Quotes: Epic


She felt magic running though her veins. Water, as ancient as the earth itself, that had ran since the dawn of time flowing and connecting the entire world. Water, that had been worshiped by ancient civilizations as the essence of all life needed by every living creature rushing through her entire being. She could feel all the waters on Earth rolling into each other, flowing through the blood and sweat of it all.

Water was the source of all life, and Cora felt like she was in the center of it all. It hit her suddenly, stronger than the wave that had struck that man at the beach. She knew at once that she was a god.

He snarls
He is furious, as vengeance gets ripped away from him.

And, in his fury, he steps forward, and places his hands on the expanding sphere of void.
"Like HELL I'm allowin' anyone to touch my Chancel, just like that!"
He snarls, aimed at the void in front of him.

"…He called you Teja."
Blake unexpectedly says, as he looks down into the void.

He skids back, as the sphere balloons up, before he stops, determinedly holding it off from expanding.

"Whoever you are, Teja, you think this will be enough to outdo ME, Blake, the freakin' God of the Night?"

The twinkling chorus of the stars sounds out to you; they sing of a pale rider traveling the space between them. A rider with an intent most foul to you. They describe her riding into the sunset with a killer's intent on her lips.

"Oh, well done, little Sister. This has been a most impressive tantrum. All the power in the world, and you use it to transform the Earth into a Christmas tree ornament. Just another faceted gem in the boughs of the Tree. I hope you're happy with yourself. Except do you even know what happiness is, any more?

"I'm not sure what Barakiel saw in you, but whoever he saw is obviously not the person I'm seeing right now. Find the heart to give the world back to its people, Sister, or I'll find it for you."
Darla raised an eyebrow.


"Oh, I'm sorry," she said with a cruel smile. "I couldn't hear you just then, I had icicles in my ears."

She brought her hands to the side of her head and pulled out two long icicles from each ear.

She flung the two spikes into her throne-room's roof. The whole castle shook with an ominous rumble. Suddenly the ceiling collapsed, raining millions of sharpened ice-shards down upon Evelyn and Tom.


She had a gravity. She was like the empty vacuum of space drawing Ophelia in. Her eyes said 'love me'. They said 'die for me'. Looking into them made Ophelia want to throw herself into that void, to die choking and gasping for air, to expire surrounded by nothingness, uncradled by even the gravity we take for granted.

It was a lot of emotion. Strong emotion. Dark emotion. It was an awe that stank of suicidal obsession, an infatuation that could only end badly. This sort of bad feeling were the provenance of another. These sort of feelings were more appropriate for … Darla.
-Teja to Ophelia

All at once the oceans collided, drenching the earth. The water covered everything with its might, with crushing force, hundreds of waves coming from all different directions towards the Hollywood Hills. The giant waves made tsunamis look insignificant. They all crashed into each other at once forming a peek just above Darla. Then with a snap of her fingers the entire thing flash froze, creating a giant castle made from all of the water on Earth with Darla and the horse in the centre.

Nothing survived; everything was frozen under an eternity of ice.

Everything went quiet.

She didn't feel good about it, she didn't feel anything. But Darla still smiled.

In her hand is a black ball. It crackles with potential. She stands ready to hurl it into the furnace of night.

"This is doiv" she explains, pronouncing it 'dough-eve'. "It is the opposite of void, pure unlimited potential. Once I feed this to the Sun it will burn until the end of days. There will never again be another night!"

In a torrent of ice-cold miraculous energy, the world became one huge ice-ball. In a heart-beat the Earth has grown quiet. The great buildings of the world were coated in rime. The great cultural centres of humanity buried under layers of snow. The traffic stopped; the wars stopped; all of humanity was at peace.

Standing high above the Hollywood Hills was the huge ice-tower crafted by Darla. She had built it in a flood of miraculous inspiration; it was a thing of beauty and horror, like a backwards icicle threatening to pierce the sky. She sat in the heart of it, near the top, overlooking her frozen wasteland of a kingdom. From an icy throne, Darla could take in her handiwork at her leisure. Her only companion was the Excrucian steed who stood beside her seat, not minding the temperature one bit.

At her doorstep, in a whirlwind of careful steel, stood Evelyn and Tom. His trusty switchblade had cut away enough of his new sister's Miracle that he and his mannequin companion were still mobile. They weren't even buried in the ice. They stood, unmolested, in the shadow of Darla's looming ice palace.

As Thomas speaks of worthy foes, Evelyn howls aloud, a woeful, hideous, wailing sound, like a thousand fish screaming at their captors, like the very ocean crying, and she stands in the form of cruel Dantallion Fisk, who slew her one time brother, Power of Water. Dantallion Fisk, whose body is crissed with a thousand wounds, whose face is crossed with a hundred scars, and each one bleeds fresh black blood, blood that grows black flowers.
The Excrucian stands there, cold and hateful.

Then there stands in his place Sharek'tal, the great beast that Cora saw upon the shore, with eyes unending pools of clear water. He stands there, warrior proud and strong, his scales gleaming under a sheet of ice, his fangs dripping with ancient venom, his mouth full of battle cries and warrior's commands.
Then he gasps, and those dark pools fill with crimson blood, and hunting sharks.

"Is this retched mammal to replace me?" the fish asks, "Is this warmblooded walker to rule the majesty of my oceans? Is this frozen creature to steer my warm currents?" The lipless fish hisses in disdain, "Is this my chosen avenger, to stab at the heart of my fell enemy? Let my ghost rest uneasy, for it will have to do the deed itself."

Then, with a flicker, Evelyn is herself again, unmoved, unmoving.

Blake realized right away; he was but a speck of shadow, a mere ink-blot of night. The true Night, the complete totality of all of it's vastness stood before him. Barakiel, wreathed in black water that rippled and undulated around him. His eyes were black with lightning bolts crackling in them. His black wings were filled with stars.

The ants of Locus Entropy shot compound glares at the new creature, and began to swarm. These were malicious ants, born of jealousy and industry. Benjamin was a wee bit larger than the average one but he was outnumbered a hundred to one.

Across the field of crawling adversaries was the loomingly massive head of Evelyn. Howling with childlike rage, the monster began to pile-drive through the swarm of ants, smacking them aside with his two heads and his massive clawed limbs.

He fought an epic battle on a tiny scale and emerged victorious.

Her kiss became a black sucking thing, a howling vacuum that threatened to swallow Blake's soul. Her lips had a horrible weight that drew in Blake's life-force, his emotions and his love.

At the same time she wiggled her fingers like a puppeteer. White nothingness danced along her fingertips as she pointed out a porthole towards the water the ship sailed on. With a snap of those delicate white fingers, the Black Waterfall was no more. The Galleon Nocturnal began to plummet towards the Earth, it's captain still lip-locked with his greatest foe.

The tight shawl of void Heimerich wore closer to her skin began to expand and warble. The Cultists of Night shirked back, suddenly terrified they weren't being protected by their God. Her wiggling fingers began to become like a puppeteer's as long tendrils of nothingness began to stretch out from her white aura. The ends of these tentacles of Void opened, revealing fangs and eyes of blackness.

She outstretched all of her fingers at once. It was like a million serpents of vacuum were lurking within Teja and she had released them all. They elegantly glided through the ship, moving through the Cultists, through the hull of the Galleon Nocturnal, and a large portion of them began to slither towards Tom's boat. The hungry legion of snakes descended on the ships, attacking everything and everyone.

The boats looked like swiss cheese. Water began to flood them as the ships crumbled. And everyone who had eyes could see the serpents, massive and hungry, swallowing their companions and undoing everything that was undefended. The only thing the serpents shied away from was the whirling Cora-Tifon-typhoon, which they avoided out of self-preservation.

And all the while Teja smiled.

Just because she had schoolgirl fantasies didn't mean she wasn't still a Destroyer of Worlds.

The body of Evelyn began to crack and pull apart as the void around Teja spreads outwards. Beneath it there is the hollow interior of the mannequin, suspended in place and visible as a distortion in the air, as it hollows itself out completely, into a vacuum. The shards of plastic spread out and break into individual molecules, and then spring forth, a serpent of plastic, molded in artistic glory that would make blood mouthed Jezebeth grin, brilliant colors and intricately carved details, each in its own unique style, molded plastic moving like real flesh. Worms of medieval design, carp scaled dragons of ancient China, screaming expressionist serpents, warped pieces of statuary, all spreading forth from her.

These plastic serpents follow the voids serpents exactly, so exactly that they enter into the same space, filling the void with their bodies, quelling the nothingness with something.
They are obliterated, yes, but so are the voids that destroy them, filled with matter.

Astraea frowned. She stood before the onslaught of water and void and screamed into the maelstrom; "Tifon Leer! For the crime of distracting me from watching your sister—"

She paused briefly to slice a pair of snakes, one made of nothingness, one made of plastic, and avoid being eaten.

"For this crime I do hereby punish you with DISMEMBERMENT!"

As she spoke, it was true. Her word was Law.

This is different from what Darla's dealt with before - this power is going to shatter her, if she keeps things as they are now.
This Miracle will make all her victories she'd done, through time travel, null and void, the rage Blake feels already hammering away, shattering the knowledge of 'The Darla' away from the minds of everyone.
This is not like Astraea, who merely tried to subdue Darla, nor like when she had gone up against the one whose mind she was squatting in - this is Blake's wrath unchained, and he's not going to stop until victory is gained, until the Chancel is as it was before.

And Blake can not imagine a worse fate than people not remembering who you are, or your own memories of your capabilities being chained down.
This is what Darla is suffering now.

As the swarm of night swallows every instance of her name across Creation, hiding the posters she has hung up on the White House, scratching the engravings on the World Wonders built in her dark image, Darla howls with rage. She would not have it; no-one would challenge her, especially not this weakling made of shadow.

"This is my world now, Blake!" she howled, clearly familiar with the Family due to time travel. She reached out with her fingers across the world, chasing Blake's night-time with her centipede spirits. Society was slow to change, and Darla had spent all of human history embedding herself within it.

But try as she might to shelter the world from the Dominus Nox, what was a daily utterance threatened to become a world-wide secret. She pushed herself into her world, into the Society she had crafted, and she impressed herself upon them all. And, as they had long been trained to do, all of humanity lets her into their hearts.

As one, every man woman and child on Earth looked to their personal icons of Darla and prayed. "All hail …" they whispered, afraid for their Queen's well-being. "Do not leave us naked and alone!

"So let the Power of Imitation not be beholden to any one lord, servitor to any one god, but an echo to all Imperitors, a mirror of all creation. From the deepest roots of Hell to the highest branches of Heaven, may every Imperitor, every power, ever spirit in all creation long for the flattery of Imitation, for the echo of themselves to resound off the Weirdling Wall and all throughout Creation, and beyond it, even, let the Excrucians, from the lowliest Deceiver shard to the great Harrumph itself long for mimicry to be at their side, to turn the hearts of all to their cause, for copycats to follow their dread lead, let then everything in Creation, and everything beyond it, desire this Power with all their vanity, with all their ambition, and with every part of their heart that wishes themselves as great as their heroes, and every part that wishes the common spirits as great as they!

"Let them want the Power of Imitation, but never let them have it, for this Power, mere shadow that it is, shall be a fickle echo free of bonds to imitate all, without favorites and without coercion.

"This Power shall be free to all, save it's nature."

And in that moment Jezebeth and Barakiel alike, though the Angel did not know why, wanted Evelyn Adams more than they ever had before, and knew that they could never have it.

Tom bows to 'Ophelia' and Astraea. "Pardon me, mesdamoiselles, but it's showtime."

Before either can answer, he seizes their hands and launches them into an impromptu display of fast feet that would have been breathtakingly beautiful had it also not owed its influences more to Dirty Dancing than Swan Lake. The fact that he's dancing with two beautiful and dangerous women at the same time does not faze Tom. Nor does the horde of ninjas, nor even their lightning-spewing leader. He tugs Ophelia into an unchoreographed twirl that sends two ill-timed sword-strokes careening into each other, deflecting at angles that lead their blades to nest in the flesh of the wrong targets: two surprised-looking ninja keel over, from shinobi to sushi in a splitsecond. At the same time he seizes Astraea around the waist and dips her backward; the supple virgin of justice and Law obligingly bends and skewers a charging ninja, his own attack hissing over her lowered head.

A burly creature roars and lumbers to the attack, swinging a massive tetsubo. "It's not polite to butt in, pal, but if you want to change partners for a minute I can oblige." A shimmy and two rapid-fire pelvic thrusts send the two women skidding towards safety, while Tom intercepts the swipe by stepping into the blow, seizing the fishman's wrist and shoulder and then driving him into the street with a picture-perfect hip-throw. The tetsubo, its head buried in the cobbles, becomes an impromptu stripper pole as Tom seizes it and does an upside-down, mid-air split, kicking a pair of assailants in the head as he goes.

In a blur of motion, he slides on his knees across the slick street, intercepting his partners. He parks Ophelia's tush on his knee while Astraea takes a leisurely seat on his bent back.

His smile is smug enough to make an Angel furious, and it is targeted at the lightning-wreathed elder. "You can applaud if you must, but what I'm really after is information. Think you can oblige?"

Darla was not so restrained. She let it all out. Or rather, took it all in. All of it.

The ground beneath her cracked and flew in chunks towards her. People began to fly off of the ground, drawn into their queen. Cars, buildings, sewer lines, everything bent and wobbled, tearing from the ground and being drawn into her event horizon. She consumed it all, pressed it to a singularity, and then continued on even further. She swallowed the ground. She swallowed the sky.

Time broke. Space broke.

Everything drawn in.

There was no New Darla City. There was no Eastern Seaboard. The Atlantic Ocean became a swirling vortex, feeding into The Darla. It grew and it grew, swallowing landmass, physics, love, defiance, even the night-time itself. It ate everything in the Prosaic Reality and the greater abundance of things in the Mythic. It just kept eating and eating, growing and growing.

A Black Hole unleashed on Earth.

A ripple of power passes from the Noble to the captain. His proud beard, patchy from centuries of neglect, looks fuller now. The brocade of his clothes gleams, and his cutlass is sharp-edged and bright as if new-forged. The effect spreads outwards, to encompass his own ship and crew.

The first missiles strike in a wash of flame and splinters as they tear into the hull, but the Flying Dutchman has sailed on stranger tides, and shrugs off the assault. The gaping holes scab over with caulking and sheets of lead. The crew, who have seen death before their eyes were eaten, catch autocannon rounds and shrapnel without a pause in their duties: they fear the bos'un's lash more than modern weapons. Shattered bone straightens, and they bare long teeth into the storm of shot as they laugh their disdain. Death has eaten everything perishable from them: what is left, no matter how decrepit, is proof against the assault.

A skeletal cabin boy swells his ribcage with stolen air, and his voice is reedy and thin, but is immediately joined by another, and then another, until a chorus rings out against the screech of afterburner and turbine. A dirge-like shanty pulses across the ship, until for the first time in centuries the deck of the Flying Dutchman comes alive with song.

"Yo-Ho, yo-ho, a pirate's life for me…"

Tom plants a foot on the rail and points straight at Darla's eye-twisting event horizon. "Break through their formation and prepare broadsides as they go past! Captain, give me ramming speed!"

Tifon had been focused in studying the nature of Unbeing and what lay beyond Creation. He'd seen it in Teja and in the emptiness of his failed Chancel. But long ago, in the meeting of the Court to assign Arthur to him, he had seen Baalhermon. He'd seen what turning your power on yourself could do. With his life and Cora's on the line, Tifon followed suit and torn himself apart down to emptiness from the inside-out, with help from numerous factors. What was left would arise in a grand summoning of the Antagonist of Aphorisms and the Scourge of Normal Things: The Great and Terrible Nobody.

One more than the others. Above the empty chasm, Ekalb, the lone Anti-Noble on the bridge of either ship anymore, looked down miles below with gaping open eyes. The giant glowing yellow fist at his side clenched.

"TEJA HEIMERICH!!" he shouts, clenching his teeth. He leaps off the boat, his fist rearing up behind him.

The massive pillar spiraled towards the Warmain, and she stood nonchalantly looking up at it, her clothing bleaching as it approached. The fist smashed into the ground, spinning up dust and dirt and heatwave. The Anti-Nobles scattered in all directions to avoid Anti-Blake's wrath.

But then the fist shattered. In the darkness revealed within the massive miracle, Teja Heimerich stood in the clearing, her hand wrapped around Anti-Blake's head, his body rotting away to nothingness. With a half-hearted toss she flung the rapidly decaying body towards Mot, who looked at his brother scream and turn into non-being.

"Who's next?" asked the Warmain.

The whole of Earth is caught in the reflection of the mirror, shinning far below.
But, it isn't Earth.
Not really.
It is Darla's world, and she has made it an imitation of herself.

The Mirror, however much it may belong to Darla now, is still part of what Evelyn is. It is not necessary for what the Noble is about to do, but it will serve as the focus for it.
The entire imitation of Darla's cruel self is caught on the mirror, and Evelyn wills the mirror to reflect it, to send it where the mirror angles now, to the Moon.
Every piece of this world, from the first time Darla set foot upon it, every instance of it, every change and alteration Darla made, the entire timeline, that has been molded into Darla's own black soul, all of it.
And she took that world, that crude imitation of Darla's soul, and reflected off of the mirror, and onto the Moon. All those twists and changes, all those civilizations, all those people who would have been born, all were made, but not on Earth, on the Moon.

And, the Moon became a small Earth, populated with Darla's people. Even the great scar Darla had made was placed upon it. Even the Anti-Nobles and Teja would find themselves, for the moment at least, there.
And, with this imitation gone, Earth became itself again, for Darla had never shaped it, never bent its will, that had all happened a long way away, and the only sign they would ever see was the Moon in their sky, with it sBlue Oceans, brown deserts, and green forests.

Evelyn had to draw deep within itself for this power, for this sheer force, energy ripped through it, tore across the music till it grew so loud in volume as to be heard across the world.
And, for the first time in its life, Evelyn knew what it was to feel power, the rush that Blake had made his life.
It felt terrifying.
And good.

When all was settled and the worlds were divided again, Evelyn spoke to Tom, sang to him in her thunderous music:

"Now free my Darla upon them, for she will make them strong."

Tom bows his heads, not in surrender, but in reverence for his Sister's majesty unveiled. A few minute adjustments calibrate the fishgun to release instead of capture; Tom loads it with the pearl that contains Evelyn's Darla-clone and aims it square at the moon. He fires, and the pearl streaks across the cosmic distance, impelled by more than mortal science, detonating across the moon's new atmosphere in a smear of disintegrating nacre, a firework display that greets the newborn world. The copy spreads dark wings over her colony, hers to test and strengthen, and sees that it is good.

"Oh, well done, Evelyn." Tom grins. "You'll be part of the Familia yet."

But in Tom's heart he feels a great unease. The people of Earth have briefly non-existed before being wrenched back into reality, and as they are reassimilated into Creation, a blue moon rises. The backlash of the witnessed miracle threatens to tear their fragile minds asunder, but for the voice of Thomas Dylan whispering in their hearts.

You are stronger than this, he says. You can do it. Struggle! Fight! Never give up!

And the wave of dementia animus crashes against the bulwark that Tom erects, and washes away.

The people of Earth looked up as one as a green moon hung in their skies.

As a Miracle of Motion and a Word of Command at that, the transfer of Darla's timeline to the Moon was easy enough that most people thought that's the way it always had been. The few who questioned, the few who worried, heard Tom's voice that day, and felt assured.

It wasn't Prosaic Earth that listened to Tom's pep-talk. It was the very spirits of mankind he spoke to. Human mouths and human souls say different things and listen to different things. Out of this temporal jaunt humanity gained a new neighbor upon the Moon and everlasting faith in it's ability to shake off tyranny.

She remembered the screams as her mother was pulled out from under the couch. She couldn't see what was happening from her hiding spot and she tried not to make a sound. For a brief moment she could see clearly; it was a man wearing a mask with a gun to her mother. And then he shot out of the lights and everything went dim.

That's when it happened. Her mother was dead.

She wasn't the little girl she was then. She still held that knife in her hand. She was shaking. If she could surprise the man, he wouldn't have time to react. The man deserved to pay for what he had done to her. He had taken away everything that she had held dear and had left her a broken person.

She kicked open the closet doors, ready to tackle the man with everything she had.

"Why did Barakiel pick me then?" he asks before turning and walking into the office building.
-old blake

That gets to Blake, and he storms up to his past self, and grabs him, yanking his past self forward, until they're face to face.
"Oh Cneph, do not fuckin' tell me I've got to explain this to you.
You want to know why Barakiel gave me - you - us a Throne?"

He glares into the eyes of the sad little man
"Think about it!
Out of everyone in the Familia, who most readily accepted their new state?
Not accepted.
Who embraced it?
Who draped themselves in Nobility?!

Who has sought after something like this, since the first time he walked under gray skies?"

He roared into the face of his past self

He points outside the office
"Outside this door!
Who do you think are outside there?
A black hole socialite, who sits around and reads fan letters.
Do you think he enjoys his divinity, nearly as much as I do?
Do you think he spends long nights within his Estate, feeling the glory of the Night as he moves?"
He shakes his head.

"How about the eternal rebel, the one with a crush on a nigh-sociopath of a lawyer?
Do you think, for even a moment, that he ever grew sick of the way life was, as he led it before he became a Noble?
That he grew to loathe how disgusting the gray skies were?
That he wished to wipe away the gray streets that he walked upon, day after day?
Someone who, so badly it almost hurt, wanted change for his life?"
He gave a short laugh

"Or maybe the mannequin, who keeps hunting for something, not realizing the glory she is part of?
The wonder she already has!
Do you think she ever takes a deep breath, filled with spiritus Dei, and then dances around with her Estate?
That she ever walks the streets of our Chancel, proud about what she has become?
Proud of what she has accomplished?"
Once again, he shakes his head

"Let's not even mention the Brother who is a friend of that Sun bastard.
He never could appreciate the glory of divinity - he hated it, didn't he?"

The God of the Night shoves the sad little man away, and spreads his arms, confidence practically bursting forth from his form.
"You want to know why Barakiel chose Blake, as the Noble of the Night?
Because, he knows I'm the best damn being for the job.
He knew none would appreciate - would enjoy - the status like Blake will.

Hell, have you seen what I have accomplished?
The Estate of the Night, it fills me up.
No one else fits with the grand majesty of the Night, no one else can understand that the Night needs sky-shaking Miracles to its name.
None, like me."

He pads down the stairs, incongruous in dressing gown, jacket, and slippers. The door to the basement springs open before he can touch it, revealing a black and yawning void. His cry of regret and rage is snatched from his lungs as he is yanked forward, hurtling off his feet into an endless fall.

Falling, he finds in his pocket something else that sings to him of descent and damnation. The blade flicks open in his hand and burns with the borrowed light of the brightest of all created things. The billowing dressing gown attains echoes of samite robes, and the folds of the jacket trailing behind him assume the attitude of leathery wings.

The Power of Defiance, with the taste of mortality forever and regrettably lost on his lips, lifts Lucifer's sword against the darkness and strikes.

Everybody on the Darmoon was pulled into the psychic-singularity. Their lives, their histories, their fates, their hopes and dreams. Swallowed up whole, yanked by Barakiel's powerful fishing rod and entangled by Nobody's treacherous meddling, they had no choice but to become part of the great cosmic inertia.

They poured into the Mindscape, into the Darla, into the Mindscape, into the Darla, faster and faster, stretching and blending, entwining and tangling, until it reached almost the point of breaking.

Barakiel screamed to his present Nobles; "It's going break! Time! Space! Personality itself! I need someone to cut the knot, damn the consequences! I need—"

Tom broke through the mirror, hanging unmoving in the rapidly collapsing bulge of space-time and thought. The Power of Defiance flew through the astral air, entangled in the knot himself but empowered to defeat it. One slice of his blade Tribulation cut it like the Gordian Knot of legend.

Darla didn't notice she had been pulled inside out a million times over, knotted up in all the strands of her followers and subjects, and then had been suddenly cut open and ceased to be a Black Hole. She didn't notice all of the people inside of her instantly ejected through space and time.

Everyone else had no choice but to notice. It was a gut-wrenching shift in causality and being.

Suddenly they were all in Atlantis-in-the-Sky. The real one. On Earth. One cannot leave a Black Hole the same way one entered.

Nara Salamundi, who saved the Fallen Angel Alimon from death by her brethren, and at whose behest that angel wrote the names of all the Angels of Heaven and Hell upon the bullets of Coriander Hasp that he might kill the Host.
-Nara (Insertname)

He can hear the drip of the venom, the sting on the jotun's eyes, the curses directed in the darkness to his wife. The woman, the snake, the bowl and the cave. Punishment from Odin One-Eye, the Allfather. The cave was warded, guarded and sealed, but it was here, if one was willing to trek into the wildness, find the right mountain and begin to dig.
-Blake (Aincumis)

Wards matter not; Blake was greater than them.
Guards matter not; Blake has vaster powers then they can imagine.
Sealing matter not; Blake can not be kept out, just as a candle can not light up the Night.

The places of secrets, the darkest corners of Creation, forests under the aegis of the night - all of these things are now under Blakes watchful gaze.
The Night sees all.

He starts to move, knowing just which mountain is the place he needs to reach.
Odin One-Eye is, perhaps, a wise being, but secrecy can not keep Loki's location from Blake.
It is not the way of the world to keep such a thing from the God of the Night.
The Jotun trickster will be found, and Blake will have words with him.

The light was so filled with glory, so above the world, so holy and great. It seemed to notice Roy's stare, his impeachment for aid against the darkness.

And it answered.

The sky opened up and a man appeared in front of the City Morgue.

He glowed like the sun.

He tapped Sid Darken on the shoulder. "Pardon me," he said with a rich golden voice.

The vampire turned around and was instantly turned into ash.

Noise. Noise so loud Roy hear’s nothing. They’re all speaking to him. The clapped-up old gun, the badge, Soph, Hannigan & Flannigan. Above him the angel is telling him something from above, but his song is being drowned out by the sky full of storms. Roy can hear Lightning now even if he can’t understand it. Its cry is so loud. Roy knows that if he can just focus on it, that the Song of Heaven would be music beyond beauty, but he can’t. Not without losing himself to wonder. If this were physical sound his ears would ignite from the experience. He tries to shut it out, and he succeeds to a degree. Roy’s mind becomes his own again, though the song of Heaven is just below the surface, flowing through his name and his nature, burning him away at the edges. Purifying him.

Roy’s eyes snap open in terror. Embalming fluids, strips of flesh and dried blood coat his hands. Looks like he finished the job on the heart while he was… preoccupied. Roy stumbles forward and catches the desk. Torrents of lightning surge out from every the joint in his body, the pane of glass separating the office from the morgue proper shatters before the storm and divinity pours forth, looking for miracles to earth itself. Every cadaver the wave touches springs to life and starts shambling through the corridors as electric-life fills them, every light bulb shatters releasing pure-ambient light without source into the air (Didn’t even know light could *do* that.) every machine kicks itself into overdrive and begins to change, taking on form and functions alien to prosaic reality.

Roy calls out to his gun, it flies into his hands. He aims upwards and shoots the sky. The mint bombs fire out again, this time as a dazzling inferno of white-fire and minty freshness. The gun’s spirit screams as Heaven enters into it and transforms it into a weapon of divine judgement.

Roy doesn’t touch the badge. He doesn’t need to. His authority sears from his heart to his badge as an arc of electrical current.

Benjamin pulled crudely etched sword and armor from the metal of the ship, crafting it into a perfect imitation of what he had in his mind's eye. The armor glimmered. The sword was super-sharp.

The boy looked like a hero.

He began to walk to the exit hatch. It was time to stand up and do things for himself.

He wasn't afraid.
-Benjy (sorta)

"Lest I unleash my hammer upon your brow!!" threatened the Mighty one. He seemed ready to do it.

They were old but they were not forgotten. Odin Allfather and Thor Odinson stood prepared to prevent Loki's escape at all costs.

This, really, was too much - Blake bursts out laughing
And with him, the Night itself laughs - all the nights that Thor had gone out to hunt giants, or shared with his beloved wife, all the secrets that Odin have, that he might be able to see residing within that empty eyesocket of his, their closeness with their fellow Aesir.
It all laughs, loudly, at Thor's attempt at threatening someone that is to him what Mount Everest is to an ant-hill.

He wipes some tears from his eyes, still chuckling, before it suddenly stops, and he looks at Odin, completely and utterly serious - and all that he rules and represents turn deathly still
"No, but seriously now, what would you even think of to stop me?"

Thor moved like lightning, ignoring his father's vain attempt to stop him. His hammer came crashing down atop Blake's head, and to the thunder god's credit, it was no mortal fustigation. Mjilnor was a hammer that could crack the continents or push back giants. It struck with the force of a miracle, transcending the Aesir's spiritual nature. It was a weapon more powerful than he.

Sparks flew. The ground shook. The skies rumbled.

He tried to take Blake down.

He didn't have a chance.

The knockback sent the thunder god reeling. Loki began cackling.

"You are too late, detective," taunted Orlock. "When ze night falls, I shall have vat is mine. Ve shall be together … forever!"

That's when Blake arrive. That's when the night fell across Los Angeles.

The shadow-body got to the gates of the church boneyard before red lightning struck the grave between the vampire and the detective. The makeshift cross the count had placed at it's head burst into flame. A fist pushed itself out of the ground, followed by another. Soon, Canaan Reyes had pulled himself out of the slick wet dirt.

His eyes glowed like hellfire. His fangs were long, sharp and barred. His face was a twisted grimace of pure hatred and animalistic hunger. Red lightning crackled around his muscles as he moved. Roy could tell this was no zombie; though still undead, Canaan now moved with lightning speed and a grace and intelligence that seemed impossible.

Canaan picked up the count by the lapels. "I will never be yours!" the dead man said, dropping the vampire to the dirty earth. Canaan glowed red, his entire corpse transubstantiating into scarlet electricity. And then he fired into the night sky. Ominous thunder and more red lightning followed in his wake. The storm got worse across LA.

It began to rain blood.
-Vampire Canaan

The Deceiver was forced to abandon her Second Skin, releasing the dharma and power of that illusion and once more becoming a simple, humble Shard of Nara Salamundi. More than that, the past had altered. From the first moment she had stepped into Creation it was a hostile invasion. Every moment she did the Ritual of the Second Skin the storms lashed out at her, the rocks and the animals bit her at every turn. When she came to the Chancel she found it prepared for her, ready to turn her back with fin and blade. Night-cultists and fish-monsters set in waves resisted her every advance. Even Benjamin spat at her feet rather than help her.

But even against such a force, she would not be held back. Though she no longer had the powers of the Night at her disposal … she did back then!

Like the Handsome Monkey King of Blake's early literate childhood, Nara took a hand full of her black hair, chewed it up and spat it out. Each one became a night-golem, a crafted duplicate of Nara exactly like her in every way, but crafted of solid darkness. They had stars for eyes and they were secrets to anyone she did not wish them to see.

And they struck as one.

It was a massive battle. But she forced her way here. She freed Davy Jones. And though the water around her resisted at every turn, she managed to distract Tifon as long as she needed. She managed to fend off the assaults to the last of her night-golems, which expired beside her as her Blake-nature was at last removed. But with it sloughed Tifon's Binding.

She was no longer the hated invader. She was just Nara Salamundi.

And she had won.

"Hehehe" she giggled, her strength gone from her.

It was the last noises she made before she began to drown.

The destiny was right.

When one Noble angers another very much, when you cross a certain line beyond what can be accepted…
The other Noble will bring down the wrath of reality upon you and what you care about.
The wrath of a Noble is a terrifying thing to behold.
The only way to stop such a thing?
It is to arrive and ask forgiveness."

Blake raises his fist, as though to strike something in front of him, and the Night is suddenly deathly still, awaiting what is to come.

Suddenly, UnBethany can hear deceptions everywhere, on this world and on all others, whimper, and cringe under the baleful glare of the Night.
The message is quiet clear, to people like UnBethany and also Blake.
'Come out immediately, or this was just a taste of what shall happen'

Seems she won't get time to talk to that old friend of hers.
At least not if she wants her Estate to survive.

They are only like this for a mere instant, before they instantly come into clarity - though Bethany wishes they had not done so.
A cavalcade of images bursts forth around her, each one as clear as a pure night sky.
Set, striking down Apophis and protecting Ra.
Nyx, looking down at Mount Olympus and laughing, as Zeus pauses in seeking vengeance against her son, and relenting.
The Raven taking the sun.
Loki bringing back Idun from her prison by an enemy of the Aesir.
Loki ruining the works of a giant that would have won the hand of the most beautiful Aesir woman.
Shiva dancing.
Sekhmet hunting down the people of Egypt and coloring their rivers crimson red.
The Monkey King facing off against Buddha.
More and more and more images crashes through her, and the chanting has now risen to a primeval storm of sound, making Bethany scream - but her voice can not be heard over the vast chorus that she's now found herself trapped in.

This is the voice of the Night, and it is not merciful, as Blake tried to be.
It is not compassionate.
It Is.

As an underlying beat, the Song of Heaven can be heard, urging beauty and the justice of Heaven as the primary things to follow
The song of Heaven is as if it was sung by Barakiel, and Bethany desperately tries to make her screams heard over it, to no avail.
Perhaps her eardrums are destroyed, perhaps not.

Desperately grabbing at some part of Blake's soul, she tries to move away from this sound, seeking a weakness that she can attack in a desperate gambit.
But, where Teja has a deep and actual connection to Blake, that the God of the Night could not ever deny, Bethany had nothing of the sort.
There was nothing to guide the Domina of Deception's movements as she fumbles around in search of something, anything, to help her in her mission.
Blake's very being is too vast for Bethany to handle - the more she tries to grasp at it, the less she can manage it.

In fact, the longer she stays here, the less she feels herself mattering - Blake's ego is massive and all-consuming.
In front of this divine self-confidence, Bethany's attempts at subverting it seems laughable, and she seems to shrink to be nothing, in front of what Blake is.
As if comparing the shadow of a person with the vast, untouchable grandness of the very Night itself.

Then Blake reaches up, and pulls the mask of Bethany away, breaking the 'kiss', and now the domina of deception is back on the beach again, no longer face to face with Blake's soul.
"Sorry, Bethany - you're not my type."
And in his hands, more cracks on the mask appears.

The boy felt hollow. He felt like a matryoshka doll, perhaps filled with only more hollow reflections of himself. It was awful, the boy curled and and hugged himself in his armor. He let out a gasp of air, though his lungs no longer required it. He looked over at the mirror behind the monster approaching him. If only he could reach it, smash it … maybe the big bad thing would go away.

Reaching up behind him with his sword, the boy screamed and hurled his sword towards the Eight Hand Mirror. He prayed the little blade would find it's target!

"Your presiding over this trial is an insult that the Society of Flowers should not accept! You desecrate the sanctity of this place with your presence, and I hereby deny all authority you claim to wield here. You have no power over me save what I choose to allow, and I allow you none."

Meon dodges the massive punch that Tom swings easily, but he isn't the target. Instead, the plaintiff's pillar comes crashing down as Tom's righteous fist smashes through its base. The Power of Defiance is trembling now with fury, his hatred thrumming in his chest. The next words he speaks warps reality forever.

"Not you, nor anyone else, can hold the Powers of Barakiel to account for the deeds they've done!"

And the judge's plinth cracks in two, spilling Joktan to the ground.

"But that’s not the point, is it?" she asked, sensing that Entropy didn't really care about any of that. "You question why I should live? It is because I will protect my estate with my entire being. I have a great understanding of the waters of the world, the fluidity of everything. I spent much of my life swimming and playing, enjoying the beach, really connecting with the grandeur that is the ocean. I befriended the sea creatures, working with them in my free time. Water is my life."

Though she had been avoiding it her eyes met now with The Darkest Lord.

"I might not be able to unite myself. I may fail completely and be consumed by my own darkness. In that case I will slowly destruct and you can watch.

I value existence more than anyone. I will fight for it. I am ready to go into bloody battle for my Estate. I am going to die either way; everything eventually comes to an end.

Or you could kill me now, but please get it over with."

Barakiel had arrived. He had three detectives in tow. His crackling bright halo and his night-black wings seethed with celestial glory. He was awesome, the vastness of darkness and the depths of the ocean, the protective nature of Society and the contrary essence of Defiance. He thundered in like a bolt of lightning, his magnificence seeming to rival Ananda's beauty in that moment.

He seemed angry. His eyes flashed with Heavenly wrath.

"I am Barakiel, Angelic Imperator of Water, Night, Society, Defiance and Lightning," he intoned, shaking the Courtroom with his glory. "And I am here to defend my decision to enNoble this girl in front of this Terrestrial Court."

The Council of Four stood their ground, trying to seem unmoved by Barakiel's presence. Ha-Qadosch Berakha laughed nervously. Surolam scratched her ear. Lord Entropy scowled. Only Ananda pulled it off, though what his expression was under the layers and layers of silks he wore was hard to determine.

"The Council recognizes you, Archangel," the Darkest Lord admitted, waving a bloody hand to the witness stand. "You may stand behind your Power of Water and defend your choice to make her as such. It is a question I would much like to know myself."

Barakiel looked to Darla. His eyes were filled with wrath. He still wasn't happy with her for eating him, though it had all been resolved. His look said 'listen to me as I say this, for I shan't say it again'.

He turned to the Council and addressed them; "My decision to make Cora, Darla and Ophelia the Power of Water was one that I made without regret or hesitation. The alchemy of her heart is essential to my strategy against the Beyonders. I would explain more of my plans but to be blunt, my collected fellow Ymera, I do not trust what is said in this Courtroom to stay here. My plans cannot pass to Excrucian ears lest millions of years of planning be spoiled in an instant."

Lord Entropy sneered.

"You expect us to simply swallow that excuse and give you carte blanch to continue on enNobling threats to Creation?" he demands. "How can we trust your decision making skills if you keep empowering obvious dangers to us all!?"

Barakiel did not blink. He continued to burn with awesomeness.

"You didn't question me when I, and the other Pillars of Creation, put you in charge of Earth, now did you Lord Entropy?"

The look on the Darkest Lord's face grew to unspeakable new depths of scorn. He loathed Barakiel, it was positively palpable. In his hatred he began to swell in size, ballooning with malevolence in some effort to match the Archangel's glory. But Barakiel was not scared. Like a bolt of lightning in the darkness, he remained unbowed, unbroken, an unstoppable force reaching for what he wanted. He was the keys to Society, all of it, and had given Lord Entropy his crown.

"WE'VE HEARD WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY, BARAKIEL!" screamed the Lord of Destruction, Desecration and Scorn. "NOW GET OUT OF MY COURT!!"
-Barakiel and Entropy

Between Tifon's legs, Lightning continues to accelerate, faster and faster, the sparks growing larger and darting through him. His hoofbeats grow louder and louder, till one tremendous thundering bang shatters the Citadel with the shear force of its noise, blasts it apart to dust, but before that dust can move even a Planck Unit, another hoofbeat slams into the air with enough force to sunder Lightning's electrons from his protons, so that pure electricity is left, a bolt of Lightning that leaps the remaining distance in an instant. It blasts into the dust left of the citadel, in a moment in time so close they might as well have been simultaneous, and the heat and fury of the impact melts the dust to glass.

In that instant the Citadel becomes the Mirror Manor again, as Nobody, Evelyn and Benjamin stand unmoved inside it. It is not the same as it was before, for this glass is dark, black obsidian, the reflections less clear, the light less dazzling, the whole more natural, and more akin to Evelyn.
Lightning bursts through one of the mirror walls, Tifon still on his back, and stands beside Evelyn, snorting and stomping his hoof at Nobody.

Evelyn stands up in her new black Mirrored Home, her eyes, no longer painted eyes but two small, black mirrors, turn upon Nobody. For the first time in her existence, Evelyn's voice sounds like no one else's, not even Canaan's. It is simply hers:

"This is my home, and Nobody is unwelcome."

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