Aloise smiles slightly at Liam. She had felt the same exact way herself, almost every minute she had been deployed. No matter what she had learned, it didn't seem to prepare her for any of it. And for Liam, he truthfully hadn't been given a chance to learn about himself. Hell, even
she didn't know much about Prophets, beyond the reception of visions.
"Every vision you see, according to the lore, will come to pass," Aloise explained.
"So when you see something, all you have to do is let us know...But honestly, no one knows what they're doing. No one's being a hero. We're all just...just trying to do something good at the end of the day."And just as Aloise finished, something miraculous occurred. Liam would be struck with another vision. This time, he would see Amy Chang, enveloped with a scarlet smoke. The doctor stumbles slightly, before the room around her crumbles. Everything goes dark. Everything becomes dust.
Meanwhile, Dr. Chang and Hanson are trying their best to work on Sera. At her scream about the voices, Amy pauses for a moment, before giving a dirty look at an imaginary camera, as if she was on
the Office. "The fucks wrong with you people?" Amy muttered, shaking her head.
"Do I look like a shrink to you? I can't make any voices stop. Unless, of course, someone in here just so happens to be a psychiatrist and wants to work with your crazy ass mind, then they can be my guess. I'm gonna concentrate on the fucking bullet wound, kay sunshine?"Was it perhaps fate that Trevor, who
definitely would have heard that tirade, was a therapist part-time?
Dr. Chang, once resuming her work, manages to carefully extract the bullet, as Hanson keeps pressure on it. Fortunately, with the intensive upkeep she had to perform to keep Hanson's heart going, she brought
everything she could carry with her to the Church. A few expletives later, Hanson is sent to get the most basic and simplest equipment out of Amy's bag, that way Sera can get a bit more blood in her. She'll need to go to a hospital still, but it won't be as pressing anymore. And as Eudora, the hobbling witch approaches with herbs, Amy eyes them for a moment.
"Nah-uh. My patient. She doesn't need pot--she needs a little more blood. You donating?"She shook her head slightly, before returning her attention back to Seraphina.
"Now, mind telling me who the fuck you are, Miss Here's Johnny?"
Azrael did not turn towards Darren, busying herself with the corpse on the pavement. She rested her hand on the deceased's chest, and then after a moment's pause, she rose to her feet, the cape billowing around her, swallowing her nearly. Only the hint of a face, gruesome and disfigured, could be made out. Her skin was the color of ash. However, both Jade and Darren would get the sense that the angel of death was smiling at them.
"Ever so bold, Darren Owen," Azrael said, the voice as quiet as a falling leaf. "Before you attempt to persuade me with speeches about the pointlessness of predestination, know that I do not proscribe to the theories of John Calvin. I collect what I am due to collect--nothing less, nothing more. I suppose you find this to be hypocritical--but I do not welcome the deals my brother is ever so fond of trading in."
"Bloody hell, it's like I'm not even here," Jade pointed out, her tone both exasperated and loud. She detested the way Azrael talked about her--only directing words at
Darren. Sure, Darren had damned himself for all eternity and made the deal to revive her--but godddamnit, she wasn't a child. And this wasn't the 1700's.
"I'd like to be included in this, okay? It's my fucking life, after all. Not his."Azrael's gaze did not waver. The angel of death practically ignored Jade's words, and the detective's grip tightened once more upon the blade, as the howling grew louder and louder with each and every passing minute. The air around Azrael nearly remained still, fixed in place, or rather, suffocated into stillness. "Darren Owen, you of all people know that the dead should not rise. It only brings pain and suffering. There is always a price for any manner of magic--and while you assume that cost is the slaughter you have been tasked with, do not doubt that the price will still beg to be paid."
Another pause. The sky darkened, as a storm cloud moved overhead, coming closer and closer to the center of the city. A torrential downpour was in the cards, it seemed. It wouldn't be long before it began. "The slaying of a reaper will not save her life. It will lead to the deaths of thousands--and that blood will stain your hands even further. But...That is not what I have come to discuss. I have a task for you--for you and Jade Corentine."
"Now you'll bloody acknowledge my existence?" Jade seethed, but a bit quieter. The howls were quieting, ever so slightly, and she relaxed her grip on the blade.
"Child, we do not have time for this pettiness," Azrael rebuked. "My brother has risen before. I am sure you recall the disasters in the year 2009, do you not? My brother was returned to his cage. And he has escaped once more. Restraining my brother will stop nothing. Darren Owen and Jade Corentine, I task you with the murder of Lucifer. If you succeed, I perhaps may be willing to turn a blind eye to your transgressions...Fail and there will be no need. You will be dead."
Sariel's body is limp, yet her mind is anything but. Her thoughts will be audible to only Seraphina and Azrael, leaving the human-ish caregivers that carry her feeble form entirely oblivious. To those listening, her voice is weak, as if it was liable to fade away entirely within the next moment. However, one thing comes through clear and strong:
Sisters, protect the Prophet... It is Sariel's dying wish, perhaps. The performance of her sacred duty. And while the archangel has not yet passed, things certainly do not look good.
"Does this remind you of our honeymoon, dearest?" Belladonna asked, her lip slightly curled. She smiled like the cat that had eaten the canary, quietly and boldly in the oddest of paradoxes. There was an alluring darkness dancing in her eyes. As they strolled, Belladonna let out a contented sigh as the storm clouds rolled in. She always enjoyed a good thunderstorm--her darling Mercurial had been conceived during one, after all.
The walk to the Crypt Manor was relatively short, and Belladonna spotted their dearest daughter, covered head to toe in the remnants of some poor, innocent people. Their daughter was becoming such a fine young woman. Belladonna couldn't be ever the more prouder of their little murderer.
"No blood? Why, you did not have to return home so soon!" Belladonna urged, a bit surprised at the lack of the substance.
"I had a horrid time, rest assured," Mercurial affirmed, wiping a bit of soot off of her color.
"I performed my civic duty. Mother, Father, the flames were delightful. I know you are particularly fond to charred flesh, Father. Perhaps the scent will linger for a few days." Mercurial, the incredibly morose child, then ventured inside of the home, clearing off the table as best as she could. The events from earlier that day had left the house in considerable disarray. It was not the first time, however, her parents had brought home some wounded creature.
Generally, it was more demonic than an archangel, however.
"The table, please, darling," Belladonna responded, walking calmly into the house, as if time was not of the essence. Once placed on the table, Belladonna would set at work, her hands carefully combining the healer's blood and a thousand other ingredients, seemingly, into the large cauldron. A newt here, a rabbit skull there, she used them all. And as she worked, the spell on the angel slowly began to wear off, as a grey color crept into Sariel's cheeks.
"She has thirty seconds until the sweet embrace of death," Belladonna announced with a hint of jealousy in her voice, as she poured a portion of the potion into a vial. She took care to wipe off the side of the vial, and with ten seconds to spare, she poured the portion into Sariel's mouth, stroking her neck as to force the angel to swallow. The air seemed to thicken in anticipation.
The grey swept across the rest of her face. Unseen but felt by the Crypts, Azrael collected her younger sister. It had been too late for Sariel. Not even the wound caused by an angel blade could be cured by Belladonna.
"Time of death is 7:35 PM, June 21st, 2016."
