal world, rather than sending a messenger, something mammoth
had occurred correlating with her meaningless existence in this world.
She had only been summoned once before, many eons ago. It was the day
he tempted her to darkness.
Shrugging, the cherub wordlessly continued, towards the looming city
before her. The sky seemed to grow darker with every step, the grasses
below gradually growing scarce as they trudged onto solid dirt and
stone. The city, a mountainous skyline against the daunting blue
horizon, was surrounded by a gargantuan gate. Of course, one could not
tell the city was actually surrounded, let alone that it ended. It
seemed to continue on infinitely in either direction. The skyscrapers
inside were the cliche Gothic type, the tallest of which would break
beyond the circling, smog-like clouds above.
As they grew ever nearer, the gates now consuming the entire sky, Nyx
paused, knowing full well not to march more than fifty feet within the
circumference of the gate, lest she had a sudden desire for mortality.
Soon, the very same smog that composed the toxic sky above began to
manifest before them, circling and swirling into a misshapen figure.
The construed form began to condense, becoming less and less
translucent. The cloud, standing three stories tall, soon took shape
and became and opaque, living creature. Over them it hovered, beginning
to attain detail after terrifying detail: four, monstrously wide,
muscular legs, a mammoth, panting torso, and three drooling, cruel
dog-like heads, each boasting a man's length in two-foot canines.
"Cerberus," she murmured, "Looking hungry as ever," she chuckled before
she quickly looked back in hesitation.
The giant beast let out a low growl that shook Nyx's footing and the
ground beneath her. Still, she did not flinch, gazing up at the
three-headed monster with just as much intensity as each set of eyes
bore down upon her. For several moments, the four stood in silence, a
cold war of determination and pride.
It seemed the two bodies were locked in the somewhat ironic battle: the
giant Cerberus hovering over a tiny, human-looking creature, minuscule
in comparison, yet both equal in power and pride. In fact, it was as if
they had been frozen there for eons, both of them functioning as
intimidating sentries of old, a warning to the doomed and the bold. But
finally, without another word or gesture, the mighty dog shifted a paw,
soon followed by another and another it had circled its prey and the
two had switched positions. Blowing air from its nostrils in forfeit,
Cerberus recognized the angel's authority and admitted her through with
a nod. Neither creature bore ill feelings towards the other. But it was
common knowledge any being who could stand its ground in front of the
dark, grueling heads of Cerberus had already been to Hell and back
again...literally.
With that, the giant sat behind the cherub, a mammoth sentinel ensuring
her entry, and watched as the stone gates of Hell began to open. As
always, Nyx took a moment to admire the ancient and intricate engraving
that covered the demonic walls from bottom to top. One could get lost
for years simply following the runes and tales of yore on just a few
feet of the wall. The dark lines bore into the thunder grey stone with
such precision and beauty, no mortal and few immortal hands could ever
hope to recreate even a fraction of of the art.
As the stone shifted like slate against the ground had to shift several
times to avoid falling. But, finally, the daunting, Gothic city of
Hades was splayed before her, awaiting her entrance. With a look back
to the three heads, she nodded once to each set of eyes and stumbled in
weakly. Instantly, the gates began to close behind her, but Nyx heeded
no attention to the stone anymore. Her focus was left to the numerous
demons that weaved in and out of the gargantuan edifices, some
gruesome, some beast-like, many were unidentifiable to anything mortal,
and just as many looked as human as you or me. Regardless, though,
these creatures of darkness carried out the will of the Higher-Up,
guiding miserable souls, plotting destruction, and carrying the
contracts which bound the greedy and the great to an eternity of
torture. Shaking her head, Nyx couldn't help but smirk at the irony.
Mortals had every reason to dread just how they lived their meaningless
and brief lives.
With a sigh, Nyx finally averted her eyes from the grim world about
her. With an innate knowledge, she maneuvered through the dirty streets
of Hell. Even if the looming castles of torture and anarchy around her
did not hover above the streets like mountains, blocking any hope of
light from possibly adding a little less of a morose tint to the gravel
and dirt beneath, there still would be little light. Light was the
perfect habitat for festering nuisances like hope and faith. Thus, it
only made sense a place as hopeless and dismal as Hades bore little
light, leave for the eerie glow from the sky and radiating from the sky
and the skyscrapers that pierced its whirling clouds (which was
equally, if not even more depressing than the darkness).
As Nyx trudged on, she finally managed to stop a chariot, lead by four
stallion spirits and a headless slave. Without a word, she gracefully
slid inside the lavish transport, noting the soft, lavender cushioning
upon which she sat. It went well with the golden trim and black ebony.
Few heeded Nyx's presence, for there were the few heavenly beings who
served the shadows. Fallen were avoided more than they were respected:
to be worthy of temptation meant they were a force to be reckoned with.
Soon, the echoes of galloping hooves emanated about the towering city,
accompanied by the occasional whinnies and clanks of the carriage
itself. Staring off into an unseen distance, Nyx barely acknowledged
the distance traveled; she was off in her own world of contemplation.
Thoughts of damnation and suffering ebbed her consciousness, reminding
her of her potential future. What could she have done to deserve a
summoning?
It was only when the rough echoes of gravel turned into the sharp,
distinct plods against cobblestone that Nyx snapped up in her seat.
They were nearing her fate, and the odds seemed against her. Still, if
she was damned, she was damned, there was no escaping it. Her delicate
knuckles, the charming cherub stroked the wound on her temple and
slowly began to transform into her true form. Quickly, she changed from
the jet black haired temptress that Seamore Whitley quickly fell pawn
to into the white-haired, violet-and-gold-eyed vixen whose looks threw
many of the succubi to shame. Her fair skin seemed such a contrast to
the dark world around, the woman gave off an unearthly light entirely
unlike anything the underworld produced. She was incontrovertibly a
product of the heavens, physically. But inside resided the sadistic,
cold, calculating Nyx, a creature completely foreign to its origins.
Where had she gone awry...?
When the chariot came to a halt two hours later, it stood before an
altar at the cent of the city. The buildings of Hades ceased in a
precise, one-mile circumference before the grey, ancient altar. Above,
the haunting swhorl of clouds met in the center, forming somewhat of an
'eye of the storm'. But rather than revealing clear sky above, the eye
held only darkness, darker than any mortal could truly comprehend. The
black radiated about, giving off rays of darkness and feeding off of
the forsaken hopelessness it instilled within all of those who gazed
upon it. With a weak sigh, Nyx left the carriage, which quickly
galloped away in fear, and approached the altar. As she stepped up on
the first of a series on a circular staircase, that particular step
came top life. The ageless runes inscribed upon it lit up cherubs
features with a disquieting purple. These runes encircled the altar
and, with each step, another in the circular pyramid lit and activated
the portal in the center.
The fallen took a shallow breath as she took the final step to the top.
Suddenly, a purple pentagram sprang to life before her, surrounded by
the same runes on the steps. Cautiously, she stepped forward, into the
surreal light. Her feet separated and she instinctively fell into a
battle-ready stance, bracing herself for anything. As she did so, the
circular staircase began to rotate, one level after the other, slowly
at first. As the higher levels began to circle the altar, the lower
started going faster until the runes blended together as one. It was
not long before the other levels followed and a whirlwind began to stir
up. It was much like a reverse tornado, the funnel traveling up to the
black eye overhead.
Once more, Nyx sighed. This could be the end for her.
Where had she gone awry?
The process of being sucked from an already separate plane than that of
mortals to that of Lucifer himself is a hard one to describe. It would
probably be somewhat similar to having skin made of the softer Velcro.
When the process begins, the body is ripped from one dimension from
every direction. Each and every pore feels as if it is being plucked
from the skin, somehow attached to the very air around the body. Then,
the subject goes through a stage much like being thrown into a giant
dryer. Everything is dark, the body is no longer distinguishable as
one solid entity, but more or less bits and pieces of darkness.
Spinning and tossing, the not-entirely-gaseous being is thrown into a
world of sensuality, sight, sound, thought, and sense of smell all
become numbed, but the sense of touch becomes exponentially stronger.
Adrift with various unidentifiable fragments of universe, one is left
ignorant to the passing of time, along with most anything, until
finally,the darkness begins to condense. The next stage entails
swirling around and around until every bit of soul is flushed through a
minute hole at 1000 degrees Fahrenheit . Lucky, the poor victim of the
inter-dimensional transportation can do little else but go along,
because the excruciating pain would most likely instigate more injury
by their own hands. Of course, no physical body could survive this
entire procedure in the first place. The final stage is more of an
impact. More or less an inverse of the Velcro effect, the soul is
thrown onto the plane of choice at an incredibly high velocity,
condensing together and forming one, whole being once more.
This is an attempt at what Nyx's soul endured in the flash of an
instant after disappearing in the portal. When her body finally
manifested itself once more, she fell to the ground with a cry, letting
the deluge of hurt, amongst other sensations, die down to a tolerable
level before rising. Her legs quivered weakly as she tried to contain
her shock, but there was no place for composure after teleporting,
especially when the destination was before Satan himself.
The cherub had only been before the Darkness once before, and even that
was once too often. This realm was nothing but utter black. And it was
not the sort of black one could adjust to, or make out shapes and forms
in after awhile, it was pure darkness, a thing far more terrifying than
anything earthly. With each breath, the blackness crept into Nyx's
lungs, chilling her to the very core. Ice filled her veins and frosted
her skin as she waited in terror, too cold to even move. This was the
ring of hell no sinner ever reached, it was home to the shadows, the
sin, tears, and self-pity. Everything evil, bad, or sorrowful in the
human world was but a deluded product of this rancid terror.
"Quite the brave one, you are, young cherub," echoed a slithering voice
in her mind. The voice itself was rather alluring, bearing the same
hypnotic, serpentine qualities it did in the days of yore, when tempted
man from Eden. But here, the voice had no reason to tempt, she was in
his element.
And so, as he entered her mind, Nyx fell victim to a barrage of
torturous images from her past and shrill, blood curdling cries.
Suddenly, her mind was under assault, she lost all feeling and
awareness of the external world, but instead fell, shivering, to the
indistinguishable ground once more, covering her delicate ears in vain.
"What do you want, Dark Lord!?" she hissed, without even moving her
mouth.
"To warn you, my darling minion," the violent voice answered. Though
the words were soft and calm, the pain that followed left her writhing
in pain. "Ever since my fall, I have fought this tireless war in
attempt to conquest His children. Centuries have passed before mine
eyes like seconds, and Oblivion has managed to preserve the
equilibrium. But, my all-knowing eyes have seen into the near future."
At this, two, vibrant black eyes began to approach Nyx in the
darkness. So black were these eyes that they seemed to be the source
of the darkness around and radiated an anti-light. Were the cherub
looking, she would be able to spot the eyes like beacons amongst the
impenetrable dark. but she was not looking, she had resorted to
retching in pain, stuck in something like the fetal position as her
stomach tried hard to regurgitate the contents it didn't have.
And then she heard his steps. They broke through the numbness and
echoed in her mind like shattering glass. Each confident step
resonated throughout the darkness like war drums, or perhaps it was the
beating of her own heart. Perhaps they were one in the same? Soon,
the ageless king of darkness stood before the quivering girl, looking
down upon her with a satisfied grin. She was nothing, he could
terminate her meager existence in the blink of an eye if he wanted.
She was nothing and, at the moment, entirely indispensables.
With that, Satan knelt down to the angel he had tempted long ago and
clasped her clenched fist without hesitation. Suddenly, Nyx let out a
stomach-churning shriek of anguish, her every fiber experiencing a
bone-chilling burn before she became utterly useless with pain. But
just as quickly, the pain dissipated, her fist began to radiate with a
healing warmth, which soon spread down her arm, towards her chest, and
then throughout her limbs. In moments, she was standing before the
Fallen Lord in a euphoric stupor. "What I saw was quite unexpected.
You, my dear child, will be presented with a decision very soon. It
will determine where your loyalties lie, but even more importantly, it
could bring victory within our imminent reach. This war is about to
see its greatest battle, and you, among my finest servants, are about
to reap the fruits of your labor. Do you understand what I am telling
you?"
As he asked this question, the mysterious figure began to make himself
known to her. It was as if in touching her, he had triggered the gift
of sight in her. His hand felt human, leave for it's icy temperature.
As it began to appear, it looked human, as well. His skin was white,
utterly colorless, and his arms venular. The body it was attached to
wore long robes of black with dark blue and silver trim. They were
decorated along the hems with the same, ornate runes that covered the
outer walls of his city. His collar was high, covering his long neck,
but the robes could not completely disguise a muscular, young physique.
But none of this seemed too intimidating; it was when the servant
gazed upwards some more, and found the face of the devil that her own
features drained a pale white. His colorless face was chiseled and
sharp, his white eyebrows furrowed and cruel. The creature's hair was
silver, such a luminescent silver that it seemed he wore moonlight. It
was definitely hair, but it flowed behind him much like an air-born
flame, the silver wisps melded into white-hot fire that even
disappeared in the darkness. But even this did not stun her like his
eyes. She only made contact with them for an instant, but that instant
felt like eons. All at once, she saw that days of yore and heard the
tortured cries of his every victim attack her at once, which soon
melded with her own, pained scream.
Instinctively, the cherub pulled away like a child playing on a hot
stove. But his hand held her firmly, and all she could do was close
her eyes to silence the terrible noises. For several moments, she
stood there, panting in her recovery, before she could even utter a
word. "Y-yes, my Lord. I shall not disappoint you." Though she
stuttered, both creatures of night knew she spoke with sincerity, after
all, she had been loyal enough to come to him, expecting her doom.
This was her chance to get all she was promised as a servant of Lucifer
and more.
In response, the beast let out a mighty laughter that chiseled into the
very depths of her soul. His chilling laughter seemed psychotic,
sociopathic, even. There was irony and blood lust behind each breath
that spoke of merciless, sadistic pleasure in her terror and potential
torture. "Oh, I know you won't, my dear. After all, there would be
Hell to pay," and with that, He let go of Nyx's hand. As if he were
the only thing holding her firmly in that realm, the cherub was once
again ripped from one world to another.
With a groan, Nyx rubbed her head and gritted her teeth. The first
thing that occurred to her was that the ground on which her head rested
was nothing like the pillow she would have preferred. The next thing
she noticed was the cold numbness about her temple and the thick scent
of iron congesting up her sensitive sinuses. Grimacing, the cherub
attempted to rise, but could only lift herself by the elbows before her
temple began to throb with excruciating pain. Where was she, how had
she gotten there?
Opening her sore, violet eyes, Nyx cursed inaudibly, or perhaps simply
in her mind. She could not tell and she did not care. What now
perplexed her more than her concussion and bleeding temple was the
scenery splayed before her. She lay strewn on the barren, red sands of
urban hades. Her aching body seemed to absorb the whistling clouds of
sienna that extended for miles and retain a certain redness itself.
Leave for her own, bloodied form, there resided nothing but flat,
voracious dirt.
Groaning, the fallen rose slowly, suppressing the pain with a gasp. The
last thing she could recall was being pushed aside by Artemis. She must
have fallen in the process of being transported. Being snatched so
abruptly from the mortal world and abandoned in the most desolate
wastelands of hell could only mean one thing: the big guy was
mad...furious, even.
Limping slowly, Nyx continued for several yards, trying to analyze her
current state. Magic was out of the question, it would incapacitate her
for hours. The longer she made him wait, the more she would lament. At
least she was invulnerable to the endless maze that hexed this
particular part of the underworld. Many a poor soul were sentenced to
an eternity of thirst and solitude in this reality, a punishment
reserved mainly for vengeful lovers and lawyers.
As she painfully made her way across the red land, her feet kicked up
red dust that covered her shins. The very ground seemed to cry out to
her in thirst which, in turn, emphasized a thirst of her own. Though
it was only a recent development, her mouth soon grew dry and her body
as parched as the desert around her. This was part of the torturous
hex placed on the boundless maze. But the cherub continued,
distracting herself with thought of mayhem and destruction. By now,
she had such a blood lust that she was contemplating the instigation of
some indigenous genocide.
It seemed eons before Nyx reached the chilling river Styx. Where the
out lands of Hades were a martian-like desert of solitude, the
transition towards Styx was something else entirely. The blinding red
dirts soon became eerily vibrant grasses of green and blue. The heat
disappeared, too, but the cool, spine-tingling sensation that replaced
it was only a small improvement. Even the sky, a universal canopy left
unaffected by all beneath it, seemed to be a new blanket entirely, one
without a singular light source, but a soft, daunting blue glow.
Mists and fogs full of elusive images were a commonplace. Every few
laborious steps, something seemed to dart past Nyx in her peripheral
vision. The two environments, desert and plains, were radicals of one
another. One was ceaselessly hot, dry, sparse, and alone, the other a
bone-chilling enigma that made one wish they were alone.
Still, the cherub trudged on, limping violently. She made nothing of
the spirits; she had an agenda. But, they made a commotion about her,
they always did. A particular thing about unearthly figures is that,
despite the fact they could not identify a seraph from a minion in
life, the dead can always tell the difference. She was a heavenly
creature, and they knew it. Swirls in the mist and stomach-churning
wails stalked her, beckoning for release, for salvation. They were
desperately mislead. Some realized this and began, once again, to
dissipate amongst the swaying grasses in the still night.
The river itself, which rested at the bottom of a small slope, was a
wide, iridescent creature whose current was flowing, but in no
particularly identifiable direction. The lively fog that inhabited the
hills so restlessly hovered above the river, stopping a an invisible
plane about two stories above the 'waters'. Awaiting her knowingly
among the glowing waters in an ageless, wooden dingy was a just as
ageless man. His misleading, youthful features were almost elvish, the
smile across his fair skin mischievous. His long, snow white hair fell
to his knees in an elegant braid full of much smaller braids. What
struck most upon first meeting this man, however, were his completely
black eyes. There was no distinction as to where his pupils were, but
somehow, Nyx could always tell when he was looking at her.
”Greetings, fair Maiden,” the man bowed humbly in a white tunic and
leggings. The only thing with color on him was golden trim along his
collar.
”Fair Maiden? I am just as much a 'fair maiden' as you are youthful,
Jenner,” Nyx chortled, which was much unlike herself. He had an ability
to bring out the worst of her.
At her reply, he smiled wider. The man closed his eyes and relished her
bell-like laughter as if it were the finest, rarest gem in any
dimension. He took joy in few presences, and this cherub's just
happened to be one of them. He could remember the day he first met her.
Something compelled him to offer her his favorite, most appealing
facade, for he did not normally look this way. He loved to strike fear
into the souls traveling to their doom by procuring his most obscene,
atrocious guises possible. But Nyx...she was different. Nyx was a
sadistic killer with a sense of humor few but he could find. Nyx was
the damsel and the distress, Nyx was that extra day of school sent to
torture children in the summer for enjoying that snow day. In truth, he
probably loved her, but who had time to love?
When the cherub set foot on the opposite side of Styx, she turned to
Jenner with a grin. Where most would utter a warm goodbye, neither of
them said a word as he pushed the edge of the boat off the shore. The
familiar silence said more than any goodbyes. Soon, he faded into the
mist, and Nyx was left in an introspective daze, her glossy eyes
staring blankly at the wake of the small boat in the water. The spirits
that swam, trapped within gave the liquid a unique and petrifying
appearance. If one focused long enough, the faces of lost souls
taunting others into the water became unique and distinguishable from
one another.
Shaking her head from the stupor, Nyx turned around, ready to head for
the gates of Hell. She had been summoned, that meant the high power
himself had some sort of agenda for her. The reality of being summoned
could drive a demon to insanity, for the tales of torture, and the
sparse of triumph, were very tall indeed. She was either doing well,
or, as she suspected, royally damned. If Hades himself tugged her from
the mortal world, rather than sending a messenger, something mammoth
had occurred correlating with her meaningless existence in this world.
She had only been summoned once before, many eons ago. It was the day
he tempted her to darkness.
Shrugging, the cherub wordlessly continued, towards the looming city
before her. The sky seemed to grow darker with every step, the grasses
below gradually growing scarce as they trudged onto solid dirt and
stone. The city, a mountainous skyline against the daunting blue
horizon, was surrounded by a gargantuan gate. Of course, one could not
tell the city was actually surrounded, let alone that it ended. It
seemed to continue on infinitely in either direction. The skyscrapers
inside were the cliche Gothic type, the tallest of which would break
beyond the circling, smog-like clouds above.
As they grew ever nearer, the gates now consuming the entire sky, Nyx
paused, knowing full well not to march more than fifty feet within the
circumference of the gate, lest she had a sudden desire for mortality.
Soon, the very same smog that composed the toxic sky above began to
manifest before them, circling and swirling into a misshapen figure.
The construed form began to condense, becoming less and less
translucent. The cloud, standing three stories tall, soon took shape
and became and opaque, living creature. Over them it hovered, beginning
to attain detail after terrifying detail: four, monstrously wide,
muscular legs, a mammoth, panting torso, and three drooling, cruel
dog-like heads, each boasting a man's length in two-foot canines.
"Cerberus," she murmured, "Looking hungry as ever," she chuckled before
she quickly looked back in hesitation.
The giant beast let out a low growl that shook Nyx's footing and the
ground beneath her. Still, she did not flinch, gazing up at the
three-headed monster with just as much intensity as each set of eyes
bore down upon her. For several moments, the four stood in silence, a
cold war of determination and pride.
It seemed the two bodies were locked in the somewhat ironic battle: the
giant Cerberus hovering over a tiny, human-looking creature, minuscule
in comparison, yet both equal in power and pride. In fact, it was as if
they had been frozen there for eons, both of them functioning as
intimidating sentries of old, a warning to the doomed and the bold. But
finally, without another word or gesture, the mighty dog shifted a paw,
soon followed by another and another it had circled its prey and the
two had switched positions. Blowing air from its nostrils in forfeit,
Cerberus recognized the angel's authority and admitted her through with
a nod. Neither creature bore ill feelings towards the other. But it was
common knowledge any being who could stand its ground in front of the
dark, grueling heads of Cerberus had already been to Hell and back
again...literally.
With that, the giant sat behind the cherub, a mammoth sentinel ensuring
her entry, and watched as the stone gates of Hell began to open. As
always, Nyx took a moment to admire the ancient and intricate engraving
that covered the demonic walls from bottom to top. One could get lost
for years simply following the runes and tales of yore on just a few
feet of the wall. The dark lines bore into the thunder grey stone with
such precision and beauty, no mortal and few immortal hands could ever
hope to recreate even a fraction of of the art.
As the stone shifted like slate against the ground had to shift several
times to avoid falling. But, finally, the daunting, Gothic city of
Hades was splayed before her, awaiting her entrance. With a look back
to the three heads, she nodded once to each set of eyes and stumbled in
weakly. Instantly, the gates began to close behind her, but Nyx heeded
no attention to the stone anymore. Her focus was left to the numerous
demons that weaved in and out of the gargantuan edifices, some
gruesome, some beast-like, many were unidentifiable to anything mortal,
and just as many looked as human as you or me. Regardless, though,
these creatures of darkness carried out the will of the Higher-Up,
guiding miserable souls, plotting destruction, and carrying the
contracts which bound the greedy and the great to an eternity of
torture. Shaking her head, Nyx couldn't help but smirk at the irony.
Mortals had every reason to dread just how they lived their meaningless
and brief lives.
With a sigh, Nyx finally averted her eyes from the grim world about
her. With an innate knowledge, she maneuvered through the dirty streets
of Hell. Even if the looming castles of torture and anarchy around her
did not hover above the streets like mountains, blocking any hope of
light from possibly adding a little less of a morose tint to the gravel
and dirt beneath, there still would be little light. Light was the
perfect habitat for festering nuisances like hope and faith. Thus, it
only made sense a place as hopeless and dismal as Hades bore little
light, leave for the eerie glow from the sky and radiating from the sky
and the skyscrapers that pierced its whirling clouds (which was
equally, if not even more depressing than the darkness).
As Nyx trudged on, she finally managed to stop a chariot, lead by four
stallion spirits and a headless slave. Without a word, she gracefully
slid inside the lavish transport, noting the soft, lavender cushioning
upon which she sat. It went well with the golden trim and black ebony.
Few heeded Nyx's presence, for there were the few heavenly beings who
served the shadows. Fallen were avoided more than they were respected:
to be worthy of temptation meant they were a force to be reckoned with.
Soon, the echoes of galloping hooves emanated about the towering city,
accompanied by the occasional whinnies and clanks of the carriage
itself. Staring off into an unseen distance, Nyx barely acknowledged
the distance traveled; she was off in her own world of contemplation.
Thoughts of damnation and suffering ebbed her consciousness, reminding
her of her potential future. What could she have done to deserve a
summoning?
It was only when the rough echoes of gravel turned into the sharp,
distinct plods against cobblestone that Nyx snapped up in her seat.
They were nearing her fate, and the odds seemed against her. Still, if
she was damned, she was damned, there was no escaping it. Her delicate
knuckles, the charming cherub stroked the wound on her temple and
slowly began to transform into her true form. Quickly, she changed from
the jet black haired temptress that Seamore Whitley quickly fell pawn
to into the white-haired, violet-and-gold-eyed vixen whose looks threw
many of the succubi to shame. Her fair skin seemed such a contrast to
the dark world around, the woman gave off an unearthly light entirely
unlike anything the underworld produced. She was incontrovertibly a
product of the heavens, physically. But inside resided the sadistic,
cold, calculating Nyx, a creature completely foreign to its origins.
Where had she gone awry...?
When the chariot came to a halt two hours later, it stood before an
altar at the cent of the city. The buildings of Hades ceased in a
precise, one-mile circumference before the grey, ancient altar. Above,
the haunting swhorl of clouds met in the center, forming somewhat of an
'eye of the storm'. But rather than revealing clear sky above, the eye
held only darkness, darker than any mortal could truly comprehend. The
black radiated about, giving off rays of darkness and feeding off of
the forsaken hopelessness it instilled within all of those who gazed
upon it. With a weak sigh, Nyx left the carriage, which quickly
galloped away in fear, and approached the altar. As she stepped up on
the first of a series on a circular staircase, that particular step
came top life. The ageless runes inscribed upon it lit up cherubs
features with a disquieting purple. These runes encircled the altar
and, with each step, another in the circular pyramid lit and activated
the portal in the center.
The fallen took a shallow breath as she took the final step to the top.
Suddenly, a purple pentagram sprang to life before her, surrounded by
the same runes on the steps. Cautiously, she stepped forward, into the
surreal light. Her feet separated and she instinctively fell into a
battle-ready stance, bracing herself for anything. As she did so, the
circular staircase began to rotate, one level after the other, slowly
at first. As the higher levels began to circle the altar, the lower
started going faster until the runes blended together as one. It was
not long before the other levels followed and a whirlwind began to stir
up. It was much like a reverse tornado, the funnel traveling up to the
black eye overhead.
Once more, Nyx sighed. This could be the end for her.
Where had she gone awry?
The process of being sucked from an already separate plane than that of
mortals to that of Lucifer himself is a hard one to describe. It would
probably be somewhat similar to having skin made of the softer Velcro.
When the process begins, the body is ripped from one dimension from
every direction. Each and every pore feels as if it is being plucked
from the skin, somehow attached to the very air around the body. Then,
the subject goes through a stage much like being thrown into a giant
dryer. Everything is dark, the body is no longer distinguishable as
one solid entity, but more or less bits and pieces of darkness.
Spinning and tossing, the not-entirely-gaseous being is thrown into a
world of sensuality, sight, sound, thought, and sense of smell all
become numbed, but the sense of touch becomes exponentially stronger.
Adrift with various unidentifiable fragments of universe, one is left
ignorant to the passing of time, along with most anything, until
finally,the darkness begins to condense. The next stage entails
swirling around and around until every bit of soul is flushed through a
minute hole at 1000 degrees Fahrenheit . Lucky, the poor victim of the
inter-dimensional transportation can do little else but go along,
because the excruciating pain would most likely instigate more injury
by their own hands. Of course, no physical body could survive this
entire procedure in the first place. The final stage is more of an
impact. More or less an inverse of the Velcro effect, the soul is
thrown onto the plane of choice at an incredibly high velocity,
condensing together and forming one, whole being once more.
This is an attempt at what Nyx's soul endured in the flash of an
instant after disappearing in the portal. When her body finally
manifested itself once more, she fell to the ground with a cry, letting
the deluge of hurt, amongst other sensations, die down to a tolerable
level before rising. Her legs quivered weakly as she tried to contain
her shock, but there was no place for composure after teleporting,
especially when the destination was before Satan himself.
The cherub had only been before the Darkness once before, and even that
was once too often. This realm was nothing but utter black. And it was
not the sort of black one could adjust to, or make out shapes and forms
in after awhile, it was pure darkness, a thing far more terrifying than
anything earthly. With each breath, the blackness crept into Nyx's
lungs, chilling her to the very core. Ice filled her veins and frosted
her skin as she waited in terror, too cold to even move. This was the
ring of hell no sinner ever reached, it was home to the shadows, the
sin, tears, and self-pity. Everything evil, bad, or sorrowful in the
human world was but a deluded product of this rancid terror.
"Quite the brave one, you are, young cherub," echoed a slithering voice
in her mind. The voice itself was rather alluring, bearing the same
hypnotic, serpentine qualities it did in the days of yore, when tempted
man from Eden. But here, the voice had no reason to tempt, she was in
his element.
And so, as he entered her mind, Nyx fell victim to a barrage of
torturous images from her past and shrill, blood curdling cries.
Suddenly, her mind was under assault, she lost all feeling and
awareness of the external world, but instead fell, shivering, to the
indistinguishable ground once more, covering her delicate ears in vain.
"What do you want, Dark Lord!?" she hissed, without even moving her
mouth.
"To warn you, my darling minion," the violent voice answered. Though
the words were soft and calm, the pain that followed left her writhing
in pain. "Ever since my fall, I have fought this tireless war in
attempt to conquest His children. Centuries have passed before mine
eyes like seconds, and Oblivion has managed to preserve the
equilibrium. But, my all-knowing eyes have seen into the near future."
At this, two, vibrant black eyes began to approach Nyx in the
darkness. So black were these eyes that they seemed to be the source
of the darkness around and radiated an anti-light. Were the cherub
looking, she would be able to spot the eyes like beacons amongst the
impenetrable dark. but she was not looking, she had resorted to
retching in pain, stuck in something like the fetal position as her
stomach tried hard to regurgitate the contents it didn't have.
And then she heard his steps. They broke through the numbness and
echoed in her mind like shattering glass. Each confident step
resonated throughout the darkness like war drums, or perhaps it was the
beating of her own heart. Perhaps they were one in the same? Soon,
the ageless king of darkness stood before the quivering girl, looking
down upon her with a satisfied grin. She was nothing, he could
terminate her meager existence in the blink of an eye if he wanted.
She was nothing and, at the moment, entirely indispensables.
With that, Satan knelt down to the angel he had tempted long ago and
clasped her clenched fist without hesitation. Suddenly, Nyx let out a
stomach-churning shriek of anguish, her every fiber experiencing a
bone-chilling burn before she became utterly useless with pain. But
just as quickly, the pain dissipated, her fist began to radiate with a
healing warmth, which soon spread down her arm, towards her chest, and
then throughout her limbs. In moments, she was standing before the
Fallen Lord in a euphoric stupor. "What I saw was quite unexpected.
You, my dear child, will be presented with a decision very soon. It
will determine where your loyalties lie, but even more importantly, it
could bring victory within our imminent reach. This war is about to
see its greatest battle, and you, among my finest servants, are about
to reap the fruits of your labor. Do you understand what I am telling
you?"
As he asked this question, the mysterious figure began to make himself
known to her. It was as if in touching her, he had triggered the gift
of sight in her. His hand felt human, leave for it's icy temperature.
As it began to appear, it looked human, as well. His skin was white,
utterly colorless, and his arms venular. The body it was attached to
wore long robes of black with dark blue and silver trim. They were
decorated along the hems with the same, ornate runes that covered the
outer walls of his city. His collar was high, covering his long neck,
but the robes could not completely disguise a muscular, young physique.
But none of this seemed too intimidating; it was when the servant
gazed upwards some more, and found the face of the devil that her own
features drained a pale white. His colorless face was chiseled and
sharp, his white eyebrows furrowed and cruel. The creature's hair was
silver, such a luminescent silver that it seemed he wore moonlight. It
was definitely hair, but it flowed behind him much like an air-born
flame, the silver wisps melded into white-hot fire that even
disappeared in the darkness. But even this did not stun her like his
eyes. She only made contact with them for an instant, but that instant
felt like eons. All at once, she saw that days of yore and heard the
tortured cries of his every victim attack her at once, which soon
melded with her own, pained scream.
Instinctively, the cherub pulled away like a child playing on a hot
stove. But his hand held her firmly, and all she could do was close
her eyes to silence the terrible noises. For several moments, she
stood there, panting in her recovery, before she could even utter a
word. "Y-yes, my Lord. I shall not disappoint you." Though she
stuttered, both creatures of night knew she spoke with sincerity, after
all, she had been loyal enough to come to him, expecting her doom.
This was her chance to get all she was promised as a servant of Lucifer
and more.
In response, the beast let out a mighty laughter that chiseled into the
very depths of her soul. His chilling laughter seemed psychotic,
sociopathic, even. There was irony and blood lust behind each breath
that spoke of merciless, sadistic pleasure in her terror and potential
torture. "Oh, I know you won't, my dear. After all, there would be
Hell to pay," and with that, He let go of Nyx's hand. As if he were
the only thing holding her firmly in that realm, the cherub was once
again ripped from one world to another.
