Description

Field of Blood
⌈I have nothing to offer but blood and tears.⌋

♠Theme

KMFDM - Love Is Live
Linkin Park - In My Remains5. März - Megaherz
Evanescence - Erase This

⌈They that die by famine die by inches.⌋

⌈Nickname⌋
Dama, as her brother Bartram likes to call her. She has also gone by Kleda at times. Famine is was she is best known by.

⌈Age⌋
Like all other horsemen, she is as timeless as the world itself. Her appearance is that of a young teenage girl.

⌈Gender⌋
Female

⌈Race⌋
Horseman | Spirit

⌈Role⌋
The 3rd Horseman | Famine

⌈Face Claim:⌋
Shiro | Deadman Wonderland

⌈A person who steals bread during a famine is not treated as a thief.⌋

⌈Hair Color⌋
Snow White

⌈Eye Color⌋
Blood Red | Crimson

⌈Skin Tone⌋
Pale

⌈Height⌋
5'4"

⌈Weight⌋
110 lbs

⌈Physical Description⌋
Alkedama is a thin girl, often looking malnourished and weak, though she is far from it. She can often look rather innocent and weak, but turn malignant and evil in an instant. Her hair trails almost to her calves, and she sports a large bust line. Her arms and legs are thin and long, and her face usually has a bit of a gaunt aspect to it.

⌈They can rule the world while they can persuade us our pain belongs in some order. Is death by famine worse than death by suicide, rather than a life of famine and suicide...?⌋

⌈Potential Interest⌋
None at the current moment Famine only has one love, and that is food, blood, and suffering.

⌈Skills⌋

Being Silent

Invisibility

⌈Abilities⌋

Blood Manipulation

Draining

⌈I saw a few die of hunger; of eating, a hundred thousand.⌋

⌈Habits⌋

Third Person Speak

Singing

Woodpecker Song

⌈Likes⌋

Her Brothers

Starvation

Drought

⌈Dislikes⌋

Angels

Kirito

Rain

does

⌈Strengths⌋

Super-human Strength

don't

Alamgir

⌈Weaknesses⌋

Sloth

Following

nothing

⌈The rich swell up with pride, the poor from hunger.⌋

⌈Personality⌋

Clueless | Lazy | Insane | Hungry

Akeldama is certifiably insane. She mutters to herself, speaks in the third person, and has a love for violence rivaled only by her love for food. She often acts like a child, pouting and throwing a temper tantrum when she doesn't get her way. When it comes to certain aspect of life, the girl tends to be rather ditsy. She understands nothing about the concept of love, although she does tend to consider Alamgir, Bartram, and Khalid as her brothers. Technology also confuses her, she has no clue how it works, and often asks things if they are possessed. Of course, they don't answer her, which generally leads to her destroying said object because she doesn't like being ignored.

She is lazy beyond human comprehension, and she prefers to spend most of her time eating or sleeping. If not doing either of these things or fighting, she generally is complaining. She complains to no end to Bartram that he never lets her do anything fun, and will often beg him for food. Her hunger is never sated, and is always eating if not sleeping.

⌈O accursed hunger of gold, to what dost thou not compel human hearts?⌋

⌈History⌋
Like her three brothers, Dama is one of the four horsemen. She is the only female, and appeared after Kirito was born, somewhere around fifteen years ago. She has spent these fifteen years close to Bartram, occasionally catching up with Khalid, who seems to go more or less as he pleases. She's even met Kirito, the host of her brother Alamgir, once before. She seems to be excited for the oncoming chaos. But it's a bit hard to tell. Alkedama seems to be happy about everything.

⌈Hunger is insolent, and will be fed.⌋

So begins...

Alkedama's Story

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Setting

New York City, New York

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#2013-12-21 02:10:21, as written by Dynamite

The Mad Raven was one of those dimly-lit, smoky places leftover from the Prohibition era, where one had had to be clandestine about the consumption of alcohol. The wooden tables and wooden floors were all dark, the walls an off-white that had grown hazy and dull and occasionally stained over the years. Despite this, it still had some polish to it—everything therein was well-made, crafted by hand back when there’d been no other choice. The glasses gleamed, the wood shined, but the overall atmosphere was dark, almost claustrophobic. Perhaps it would have been, if Khalid remembered what it felt like to fear anything.

He’d come uncomfortably close to remembering, in her presence. Sephiriel. The angel who’d almost slain him, all those years ago. He didn’t hate her for that—privately, he thought it might have been better if she’d succeeded in that. But she hadn’t, because he had stepped in, given up all his glory and his purpose so that Death might live another day. Fate, he had always known, appreciated a bit of dramatic irony every now and then.

This time, all he carried for Dama was a large package of licorice, but he’d thought it at least somewhat important that he report his findings to Bartram in a timely manner. The two of them were located in a back room, perhaps the only reason Dama was allowed in at all, and he handed her the package silently before turning his attention to War. “There were complications,” he said before the question could be asked. “Heaven has chosen a Champion, and Alamgir was suppressed. There was little chance of taking him away from a Seraph, the Lady, and a Demon Prince. Especially if he were not willing to go.” He wasn’t sure, but perhaps even the full measure of aura that he would allow himself to use might not have worked. Beyond that, and he would have needed to resort to his father’s blood, and not just his power as a Horseman. That was something Khalid did not do. Whatever the reason.

This, too, was all part of the grand weave of the end times, however, and so Khalid did not see it as presenting a particular difficulty. Indeed, that Sephiriel had been sent so early meant that there was a greater chance for her power to be corrupted before she undertook the Tribulation. And if she failed there, then the game would belong to those who planned and schemed as Bartram did… and to Khalid’s sire. Who won the day in the end was the one thing that none were permitted to see.

Bartram had been nursing his empty mug for perhaps five minutes when he felt Khalid's approach. All of the Horsemen had a sense of knowing when one of them were nearby. Bartram was not at all pleased. Khalid was alone. Still, he said nothing, allowing Death to explain, which he did. Bartram sighed. "It is Kirito who is unwilling, not Alamgir. But with with the Champion being chosen so early...I do not like this."

"Bart doesn't like anything. Bart is never happy unless he is killing something." There were three empty ice cream dishes in front of her, and she was already half-way through the bag of licorice. Bartram shot her a silent glare. "Thank you for your excellent classification of me, Akeldama." He returned his attention to Khalid. "I suppose this was partially my fault. I underestimated the mobility of their pawns."

Something dark flashed behind Khalid’s bright blue eyes, but his face did not otherwise change. “I once made a similar mistake,” was all he said, and then he took a seat. A member of the wait staff brought him a drink, and for a while, he just stared into it, before he picked it up and tossed it back, setting the shot glass back onto the table with a soft clink. “They’ve chosen the Storm-Singer.” Neither Bartram nor Akledama knew of his history with Sephiriel—this was something he’d kept to himself, but Bart at least would know her by reputation. The Second Sword of Heaven, after only Michael himself.

The ironic thing was that, if not for Khalid, it likely would have been Michael, not Sephiriel, who was chosen for this task. The Horsemen had been hoping for the selection of Gabriel or Raphiel—the first because he was more peaceful than his brothers, and more likely to try something other than force, which would never work. The second because they were most prepared for him, as it had been hinted in the Book that he had something to do with it. Also… he was known to be on poor terms with the people in question, and internal conflict would have helped their purposes. Sephiriel was a better warrior than either of them, but a riskier choice, because she was not a diplomat. “I suppose it might be best to leave them for a while. She may well dig her own grave,” Death observed neutrally. He knew better than most just how hard it was going to be for her to get along with them.

"Or she may well dig out her trenches. We need Alamgir now. We go back. This time, with all of us." He did not mean immediately, of course. That was tantamount to suicide, but he was not going to sit by and simply watch. The longer that Kirito was in the presence of the angel, the easier it would be for him to suppress Conquest, no matter how much influence the other three exerted. Bartram could bring Alamgir forth with no question, but Kirito would be fighting just as hard.

"Does that mean Dama gets to come, too?! Dama wants to see Gir! Oh, oh, isn't Azzy Gir's father?! Can Dama squish him, Bart? Please?" Few knew about Akeldama's history with Asmodeus. Akeldama had come from Asmodeus' circle, originally. A little odd, as one would expect her to come from Gluttony, but she did not. She and Asmodeus had once fought for the rule of Treachery, and she had lost. She was looking forward to getting back at him.

For once, Bartram did not scowl at the girl. "If he gets in the way, yes. Yes you can, Akeldama."

Khalid looked at the empty glass in front of him for a moment. It was really a shame that alcohol had no affect on him whatsoever. Being drunk for this might have been kinder. But if there was one thing he’d learned, it was that the world was never kind to him. So he sighed softly through his nose and leveled his eyes on the other two. “As you wish,” he said, “But I do not think this will work as you expect it to work…” There was a pain growing behind his left eye, and the mark that bisected it tingled faintly.

Fate was up to her old tricks again.

Setting

New York City, New York

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#2013-12-24 03:44:49, as written by Naga's Shadow

Alamgir quietly slipped out of the window. He had things to do, and he’d be damned if he let some lapdog of Heaven get in his way. Oh, wait, he already was damned. That thought made him smile as he walked toward the Police station. It was a bit odd, really. Bartram was always flashy, but head of Police? Alamgir shook his head.

The receptionist gave him an odd look when he asked for Bartram, but called him back nonetheless. The first thing Alamgir did was duck and dodge a tackling hug from Akeldama, who had shrieked happily and tried to launch herself at him. He glanced back at her, the girl sprawled across the floor, giggling like a mad woman.

”Gir! Dama missed you!”

Alamgir rolled his eyes. ”Yeah, I missed you too, kid.” His eyes lighted on Bartram. ”So, I made it. Delayed, but hey, I’m here all the same.”

Bartram sat with his hands in front of his mouth. ”Well? What is our next move, Alamgir?”

Alamgir looked at him, amused. ”We wait. It’s not time yet, and there is little we can do. Frankly I’m not entirely sure why you summoned me, Bart. My leash will get even shorter, now that Sephiriel is here, and she knows about my living situation.”

”So….Gir isn’t gonna stay? But Dama doesn’t want Gir to leave…Oh, Dama knows! Dama can squish the angel!”

“The angel isn’t very squishy, Dama,” Khalid replied, flatly as ever. “And I don’t look forward to being us when she and the rest track you here, Alamgir.” He wasn’t sure that meeting here now was entirely advisable, actually, but he was enough in this to show up when summoned. Nevertheless, it was clear he had no particular love of the scheming, and he chose mostly to stare out the nearest window into the darkness beyond. It was… uncomfortable, when they were all together. He could feel the evil inside himself, stirring where he’d buried it deeply. Not the Horseman—that was something he’d accepted long ago. He didn’t fear it. What he did fear was the hateful power of his father, that resided in him still, buried so far down he hoped he’d never have to reach it again.

Akeldama’s face fell. ”Oh…but Bart said Dama could squish her…”

Alamgir smiled slightly. ”Perhaps later, kid. And as for Seph, she won’t be tracking me here, because you and I are about to leave, Deathy. The kid wants to talk to you. That’s really the only reason I came at all. So, Dama, you stay here with Barty, okay?”

Dama puffed out her cheeks, but agreed nonetheless. Bartram scowled, but said nothing. He really had no say in what any of them did, even if he didn’t agree with it. When nothing more was said, Alamgir stood up, looking at Khalid. ”Well, Khalid?”

[font=cambria]Kirito wanted to speak to him? The news didn’t even put a crack in his tranquil expression, but Khalid had not expected it even so. He blinked slowly at Alamgir, and then pushed himself up off the wall he’d been leaning against. “Very well,” he said at last, and followed Alamgir from the building. They walked a ways, but Death did not particularly take note of where they were going, or care. It wasn’t as though he could get lost, exactly. “And what does Kirito Fuhen wish to say to me?” he asked, still in a monotone. He’d stopped walking, though.

Alamgir only smiled slightly, stopping when Khalid did. "Ask him yourself. See you around, Deathy." And with that, the slow coloration of the man who stood before Khalid changed from red and white to all purple, Kirito re-emerging. For a second, he only looked at the other horseman, who stood and waited.

"I seem to be running into a lot of people lately who either think that they have no choice in matters or they're too stupid to realize they have them. I'd ask which one you are, but I'm pretty sure I already know. You look just like I did not too long ago. So, maybe it's stupid to even bring it up, but, I've never denied that I was stupid."

He paused, taking a breath. "You and I are a lot alike. We're both half-demon and half-annunaki. And we're both horsemen. Yet we're standing on different sides of the tracks here. I'm just a little curious as to why you've chosen the destruction of all humanity rather than fighting against it."

A slight breeze stirred the bone-colored hair atop Khalid’s head, but aside from that, he may well have been a statue for all he moved. There was something flat to his eyes as he regarded Kirito, the only sign that he’d even heard was the way his eyebrow ticked upwards by a few centimeters. “Is that all?” he asked simply, breaking his stillness at last only to tug at the end of the black glove that extended halfway over his upper arm, and all the way down. The flesh beneath and above was all inked solid black, actually. Michael was not the only one who needed to remind himself of something.

He glanced up from what he was doing to lock eyes with Kirito. “We are not so alike as you think, Conquest. Your father is a demon, a reformed one at that, and he loves you. My father is the demon, and I imagine he would take great pleasure in ending my life himself, were he able. My mother is dead, and I know her only through the stories of others. I was never given the illusion of choice. The only thing I have ever decided is whether to live, or to die. Now, I endure the consequences of that selfish decision, and wait for the day when I bring misery to people who do not deserve it. I once watched a man fight fate, and the choices he made will, in some small way, destroy the world themselves. We choose, perhaps, but nothing changes.”

It was more than he usually said at once, and for a moment, he wondered why he was even inclined to explain himself. “I have lived in this world for more years than I can properly count, Kirito, and I have not yet seen anything worth saving in it. I will do what I must, and so will you, when the time comes.”

Kirito's jaw clenched slightly, but other than that, he reacted about as much as Khalid did. His eyes did darken slightly, the more Khalid explained. "Now that has to be the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard. We have choices, everyone, for everything we do. I could go on a killing spree using my father's blood. I don't. Alamgir could easily just take over right now, yet he does not. You have a choice. You're simply too self-absorbed to see it. At our core, we are alike, whether you choose to see it that way or not. When the day comes when you have to make the biggest choice, I can only hope you make the right one."

At that, he simply sighed through his nose, released the jet-black wings he'd inherited from his father, and took off. He did hover for a bit, first, throwing one last tidbit out there. "You can still choose to not do this. And if you can't find anything to save, then do it for yourself. Selfish reasons are better than blindly following what you call fate."

Without another word, he took off. He truly did love flying. He landed in a tree near the center of Central Park, folding his wings in, the darkness cloaking him from the late-night park walkers, of which there seemed to be plenty. Alamgir poked at the back of his mind, but he ignored him.

Selfish? He had always been selfish. It was why he was alive instead of dead. Because he’d reached for his power when she should have rejected it. It was ironic, that the boy called him selfish like it was a pejorative, then told him to save the world for selfish reasons. As though he were capable of such a thing. No… they were not alike at all. Shaking his head, he flickered and vanished.

Sephiriel, meanwhile, was flying in a beeline for Central Park. It hadn’t taken her long to realize that Kirito was missing, and though Alamgir had complicated the matter of finding him, she’d felt the shift that meant one had changed to the other a little while ago, and she flew now swiftly to his location, invisible to the few humans about below. She found herself in a park, and alighted gracefully on the ground, banishing her wings and going on foot the rest of the way, until she found herself beneath the tree he was perched in.

She had heard much talk of Asmodeus’s black wings, but she had hitherto been unaware that his child had inherited them. Nevertheless, she did not react overmuch, placing her hands on her hips and tilting her head back to look up at him. She didn’t say anything, though; by now she could guess that he would put plenty of her words in her mouth for her. He tended to do that, as though he knew everyone better than they knew their own thoughts. She was scowling as usual, of course, and the look radiated enough disapproval that words were perhaps entirely unnecessary.

Kirito was not at all surprised to see Sephiriel. He was actually a bit surprised it had taken her this long. And the way she was scowling at him...he shivered slightly. She reminded him of his mother. Still, he said nothing, simply jumping, landing gracefully next to her, his wings folding in and vanishing.

He looked at her, a placid expression on her face for a second before saying, "You know, people probably wouldn't be so hesitant to be nice to you if you smiled a bit more. Right now you resemble a she-wolf with endangered cubs. Not exactly the most approachable thing on earth."

“It is not my job to be ‘approachable,’” Sephiriel replied shortly, lowering her hands back down to her sides. “Quite the opposite, in fact. Not that you seem to have much concern for what my job is, of course.” Because if he had, he wouldn’t have run off on his own like a complete idiot. Did he not understand that there were people out there, powerful people, who would love nothing more than to kill or possess the Antichrist? She wasn’t thinking of the other Horsemen, either. Even they were only pieces, parts of the seething, roiling whole that would eventually mean the end of the world, and if they were not victorious, existence itself.

A small pause, and then she seemed inclined to drop it, mostly because they’d never get anywhere on this topic—both of them were too stubborn to really resolve anything at the moment. “Does your little night-tour of the city have any more required stops, or will you rejoin your family now?” As she was presently here, she didn’t care. It was easier when the Witnesses were together, but Cassiel was with Michael now, and Asmodeus and the Lady and Tsukiyo. It would be difficult to be safer. Not that anything was truly safe anymore. Not for them.

Kirito watched her for a while, contemplating. She seemed to think that everyone was out to get him and Cass in one way or another. Maybe they were, too, he really had no idea. But that didn't mean he was going to let it -or her- stop him from living. Antichrist or no, he still had choices, as he'd just impressed, or tried to, upon his fellow horseman. So, he grinned slightly. "Well, I wasn't planning on it, but yes, now that you're here, there are a few places you can go. Actually, there's once place in particular. I haven't been in a while, they'll probably be excited to see me. Do you have any idea what a night club is?"

She didn’t like the look on his face. That half-cocked grin was one she was used to seeing on Uriel’s visage, and it always meant trouble. Actually, considering this was Uriel’s grandson, she wasn’t surprised. But she’d told him that she wasn’t to make his choices for him, and she’d been telling the truth then. So she sighed through her nose and crossed her arms over her chest, banishing her armor back to the apartment, leaving her in the clothes from earlier that day, and resolved into visibility. “I have a feeling I’m about to find out,” she replied sourly.

Kirito's grin only deepened. "Yup. You get to see one of the many reasons I will not simply give in to Conquest." With that, he turned, headed in the direction more or less considered the slums. It was a crappy part of the city, graffiti everywhere, garbage, a few homeless people, and more than a city full of abandoned buildings. One such building was blasting music so loud that you could hear it a block and a half away. Some and different colored lights flooded the dark alleyway, and Kirito simply pushed the door open.

Instantly, he was tackled by two guys, one putting him in a head-lock while the other gave him a noogie. "Aw, c'mon, TJ, you'll ruin the hair!"

"Kiri! The hell, man, I haven't seen you in forever! We thought you'd up and left us!"

They let him go, all three of them grinning from ear to ear. Kirito leaned forward, yelling over the sound of the music, "Don't tell Rex I'm here yet, I gotta show Seph around before they start the begging!" Tj, a tall man with hair as blue as the Doctor's Police Box, leaned over, looking at Sephiriel. He waved slightly, nodding his head in her direction.

"Howdy, little lady. You got it, Kiri, but just remember, you kinda stand out." Kirito grinned. "Don't remind me."/color] Kirito jerked his head at Seph, leading her back to one of the empty corner booths. The place was packed. [color=#1bacde]"Welcome to The Streets."

And that's just what the place was. It was nothing more than a dance hall, really. There were over a hundred people, young and old, and no alcohol in sight. They were all there to simply do what they enjoyed: dancing.

She didn’t really understand what this place had to do with Conquest, but she supposed he might simply be referring to the fact that he didn’t like to give things up that he liked, that he found them worth having. The music was a bit loud for her to think properly, and she could feel the bass tones thudding through the ground, traveling up her legs and spine in vibrations. She returned the nod she was given, though she didn’t say anything—she’d probably have to shout to be heard, and she wasn’t much inclined.

Sephiriel wasn’t quite sure she approved of Kirito’s calling her by the familiar nickname, but she was even less certain that she liked being called a little lady. She was thin, obviously, and not overly tall, at five and a half feet, but diminutives were not her favorite thing. Still, she supposed the humans could be forgiven for it. As long as they weren’t actually trying to demean her, and it seemed unlikely. She slid into the seat across from Kirito, glancing around the area with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. That was fairly normal for her, honestly, given how little she knew of her surroundings.

“What is the purpose of this establishment?” she asked dubiously, frowning a bit. He’d been right about one thing—she wasn’t someone who naturally found herself inclined to smile.

Kirito shook his head slightly, propping his head in his hand, watching her in a amusment. "It's somewhere you can be yourself. Just watch." He looked over to Tj, and nodded. The man grinned, and headed over to the Dj, whispering in his ear. The music suddenly stopped, and the dj shouted in his mike, "Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to say, we have a very special guest tonight. We haven't seem him in weeks, put all ya'lls hands together, Kirito actually came back!"

There was a hush before an upsurge of applause, and Kiri only grinned. He glanced over at Sephiriel and winked as the music began to play again, and he stood up, shedding his coat. All he had on was a simple pair of jeans and a black sleeveless shirt.

And then, he danced. This was who he was, and what made him happy. It was why he would never stop fighting. Everyone here accepted him, and didn't judge him, or expect him to be something. Here, he was just Kirito. And that was all he had to be.

Be herself? She was herself everywhere. What else was she supposed to be? Nevertheless, she decided not to point this out. Perhaps it was simply another mortal plane thing that she did not understand. Judging from the loud words—the man’s amplified voice reminded her of a certain time when Metatron had shouted at Gabriel, only that had carried the full power of thunder—and the reaction from those assembled, Kirito was well-known here. She only blinked at the odd closing of one of his eyes but not the other, wondering for a moment if he had something stuck in it, but it seemed to be taken care of, because he headed out onto some open space thereafter, the crowd parting for him.

She wasn’t sure exactly what to call what followed, as it looked very alien to her, but then, that was pretty typical. She supposed it was a motion art form, like the kinds of dancing she knew and also the fighting arts, but it was very different. Sephiriel propped her hand on her chin, listening to the music and observing the way the motions seemed to compliment the choppy, bass-heavy nature of it. There was a certain symmetry, she supposed, and she nodded thoughtfully.

It took him three dances, but Kirito finally managed to get away from the crowd. He was sweaty, but grinning from ear to ear as he went back to the table where Sephiriel still sat. He grabbed his jacket, jerking his head at the door. As much as he loved it here, he never stayed very long. And by now, his sour mood had vanished, though heavy thoughts still weighed on his mind.

It was as they were walking in silence that Kirito actually voiced one of them. He supposed it would sound rather odd and maybe even arbitrary to her, but he asked all the same. "Have you ever just wanted to be something else? Something other than what you are?" The expression on his face was a light one, but there was a slight undertone to his voice.

She considered her answer gravely, her footsteps matched in time with his. This was a skill she had learned long ago, though admittedly, she was usually a half-step behind the people she guarded. She had a feeling that would make most humans uncomfortable, however, and whatever else he was, Kirito had been raised like a human. “Of course I have,” she said at last. Folding her hands behind her back, Sephiriel watched her feet on the sidewalk for a little while longer before she decided to elaborate. “I have lived a very long time, Kirito. I do not think that anyone who watches ages pass by never wonders what it would be like to be otherwise than they are, and I think many of us come to desire it, too. There are times when I have wanted to be a lesser angel, or a man, or even a human being. But these things have always passed. There is no use wanting to be what one is not, only in striving to improve what one is.”

Kirito smirked slightly. That was a more straight forward answer than his father had given him, when he asked. She was right, of course, but...even with all of his bravado, and all his fighting, it never got easier. Alamgir still got out, and around the other horsemen, he didn't have a choice, Alamgir surfaced whether he fought or not. His smile was bitter when he answered, "Yeah? And just how in the hell do you make being the fucking antichrist a better situation?"

[font=cambria]She looked up at him sharply, her eyes narrowed, though not with anger. Lifting her chin as though to compensate for the difference in height between them, Sephiriel spoke firmly. “You remember that it is not all you are. Even I can see that you are a convergence unto yourself, a piece of chaos in order. You accept this about yourself, and you harness it. You remember that Alamgir is you, but that Kirito is also Alamgir.” She looked away again and frowned, the expression somewhere between thoughtful and troubled. “But perhaps I have said too much.” She was no guide, only a guardian.

Kirito had looked down at her, surprised at her tone. Something she said made sense, more than he thought it would. He'd heard something like it before, of course, and from quite a few diferent people, but...

Something about hearing it from someone who was not family seemed to make it click. A slow smile creeped across his face, and he just shook his head slightly. "Thanks, Sephiriel. I needed to hear that."[/justify]

Setting

New York City, New York

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#2013-12-25 05:50:22, as written by Dynamite

Sephiriel was sitting in her usual spot on the couch in the Fuhen’s living room when Michael strolled in a few days later, wearing a suspiciously-broad grin. She looked up from what she was reading in just enough time to snatch a cloth bundle out of the air before it hit her face. Blinking, she set the book aside and examined the contents of the bag: some kind of blue jacket, a piece of fabric in grey that would have been a skirt if it was longer, and a white shirt with buttons. “You’re a bit late, Michael,” she informed him archly, raising an eyebrow and wrinkling her nose at the grey thing especially. “Kazehana took me shopping for mortal plane clothing yesterday.” She’d taken a little too much enjoyment from the angel’s disbelief at what passed for acceptable, especially when it came to undergarments. She… preferred not to recall it.

The fallen angel snorted, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his broad chest. It was an achingly-familiar gesture, and she felt a twinge between her lungs. “Not quite the same thing, Seph. That’s a school uniform. I’ve enrolled you to attend class with Kirito and Cassie.”

“And the reason I cannot simply remain invisible and follow them that way is…?” Sephiriel realized with some trepidation that the grey article was a skirt, and suppressed a shudder. It wouldn’t even reach her knees. Who wore things like this? Caspar, however, provided her no answer, merely fixing her with a look. She knew from experience that he would not be swayed on this, for some reason or another, and could only assume that he’d decided it wise to meddle for some reason. She sighed; while her stubbornness could match his own, they had both learned to pick their battles with each other, and it wasn’t a horrible idea, as far as they went.

Which was, perhaps, how she found herself walking to school the next morning, alongside her charges. The skirt was too short, but at least she’d managed to procure some socks that extended almost far enough upwards to cover the difference. Ridiculous, honestly. Though neither of them knew it, Death was elsewhere doing much the same, save that his problem was with the collar of his shirt, or more specifically, the blue tie that was half-strangling him. Apparently, Bartram had decided that it was a good idea to enroll himself and Akeldama as students at the Fuhens’ private school. He was not convinced.

The next day, Cassiel readied herself for school, putting on her uniform, pulling her hair into a ponytail, and made sure nothing was out of place. Once she was satisfied, she went into the kitchen, grabbing a few things and laid them across the table. Tapping a thoughtful finger to her chin, a sudden light shined behind her eyes as she began cutting and chopping before she arranged three lunch boxes. Her mother had shown her how to make bento boxes, since they had been mainly what she and Kazehana had as children, growing up in Japan. She, instead, made something a little more, modernized and simply put the boxes away in her bag. To say she was excited would have been an understatement. Sephiriel would be joining Kirito and herself for school, hence the reason for the third boxed lunch.

It had upset her a bit the way Kirito had treated the angel, and Cassiel made it a point to show Sephiriel that she was welcomed, if not anything else. Though she had her doubts about some things, she felt the need to make Sephiriel feel welcomed, even if it was just starting off slowly, with lunch. Baby steps, she thought as she walked down the street, an extra skip to her walk. She wondered briefly if Sephiriel would be attending the same classes as Kirito and herself. That would be nice if she did. She could try and get Sephiriel to talk a little more, learn the different dialects of the world now since it was different from the world then. It wasn't long before she arrived at the school building, smiling brightly as she made her way towards her home room.

Kirito sighed, propping a hand up against his chin. He and Sephiriel were already in class, and the day had not even begun and Sephiriel had already been hit on by five of his classmates. Not that he really cared, and most of them, if not all, flew straight over her head, but it did tend to make the day rather...boorish.

He wondered vaugely why his uncle had thought it a good idea to enroll her as a student, but, there was little to be done about it now. He looked up slightly when Cass entered, giving his cousin a half-hearted wave.

Akeldama, on the other hand, was having a few difficulties already. Khalid would be in Kirito and Cassiel's class, while she would be put in a lower grade. This did not please the horseman, not one bit. So, glaring up at the human woman, Dama stomped her foot. "No! Dama wants to go see Gir!"

If she had not been under strict orders from Bartram to act human, Dama would have already made this puny human's head go squish. It would have run such a nice color red, too. Such a shame, really. The woman sighed. "I've told you, there is no one by that name in this class. Now, would you please return to your own-- hey!"

Losing her patience, Akeldama simply pushed past the teacher, her red eyes zoning in on Kirito, and made a bee-line for him. She grabbed onto his arm, and then began to viciosly poke him, saying, "Gir! Gir! Dama wants to see you! Let Gir out, you stupid human! GIR!!!"

At first, Kirito really had no idea how to react to being poked by some random albino chick, but at her last saying of Gir, she'd stuck her fingers in his mouth, prying it open and yelling down his throat. At that, Kirito tumbled over backwards with a crash, staring up at her. "What the hell?! Go away, and stay out of my mouth!"

Sephiriel had difficulty understanding how it was that so many people who didn’t even know her name were suddenly so interested in talking to her, and she also couldn’t decide why all of them had far fewer personal space boundaries than either Kirito or Cassiel. There was also the fact that all of them were male, but she didn’t notice this because honestly, most of the people she ever interacted with were male, so there was that. She was polite, but stern, and eventually they were forced away by either a friend or the start of class, leaving her slightly perplexed as to what the point of all the talking had even been.

It was perhaps only worse when she felt the Horsemen enter the premises, and her entire form tensed as one of them, the girl Famine, entered the room, shouting down the teacher and immediately making her way over to Kirito and manhandling him. Sephiriel’s lips pursed together, and she left her chair to separate them just as Death walked in. Spotting the angel, Dama, and Kirito engaged in some kind of three-way struggle to get what they wanted without revealing what they were, he immediately gained the attention of the teacher. “Please excuse my sister, madam,” he said politely, locking eyes with her and seeming to stare intently. “She is not well, but something went wrong with her registration. It is best if she remains with me for the day.” His left eye glittered, flickering red for the briefest of moments, and the teacher, who had been clearly about to protest, smiled instead.

“I see. I’m so sorry to hear that. If you need to, you can seat her next to yourself. Just please do what you can to keep her calmed.” Khalid nodded sagely and advanced to where the others were, taking hold of Akeldama’s elbow. “Dama, stop. You can stay in here, but you must come sit with me. Do not disturb the humans,” he added, the last low enough that only the non-humans in the room would even be able to hear it. He made brief eye contact with a vengeful-looking Sephiriel, then the Witnesses, but turned on his heel thereafter, leading Dama away to another section of the classroom, closer to the window, which he promptly commenced staring out of.

Dama puffed out her cheeks, but reluctantly went to sit next to Khalid, shooting vehement glares at Kirito for most of the class. Kirito, on the other hand, massaged his jaw, sitting back down. He wondered why exactly Khalid and Akeldama were here. But then...so was Sephiriel, so he shouldn't be overly surprised. They were all connected in some way, and he'd bet his ass that it was Bartram behind the other's enrollment.

Kirito sighed through his nose, finding it rather difficult to concentrate. Alamgir was just barely kept in check, really only because Sephiriel was sitting directly in front of him. The presence of two other horsemen was almost unbearable for him. He looked tiredly at the blackboard. This was going to be a very long school-year.

After finally growing bored with glaring at Kirito, Dama began to amuse herself by doodling on the paper in front of her. She had little interest in what was being taught.

She was here for one reason only, and that was because Bartram had asked her to try and get Alamgir to surface. It was easy to see what War's goal was. If they exposed Alamgir to the general public, it would cause chaos and mayhem, not to mention force Kirito into hiding, and make it easier all-around to begin their jobs. But, it had to be done delicately, without revealing what they were, meaning, herself and Khalid. The whole thing made Dama weary. She'd rather just crush all the humans around her and be done with it.

As the bell rang, signaling the end of the period, Dama tugged on Khalid's sleeve. "Hey, Kal...Dama's hungry." She looked up at him with big, round, red eyes.

Khalid looked down at Dama, and appeared to consider her words for a moment. Nodding, he stood from his desk. “This is the time when the humans eat as well Dama,” he said simply. There should be a cafeteria around here somewhere, and he followed the stream of students until they reached the line. He hoped they had a lot more food than they needed, else Dama would probably eat too much of it.

Sephiriel, meanwhile, watched the horsemen exit the classroom and turned to her two charges. She made sure Cassiel was fine (which she was), before turning to Kirito. “How are you?” she inquired quietly. She knew it would be rather difficult to keep Alamgir at bay with both of them around, even if, as usual, Death wasn’t doing much to try and influence him one way or another. Famine alone would be troublesome, and she knew that if they were ever unlucky enough to meet War, there would simply be no chance.

Kirito loked up at Sephiriel, his eyes red instead of purple. Other than that, though, there were no other showings that Alamgir was present. His hair, and temperment, were purely Kirito. He sighed through his nose. "I'm managing."

He then stood up and cracked his neck. He simply wanted this day to be over already. "Come on...It's time for lunch." He said little else, his manerisms stiff, calculated.

Akeldama, on the other hand, was practically skipping alongside Khalid. Once they reached the line, she got slightly impatient, but when she got to the food, she kept asking for more. Khalid had to keep pushing her along to get her to move, and when they finally got to a table, Dama had more food on her plate than one person could even eat. There were quite a few kids staring at the skinny girl as she began to eat it. Or perhaps, a better word, inhale.

Cassiel blinked when she reached the room, waving to her cousin as he waved to her. She took her usual seat beside him and waited for the day to start. She was, however, slightly startled when a white-haired girl attacked Kirito's mouth searching for Gir. She could only speculate that this girl knew who Gir was, therefore, also knew who Kirito was. She did not, however, hide the fact that she was slightly amused by the girl trying to reach for Gir through Kirito's mouth. It wasn't until another student entered, her eyes meeting his as he took the girl away. Something seemed...sad about him that it caused her to frown. She recognized him as the one who was on the roof that night and her frown only deepened. Before she knew it, the bell for lunch signaled and she quickly packed her things away, grabbing her bag of made lunches as she followed after Kirito and Sephiriel.

They were soon in the cafeteria, Cassiel blinking owlishly at the sight. Usually a majority of the students opted to sit outside, but apparently this wasn't the case. There was only one table left and Cassiel made a beeline for it. Once everyone was settled, she pulled the boxes from the bag and presented each one to Kirito and Sephiriel. "I made these for you this morning. This school requires that you pay for lunch and I hardly doubt dad gave you any money. I usually make lunch for Kirito and myself, but I figured since you were attending with us, I'd make one for you as well, Sephiriel," she stated, holding out the purple box with Sephiriel's name written upon it.

Sephiriel took the box with perhaps more delicacy than strictly warranted by the situation, as though it were some object for which reverence should be shown. She blinked in surprise as she set it down on the table and opened it—she recognized almost none of the items, but strictly speaking, she hadn’t required sustenance until she’d assumed this form. Whatever it was, it smelled very pleasant. She looked over at Cassiel, and though the expression was slight, so slight it might almost be missed, she smiled. “I… thank you, Cassiel. That was very kind of you.” It may even qualify as the kindest thing anyone had done for her in a long time. Certainly since she arrived here.

The smile, small as it was, faded immediately when Death sat down across from her, and only then did she realize that Famine was already present. She glared at him, and he just looked back at her, something unnamable passing behind the blue of his eyes before he looked down. “My apologies for the inconvenience,” he said dully, “but there is nowhere else.” Technically, the horsemen had been there first, which was perhaps the reason why she only grunted softly and looked back down at her food.

Well, Khalid thought to himself, glancing at each of them before he refocused his attention on making sure that Akeldama did not inadvertently elbow him in the side, this is awkward.

Kirito was not at all pleased with the way this day was turning out. It was just going from bad to worse. It was one thing to be in the same room as two other Horsemen, but being in this close of proximity to them was too much.

Akeldama was also not helping, seeing as, between huge mouthfuls of food, she was turning and poking Kirito in the side. For the better part of ten minutes, he ignored her, but with each poke, a strand of his hair was turning white. Finally, when his hair was a rather interesting tye-dye blend of white and purple, he turned to Akeldama and growled, "Would you stop poking me, you insolent brat."

Dama's eyes widened, and then, mouth full and all, she grinned widely. "Gir!"

Kirito rolled his eyes. "Not quite."

Cassiel smiled brightly at Sephiriel as she sat down next to the girl, immediately beginning to dig into her own lunch when the two others from before sat with them. She blinked softly, almost as if she were seeing an illusion, but shrugged her shoulders nonetheless. They were not doing anything hazardous yet, so she supposed it would be fine. "The cafeteria usually isn't this packed, but there isn't a seating chart for where everyone is to sit. You are welcome to sit wherever you like," she stated, her tone soft, her smile still present. She glanced towards the white-haired girl and tried not to laugh as she opened her mouth at Kirito. Perhaps not the most pleasant thing he's ever seen, she thought as she poked at her box. The girl seemed to enjoy eating, and an idea popped in her head.

"Dama," she called, recalling the girl referring to herself as such, "You can have this," she stated, pulling a bag of homemade chocolate chip cookies. She planned on giving them to Sephiriel and Kirito, however; it seemed that the girl liked to eat, and if it helped Kirito out a bit, then who was she to not help her cousin? "I made them last night," she stated, handing the bag to the white-haired girl with a bright smile. These people apparently made her smile more than usual...not that she minded. It was nice that, for once, they were not at each others throat. Well, perhaps not yet anyway if Dama kept pestering Kirito.

Kirito's eyes narrowed slightly as his cousin gave Dama cookies. He sighed through his nose. "You're not supposed to feed stray cats, Cass. It makes them stick around."

Dama, on the other hand, was staring at the cookies with something like a cross between longing and suspicion on her face. She glanced back and forth between Cassiel and the cookies. She loved cookies. But Cassiel was a Witness, and worse, she was Nephilim. She glanced up at Khalid, who only stared back at her. She puffed out her cheeks.

"Dama isn't a cat...why do Bart and Gir have to be butts?" She muttered softly.

Kirito snorted, another strand of his hair turning stark white. "Because that's our job, Dama."

Khalid was opening his mouth to tell Dama that it was fine to eat them, given the fact that she obviously wanted to, but he never had the chance. “Watch out,” he said instead, reaching across the table such that his hand hovered a few inches from Cassiel’s nose. Just as well that he had—a partially-eaten apple smacked into his gloved palm thereafter, and his fingers closed around it, securing it in place. He brought the hand back in front of him, blinking at the fruit before he aimed it at a nearby trashcan and tossed. It landed where it was supposed to, thudding into the can, and there was a flurry of whispers from a few tables down.

“Moron! You were supposed to hit Fuhen.” A pause. “The guy Fuhen. Are you quarterback or not?” This was met with some general dissatisfaction from a few other people, and then something a lot less… solid than an apple went flying for Kirito, but this went wide and hit someone else in the back.

Apparently, such an error was all it took—it was complete chaos after that. Someone naturally took offense to the toss, and retaliated with beans catapulted from a plastic fork, and then everyone in the packed cafeteria seemed inclined to join in. Khalid sighed through his nose, standing and gesturing for the others to do the same. As soon as they did, he turned the small table over on its side, providing a shield from all incoming food, and sat with his back against it, legs crossed, and calmly resumed eating his own lunch.

Perhaps a blink was all it took as Cassiel stared at the hand in front of her, an apple in its grasp. She blinked confused for a second before she heard someone state about aiming for the other Fuhen. She sighed softly, standing when Khalid spoke to do so and grabbed her lunch. Once the table was over turned, she took a seat on the other side of Khalid, sighing softly. They had gone three months without a food fight, three months. The last one was a result of someone trying to hit Kirito (not surprisingly) and of course, just as this one had, someone took offense and began attacking each other.

"You draw too much attention Kiki," she stated softly, eating her food in the process before pausing. She glanced towards Khalid and smiled a bit softly. "Thanks for that, by the way. The apple," she stated before returning to her meal. It would only be a matter of minutes before the teachers came in to put a stop to it, however; she was sure Kirito might join in the fun. He did last time. She glanced towards Sephiriel and offered her an apologetic smile. "Probably not the best first impression for this school," she stated. It was Sephiriel's first day at the school, and Cassiel was sure that the angel had a lesser opinion than she once did.

Kirito, however, was in no mood to join in the fun, seeing as he was no longer Kirito. With an iritated sigh, he sat down on the floor, his hair now snow white, and resumed eating. Alamgir was a lover of chaos, but this....this was utterly insane. It was more Bartram's scene than his.

Dama, on the other hand, was rather fascinated. She was not quite sure why people were throwing food, but she kind of liked it. She stood, watching for a second, before laughing out loud, and went running off. She was then seen sitting atop the quarterbacks' shoulders, her hands covering his eyes as the guy scowled and swore. As food went flying by her, she was trying, and surprisingly succeeding, in catching it in her mouth.

Alamgir peeked over the edge, a white eyebrow raised before turning to Khalid. "And Bartram thinks that I'm crazy..."

“Bartram has not interacted overmuch with humanity,” he replied flatly, glancing back over at Cassiel. “Think nothing of it.” He certainly wouldn’t. Sephiriel, meanwhile, huffed sitting between the cousins and shaking her head. Honestly, this wasn’t that bad—these people had nothing on some of the antics Michael and Uriel had been capable of. Especially the latter; he was always causing trouble. This was more trivial and annoying than anything, though she would admit to some morbid curiosity about Famine’s antics, and occasionally leaned back to check that the girl was still fine.

Why she did this, she had no idea. It wasn’t like a Horseman of the Apocalypse couldn’t handle herself against mere humans… perhaps it was actually the humans she was looking out for, come to think of it. Whatever the case, it seemed fine, at least until a carton of milk smacked into the very top edge of the table, spilling over and hitting Seph in the head, and possibly one or two of the others as well. Then she just got mad. She reminded herself that killing humans was a grave sin and she should never commit it, but when the cold milk started to trickle down her spine, she stood up slowly, taking the brownie from Death’s tray into one of her hands. It was too hard to eat anyway, and Khalid wasn’t going to stop her.

Leaning sideways to avoid another piece of flying food, she homed in on the person who’d thrown the milk, identifiable largely because he was pointing in their direction and laughing. Winding back, she pitched the stale confection in a perfect arc across the room, smacking him in the temple hard enough to break the baked good, glared at his stunned expression, and then promptly sat back down. “I don’t suppose anyone has a napkin?”

For a second, Alamgir blinked owlishly at Sephiriel. Then, silently, the Horseman of Conquest handed the Angel a napkin. "Boy, remind me to never piss you off, Blondie."

He then returned his gaze to Akeldama, and with a tired sigh, he stood up. Famine was now literally licking food off the floor. Alamgir wrinkled his nose in disgust, grabbing the girl by the back of her shirt collar, slinging her over his shoulder. "Alright, Dama, come on. That's enough for one day." He returned to the table, Dama swinging madly from his back, giggling all the while.

"Can we get out of here now?"

Setting

New York City, New York

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#2013-12-25 21:15:37, as written by Nephilim

Alamgir sighed through his nose, cracking his neck back into place. He had to admit, gym class had an upside, if any could be said of the shorts they had to wear. Well, the girls, anyway. The same could not be said of the males.

So far, Khalid, himself, Dama, Cass, and Seph were a little ways away from the rest of the class, and the two captians -the quarterback and the cheer captain- were picking teams for dodgeball. Unsurpisingly, the five of them were the last to be picked. Even worse, the quarterback picked Sephiriel. Alamgir was slightly amused, because then the cheer captain picked Khalid. Finally, Alamgir was last, and stuck on the Cheerleader's team.

Alamgir surveyed the court, a bored look on his face. He was slightly worried, Akeldama tended to get rather violent with contact sports, but then, this was unnecessary. One look showed that the girl had fallen asleep fast on her feet. Alamgir rolled his eyes, catching one of the red rubber balls that had been thrown at him with one hand. The coach called the other person out, and Alamgir launched the ball back, hitting one of the other players square in the face.

A ball hit Dama square in the chest, and without missing a beat, or even waking up, Dama simply fell over, snoring all the while.

She sighed softly. It was time for gym class, and it was something she wasn't looking forward to. The coach had stated yesterday that they would be playing dodgeball, of all sports, today. To say she was amused would have been an exaggeration. She was not amused at all. Dodgeball, while could have easily been her favorite sport, wasn't something she liked playing at school. When the teams were picked, Cassiel made her way to stand next to Sephiriel, giving her the quick rundown on how dodgeball was played. The coach tended to forget to explain the rules, and Cassiel did her best to tell the angel in a way she understood. Dama was the first to get hit, and much to Cassiel's horror, the girl fell asleep on the court. It took all concentration to avoid getting hit by the balls and to avoid stepping over the girl, however; she managed somehow.

She grabbed one of the red rubber balls, aiming for Alamgir, however; when she threw it, it hit someone else. Before she could see who she hit, a red ball smacked her in the face, right on the cheek, earning a startled yelp from her. "Ow," she stated, rubbing her cheek that was now turning red from the impact. It wasn't the first time she was hit in the face, however; the ball was actually a lot softer than her mother's and aunt's fists when she was learning karate from them. She shrugged her shoulders and made her way towards the stand, avoiding all the on-coming balls so she didn't accidentally get hit in the back again, like last time. She knew they knew she was out, however; perhaps it was because she was Kirito's cousin, but they seemed to not care regardless.

"It's up to you now Seph!" she called out, cheering her squad mate on as she sat on the bleachers. Being tagged out so early in the game was a blessing of sorts for Cassiel. She really didn't want to play to begin with, given that she wasn't prone to violent tendencies, however; it was just a simple game. At least to her it was. To the others, it was some weird dance of competition to see who was the superior being. Kirito always seemed to enjoy himself, however; Sephiriel was still new so she'd cheer on her angel friend first. Kirito could manage on his own.

She’d had no idea what was going on, save that she hated these short pants as much as everything else she was supposed to wear, but thankfully, Cassiel gave her a rundown of the rules of this game they were playing. She was a bit insulted at having been chosen so close to last, but that was fine. It would be just like the wars all over again—she would simply have to prove herself a worthy opponent by demonstration. Once everyone was all lined up and the whistle blew, Sephiriel found herself with a red rubber ball headed right for her face. Her hand snapped up, and she caught it, returning it at Death, who didn’t even bother to try and dodge it or catch it whatsoever, merely letting it bounce off his chest.

When it did, he walked over to his fallen comrade and hoisted her over his shoulder as though she weighed nothing at all, setting her down carefully near Cassiel and seating himself against the wall. He really had no desire to throw things at other people, after all, nor to have them thrown at him. There had been quite enough of that at lunch.

Sephiriel twisted, dropping to the floor to dodge another projectile, then caught one aimed for her center mass on her way up, throwing it back at the person who’d tried to hit her and nailing him in the shoulder. She was a constant whirl of motion, and she was quickly thinning out the ranks of the opposing team, even while hers fell all around her. The cause of this was mostly Alamgir, who hit the captain of her team even as she took out his. Before five minutes had passed, it was just the two of them, staring across the gym at each other. Sephiriel, ammunition in each hand, lifted her chin, the subtle tilt to her lips the faintest ghost of a challenge.

Alamgir grinned right back at the angel, parts of his hair shifting back to purple, along with his right eye. He had to admit, he was enjoying this as much as the kid was, if the partial transformation was any indication.

He ducked the ball thrown at him, twisting so that he kicked it in return, the ball hurtling back towards Sephiriel. Even as he hit the ground he rolled, scooping up another ball and firing it at her.

Sephiriel ducked the return shot by a few inches, but the follow-up required a bit more improvisation, and she dipped down into the splits in the nick of time, which allowed her to roll to the side and come up with two more rubber balls, both of which were hurled with great force for Kirito’s chest. One followed the other by about half a second, and was slightly to one side, in hopes of anticipating his most likely evasive maneuver.

Kirito side-stepped to the left, the second ball missing his face by mere centimeters. For another ten minutes, the two of them continued to duck and dodge, and hurl projectiles at one another. It was eerily reminiscent of some bizarre game of what one might consider dodgeball, but much more violent.

Finally, it ended when they each threw a rubber ball at each other's faces, and they both caught it at roughly the same time, the game ending in a tie. Kirito, his hair now fully purple as well as his eye, busted out laughing as soon as the coach called the game, a startled look on his face as he told them to hit the showers.

Dama did not move, the girl still snoring loudly from her position next to Khalid, and when he stood up, she only fell over, no longer having him to support her.

Setting

New York City, New York

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#2013-12-28 04:03:28, as written by Nephilim

Sephiriel, of course, knew exactly what the aborted sentence had been about to finish with, but she wasn’t about to say it. There were some words that, once spoke, could alter the course of fate itself. Some words had power—she knew that very well indeed. If she or anyone else said them now, things might not go as they were supposed to. Her chance of failing in her sacred mandate would increase, and if she failed, the world failed with her. So it was a bit of an underestimation to say she was relieved when they never actually made it out into the open air.

Kaz looked back and forth between Momo and Des for a moment, a sly little smile that Asmodeus knew very well flickering over her face before she returned to the matter at hand. “So, we get them back,” she told the girl. “How exactly are we supposed to go about that? Is there a plan or is this a ‘make it up as we go along’ situation? We’re pretty good at those, actually.”

Morgan rolled out his shoulders, his neck cracking in the process. "Until the seven years of Tribulation actually start, War and Famine can switch bodies, move from host to host. But once it starts, they're sealed in whatever body they're in, for good. The problem is, no one really knows when the Tribulation will start. That's something that changes with every passing second. It's never constant. So, we're pretty much winging it. Frankly, we're not sure how to get them out of their hosts." He had smiled at Tsuki, shaking his head slightly. Always the emotional one. It became rather apparent just how much he'd missed them in the last fifteen years.

Desdemona, on the other hand, was far from pleased. Her scowl had only deepened the longer the conversation dragged on, and finally, she couldn't take it any longer. "No." She said sharply, and Morgan cast her a sideways glance, but allowed her to continue speaking. He knew it would do him little good to try and stop her. "There is no we, and there never will be a we. Morgan and I can handle this on our own."

Morgan sighed through his nose. "Des..." He said slowly, when he trailed off. His attention was taken by two things: the sudden upsurge in Kirito's aura, and the sudden appearance of another aura altogether.

Bartram had appeared across the street from them, and in response, Alamgir stood where Kirito had. There was little time for any sort of reaction, as a split second later, Des had gone straight for War. Morgan had taken only one step when he was stopped by a hand at his throat. Crimson eye met crimson eyes, Alamgir grinning up at him. Morgan could only smirk slightly. "Conquest."

"Mammon."

With that simple word, the two of them vanished, reappearing a short distance away from each other, and one thing had changed about both of their appearances: Alamgir was now sporting the black wings of his father, whereas Morgan's wings were a deep crimson that matched his hair. Morgan scoffed slightly. He didn't have time for this. Des was not faring well against War, the Horseman was simply toying with her.

Cass, As! Get Des, get her out of here! I can handle Alamgir."

As nodded once, glancing over at Caspar. Of course, he did until something rather hard hit him, sending him backwards into the building next to him hard enough to crack the wall.

"Hello, Azzy....Bart said Dama can kill you. So Dama is going to kill you."

As groaned, blood running down his face from the top of his head. Great, this chick. This day just kept getting better and better.

“Like Hell you are!” someone else answered, and a sturdy shoulder plowed into Akeldama’s emaciated-looking side. Kazehana did not look pleased, but she had not forgotten that this was Des’s sister. Whether the girl wanted their help or not, she was going to get it—that was what they did for the people that helped one of their own, and taking Asaroth into her body to help Morgan definitely counted. So killing Famine (because hello, the skinny Horseman was obviously Famine) wasn’t an option, but that wasn’t to say that she’d take kindly to the girl threatening her husband. Not by a damn long shot. Conjuring several soul spheres, Kaz used them to try and pin Akeldama to a wall, as she’d once done in a practice bout to the demon fighting her son.

The weird was back, and it never seemed to run out of ways to throw her for a loop.

Cass, on the other hand, stepped in to help Desdemona, who was obviously struggling against War. Though Seph looked narrow-eyed for a moment at the fight between Alamgir and Mammon, she did not join it, determining that in the end, Bartram was the bigger threat here. She doubted the demon would even think of killing Conquest, and she’d deal with it when it happened if he attempted the feat. There was a flash of light, and Sephiriel was once more bedecked in her shining armor, a longsword in her left hand and a shield in her right. Cass was holding a simply massive zweihander, which he swung around as though it weighed nothing, forcing War back from the green-haired girl.

When Kazehana slammed into Akeldama's side, it was like hitting a brick wall. Akeldama barely even moved. Her red eyes only swiveled over to the purple-haired woman, a slightly confused look on her face. Then, a look of knowing passed through her eyes. "Oh, Dama knows you, you're the Lady." She looked at the soul spheres, and then, she leaned forward, swallowing it whole. She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Oh....that was yummy. It's too bad you're the Lady...Dama would love to eat your soul...but Dama isn't allowed to kill you...Bart would get angry." She looked almost rueful for a second, her gaze returning to As, whom she glared at.

She jumped lightly, and vanished, reappearing in the air above As. All it took was one light touch on top of his head with the ball of her bare foot. For a second, As didn't feel a thing. And then, there was a crushing amount of pain at the top of his skull, blood leaking from his ears as he collapsed. "Dama said she would squish you, Azzy..."

Bartram, on the other hand, had simply been blocking and dodging the girl's swings, whose anger and fear and pain were only making her less powerful, and reckless. He had come for one reason: to get Conquest. He'd expected Sephiriel to be present, not the entire family. He wasn't even sure who this Desdemona was, or why she was so intent on attacking him with a Soul Scythe, of all things.

It was when Sephiriel and Caspar stepped in that he finally did attack. With a flick of his wrist, a stream of fire shot directly at Desdemona, wrapping onto her wrist and forcing her to let go of the weapon. Caspar swung at him, and the Horseman only flickered, the blade passing through him harmlessly. Desdemona's eyes widened. He shouldn't be able to do that, not yet anyway. With another flick, he sent the girl flying straight into Caspar, his attention then focusing on Sephiriel. "Well, Storm-Singer?"

Morgan, on the other hand, figured there was only one way to end this. Asmodeus was in a bad way, and with three Horsemen present, it was likely that only Sephiriel stood a chance against Bartram right now, and even that chance was slim. So, he acted. He knew what War wanted. Well, he could have it. Morgan feigned a duck, instead making for the Scythe that Des had dropped. Sure enough, Alamgir followed him, and as soon as Morgan took hold of the weapon, he swung it, the blade passing through the horseman. For a second, Alamgir froze, a look of surprise passing over his face. The blade hadn't harmed him.

That was when something strange happened. Conquest grabbed both sides of his head, and with a bright surge of dark energy combined with an odd crackling noise, Kirito and Alamgir stood about three feet apart, mirror images of each other save for their coloration. Both of them blinked at each other, and then they both passed out. Morgan caught Kirito, letting Alamgir go. He turned to Bartram. "Well, he's what you wanted, right? Then take him and get out of here."

For a second, Bartram glanced at them all, disbelief in his eyes. He then simply picked up Conquest and said shortly, "Akeldama!" He then turned on his heel and vanished. Dama giggled, glancing down at Asmodeus. "Looks like Azzy lucked out today. Dama thinks you should get some help though. Bye-bye!" With a giggle and a twirl, she, too, vanished.

Kaz was at Asmodeus’s side immediately, gently inspecting his head wound. She converted two of her spheres into wisps of energy, treading these through her fingers and touching the point of impact as gently as she could. This would not heal immediately, not even with as much as she could give it. Cass and Tsuki were superior healers to she, but she could do something to help him—though it was the furthest thing from good, the wound was not fatal. “Shit, shit, shit… talk to me, As,” Her free hand moved to his cheek, resting there gently.

Her focus was such that she almost missed what was happening to her son, but though there was nothing she could do about it, she watched War carry Alamgir away. “What the Hell, Morgan! That’s my son you’re letting him walk away with!” Not that she was sure there was really anything else to do; though Cass and Sephiriel were still fine, Desdemona wasn’t looking good, and Kirito was unconscious. The fallen angel set the girl gently on her feet, shaking his head.

If Khalid had shown up to this fight, it may well have become a slaughter. Caspar was actually somewhat interested in the fact that he hadn’t, when his presence would have made it quite the decisive stroke for the Horsemen. Sephiriel looked thunderous—though Bartram hadn’t scratched her, she hadn’t managed to do anything to him, either, and now one of her charges was gone. “There’d better be a good reason for this,” she said slowly, referring to the fact that Mammon had let Bartram walk away with Alamgir in hand. “Otherwise, I’m going after him.” It wasn’t smart, but it was her job to guard him, and she was feeling very much like a failure right now. It was not a feeling she was accustomed to, and she didn’t like it one damn bit.

Before either Fuhen knew what was going on, the battle that had sprung from nowhere resulted in most of them being hurt, and Kazehana was trying her hardest to heal Asmodeus. Immediately, Tsukiyo beckoned Cassiel to follow her, and she obliged her mother. Tsukiyo set a hand on Kazehana's shoulder as Cassiel went around to the other side, rubbing her hands together to kickstart the warmth. "Cassie can take over from here Kaz," she spoke to her sister, ushering her away from Asmodeus so Cassiel could have better leverage. Cassiel glanced towards her aunt and offered a smile before returning her attention towards Asmodeus.

"You're wounds are going to need an accelerant, so this might hurt a bit Uncle Dei-Dei," she stated, hovering over the unconscious demon. Taking a deep breath, she summoned her light and began threading her fingers together, however; if one peered close enough, they would notice small bouts of fire mixed in with the light. The fire would force the skin to singe slightly, causing its natural instincts to heal while being aided by the healing factor inherited from both parents. Once she was finished, Cassiel sighed, leaning back on her legs slightly. "There. Uncle Dei-Dei should be fine...for now," she stated, glancing up at Kazehana with a tired, yet bright smile.

Morgan let out an exasperated sigh. "Your son is going to be just fine. Alamgir will have no choice but to return. They are of one soul, he can't survive without Kirito, and he well knows it. What I did was the only way to ensure we all came out of this alive." Des looked weary, holding her wrist gingerly.

"He has forty-eight hours to return to his other half. Kirito will not wake up until he does. But will Bartram simply let him leave?"

"He won't have a choice. Aside from that, none of the Horsemen command any of the others, not entirely. War can't stop him from leaving. Go after him if you feel you must, Sephiriel, but it would tantamount to suicide."

Desdemona sighed. Like it or not, they were all tied together in this. She picked up her scythe, stowing it away. "We should get off the streets. Prince or not, it will take Asmodeus a while to wake up. Famine's attacks are nothing short of brutal. Morgan is right, Alamgir will have no other choice than to return. It is not the greatest of solutions, but it is perhaps the best one available right now."

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#2014-01-06 21:19:44, as written by Nephilim

Kirito stared at the piece of paper in his hand as if it were going to spontaneuosly combust. Indeed, that was what he was hoping for, really. He was sitting at the usual table for lunch, his cousin on one side, Akeldama on his other, the girl taking turns between poking him in the side and shoving food into her mouth. Sephiriel was a bit farther down, and Khalid at across from them. Kirito's hair was an even mixture of purple and white; after two months of spending every school day with two other Horsemen, he and Alamgir had come to a rather mutual agreement. A part of him got let out, so long as pure chaos didn't ensue.

So far, it was working. Right now, however, Kirito really was not in any good mood. The flyer in his hand was, for all things, a mandatory talent show; every student was to enter. Kirito sighed through his nose. "What the hell is this shit?" He dropped the flyer on the table so that the others could see it.

Akeldama, for once, actually stopped eating long enough to look at it, blinking owlishly before turning to Khalid. "Khal...what's a talent show? Does Dama have to do something?"

Khalid glanced at the flyer on the table, and though his expression didn’t change, the air around him shifted a little bit. Two months in, the others would know it to be something a little bit like dread, which was actually kind of funny, because he only seemed to be that way when Sephiriel looked at him too harshly. Actually… Cassiel still didn’t know what he and Dama were, and sometimes thinking about telling her produced the same, though he was not inclined to do so often.

“Unfortunately, yes, Dama,” he replied neutrally. He’d encountered these things in his many previous years of high school, though he’d never been forced to participate before. His left eye twitched, just slightly. “t would appear that participation is mandatory for all enrolled students. You have to pick something that you are abnormally good at doing, and demonstrate this capacity to an audience of our schoolmates.” That was honestly the best way he could think of to describe it. Softly, Death sighed. He’d never been overly fond of crowds, nor of being looked at. It would seem he had little choice—he was not supposed to cause a stir at the educational facility, and doubtless his refusal to participate would be an inconvenience to his continued utter anonymity. He was even sure to make enough mistakes on his assignments that he was just in the top quarter of his class.

He really didn’t want people insisting too much that he apply to college.

Sephiriel’s brow furrowed. “I’m… abnormally good at hitting things with a sword. I do not think this is an acceptable talent?” A couple of months ago, she wouldn’t have even known to ask the question, but since she’d seen no one else who used one except for other supernaturals like Khalid, she was left to guess that it was probably not commonplace anymore. Not even among the knightly class.

Cassiel had been eating her lunch in silence, her eyes roaming every now and then towards Kirito, whose new appearance had not startled her as much as it had once. After the whole ordeal, it was nice just to have her cousin back. She had even made it a point to start making lunch for the five of them, Kirito, Sephiriel, Akeldama, Khalid, and herself. Though the latter two hardly touched the food she made for them, she still made it regardless. She wasn't obligated to do anything for them, but here she was regardless. She blinked at her cousin when he spoke, glancing down at the flyer.

"Ah, no Sephiriel. That wouldn't be an acceptable, ah, talent for this particular Talent Show," Cassiel stated, answering Sephiriel's question. "For a talent show like this, they are requiring something more of an artistic-like talent. Perhaps something that deals with song, instrument, or in Kirito's case, dancing," she continued her explanation. "It's also not limited to those who are comedians, jesters if you will. And, though your sword is perhaps a bit...outdated, showing off forms of martial arts is also a talent that could be deemed acceptable," she finished.

Though there were a lot of other things one could do with a talent show, saying it all in one breath was nearly impossible for Cassiel. Plus, Kirito could pitch in and describe it to her as well. "Ah, I heard you singing, Sephiriel! You could showcase a song if that is what you wish. You have a really pretty voice," Cassiel chimed in with the sudden thought. "But it is to your choosing so if you do not wish to sing, you may choose something more to your liking," she threw in as an after thought. The choice, after all, would undoubtedly fall to Sephiriel in the end anyhow.

Kirito shrugged. "Actually, use a wooden sword, and showcasing swordplay probably isn't a bad idea." He also nodded when Cassiel mentioned his dancing. "That's the easiest thing for me to do."

Akeldama, on the other hand, looked confused. "But...Bart said Dama wasn't allowed to squish people...what's Dama supposed to do?"

Kirito looked a bit amused, looking at the giant heap of food the girl had in front of her. "Eating?"

Sephiriel tilted her head to the side, considering both of the options. She would have to give it some thought. It was possible for her to sing, she supposed, but doing so with no magic behind it seemed… pointless? Then again, so did swinging around a wooden sword around with nobody to spar against. She still used basic forms sometimes, but they weren’t really anything flashy. Bluntly, she asked the question on her mind. “Most of these acts are going to be terrible, aren’t they? I can’t imagine most of the students at this school have talents in the artistic realm that are demonstrable in this fashion.”

Khalid, who was giving a bit of a longing look to the food Cassiel had actually made him (he never ate it—it was a surprisingly-complicated thing to explain and nobody asked), made a sound suspiciously like a snort, then blinked owlishly, somewhat surprised with himself. Coughing slightly into his hand, he cleared his throat. “You… are probably correct. These events are generally of mixed quality even when entirely voluntary.” He didn’t even want to imagine how bad it was going to be when more than half of the acts didn’t even want to be there. It sounded almost like something his father would have devised in his lighter moments….

Cassiel allowed her eyes to soften a bit with a smile lingering behind them as she glanced at the others. Akeldama, she assumed would be demonstrating something, hopefully that didn't involve the girls' vast stomach. Regardless, she shook her head at Sephiriel's comment. "You have lived a very long time Seph, things change. Talents, though little they may be, are different now a days. Anything can be perceived as a talent, but it's nice to watch, even if they end up making fools of themselves," she replied to her statement. She then turned towards Kirito, the small smile still lingering on her lips.

"And it's the only thing you're really good at," she retorted to his earlier statement. "I am sure you'll be able to figure something out though, Seph," she added in as she pushed her food around with her fork. She was contemplating herself what she would do. Like her cousin, she didn't have many normal talents, and using her birth talents was basically against the rules. Though...there was one thing she could do, and perhaps it'd be the easiest thing to do. Her eyes then focused in on Khalid, somewhat of a flash of curiosity going through her eyes.

"What can you do Khalid?" she questioned, the smile still lingering on her face. Someone told her that her face would fall off if she didn't stop smiling so much, however; she ignored them. What was wrong with smiling? The world seemed to lack it, and there was nothing for her to not be smiling about. She had her family, the small group of friends, and that was all she needed...right?

Khalid looked up sharply, perhaps not expecting to be addressed. He dropped his eyes again immediately afterward, however, using the clean ends of his utensils to move his dessert over to Akeldama’s tray—she’d eat it, and he wasn’t much inclined at present. “I ah… play piano.” He was faintly embarrassed by this admission, mostly because it was not something he generally made public knowledge. He’d had no formal tutelage as such—he’d simply learned how to read music, then figured out how that corresponded to the keys. He was better at playing by ear than sight-reading, anyway. He’d have to find something to listen to so that he could reproduce it on command, as he was going to have to do for this event.

“Did you have something in particular in mind for yourself, Cassiel?” he returned the question, partly because it was polite and partly because he would rather the conversation not linger on anything about him.

"Really?!" Cassiel stated, something like fascination crossing her eyes as she kept her focus on Khalid. "That's really incredible. I wish I could play, but my fingers always seem to freeze at the wrong moments," she replied, wiggling her fingers in front of her face in the process. She brought her hand down and blinked when the question was directed towards her. She really wasn't thinking about what she was going to do. She sat back in her spot a bit, chewing the bottom of her lip as she contemplated her decision.

"Honestly, I don't know. I am not good at a lot of things, and the one thing I think I can do is sing, but Seph would have me beat there. There is no doubt about that," she replied honestly to the question. In a way it was true. The only thing she could do, other than cook, was perhaps sing. But compared to Sephiriel's voice, Cassiel's probably sounded like nails on a chalk board. Her smile faltered just for a second before she shook the thought from her mind.

Khalid blinked. “Actually…” he replied, trying to think of a way to say this without giving away what he was. He supposed she knew he was something inhuman—they’d both been there that night on the roof, after all. “I personally find the voices of angels somewhat painful to listen to. I suspect I would find yours much more pleasant.” It was stated as bluntly as everything else he said, but he sent a wary glance at Sephiriel, who did not look pleased.

“For the last time, suck it up or go elsewhere. I can’t help it that my song is painful to the unholy. Besides… that’s only the case when I’m actually using magic.” Honestly. First Mammon, now Khalid. Why was she even keeping company with such people, anyway? Oh, right. Because her charges had absolutely no sense of self-preservation and she wasn’t allowed to interfere.

Khalid sighed through his nose. “Apologies, Sephiriel. I can’t change what I am any more than you can.” She seemed to accept this, and nodded shortly. “Regardless, Cassiel, I think you should go ahead and try. A talent show is not about winning, after all. It is about… sharing oneself with others.” One of many, many reasons why he was not looking forward to it.

"Of course it's not about winning. It's mainly about having fun and enjoying what it is that you can do. There will always be someone who can do something better than you, and that's probably the thing that makes Talent Shows a bit intimidating for most people," Cassiel replied, leaning over so that her head was resting on her cousins shoulder. "Regardless, I shall look forward to you playing the piano though!" she stated with a bright smile, completely missing the conversation and a few words spoken between Sephiriel and Khalid.

Kirito rolled his eyes slightly. The Angel and the Horseman was almost always at it, in some form or another, usually small banter. Frankly, by now, Kirito had quite gotten used to it. He smiled slightly at his cousin. She still had no idea about Khalid and Akeldama, and he himself had no intention of telling her. Surprisingly, Alamgir was also not so inclined.

He sighed through his nose, however, at Cassiel's comment. "It is not intimidating, it is a pain in the ass."

Dama cocked her head at Kirito. "So..." the albino girl said slowly, "It makes Kiki's butt hurt? Dama does not think that is what a show is supposed to do..."

Kirito ran a hand down his face, exasperated. "Nevermind."

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#2014-01-24 07:08:32, as written by Naga's Shadow

Kirito sighed, sitting with his chin propped in his hand. It was day one of the talent show, and he currently found himself in a seat in one of the back rows of the auditorium. Akeldama sat on his immediate right, with Khalid next to her. Cassiel sat on his left, and Sephiriel next to her. It was a bit odd, really, their little group.

They were, in every sense of the word, the school outcasts. Not that any of them cared. Dama probably didn't even understand what that meant. Kirito's red-purple eyes roamed over the crowd, not particularly interested in the third magic act in a row. This one was worse than the last two, the kid clearly had no clue what he was doing.

Kirito sighed through his nose. He was bored. He was actually bored enough that he considered switching his act to a magic show and simply switching to Alamgir. That would give the school something to talk about. In the end, though, he simply went through with what he'd originally planned. The dance went over better than he expected with the general student body.

And so he found himself back between his cousin and fellow horseman, the latter of which continued to poke him in the side. For the most part, he did his best to ignore her, which was not easy.

"Dama wants to know how Gir did that! Show Dama? Please?" Every once in a while, the albino would turn to Khalid. "Kal! Make Gir show Dama! Dama's hungry..." Kirito had to fight not to roll his eyes. He failed.

Khalid laid a hand on Dama’s head in a attempt to quiet her gently, because her persistence was starting to earn them glares from other audience members and a few teachers. He simply stared back until they lost their nerve and looked away. His eyes tended to have that affect on people, but it wouldn’t last forever. “Perhaps later, Dama,” he said flatly, watching dully as a few more acts, some of them good, some of them not so much, passed.

When Sephiriel was called, she frowned noticeably, shaking her head and filing past all of them. He wasn’t sure if she’d ever decided what she was going to do, but he certainly had not known the final verdict, as it were. So when she emerged onto the stage carrying a harp that she perhaps should not have been able to lift in one hand, he was mildly surprised. Nevertheless, she set it up in front of the chair and sat, looking out into the audience for a moment, still appearing rather grim about the whole thing. He wondered if he wasn’t about to get another dose of spellsong after all, but in actual fact, the tune was familiar, and her voice bereft of anything magical.

Well, unless perhaps one considered musical talent to be magic, which he did not, so much. Nevertheless, she had a lovely soprano, though he thought that perhaps the operatic style, though requiring technical skill above and beyond most modern music, was lost on at least half the audience. Even so… there was something a little captivating about it. None of them should be surprised—there was literally an angel singing on the stage, playing the harp. It was so common an idiom, but to see and hear it literally was really something else.

When she finished, there were a couple moments of silence, and then applause, but by then she was already carrying the harp—in both hands this time, thankfully—back across the stage, her face stained a faint tinge of pink, which did not fade even when she returned to her seat, crossing her arms over her chest with a bit of a huff. He’d not have picked Sephiriel as the type to be bothered by audiences, and from the slightly-confused look on her face, she had not expected it to affect her so, either.

Cassiel smiled, tilting her head from side to side as she watched the magic show with faint awe. If she hadn't known what her father was capable, what she was capable of, she might have even been fascinated by the tricks, however; there were things best left unsaid to the public. She had contemplated demonstrating her pyrokinetic abilities, but thought against it. Someone might have a bit of a phobia against fire, and she didn't want to cause any discomfort to anyone. So, she decided upon a song. It was simple tune, something that most people could relate to, and she felt the compelling need to sing this particular song. She waited, watching as Sephiriel was called, and her eyes immediately went to the angel.

When the song began, Cassiel could feel her eyes widening slightly, her eyes shining perhaps a bit brighter than usual as Sephiriel's voice carried through the auditorium. It truly was something to hear her voice, and Cassiel felt herself withdraw a bit. She knew she couldn't compete with a voice like that, and she knew that it wasn't a competition, however; when it was her turn to go on stage, would...she pushed the thought away. Now was not the time to be thinking like that. She was here to just have fun, not care about something so frivolous as what the school would think of her. With that, she allowed the smile to return to her face as she clapped at the end of the song.

She felt a bit silly for being the first to clap, however; she was cheering for her friend. When there was more applause, her smile widened. "That was beautiful, Seph!" Cassiel stated as she turned to face the angel, however; her name was called almost immediately thereafter and she blinked owlishly. Was it her turn already? With a leap from her chair, and a happy light to her step, she took the stage. She waited while everything was readjusted before she tapped on the microphone, laughing a bit nervously at the static it produced. She took a deep breath and cleared her throat. She waited for the music to start before she opened her eyes again.

The song began to pour through her mouth, light at first before it began to grow. The deep rumbles of her throat produced a rather pleasant sound, and by the time the song finished, she had not realized she closed her eyes, and opened them up to see a rather perplexed audience. She laughed nervously before exiting the stage and took a seat next to her cousin, her face a bit pink as she fumbled with the hems of her skirt.

Khalid had smiled, just barely, at Cassiel as she sat back down, an expression that honestly looked a bit out-of-place on his face, given how unused he was to making it. “That was very well done,” he said quietly, and Sephiriel nodded her agreement. Eventually, by the time serious fatigue was setting in for just about everyone, they called Khalid. Fortunately, stagehands took care of setting up the piano, so unlike Sephiriel, he didn’t have to make it abundantly obvious that he could move his instrument of choice on his own. He had no real care for the fact that an audience was present, and in fact, chose simply to ignore this fact, sitting down at the bench as though the piano were an old friend. He hit a few keys to make sure the thing was in tune, and decided that it was.

It was almost lovingly that he caressed the ivories and ebonies as he played, for indeed, this was a sincere form of escape for Khalid. A musician need not remember that he was Death, and indeed, the performance he gave was not at all reflective of his nature as a horseman. It was not without its melancholy, but more than anything, the tune was a strong one, and skillfully-executed. This was nothing remarkable, really—anyone would be technically accomplished after centuries of practice. But it brought him a measure of peace, and that was the important thing about it.

By that time, Dama had fallen asleep, snoring away in her seat next to Kirito. Believe it or not, he found this worse than her constant perstering. When they called her name and she didn't respond, he started nudging her.

Dama woke up with bleary eyes. "Gir? Dama's sleepy...leave Dama alone..."

Kirito scowled. "It's your turn to act, Dama."

She blinked again, yawned, and then looked over at Khalid. "Dama needs an assistant, Khal."

Khalid sighed through his nose, but nevertheless he followed her up onto the stage. Someone, probably a very confused someone, had filled a large bag with pieces of candy, which Khalid threw in random and improbable fashions, sometimes multiple pieces at once. To the amazement of the crowd, Dama managed to catch all of them, and by the time he was done, the bag was completely empty, which was rather a feat on its own.

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#2014-02-24 21:37:13, as written by Dynamite

"Naughty Birdie's song is made
by pecking holes in trees
willows, cedars, sycamores
and proud oaks reduced to cheese
woodland gods, all in a huff
have forever cursed your naughty beak
what it pecks, it poisons now;
your food, your nest even your young
your friends now all fear you
But your tears ring clearly through the wood
even as they taint the dew
such a sad, sad, little birdy
Maybe someday this song will lift the curse
and set you free."

The song slowly drifted down from the tree that Akeldama sat in. She would not lie; as much as she did enjoy being around Kirito and his family, a part of her missed her brother, Bartram. She couldn't help it, in the end she was a Horseman through and through, she didn't have the option of choosing a different path, like Kirito and Khalid did.

Cassiel had been spending as much time with her as she could, and for that, Dama was grateful. Even so, she still felt that familiar tug at the back of her mind, the one that needed to destroy, to kill.

The longer she stayed here, the more likely she would be to kill one of them.

Though Khalid did not make a big production of it, the quiet truth was that he was rarely far from Akeldama. Of course, it was true that to someone who could bend space and time to his will and teleport, no distance was ever really far, but the point was rather different than that one. He as usually close enough to keep some kind of track of her condition, and he knew how the fact that she was near to them sometimes strained her. He also knew that it would grown no easier with time. He was long used to an enforced, rigid self-control—he had promised himself long ago that he would never harm anyone he was not mandated to harm by fate. Whatever little that was worth, he had stuck to it, also.

So it was not so difficult for him to resist the occasional impulse to destroy. Especially when he considered the costs. But Dama was more emotional, more instinctive, and less straightforwardly rational than he, and though he knew that he could easily do to her what he had done to Bartram, he could not bring himself to take the risk that he might really kill her. A horseman’s spirit was not so easily separated from its body as a normal spirit was, at least not permanently. Even as precise and skilled as he was at such an exercise, he could not stomach the possibility of really ending her life with even a millimeter’s miscalculation.

And so he watched over her instead, and tried to help in this way. Presently, he carried, as he often did when deciding to visit with her in such a way that she was actually aware of him, a large paper bag of sweet foods. He probably should not indulge her the way he did, but he took a small measure of comfort in seeing her smile. In seeing anyone smile, for that matter, but hers was bright, and wide enough for two. For herself, and for him as well, because this one simple thing was one thing he knew not how to do.

“Dama,” he said from below the tree, mostly to draw her attention. With a quick check to make sure no humans were about, Khalid leapt easily into an adjoining branch, using one lanky arm to set the bag in front of her.

For perhaps the first time in her life, or at least since she'd been on the surface, Akeldama did not immediately devour the contents of the bag in front of her. Not being hungry wasn't the issue; she simply had other things on her mind. For a long time she simply sat there, though she did finally open the bag and begin munching on the Twizzlers, though much slower than usual. When she finally did speak, it was uncharacteristically direct.

"Dama doesn't belong here, Ka."

Something that occupied the empty space where Khalid’s heart was supposed to be ached just a little at the sentiment, in part because it was one he understood very well. He felt it himself, more often than not, and he had never desired for her to feel it as well. The other part of it was simply that he did not like to see her other than happy. His face, generally eminently neutral, dropped into a frown, and he reached from his branch to hers, mirroring a gesture Caspar had used on him when he felt similarly unwarranted and placing a hand gently on the crown of her forehead. His was cold where his mentor’s was warm, but it was all he could do, really.

“You belong wherever you want to be, Dama.” he said softly, but he knew it wasn’t true. It wasn’t true for her, or for him. They were not supposed to be here, like this. Already, he could feel the darker part of his nature, the part that so overwhelmed the rest always, tugging at him, demanding that he take up the mantle of Death and begin his work anew, with or without Bartram. He hated lying to her, and so he gave her the truth after that. “You belong with me, and I with you. I don’t know what will happen to us, not beyond a few things that must be. But whatever we must do, we will do it together, all right?”

[font=candara]Dama blinked her large red eyes as she stared at Khalid for a second. He was right, whatever they did, at least they could do it together; but she was still rather uncertain in regards to Alamgir. Their brother was also one of the witnessess, and the two witnessess were slated to die. She sighed heavily then; she didn't want to think of that at all, she'd grown rather fond of both Kirito and Cassiel. She had no desire to see them die.

But she didn't have a choice. "Then...Ka doesn't want Dama to leave?"

Khalid blinked, his eyebrows drawing together in a faint furrow. Didn’t want her to…? Wherever had she gotten the impression that he did? He wondered if he’d done anything to create it, but found that he couldn’t think of anything in particular. Perhaps Dama was simply projecting her uncertainty onto other things, like whatever odd relationship the two of them had. Khalid hesitated to call anyone a friend, really, and his family was such that it was no compliment to include someone in the number. But… even if there wasn’t a word for it, exactly, he cared about his fellow horseman, this one specifically. He didn’t know why, or even how it had happened, but somewhere along the way, it had, and this was something he accepted more easily than he would have accepted caring about someone else.

Because… however strangely she thought or put things, there was something in Akeldama that understood something in Khalid. Things that Bartram had not understood, nor Alamgir. This uncertain, aching loneliness, the sense of having no place to belong, was one of them. At least, he thought it was, which was perhaps why he’d told her that she belonged where he was. Maybe he could belong where she was, too. “No, Dama,” he said slowly, feeling another pang in his chest. “I don't want you to leave at all.” A pause. “Unless… unless you would rather go?”

This time, her answer was immediate. "Dama goes where Ka goes." It was simple, direct, and most of all, the truth. For everything considered, Khalid was her only family now, and that meant that she, as he had said, belonged with him. While she honestly believed that Khalid could make himself fit into this world, like Kirito, she was slightly relieved that he wouldn't, even if it was only for her sake.

Then again, maybe it wasn't for her sake at all. Akeldama was more observant than she let on to be. There was something deep within Khalid that didn't seem to open up to anyone, and it was dark and lonely there. She could empathize with that, that loneliness. She thought about saying something more, but when she opened her mouth, instead she [url=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u1GtMiKXE_E&list=PL00E0C60276EE643F]sang[/b]. Sephiriel may have been called Stormsinger, but Akeldama had her own vocal powers; though she wasn't quite using them at the moment, it was more or less to soothe.

Because sometimes words couldn't convey what was meant for song.

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#2014-03-21 07:06:09, as written by Asilian

It is time.

The mental whisper cut through all of Khalid’s other thoughts like a hot knife, and he stiffened for a moment, freezing where he was in the library, his fingers curling tighter against the spine of the book he held. For a moment, he entertained the notion of resisting this, the call that would end the world, but he could not. He knew it, and his father knew it, and so with a certain kind of agonizing reluctance, he set the book down on the table, stood, and walked out of the apartment.

Because he kept his aura suppressed entirely on most days, nobody would sense him leave, because they didn’t sense him at all in the first place. Kirito would know when he entered the Ninth Circle, but there was nothing to be done about it, and perhaps he would understand that, too. Perhaps not. It was of no consequence to Khalid—even Conquest could not stop him, could not stop this. It was as fated as an event could ever be, and wholly necessary for what would come after.

Necessary for the end of the world.

And he was the only one who could do it.

He walked a few blocks, mostly to give himself some distance from the place he’d been living and the people he was betraying, and then came to a stop, seemingly for no reason at all other than arbitrary choice. With a gesture, Khalid summoned a weapon to his hand—not his usual sword, but a scythe. And it was no crude Reaper’s implement—this was the Scythe of Death, counterpart to the Bow of Conquest. The lacquered shaft seemed to be cut from night itself, and the massive, curved blade glimmered the bright silver-white of the moon. He removed both of his gloves, catching the implement in the hand that was inked the color of shadows. With an easy swing that belied the weapon’s weight, Khalid cut through the fabric of reality itself, opening a portal to Hell.

Death paused at the door, staring straight ahead, but his thoughts were obviously directed behind him. For a long moment, he lingered on the threshold. Blue eyes closed, and his head dropped slightly, his shoulders hunching as he accepted, once and for all, the burden that had been his from birth. He’d almost thought—but no. This was who he was, and what he was born to do. There was no escaping it, no matter what they said or how much he wanted to believe them. Their time was up—because the End was beginning in truth now.

“I am sorry,” he whispered.

His eyes opened, both red, and Death stepped through the Gates of Hell.

Once inside, it was not particularly difficult to locate the place on the ice under which his father was sealed. His aura was strong now, stronger than it had been in eons, as he fed from the sin and chaos of the world and exploited his direct connection with Khalid to get at it faster. Death ignored the tormented souls that called out to him, reached for him, their hands almost brushing him before they stopped, sensing that he was not as human as he seemed. Even the damned could not bring themselves to touch him. He wasn’t surprised, and as he passed the throne of Asmodeus, he stopped holding in his aura, allowing it to flare around him with the cold heat of dry ice and settle. There was nothing more to rot, but where he tread, even more frost slicked the floor, and the air seemed to grow stagnant and stale.

He reached a specific spot on the ice and crouched, able to feel the power of the seal—divine power, from three angels long ago. One of those angels was now dead, and so Lucifer was now held by the combined might of Michael and Sephiriel alone. That would be more than enough to contain him, were he not made stronger by all the time he’d spent gathering power to him… and by Khalid, who could do some things that even Lucifer himself could not. Like fool the seal into believing something divine attempted to break it even as something unholy pushed from the other side.

The fingertips of his pale hand brushed the ice, and Khalid channeled life energy down, down, down into the dead frozen ground, feeling it reach with the warmth and tenderness of his mother, the holy inheritance of Gabriel made softer by her intercession and passed to him in a deeply-disturbing twist of irony. Death had life at his beck and call. He felt the seal drawing closer to the surface of the ice, until if glowed no more than a foot beneath his feet, the holy radiance issuing from it more than he’d ever seen in one place in his entire life. He wondered how much divinity each of those angels had sacrificed for this. They would be getting it back now, he supposed, but it would be cold comfort considering that the one they had imprisoned with it would walk free upon the earth once more.

With a surge of power from Khalid, the seal ruptured and broke, the ice above it cracking and shattering away to nothing, leaving a circular depression in the floor from which a figure emerged. His hair was white as Khalid’s, but underneath the distinctly demonic red glow they currently possessed, his eyes were a captivating violet. He was tall, lean, and exquisitely, darkly beautiful—there was considerable resemblance between he and his son, though Khalid would have said that was true only insofar as a shadow resembled the object it was cast from.

Lucifer flexed his hand, looking down at the pale, clawed digits of it, then over at his son, from whom the divine aura was fading rapidly. In fact, he was rebounding to the other end of the spectrum in his sire’s presence, his teeth extending over his lower lip, black claws forming at the end of each hand. Azrael was always a bit… feral in appearance when his more powerful heritage overtook him, but even this was not quite what he could become. It would seem the boy held back for some reason. Well, it was irrelevant to Lucifer—Azrael was of concern to him only as a tool, and he had fulfilled his purpose most admirably in this case.

Choosing not to acknowledge his progeny, Lucifer allowed his own power to reach equilibrium for the moment. There were a number of orders of business to attend to, and the first was assembling the so-called princes of Hell, and then crushing the ones who did not answer the summons voluntarily. Lowering his hand, the black-armored figure strode to the throne in the Ninth Circle and sat in it. It was the simplest way to do what he wanted.

Consider yourselves summoned, wretches.

The call would echo in the minds of every last ruler of a circle, but he did not place the force of compulsion behind it—not yet. Just the same dark menace that pervaded everything he did. He already knew how his two no-shows would be: Mammon and the current Asmodeus. He understood the former one was now regrettably deceased, though not quite as dead as most of his family believed him to be. Azrael knew the truth of course—being Death itself had certain advantages, like knowing when someone was actually dead. Because his foolish vessel knew, Lucifer knew as well.

Leaning back slightly in the throne, the Devil placed an arm on either rest and crossed one leg over the other. His more fearful minions would be with him presently—and then he would remind the dissenters why their brethren were fearful.

A day later, and the household had definitely noticed that Khalid was missing. Kirito had also been able to inform her that the seal in his Circle had been broken, meaning that the Devil himself was walking around like a free man. Sephiriel independently confirmed this, confiding that she had felt the return of a chunk of her divinity she had never wanted back. It left Kaz feeling a little edgy, which was perhaps understandable. Still, in some sense, life had to go on even after catastrophic events that the rest of the world didn't know about, and the apartment happened to be in need of more food. So, leaving Sephiriel with Cassiel, who was otherwise unprotected, she took Kirito with her to the grocery store. The angel had managed to vehemently protest even without acknowledging her son’s existence as such, which was actually kind of impressive, but Kaz had won out by saying that if they had to split up, it was better to split the power more or less evenly, to make no target more appealing if something did happen.

And she wasn’t taking them all to the freaking grocery store. It was bad enough that Dama had wanted to come, and Kaz had spent the last half hour trying to prevent the girl from eating literally everything in the place. It was kind of funny, but… really. She had no idea how someone as doormat-like as Khalid had ever managed to control her. It was hard enough for both her and Kiri, and neither of them even resembled passive or shy.

Still, she was smiling on her way back, half the groceries in her hands and the other half with Kiri. She’d even caved and bought Dama several packages of candy. It wasn’t like she couldn’t afford it. At least… she was smiling until she felt the shift of something in purgatory. Something big, and very, very dark. Something that repelled her nature in a way that As and Momo never had.

She was in Purgatory herself in an instant. Whatever this was, she wasn’t going to let it take anyone else from her. Not today. The bags of groceries clattered to the cement, and Kazehana watched with morbid fascination as, seemingly out of nowhere, a man materialized.

Her first thought was that she was looking at a more polished version of Khalid, with different eyes and a different mark under the one. Instead of red, it was blue, but many of his other features bore a striking resemblance. But where Khalid was often a bit off-putting, she suspected intentionally, this one was… she felt a pull, a foreign desire that was not quite hers, to be near him. It was only the angel in her that fought it, and, well, her own stubbornness, of course. The figure wore an expensive-looking white suit, cutting a sharp, crisp line with his bright silhouette, and his shirt and tie were both black, as were the shoes that looked like they cost more than most of her wardrobe put together… plus Cassie’s.

In retrospect, it may not have been the wisest thing to say, but Kazehana wasn’t all that wise, to be perfectly honest. “You’re kidding,” she said flatly. “The devil actually wears Prada?”

She nearly choked on her tongue with shock when he smiled at her. Actually smiled. Oh, it was mirthless and entirely wicked, and the way he looked at her sent chills down her spine, but… she wouldn’t have expected the Lucifer to be the smiling type. “Armani, actually, but I suppose that doesn’t mitigate the effect much,” since the whole point was that he looked quite human, he supposed. He seemed to fixate on the woman for a moment, as though drinking in the sight of her, but then he turned his attention to the other two, passing over Famine for the moment and making eye contact with the boy.

“You’re not very good at answering summonses, Asmodeus,” he said coolly, and the temperature around them seemed to drop by a good fifty degrees, plunging them to subfreezing conditions. “Perhaps it is time you learn.” He delivered the words with a smile, but it seemed quite suddenly that pain spiked through both Kirito and Akeldama, who had the misfortune to be standing close enough by to be caught in the radius. Only Kazehana, having no demon heritage or power, was unaffected.

Kirito had, indeed, felt it when Satan had been freed from his prison below the Ninth Circle, and Akeldama had known, too. She'd actually known when exactly Khalid had left; she had chosen not to follow.

But every half or whole demon in the family felt it when they had been summoned. Kirito and Morgan had spent that day, for the most part, sitting as still as they could, just to resist the pull. Lucifer had not put any compulsion behind the summons, but that didn't mean that there wasn't a pull, still.

Kirito and Akeldama had gone to the grocery store with his mother, while Morgan and Des had stayed behind with Cassie. Kirito had said little, still feeling highly uncomfortable, when he felt him. Unlike his mother, he knew exactly what was going on; Lucifer had come.

Kirito had barely even payed attention to what was said, not until the Devil addressed him directly. He narrowed his eyes, even now fighting the pain; but in the end, all he could do was kneel. Even as he did so, he was glaring at him, that last little measure of defiance. "I'd tell you to go to Hell, but you've already been there."

Akeldama, however, had knelt from the very start. Unlike Kirito, she had no measure of divinity at all; she couldn't fight her "father's" influence any more than one could turn back time. She had to submit, because there was no other choice.

Kazehana watched as Dama knelt, and Kirito was forced to the ground as well. She could read his pain in the rigidity of his posture. Her own teeth grit tightly, and her eyes flashed. “Let go of my son,” she growled, and as though keeping control over the both of them cost him no effort at all, Lucifer left them there, in fact clamping down harder if the flinching was anything to go by, and swung his eyes to her. There was a glimmer of amusement in them, and also recognition. It would seem that Sephiriel had been right—he knew who she was, and for some reason, that made her very uncomfortable. She pushed the feeling aside though, and met the unnerving gaze without fear. Her meaning was clear: don’t make me repeat myself.

Lucifer cocked his head to the side. The resemblance was faint, but present—she looked a bit like Esther. Even said the same words, as she had the day he came to exchange eyes with Azrael. It made him chuckle darkly. Well, that just simplified things. He’d broken Esther, he would break this one as well. Lucifer bore down harder with his aura, and even she was feeling it now, angelic ancestry or no.

He had to admit, he was not expecting her to react to this by kicking for his face. In fact, it surprised him so much that her foot caught him right in the jaw, snapping his head to the side. He bent with it, his hold on the other two temporarily disrupted, but not for long enough for them to take advantage. Straightening back up, Lucifer brought a hand to his jaw. That technique… she’d moved holy energy into her limbs. That was Uriel’s technique—the seraph had preferred not to use weapons other than those attached to his person. Apparently, he had taught his daughter to do the same. Interesting—Gabriel had taught his child almost nothing.

He was about to say something, but she was apparently not done, launching a flurry of punches for his midsection. He was more prepared this time, however, and blocked them all with his free hand, lifting a knee to catch the kick leveled to shatter his hip. She might have even been capable of it—the method she was using was quite formidable in its own right. Impressive, in a way. But he was growing irritated with the interruption, and so the next time he caught a hand, he wrenched her wrist around until it snapped—and blinked when she did nothing more than hiss and knee him in the stomach. “Stubborn woman,” he muttered, shaking his head and showing her backwards hard enough to send her sprawling onto the pavement. The impact left a crater, but she was rising immediately after, the bones in her wrist healing already—he could hear them.

All of this was not to say that he was unhappy—he’d not met with such resistance in a very long time. Even under the ice, he’d been able to see much, particularly in the last year or so, through Azrael’s eyes. His own flickered between the standing woman and her child. Unlike his other problem, he could not kill Conquest—he still had a function to perform, after all. But the notion of punishing him had just taken an intriguing new turn in Lucifer’s mind, and he smiled sadistically. “Well, I suppose even the most bullheaded can be convinced, if one persuades in the right way.” Building a concentration of power in one hand, Satan vanished, reappearing in front of the woman.

“You, Kazehana Fuhen, will endure his punishment for him.” Her eyes went wide, but she had not the time to evade him, and his forefinger touched her brow, discharging a cracking bolt of black energy. It was too much for her system, and she fell unconscious, slumping against him when he stepped forward and lifted her over his shoulder as though she weighed nothing at all. He refocused his attention on her son for a moment. “I suggest you consider the consequences of defiance, Asmodeus. When one deals with me, one rarely pays them directly. Just how much is your little family worth to you, I wonder? Famine,” he addressed the girl, and crooked the index finger of his free hand to beckon her forward. The portal opened with nothing more than his will, and both of them stepped through, Lucifer carrying Kazehana. He had one more stop to make, but he would wait until Mammon and the insect that buzzed about him were clear of the angel. Now was not the time for him to confront Sephiriel. Not while he was still beneath the full measure of his power.

Kirito and Akeldama both flinched when Lucifer put an extra push into the power he was exerting over them; it was unessecary for Famine, but even with that, Kirito was still struggling. He would never submit, not willingly.

But his eyes widened when he realized what the Devil's intent was, to take his mother. Anger, hatred, pain flashed through his crimson eyes, and he tried to stand, but to no avail. The demon half of him simply could not be swayed to disobey his "master". A growl tore itself form his throat as he watched Akeldama stand up and leave through the portal, the doorway closing behind her.

The pressure lifted as Kirito sagged forward, catching himself on his hands. He gasped as his limbs shook, his body still reeling from the pain caused by the pressure that Lucifer had used on him. He'd taken his mother; she was gone. His eyes slid out of focus as he clenched his hands. "No." he whispered hoarsely. He lost conciousness then, his only thought for his mother, and getting her back.

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#2014-03-28 00:12:44, as written by Nephilim

Khalid wasn’t exactly sure how he’d wound up living so close to them again after what he’d done, but perhaps they were simply closing ranks as tightly as they could and had forgotten that he wasn’t really supposed to be there. He knew why he stayed as close as they would let him. Partly, it was because when Dama inevitably resurfaced, she would do so close to them, and he knew what he had to do to save her now. He’d selfishly not wanted to, before, because Dama without her Horseman side would not remember him, would not know him. And he’d been too weak to give that up, and too scared of doing it wrong to even make the attempt.

Wasn’t that so typical?

But it was not only for Akeldama that he stayed. He stayed because part of him still hoped to fulfill a promise to the man who was more his father than Lucifer would ever be. He stayed because he wanted to help them, protect her, still. Even though he knew there was nothing he could do. Even though he knew that in the end, what he would do was exactly the opposite. She’d said it didn’t matter to her, and he wanted to believe that—wanted so badly to believe that someone would forgive him for everything he could not forgive of himself, despite the fact that he didn't deserve it.

So Khalid had rented himself an apartment a few levels down from the ones that Sephiriel, Cassiel, and Kirito occupied, presently without any of their parents, and though he did not exactly interact with them overmuch, they knew he was near, and he watched over them as well as he was able. And he waited for the day when even this cold comfort would be denied him.

Today, however, would not be that day. Today, he might just be able to right some wrongs. Khalid felt her enter the mortal plane, close to where the other three appeared to be walking in Central Park. To his hand he summoned the Scythe of Death, though it was not his intent to visit such a thing upon her today. No, it would be a simple reaping if all went according to plan. He was choosing to ignore that this was his plan, and none of those had ever worked out the way he wanted them to. Pulling himself through space instantaneously, Khalid appeared in front of the other three, Sephiriel already having moved to a guard position in front of the Fuhen cousins. Dama was… Dama was clearly under his father’s full control, and Khalid’s free hand clenched into a fist.

“Stay back,” he told the others, and for once, his tone was urgent rather than flat. “Let me do this.”

Akeldama's appearance was not at all like what the others were used to seeing her as. Her face, usually bright and cheerful, was held in a blank disposition, her face gaunt, her eyes underscored by dark circles. Those same eyes wandered across the other four, resting on Sephiriel. The Angel was her target, none of the others, certainly not the two other Horsemen. But it would seem that Death was intent on stopping her. How strange.

"Step aside, Death. You are not my target."

The fact that she was not speaking like her normal self made Kirito shiver. Horseman or not...she didn't deserve this.

She had lost count, of how many days, weeks, had passed since they took her aunt. It felt...empty not having her whole family. First, it had been her mother, then her father. After, it seemed like a domino affect. Her uncle had died, sending Kirito into a deep depression that Sephiriel and her aunt had managed to bring him out of, however; not soon after, Lucifer, Khalid's own father, had taken her aunt. It just felt...wrong. Even now, as she walked with her cousin, and Sephiriel, it seemed out of place, like it was all wrong and that it shouldn't be like this. It had never made any sense to her, but then again, she had stopped trying to make sense of the world when things began to descend into what they were today. That didn't mean she stopped believing in her family, though.

She loved them, and would do every thing she could to make her family whole again. She didn't want to see them hurt any longer. It wasn't fair to any of them, and she was growing weary of all the sadness, the anger, the feeling of being helpless. No one deserved to feel that way, especially her family. Had they not been through enough? Was it selfish of her to ask for just a moment's peace? And then Akeldama went missing. That had caused Cassiel to fall into a light depression herself. She had grown rather fond of the white haired girl, had even considered her, her sister. When that had happened, she wasn't entirely sure. All she knew was that she was fond of Akeldama, and she tried everything she could to make sure Akeldama was being received well into the family. She even enjoyed cooking the enormous meals for the horseman and her bottomless pit.

It was, perhaps, the reason as to why she was surprised when Akeldama appeared out of the air (or seemed to). She whispered out the girl's name, taking a step forward, however; she stopped when Khalid appeared. She stared at his back, glancing between him and Akeldama until he spoke. She knew he and the horseman were close, that their bond was extremely strong, and she could only nod in reply to his request. "Be careful," she whispered the words softly, the only sound heard was the soft rustling of the night breeze.

Sephiriel did not miss the way Akeldama honed in on her, and she knew why. Lucifer was a damned cheater, and he always had been. She was only surprised he hadn’t sent more people to try and weaken her by now. Then again, perhaps he had learned by now that sometimes less was more, in terms of emotional impact, anyway. Death’s appearance had been sudden but not precisely unexpected, though she was interested to note that it was to they that he showed his back, and to his fellow Horseman the Scythe.

“No,” he said sadly, "but I am afraid you are mine.” He stepped forward, and swung the scythe.

It was unlike pain he had ever experienced. Not even dying was this bad. It was as if every single nerve in his body was being attacked simultaneously along with his very soul. Kirito was in mid-swing when suddenly he froze. His eyes were wide, but there was absolutely nothing that he could do. He was powerless to Satan's interference.

His body stayed motionless as the demon he'd been attacking bowed. Kirito's hand twitched. Powerless as he might have been, he was still trying to fight, and desperately, too. It seemed that Lucifer was trying to get used to a vessel that he was unacquainted with as well. He turned his head then, his red eyes locking with another pair of ruby orbs. He grinned, the smile anything but genuine.

“You miscalculated, Azrael, and this one cannot resist.”

Khalid snarled, the sound tearing from his chest with a rare ferocity, and a rent tore in the earth, swallowing no few demons, but Lucifer only laughed, knowing that his fool child would not attack this body, lest he risk killing his friend. And it would be just like the Devil to make him do it. Still, as always, he fully intended to wring all the exquisite pain out of this maneuver as he could, and so when he at last adjusted to the parameters of the body he presently occupied, it was not Azrael he made Kirito attack.

It was Sephiriel.

The arrow loosed from Conquest’s bow, aimed squarely for the angel’s back, but she turned just in time, cleaving through it with her sword, the force of its passage still enough to stir her hair and what fabric was visible beneath her armor. Her shield had succumbed already to the battle, and so she wielded the blade in both hands. As her gaze shifted, moving from the place the arrow had been to the one who had shot it, her eyes widened. She figured out almost immediately what had happened, and her pretty face twisted into a grimace, the revulsion clear in her eyes, aimed directly at the one puppeting the person she loved. How very droll. “No,” she said, the word soft, but unyielding. “You don’t get him.”

“I am afraid, dear girl, that I really do.” With the tugging of a few mental strings, he sent Kirito forward, firing several more arrows while advancing to where she stood. Sephiriel held her ground, slicing every last one as it approached, the ends flying off in all directions mercifully robbed of their power to utterly obliterate. Lucifer made Kirito banish the bow and summon a sword instead, one of the devil’s own, as black as the one Khalid held, when he was not using his scythe. The blades clanged together as she blocked, and she stepped forward, driving her shoulder into Kirito’s chest with enough force to knock the wind from him, but she did not press the advantage. She never would—this, Lucifer was counting on.

Indeed, he could not resist, not wth this much demonic influence. So instead, Kirito turned his attention inward, silently apologizing to Destri. What he'd asked of her would not be easy, but it would be neccesary. He couldn't simply let Satan run amok in his body, after all. He mentally grit his teeth. This would not be easy, hell, it might even be impossible.

But he had to try.

With all of the mental energy he could gather, he pushed through to the surface. It was brief, barely the space of a breath, but it was enough to just brush the edge of Destri's mind and feel her flinch. If he made it out of this alive, he would have to apologize to her. He was then forced back under, and simply turned inward, away from the outside world.

Destri halted in her attack when she felt Kirito's mind against hers. It hurt, and she flinched visibly. She knew what he wanted, what he'd asked of her earlier. She hesitated. It quite possibly wouldn't even be possible, and Kirito well knew that. He'd also not planned on himself being the one to be the Devil's target. She bit her lip, drawing blood as she gazed at each of the others, her gaze lingering on Kazehana and Sephiriel. She took a deep breath and centered herself.

They may never forgive her for what she was about to do, but she was damned anyway. She smiled slightly, wiping the blood from her lip and running a line across her forehead, finding her resolve. Kirito had asked this of her, and she would do as asked. Even if it killed her.

She took a deep breath, and began to sing. It was soft at first, not heard above the din of battle, but it began to swell until it was the only thing heard. Her voice carried a deep tone of darkness and evil, and the demons around her began to wail and disintigrate; demonic spellsong was well known for its need for sacrifice. Runes appeared both on and around the Reaper, the very air around her burning with demonic energy. As the song finished, the runes began to glow, and she began a new song. The runes dissappeared then, and everything became centered around the mark that appeared on her forehead, and she moved.

Lucifer was in mid-swing when Sephiriel blocked him, and Destri took the opening, speaking as she appeared in front of the Devil. When she spoke, her words were harsh and grating to the ear. She was speaking in demonic. She laid a single finger to Kirito's forehead, and the mark vanished from her own forehead and reappeared where she'd touched him.

"jaci svaust ui ti di wer mamiss nishka qe qe rechan ekik. kwi opsola di malsvir, si meage wux ekess ehaism jaci svaust wux tepoha xuuta."

She stepped away from them then, a look of sorrow on her face. "I'm sorry. It's what he wanted. It's up to him, now."

Sephiriel knew what was going on as soon as the girl touched Kirito’s forehead, and her own song, the one that summoned storms, ceased, the arm that held her sword falling to her side, her grip slackening. “No,” she said hollowly. “You stupid, stupid fool. You’re going to die, Kirito!” She was overwhelmed with the desire to hit him somehow, do something to assuage the stabbing pain in her chest, but there was nothing. She couldn’t risk disturbing what was going on inside the body of the one she loved, and so she stood sentinel beside him instead, fighting off everything that tried to come within ten feet. Her fury was the lightning, the flash of her sword, and the impotent desire to destroy everything that would harm him. If only he’d given it more time, the two of them together would have been able to force the devil out! So why this, why now? She didn’t know, and the result already made her weep, the tears falling silently from her eyes as she cleaved another demon in twain. She knew what was going to happen, she just couldn’t accept it.

But some part of her already had, and that part mourned.

Inside Kirito’s mind, Lucifer manifested across from the boy himself, buffing his fingernails casually on his shirt. “It’s cute that you think a halfling could compel me to do anything, but if this is the way you prefer to expire, I suppose I can indulge you. They get to watch you die either way, after all.”

Kirito knew that dying was a likely scenario. But the more he thought about it, the more something seemed...right about it. It was like when he'd died at the start of the Tribulation. He couldn't explain it then, and he certainly couldn't explain it now. Emotions like fear or nervousness weren't a part of him, he was simply calm. His eyes bored into the Devil's, his expression placid.

"Demonic spellsong is the mockery you made of true Spellsong, is it not? Even you are subject to both of these, for you were not always as you are now. You like to brag, but even you could not fully resist the power. Power and control has always drawn you. Pain, and suffering. It's why you sought me out, rather than anyone else, right?"

There was a grim smile on his face, and he sighed slightly. "While I would rather simply the both of us remain here, I know you would never allow that. So, I guess it's just down to you and me." He stood from his sitting position, the old, comfortable grip of a spear manifesting in his hand. "Shall we?" One lone thought flickered across his mind. [color=#1bcde]Please forgive me, Sephiriel.[/color]

Lucifer sighed; there was little point in explaining the difference between being subject to something and being commanded by it. The result was in this case the same either way, and he cared not to make a point of educating the soon-to-be dead. “Well, I do like to cause pain,” he admitted, “especially hers, as it happens.” He shrugged, summoning to hand a second blade to match the first he carried, black steel glinting darkly. “Come then, Conquest. It is time to die.”

Blood ran down his side as he clutched it. Even so, the placid look on his face never left. There was simply somthing he couldn't shake, a feeling like he was forgetting something. Or perhaps it was something he had yet to realize. Either way, he kept up his tactic of merely blocking or dodging. Every time he would press the attack, something held him back. He narrowed his eyes, trying to think. What on earth could be so damned important?

The words he'd thought flickered through his mind again, one word reverberating through over and over. Images flashed through his mind, both his own and not, memories and visions of times both near and long forgotten. Everything seemed to center around that one word, and softly, so quiet you could barely hear it, he spoke it.

"...forgive..."

He saw Lucifer advancing, but this time, he lowered his guard. Everything clicked, everything made sense. He knew what was about to happen, and he made no effort to stop it, because it was meant to happen. He knew that now. He felt the blade connect with his flesh and slide through. He smiled, and reached out, grabbing Lucifer's wrist in the process. He smiled even as the light began to leave his eyes, and he spoke one thing before he stilled entirely.

"I forgive you."

It was then that he knew nothing else.

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Alkedama

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a character in “Somewhere Between the Lost and the Forgotten”, originally authored by Naga's Shadow, as played by Asilian

Description

So begins...

Alkedama's Story

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