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tampered2006-11-20 07:03 am
revelations9x6.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2006-11-20 07:03 am
Log: Complete
When; Nov. 19th
Rating; R
Characters;![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
revelations9x6 Xulchilbara, snarky_padre_v Vincent, noh_dancer Scarab
Summary;
First lies the seat of
He who is Peerless
Silent and empty,
Heartless and fearless
Beside him sits one who knows
The place of the servant is
Next to the throne
Punishment, and lessons learned
Log;
Pain.
She was a living, breathing, writhing mass of pain.
Pain of the mind, where her thoughts rioted in agonized circles between her guilt at first helping to capture John, then standing idly by while he was judged, then ( and worst of all of this) not having the strength to stop either the changed magus, nor the Corinthian from breaking into, and out of her master's house.
It all mingled into a sort of echoing matra set to the beat of her sometimes panicked, sometimes despairing heart.
My fault, My fault, My fault...
She curled into a tight ball on the cold stone floor, and cried as though she would never stop, her mentor looking on in silent vigil.
The Red God was rather tired of this silly girl, and her insistance on clinging to her former life.
Or 'lives' rather, considering she had died not once, but twice, yet still retained memory.
This was often the greatest drawback to using humans for this sort of work. They could be the cruelest, most immovable creatures, but by the same token weaken and crumble at the slightest provocation.
For love of a being niether human, nor capable of returning said affection, she had brought herself to this impass, and so wanted judgement for her insolence.
He stood over her in contemplative silence, the three candles set about her warding circle casting much of his expression in shadow, though his eyes still glowed as two feral lights in the darkness.
Dark clothing, and dark hair made his form seem difficult to distinguish from the gloom...he seemed truly made from, and cloaked in the shadows.
A moment longer of watching the weeping woman, and predator eyes slitted, and regarded the man near him.
-
Vincent was still pretty out of it. he had spent the better part of the day not completely brain-switched, as apparently much of the city was, but in an odd state of flux.maybe that had been the saving grace, that he was strong enough to resist this curse day. but not entire.
Just before going to bed he had been idly wondering again why Walter Sullivan had been so adamantly against joining them and so, upon waking, had thought he was Walter Sullivan.
That Sullivan himself had remained unaffected, and had come by curious was only now registering to him.
but then, Xuchilbara had made him remember himself, and then told him there was some sort of lesson to be learned with the Dragon??
He had a bad feeling something terrible had occured. and now, seeing Scarab lying there in pain and obvious remorse, he was very afraid...still. he wasn't going to say anything for fear of displeasing Xuchilbara.
He'd been sort of hoping when the god had come for something a bit more...pleasant than standing here in this gloomy dungeon...
Without comment, the Red God dropped to one knee beyond the circle, and very softly spoke the Dragon's human name....her first name; " Keico."
There was a subdued air to all present...the Executioner silent as always, but still as a statue, much like the sword that lay across his seated knees.
...An Air of resigned waiting...
She startled...and seemed to wilt with the cessation of a part of the pain.
It wasn't gone, per say, but it was further away......easier to deal with.
Slowly, and shaking, she peeked out from behind her sweat-dampened hair, at the cold hardness in her Master's eyes.
"......My Lord....Please...Please, I couldn't....." She swallowed past the ragged parched sensation in her throat.
" Please...Don't hurt them anymore? Cori...John....I..." She trailed off, as her voice cracked and died, even her whisper sounded strained.
"H-Hurt...me...Hurt me instead? Please....I...love him..." she finished, begging Xulchilbara with her eyes.
She glanced at him, but didn't seem to register Vincent's presence, or if she had, counted any help or sympathy coming from that corner to be slim to none.
The God watched her impassively, and nodded once.
He stood once more, and regarded her with a mix of dissapointment and cold anger in his expression.
Like the slow, desparing march to the gallows, he extended one hand over the runic lines that made up the binding circle, until his arm was fully extended, and directly over her prone form.
She closed her eyes, another tear escaping to mingle with her hair.
...and quite suddenly... screamed.
Not just a scream, but a sound of raw horrified agony.
An inhuman sound that ripped her already lascerated throat mercilessly.
She spasmed, her spine bowing back to force her to quiet the shriek somewhat or risk suffocation.
The muscles in her neck, her arms, her back, stood out in sharp relief as every single one tightened to the point of snapping....
.....And after a moment, the started to move like independent chords beneath her skin.
Her flesh blossomed with patched bruising, the olive-toned complexion bleeding into a shallow corpse-like white.
She couldn't stop skrieking enough to draw breath between one spasm and the next.
Her flesh warped, and twisted as though the God's hand were a macabre sculptor rearranging her into a disturbing reflection of what she had been.
TaKe My HaNd, ViNcEnT....YoU WiLl LeArN As ShE LeArNs. He 'said' into prophet's mind, though his attention never left the writhing, screaming, mass of flesh on the floor before them, his opposing hand reached out to Vincent, fully expecting the human to take it, and exsert his own burgeoning abilities over the tortured woman.
Her back bowed again, and her ribs pushed out obscenly against her flesh, as though they were being spread from the inside.
Her screaming became wetter, deeper, like a gurgling growl....
......And her ribs tore through her skin like a horrific pair of jaws, complete with serrated teeth.
Her arms just as suddenly were pulled straight, and strained against a hard mass that moved below her skin.
-
Vincent wasn't very good at hiding his emotions; and he watched Scarab's contortions with horror and revulsion.
Winced visibly when the changes began to occur, bones popping through skin.
And then? His Lord had asked for his hand.
Vincent shuddered as though that hand was covered in maggots.
But he had asked for power, and with power came the awful responsibility- punishing the guilty.
Part of the reason sister Claudia had despised him was his laxness in regards to the concept of sin. Theirs was a blood religion- it was not as though Vincent had never held the knife at one of the rituals of the Order of the Halo of the Sun.
No, he was far from innocent.
But, as many would-be spiritualists of any of the world's myriad religions, Vincent wasn't too keen on the idea of sin. As a dabbler in the same, he liked to sort of think of the Holy Tomes as more sort of...guidelines, rather than rules. God was bound to be a forgiving sort of Mistress. Surely she'd overlook his overindulgences, and those of his flock.
But this...
Of course it had to be done, and distasteful as he found it, he too saw her guilt. She had let the Corinthian into their very sanctuary.
Next time it might not be Constantine the nightmare came for.
It might be him.
Vincent swallowed hard, and reached for his Lord's hand. No way out, he thought, knowing that hand would burn his, would feel of searing Hellfire, No way out, and only one way in.
He made his choice. Closed his eyes and reached.
And it was not hot. It was ice.
Vincent felt that ice spread through him, every part of him, and it was erotic and tingling and wild for a moment. Jeez, could there be a worse time to get hard??, and then that ice settled into his heart and calmed him.
Made him ready for what his Lord needed him to do.
A slow smile crept onto his face as he felt her writhe under what this time was definitely his stirrings, as he could feel her body as though it was under his hands.
-
Xulchilbara was indeed as cold and unfeeling as ice. There was nothing in him of things like 'kindness', 'sympathy', or 'forgivness'.
Even in this he was simply the instument of her own self-punishment.
It was her guilt, her wants that destroyed her and warped her body as it had been eating at her mind for so long.
And not all of this was rooted in the Magus' escape, much of the horrors that tore her apart were far older, and far deeper.
The death of her best friend, the assasination of a man she truly loved, and the true helplessness she felt in being a killer in a world where nothing died.
Under Vincent's changes the mass in her arms erupted from her wrists as straight slender blades, now laced with traceries of her own blood.
She was still screaming...
Occasionally it's very easy to distance yourself and just...observe.
Sometimes, the noisemaking,..just spurns one to want to keep being rough
Whether he knew it or not, the leather-like strips that squirmed and shoved thier way from her lips, and proceeded to join up with each other into solid laces was his doing; his contribution to the heinous work of art she was becoming.
Her mouth became sewn shut, but she was still making the gurgling, muffled screaming noises.....although as her body spasmed and warped, the screaming became a deeper, rasping hollowed echo from the split maw her scarred chest had once been.
Xulchilbara subtly....pushed.. at Vincent mentally. Drawing him away from the pull of power before he could overtax himself again.
Loosening his hold, the God released Vincent's hand very slowly to allow the man time to remove himself from the lines of energy; take his influence from the larger picture.
Gradually, the creature that had once been a woman's screaming became more intermittent...more subdued.
......Until at some point during the tide of power, and the horror of the moment, she was changed.
Silence.
Nothing moved, save the subtle motion of Vincent's quiet breathing.
Xulchilbara had closed his hand into a fist above her..and she was utterly still.
ReMeMbEr ThIs, PrIeSt, he 'said', a solemn air about everything, even the Executioner whom had not stirred once throughout, seemed subdued.
Xulchilbara turned his eyes on Vincent, no distinction between pupil, iris, and the white of his eyes.
All were black.
The cold black of the ever-silent void.
ReMeMbEr....
-
Vincent's breathing had been strained as he weakened from the exertion of doing this deed, and no little excited, aroused by both the power of the deed and the sensations running through him.
Then he was out of the circle of it, and slowly coming back into himself.
His smile had long since become a grimace, and he felt sore, weak, as though he had been working out far too strenously. The only trace of the iciness was a slight tingle in his veins as it receded, and the cold sweat his body was bathed in.
It felt filthy upon him as soon as he realized it was there, doubled over slightly, panting.
ReMeMbEr ThIs, PrIeSt, his Lord was saying as he cast a glance over at the pyramid monster who had done nothing to stop or help in any of this.
He knew one thing remained as he pushed himself upright, one hand against the wall.
He settled the glasses he still wore out of some sort of force of habit back up on the bridge of his nose, and He came forward slightly to look at her.
He had to back up and regain control of his gag reflex, lest he had insult to injury by puking his guts out on what had been Scarab.
For a moment he was back in that headspace the City's curse day had forced him to, the childlike former priest-killer Sullivan who had- wisely?- chosen to oust himself from their little group. You're that bad thing...what have you done to Henry and Alessa?!
Indeed. He was that bad thing now...wasn't he?
Until now he had been able to keep his bemused, smarmy little sense of self intact- why were these people disparging him over the actions of his Lord, his fellow 'cultists', as their detractors called them?
He hadn't laid a finger on Constantine. Not like the rest of them.
He was a bystander. an innocent. their accusations upon him amused him. Why me, he tended to think, all I do is look down on the lot of you.
My rightful place.
Mother of God, he thought now, what have we- what have I done???
ReMeMbEr.... Xuchilbara's words echoed in his head. All he could do was nod, and squeak out, "..Yes, Lord." as, unbidden, he excused himself.
Surely this one trespass would be forgiven.
There was no way he was going to dishonor himself by vomiting in the presence of The Crimson One.
Rating; R
Characters;
revelations9x6 Xulchilbara, snarky_padre_v Vincent, noh_dancer ScarabSummary;
First lies the seat of
He who is Peerless
Silent and empty,
Heartless and fearless
Beside him sits one who knows
The place of the servant is
Next to the throne
Punishment, and lessons learned
Log;
Pain.
She was a living, breathing, writhing mass of pain.
Pain of the mind, where her thoughts rioted in agonized circles between her guilt at first helping to capture John, then standing idly by while he was judged, then ( and worst of all of this) not having the strength to stop either the changed magus, nor the Corinthian from breaking into, and out of her master's house.
It all mingled into a sort of echoing matra set to the beat of her sometimes panicked, sometimes despairing heart.
My fault, My fault, My fault...
She curled into a tight ball on the cold stone floor, and cried as though she would never stop, her mentor looking on in silent vigil.
The Red God was rather tired of this silly girl, and her insistance on clinging to her former life.
Or 'lives' rather, considering she had died not once, but twice, yet still retained memory.
This was often the greatest drawback to using humans for this sort of work. They could be the cruelest, most immovable creatures, but by the same token weaken and crumble at the slightest provocation.
For love of a being niether human, nor capable of returning said affection, she had brought herself to this impass, and so wanted judgement for her insolence.
He stood over her in contemplative silence, the three candles set about her warding circle casting much of his expression in shadow, though his eyes still glowed as two feral lights in the darkness.
Dark clothing, and dark hair made his form seem difficult to distinguish from the gloom...he seemed truly made from, and cloaked in the shadows.
A moment longer of watching the weeping woman, and predator eyes slitted, and regarded the man near him.
-
Vincent was still pretty out of it. he had spent the better part of the day not completely brain-switched, as apparently much of the city was, but in an odd state of flux.maybe that had been the saving grace, that he was strong enough to resist this curse day. but not entire.
Just before going to bed he had been idly wondering again why Walter Sullivan had been so adamantly against joining them and so, upon waking, had thought he was Walter Sullivan.
That Sullivan himself had remained unaffected, and had come by curious was only now registering to him.
but then, Xuchilbara had made him remember himself, and then told him there was some sort of lesson to be learned with the Dragon??
He had a bad feeling something terrible had occured. and now, seeing Scarab lying there in pain and obvious remorse, he was very afraid...still. he wasn't going to say anything for fear of displeasing Xuchilbara.
He'd been sort of hoping when the god had come for something a bit more...pleasant than standing here in this gloomy dungeon...
Without comment, the Red God dropped to one knee beyond the circle, and very softly spoke the Dragon's human name....her first name; " Keico."
There was a subdued air to all present...the Executioner silent as always, but still as a statue, much like the sword that lay across his seated knees.
...An Air of resigned waiting...
She startled...and seemed to wilt with the cessation of a part of the pain.
It wasn't gone, per say, but it was further away......easier to deal with.
Slowly, and shaking, she peeked out from behind her sweat-dampened hair, at the cold hardness in her Master's eyes.
"......My Lord....Please...Please, I couldn't....." She swallowed past the ragged parched sensation in her throat.
" Please...Don't hurt them anymore? Cori...John....I..." She trailed off, as her voice cracked and died, even her whisper sounded strained.
"H-Hurt...me...Hurt me instead? Please....I...love him..." she finished, begging Xulchilbara with her eyes.
She glanced at him, but didn't seem to register Vincent's presence, or if she had, counted any help or sympathy coming from that corner to be slim to none.
The God watched her impassively, and nodded once.
He stood once more, and regarded her with a mix of dissapointment and cold anger in his expression.
Like the slow, desparing march to the gallows, he extended one hand over the runic lines that made up the binding circle, until his arm was fully extended, and directly over her prone form.
She closed her eyes, another tear escaping to mingle with her hair.
...and quite suddenly... screamed.
Not just a scream, but a sound of raw horrified agony.
An inhuman sound that ripped her already lascerated throat mercilessly.
She spasmed, her spine bowing back to force her to quiet the shriek somewhat or risk suffocation.
The muscles in her neck, her arms, her back, stood out in sharp relief as every single one tightened to the point of snapping....
.....And after a moment, the started to move like independent chords beneath her skin.
Her flesh blossomed with patched bruising, the olive-toned complexion bleeding into a shallow corpse-like white.
She couldn't stop skrieking enough to draw breath between one spasm and the next.
Her flesh warped, and twisted as though the God's hand were a macabre sculptor rearranging her into a disturbing reflection of what she had been.
TaKe My HaNd, ViNcEnT....YoU WiLl LeArN As ShE LeArNs. He 'said' into prophet's mind, though his attention never left the writhing, screaming, mass of flesh on the floor before them, his opposing hand reached out to Vincent, fully expecting the human to take it, and exsert his own burgeoning abilities over the tortured woman.
Her back bowed again, and her ribs pushed out obscenly against her flesh, as though they were being spread from the inside.
Her screaming became wetter, deeper, like a gurgling growl....
......And her ribs tore through her skin like a horrific pair of jaws, complete with serrated teeth.
Her arms just as suddenly were pulled straight, and strained against a hard mass that moved below her skin.
-
Vincent wasn't very good at hiding his emotions; and he watched Scarab's contortions with horror and revulsion.
Winced visibly when the changes began to occur, bones popping through skin.
And then? His Lord had asked for his hand.
Vincent shuddered as though that hand was covered in maggots.
But he had asked for power, and with power came the awful responsibility- punishing the guilty.
Part of the reason sister Claudia had despised him was his laxness in regards to the concept of sin. Theirs was a blood religion- it was not as though Vincent had never held the knife at one of the rituals of the Order of the Halo of the Sun.
No, he was far from innocent.
But, as many would-be spiritualists of any of the world's myriad religions, Vincent wasn't too keen on the idea of sin. As a dabbler in the same, he liked to sort of think of the Holy Tomes as more sort of...guidelines, rather than rules. God was bound to be a forgiving sort of Mistress. Surely she'd overlook his overindulgences, and those of his flock.
But this...
Of course it had to be done, and distasteful as he found it, he too saw her guilt. She had let the Corinthian into their very sanctuary.
Next time it might not be Constantine the nightmare came for.
It might be him.
Vincent swallowed hard, and reached for his Lord's hand. No way out, he thought, knowing that hand would burn his, would feel of searing Hellfire, No way out, and only one way in.
He made his choice. Closed his eyes and reached.
And it was not hot. It was ice.
Vincent felt that ice spread through him, every part of him, and it was erotic and tingling and wild for a moment. Jeez, could there be a worse time to get hard??, and then that ice settled into his heart and calmed him.
Made him ready for what his Lord needed him to do.
A slow smile crept onto his face as he felt her writhe under what this time was definitely his stirrings, as he could feel her body as though it was under his hands.
-
Xulchilbara was indeed as cold and unfeeling as ice. There was nothing in him of things like 'kindness', 'sympathy', or 'forgivness'.
Even in this he was simply the instument of her own self-punishment.
It was her guilt, her wants that destroyed her and warped her body as it had been eating at her mind for so long.
And not all of this was rooted in the Magus' escape, much of the horrors that tore her apart were far older, and far deeper.
The death of her best friend, the assasination of a man she truly loved, and the true helplessness she felt in being a killer in a world where nothing died.
Under Vincent's changes the mass in her arms erupted from her wrists as straight slender blades, now laced with traceries of her own blood.
She was still screaming...
Occasionally it's very easy to distance yourself and just...observe.
Sometimes, the noisemaking,..just spurns one to want to keep being rough
Whether he knew it or not, the leather-like strips that squirmed and shoved thier way from her lips, and proceeded to join up with each other into solid laces was his doing; his contribution to the heinous work of art she was becoming.
Her mouth became sewn shut, but she was still making the gurgling, muffled screaming noises.....although as her body spasmed and warped, the screaming became a deeper, rasping hollowed echo from the split maw her scarred chest had once been.
Xulchilbara subtly....pushed.. at Vincent mentally. Drawing him away from the pull of power before he could overtax himself again.
Loosening his hold, the God released Vincent's hand very slowly to allow the man time to remove himself from the lines of energy; take his influence from the larger picture.
Gradually, the creature that had once been a woman's screaming became more intermittent...more subdued.
......Until at some point during the tide of power, and the horror of the moment, she was changed.
Silence.
Nothing moved, save the subtle motion of Vincent's quiet breathing.
Xulchilbara had closed his hand into a fist above her..and she was utterly still.
ReMeMbEr ThIs, PrIeSt, he 'said', a solemn air about everything, even the Executioner whom had not stirred once throughout, seemed subdued.
Xulchilbara turned his eyes on Vincent, no distinction between pupil, iris, and the white of his eyes.
All were black.
The cold black of the ever-silent void.
ReMeMbEr....
-
Vincent's breathing had been strained as he weakened from the exertion of doing this deed, and no little excited, aroused by both the power of the deed and the sensations running through him.
Then he was out of the circle of it, and slowly coming back into himself.
His smile had long since become a grimace, and he felt sore, weak, as though he had been working out far too strenously. The only trace of the iciness was a slight tingle in his veins as it receded, and the cold sweat his body was bathed in.
It felt filthy upon him as soon as he realized it was there, doubled over slightly, panting.
ReMeMbEr ThIs, PrIeSt, his Lord was saying as he cast a glance over at the pyramid monster who had done nothing to stop or help in any of this.
He knew one thing remained as he pushed himself upright, one hand against the wall.
He settled the glasses he still wore out of some sort of force of habit back up on the bridge of his nose, and He came forward slightly to look at her.
He had to back up and regain control of his gag reflex, lest he had insult to injury by puking his guts out on what had been Scarab.
For a moment he was back in that headspace the City's curse day had forced him to, the childlike former priest-killer Sullivan who had- wisely?- chosen to oust himself from their little group. You're that bad thing...what have you done to Henry and Alessa?!
Indeed. He was that bad thing now...wasn't he?
Until now he had been able to keep his bemused, smarmy little sense of self intact- why were these people disparging him over the actions of his Lord, his fellow 'cultists', as their detractors called them?
He hadn't laid a finger on Constantine. Not like the rest of them.
He was a bystander. an innocent. their accusations upon him amused him. Why me, he tended to think, all I do is look down on the lot of you.
My rightful place.
Mother of God, he thought now, what have we- what have I done???
ReMeMbEr.... Xuchilbara's words echoed in his head. All he could do was nod, and squeak out, "..Yes, Lord." as, unbidden, he excused himself.
Surely this one trespass would be forgiven.
There was no way he was going to dishonor himself by vomiting in the presence of The Crimson One.